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Wednesday, April 1, 2026

Blog tour: Circus Bim Bom

 

 


A Cold War Adventure


Historical Fiction/Cold War Fiction w/romance subplots

Date Published: 03-01-2026

Publisher: Bim Bom Books



There are no accidents in life, only opportunities wearing different clothes."

When the first privately owned Soviet circus arrived in 1990 America as the Soviet Empire unraveled, its elite performers expected to build cultural bridges through spectacular shows. Instead, this prestigious troupe faced a perilous journey through Cold War America.

Circus director Yuri had to navigate treacherous waters where American mobsters, Soviet agents, and political forces circled like predators. Young aerialist Anton dreamed of becoming a clown against his family's wishes, while forbidden romances and unexpected connections bloomed between Soviet performers and Americans who saw past the ideological divide. As high-stakes conspiracies threatened to tear the circus family apart, they had to choose between the authoritarian chains of home and the uncertain promise of freedom.

As The Ringmaster reminds us, "The best Soviet stories are like vodka—they burn with suffering, intoxicate with conflict, keep you stewing in reflection, and yearning for your heart's desire." This genre-bending tale explores whether human connection can transcend ideology—and whether storytelling can bridge the divides that separate us.

 


Excerpt

The Clown Alcove

Chapter 3 — November 1989, Moscow Circus Museum

Note to host: This excerpt is self-contained. Anton and Josef are teenage circus students on a school field trip. Anton harbors a secret dream of becoming a clown, something his father, a respected aerialist, would consider a disgrace.

Anton lingered in the clown alcove while his classmates moved on.

A cordoned-off table displayed a lifelike head of Oleg Popov, the “Sunny Clown,” under a glass dome with an open window. Anton recognized Popov—his favorite—and felt a sudden urge to touch the uncanny likeness. Sharp and oddly realistic.

He slipped behind the velvet rope, wondering if someone had embalmed Popov’s head.

The head featured his signature skewed checkered cap pinned with a white silk chrysanthemum, a bright yellow wig, and a red nose. He wore a gentle smile, and his eyes were—wait! Anton thought he saw Popov’s eyes blink. It happened so fast, he wasn’t sure. His heartbeat quickened.

Anton figured his imagination was deceiving him—that the clown alcove atmosphere was playing tricks on him. Anton lingered. Popov’s smile felt like an invitation. He remained still, but nothing happened, so he admired the other clown displays. However, Popov’s eyes seemed to follow him. He walked back and forth in front of the bust; sure enough, the eyes appeared to track his movements. He called out to Josef, but the class had already headed to the auditorium.

Popov’s eyes stared straight ahead. Anton leaned over the rope to inspect them; they looked watery. He ducked under the velvet rope and peered under the table skirt. In a blur, someone yanked him under the table, and a hand covered his mouth.

“Shhh,” whispered a painted face, finger to lips. Stunned, Anton complied, and the stranger removed his hand.

Who is this guy? He was crouched under the table, in blue overalls and a striped shirt. Aside from white greasepaint around his eyes and the fact he was hiding under the table, he appeared normal.

“You’re a very clever fellow,” the man remarked.

Anton caught his breath. “Who are you, and why are you inside Popov’s head?”

“Fair questions. My name is Tikhonov Tikosander Shevchenko, but my friends call me Tiko. Come to think of it, even my enemies call me Tiko. But of course, I am a clown.” He held out his hand for a handshake. BUZZZ. The slight shock from the hand prank startled Anton.

“I am so sorry.” Tiko grinned. “I forgot I had that on. Here, take it.” He handed the palm buzzer to Anton.

Tiko settled in with his new friend. “To answer your question, I’m workshopping my new Popov table prop. What better place to try it out than at this clown exhibit? What do you think?”

“Well, it’s kind of creepy,” Anton admitted, unable to suppress a grin. “But I love it.”

Tiko’s painted eyes twinkled. “That is what I was going for.”

Josef returned, looking for his lost friend.

“Hey, Anton. Where’d you go?” he whispered as he walked around the table, assuming Anton was loitering in the alcove. “Hey, Kalinski is asking for you. She sent me to find you. Come on, we’re headed to the animal enclosures. You don’t want to miss the big cats, right?”

Anton was about to scurry out, but Tiko yanked him down, put a finger to his lips, pulled out a white grease paint marker, and applied the paint around Anton’s eyes. Tiko pointed up, and Anton nodded, lifting into Popov’s head. From there, he saw Josef circling the table and peering around the gallery panels.

“Anton, come on. Kalinski’s losing her patience,” Josef said in an urgent whisper.

Anton tracked Josef’s movements through Popov’s eyes, a thrill of mischief surging through him. His heart thudded in his chest. The momentary claustrophobia quickly gave way to excitement. He bit his lip to keep from laughing. So, this is what it must feel like.

Josef circled the table once more, oblivious to Anton’s ruse. “Okay, I’m not getting in trouble; this one is on you,” he said as he started down the hall. His shoulders slumped with a mixture of frustration and resignation—he was tired of covering for Anton but wasn’t ready to abandon his friend, either.

“Yo, Josef, wait!” Anton called out. Josef froze and then spun around.

“Anton, cut it out, man; this is not funny.”

Anton put Josef out of his misery. “Hey, Josef. Look at Popov.”

Josef peered at Popov’s face. “What about it?”

“Look at his eyes.” Anton crossed his eyes, and Josef jumped back, nearly knocking over a display panel.

Grinning from ear to ear, Anton climbed out from under the table, and they both burst into laughter.

As Anton turned toward Tiko, who had just re-entered Popov’s head, he gave a parting wave. Tiko responded with a wink.

Josef and Anton were still giggling when they caught up with their classmates. Anton still had white greasepaint circling his eyes.

Kalinski turned beet red. “Anton and Josef, stop clowning around!” Unaware of her pun.

At that, Anton and Josef collapsed into convulsive laughter. Tears streamed down their cheeks, and mucus ran from their noses. Anton struggled to breathe. They averted their eyes from each other but couldn’t resist. Each glance triggered another uncontrollable burst of laughter and tears. Josef nudged Anton with his elbow, and Anton, still gasping for breath, wiped the sweat from his face, squeezing his eyes shut.

Katyana stood over them, glaring in rebuke. “You two are hopeless.” This only made them laugh harder, and she stormed off in frustration. Beneath her irritation flickered something else—a twinge of envy at their easy camaraderie, their freedom to be foolish without the weight of legacy on their shoulders.

They knew they were in trouble and considered throwing themselves at Kalinski’s mercy, but it didn’t matter if she exiled them to Siberia; they were struggling to breathe.

“Wait outside the animal enclosure,” Kalinski ordered. “We’ll discuss this at school. Anton, I’m having lunch with your mother tomorrow—we’ll have much to talk about.”

Anton’s stomach dropped. What if my father finds out? His father claimed clowns were dreamers, not real performers. But at that moment, Anton felt it in his bones—his future wasn’t in the air, but in the ring, making people laugh. Class dismissed.


About the Author

 

 Cliff Lovette is a father, storyteller, and dog lover living in Sandy Springs, Georgia. For over 40 years, he practiced entertainment law, serving as Senior Vice President at LaFace Records and representing artists including Usher and Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes. His passion for bridging historical divides led him to co-produce a groundbreaking reconciliation event between descendants of Buffalo Soldiers and Lakota Native Americans. In 1990, when Bobby Liberman—road manager for the first privately owned Soviet circus touring America—became his client, Cliff discovered the true story that inspired this debut duology.


Contact Links

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TikTok: @ringmaster606

YouTube: @TheRingmaster-n7y


Purchase Links


Author's Edition 

books.by/bim-bom-books 

The Author's Edition comes with:

• Signed bookplate

• Digital circus poster

• Charter Bim Bom Book Club Membership

• Exclusive access to "Rabbit Hole" chapters


eBook and Paperback

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Blog Tour: Call in the Dogs

 




Western/Cowboy,  Cherokee, Outlaw

Date Published: 02-26-2026

Publisher: Write the West Press an imprint of Paperback Press, LLC Springfield, Missouri



Levi Kuratowski, better known as “Little Kansas,” only thinks his days of carrying a gun are over. With a trading license approved by the Cherokee Nation he is determined to build a trading post on the banks of Spring Creek. Soon however he must set his hammer aside and take up his colt revolver. Upon receiving word that the outlaw Bill Kirby has escaped custody he prepares to face his old adversary.

Levi’s friend, Cherokee rancher Turon Turtle vows to offer aid and his rifle. Turon’s strong willed sister, Ruth, has a different vow in mind for Levi. Levi soon finds the determined Ruth as challenging as the inevitable showdown that has yet to come.

For the first time since leaving Europe three years earlier his has a sense of home. He finds customers in the neighboring Cherokee and travelers. More importantly he finds friends. Unknown to Levi is the whereabouts of the outlaw Kirby. Can Levi rely on his new friends and community? Will Levi be able to hold on to what he has built and face the man who thinks nothing except for the destruction of Levi and all he holds dear?

 



Excerpt

“Queenie is out in front,” Turon Turtle said, reaching over to put a stick on the fire.

“Stump is close behind,” Ounce Pathkiller grunted.

The two Cherokee had been speaking mostly in English for the benefit of the third man, Levi. Known to most in the area as Little Kansas. A nickname he picked up while cowboying out West where he had met the Cherokee Turon Turtle.

Born and raised in a poor family in Poland, fox hunting was foreign to Levi Kuratowski. Only the rich had hounds. Here he sat with two Cherokee, a hemisphere away from home.

“How can you tell which dog is in the lead?” Levi asked while staring at the night sky.

“Each dog sounds different. Has its own voice,. as people do,” Ounce replied.

“Yeah, Queenie has a sharp tone. She’s the boss. Now, Ounce’s dog Stump has a deeper bark, as if he’s in a well. Also, he sounds as though he’s way behind Queenie,” Turon added while grinning and giving Ounce a sidelong glance.

Ounce spoke in Cherokee, too quick for Levi to understand the words, but he understood the gesture.

“Stump catch that old fox, you’ll see,” Ounce added.

“Better be an old fox if Stump is going to catch it.” Turon pulled a tobacco pouch from a coat pocket and unrolled a small paper between his fingers.

Ounce once again grunted.

“I heard you priced Stump to Ned Foreman for fifty dollars,” Turon said, carefully dumping tobacco on the paper then rolling a cigarette.

“Yeah,” Ounce said while accepting the tobacco pouch and papers from Turon.

Reaching for a burning stick to light his cigarette, Turon asked, “What makes him worth fifty dollars?”

“I traded two twenty-five-dollar fighting roosters for him.” Ounce built his own cigarette.

The smiling Turon reignited his stick and leaned over to offer Ounce a light. “Why don’t you breed Queenie to Stump? Get some pups,” Levi asked.

“I would rather she got snake bit,” Turon said, tossing the stick into the fire.

An owl let out his night call not far away. Levi thought nothing of the bird. The two Cherokee went quiet. Owls were harbingers of death, giving warnings for the Cherokee. Minutes passed before anyone spoke.

“I should probably get back to the wagon and store,” Levi said, standing up to stretch.

Since coming to the Cherokee Nation, the quiet Jewish immigrant Levi had become a small-time celebrity. A celebrity brought on by Turon’s exaggerated stories about their trip from Texas driving Turon’s Hereford bull home. A brief misunderstanding between Levi and four Cheyenne over the ownership of the bull turned into a full-out battle. A haphazard capture of an outlaw who tried stealing Levi’s horse on the Cimarron River became a quick-draw gunfight.

 


About the Author

 


 Born and raised on the Ozark Plateau. Charlie Amos grew up in the footsteps of outlaws, cowboys, and woodsmen. He currently lives in Oklahoma with his wife, children, and dog Banjo. When he is not tending cattle and kids he is reading and writing about the American West. Years of working in agriculture, forestry, trucking, and teaching school has laid the foundation of telling our American story through relatable characters. Writing westerns for westerners, and everyone else.


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Purchase Link

https://mybook.to/CallintheDogs

Amazon



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