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Tuesday, January 27, 2026

PROMO: Death and Life in the City of Dreams

 

 


Literary Fiction

Date Published: April 16th

Publisher: Acorn Publishing


Jaded city planner Townsend Meadows looks out across Evermore Valley with the ghost of his dead friend by his side. “Do you ever wonder,” Fen asks, “what this city will look like five hundred years from now?”

Their city is teetering on the brink of collapse, and the mayor’s answer is a gleaming new auto mall at the valley’s edge. For Townsend, it’s the death of everything a city should be. Struggling to regain his passion and forced to choose between compliance and conviction, he must risk his career to fight for a more hopeful and verdant future.


From an architect’s vision at the dawn of the twentieth century, to a rancher’s dynasty scarred by violence and greed, to a city founder’s hidden message of hope, this story about the rise, fall, and reawakening of an American city reaches far beyond the present. A timely, sweeping novel of memory, corruption, and resilience, Death and Life in the City of Dreams asks, “What legacy will we choose to leave for our children?”

 

Excerpt


City of Evermore

Stop the Bleeding


At the civic center, Townsend rides his bike through the parking court, past rows of cars arrayed between the building’s stucco wings. He locks his bike and slips his helmet off, and his phone begins to vibrate. He takes the phone from his pocket and looks at the screen. Dad. The vibrations persist.

Townsend doesn’t want to answer. He knows the call will be difficult. Everything with Dad has become difficult. He swipes the screen with his thumb.

“Hey, Pop. How’re you doing?” He braces himself.

“Townsend? Townsend? It’s me, Dad. Are you there?”

“Hi, Dad. Yeah, I’m here. Everything okay? I’m about to go into a meeting—”

“I can’t find your mother. Is she there with you?”

Ugh. “Dad, mom’s been dead for thirty-five years—”

“She was here this morning. She woke me. She was here . . .”

“Pop, we’ve talked about this. Sometimes you see her in your dreams. It’s okay. It’s nice that you see her.”

“Well, I just thought she might be with you, and—”

Townsend glances toward the building. A gathering is pressed at the entrance, troubled by something he can’t see.

“Dad, I have to go into this meeting now. But I’ll call you when it’s over, all right?”

“I can’t find her, TomTom. I can’t find her. She was here, and we were—”

A woman’s voice intrudes on the call. “Mr. Meadows, it’s Dorthea Wickem. Your father woke this morning very confused. More than usual. We’re taking good care of him, but he’d like to see you when you’re able.”

“Of course, of course. I’ll be there this afternoon. And thank you.” Townsend ends the call with a long, guilt-ridden sigh. He glances toward the entrance. Something isn’t right, but the sun is in his face, well above the valley’s rim, hot and dry. He grabs his water bottle and takes a swig. He pours the rest over his head, letting the water trickle down his face and back. A moment of tepid relief. He closes his eyes and considers the opportunity, to ditch the meeting and see his dad. The meeting will be difficult. Time with his dad will be difficult.

He mops himself with his shirt and makes his way toward the entrance, where gawkers press close to stare at a grim warning scrawled in red paint across the automatic doors, which slide open and shut, open and shut, pulling the words apart and pushing them together.

Stop the bleeding—motherfuckers!

A woman turns to him with a pained look. “What does it mean?”

Townsend stares at her, searching for an answer. He has no idea. “It means somebody’s angry, and they wanted us to know.”

 

About the Author

 

Nicholas Deitch is a writer, architect, and advocate for social justice whose fiction explores the intersection of cities, history, and human resilience. His passion for storytelling began when a colleague recognized the emotional depth of his nonfiction work. Since then, he has honed his craft, publishing short stories in Litro Magazine, Club Plum, and Santa Barbara Literary Journal. His short story “Grace Eternal” won Best Fiction at the Santa Barbara Writers Conference (2019).

Death and Life in the City of Dreams, his debut novel, is deeply influenced by his experiences in nonprofit leadership and the design of inclusive communities and urban places.

Originally from Los Angeles, he now lives in Ventura, California, with his wife and creative partner Diana.

 

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Monday, January 26, 2026

PROMO: Your Brain Weighs 500 Pounds

 

Change Your Mindset to Achieve Desired Outcomes
Self-help, Motivational, Success, Transformational Psychology

Date Published: November 8, 2023


 

 What if the biggest obstacle to your success isn’t your circumstances—but your mindset?


Every day, your brain consumes a steady diet of negative news, social media noise, unhealthy beliefs, and self-limiting ideas. Just like poor nutrition damages the body, poor mental input sabotages discipline, productivity, and long-term success.


In Your Brain Weighs 500 Pounds, U.S. Army combat veteran, Fortune 500 technology executive, and high-performance advisor Derrick Pledger delivers a powerful and practical framework for transforming how you think, act, and achieve.


This thought-provoking and highly accessible book presents 100 short lessons—called “recipes”—designed to help you detox your mindset, strengthen discipline, and build habits that compound into life-changing results.


Whether your goal is career advancement, entrepreneurship, improved relationships, better health, or personal fulfillment, this book shows you how success is built—not overnight—but daily.


Inside This Book, You’ll Learn How To:

● Reframe failure as fuel for growth and long-term achievement
● Build discipline and consistency without burnout
● Eliminate self-sabotaging behaviors and mental clutter
● Develop habits that drive upward mobility and performance
● Create clarity around goals and obsess over what matters
● Treat your brain like your body—by feeding it the right “mental nutrients”


Grounded in real-world experience, extensive research, and years of personal journaling, Your Brain Weighs 500 Pounds distills complex success principles into clear, actionable insights you can apply in minutes a day.


Why Readers Love This Book

Readers from all walks of life have experienced profound transformation, including:


● Losing significant weight and reclaiming control over their health
● Advancing from mid-level roles to executive leadership positions
● Gaining clarity, confidence, and momentum after years of stagnation

“I read this book on a four-hour flight and landed as a completely different person.”


This isn’t motivational fluff. It’s a mental operating system for becoming a daily achiever—someone who understands that success is the by-product of learning, failing forward, and getting better every single day.


If you’re ready to put your brain on a better mental diet and finally achieve the outcomes you want, this book is your recipe for success.

 


About the Author

 

 Derrick Pledger is a U.S. Army combat veteran, Fortune 500 technology executive, digital strategist, and author passionate about helping people unlock their full potential through mindset, discipline, and intentional action.

Currently serving as Chief Digital and Information Officer (CDIO) at Maximus Inc., Derrick leads enterprise-wide technology strategy, artificial intelligence operations, and large-scale digital modernization initiatives. With more than 20 years of industry experience, his expertise spans systems integration, automation, cloud and edge computing, AI, data analytics, IT governance, and end-to-end solution development.


Before joining Maximus, Derrick was Chief Information Officer at Leidos, where he oversaw global IT delivery operations supporting a $17-billion organization with more than 48,000 employees worldwide. Earlier in his career, he ran a multi-million-dollar export business in his twenties and became a Fortune 500 CIO by age forty.


As an author, Derrick’s journey is rooted in resilience and persistence. While serving in the U.S. Army, he transformed a failed screenplay into a novel manuscript—written during downtime in Iraq. After dozens of rejections, that effort led to a co-written book deal with Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson, resulting in the 2008 release of The Diamond District.


Fifteen years later, driven by a mission to democratize success, Derrick released his second book, Your Brain Weighs 500 Pounds, after investing more than 1,500 hours researching mindset, habits, and high-performance behaviors. His work challenges conventional thinking about failure, goal-setting, and achievement, offering readers a practical blueprint for sustained personal and professional growth.
In addition to writing, Derrick advises individuals, teams, and organizations on high performance and leadership, and he is a partner at 500 Pound Media, a digital content company focused on personal development and achievement.


Born and raised in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, Derrick believes that success is not reserved for the lucky or the privileged—but for those willing to develop the right mindset and show up consistently, even when failure is part of the process.


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Youtube: @500poundmedia 


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Blog Tour: The Weight of Dreams

 




An Ancient Saga of Myth and Magic


Magical Realism / Fantasy

Date Published: October 27, 2025

Publisher: MindStir Media



In a time lost to memory, Etana is born with the Sight and a rare gift whispered down through her bloodline: she can speak with elephants. When her father promises her in marriage to an older man, Etana chooses the unthinkable--she flees. Escaping the ritual that broke her sister, she slips into the wilderness under the watchful eyes of the Beastgod.

Alone but guided by ancestral spirits and a bond with a mysterious elephant, Etana journeys into the realm of myth. A powerful ruler summons her to tame a ferocious elephant meant for war. But to claim her future, she must master more than beasts--she must face enemies, survive betrayal, and confront a court that thrives on secrets and blood.

As kingdoms clash and gods murmur in dreams, Etana rises from fugitive to warrioress, from outcast to commander. In a world where loyalty is eternal and power demands sacrifice, who will she become when everything she loves is threatened?

Told through the rhythms of oral tradition and infused with magic, myth, and cultural memory, The Weight of Dreams is a luminous tale of spiritual resilience, feminine power, and the living bond between human and nature.

 

For readers of magical realism and literary historical fiction who believe the past still speaks--and sometimes, it sings.







Excerpt


King Apedemak raises the war cry. With a low rumble, we materialize in front of the rising sun like hungry demons spat from the god himself. At our sudden appearance, half of our foe’s troops step back in fear.

Behind me on the elephant, King Apedemak gives the command to charge.

Our soldiers release a spine-shivering and feral screech that only men who must kill or be killed could produce. Upon  Rūamoko’s neck, I put him into a run, then signal he should trumpet. Racing toward Ényòn’s  front lines, a gut-rending dread grips me.

A bull gallops from amid their ranks, and I nearly give Rūamoko the signal to halt. The huge bovine’s red coat and curved horns glow. Frothing at the mouth, it bellows, lowers its head, and charges. The elephant plants his feet. I feel his muscles ripple as he heaves the bull into the air with his tusks. It crashes to the ground, and Rūamoko gores its stomach. Its bawl cuts off when the elephant stomps the body, making bowels spurt.

Rūamoko rushes on before I can take in the bull’s ugly death. The squinting enemy is slow to react to our assault. Then we are on them, the elephant swinging his head, enormous tusks sweeping bodies aside like twigs.

I am dazed by the violence. Rūamoko flings men into the air, where they float in dream-like suspension. Each moment stretches as they drift downward, slowly tumbling into others and to the ground with arms, legs, or heads at impossible angles.

As time resumes its normal tempo, screeches assail my ears. They come from a man impaled on Rūamoko’s tusk. His body flops, and blood drips from the ivory. Rūamoko, at first irritated, becomes angry. I command him to sweep his head again. An arrow zips past my temple. I had not entirely understood these men, whose names I will never know, whose faces will never be familiar, wish to cause my death. I lean to the side and retch.

Apedemak shouts an order. I force the nausea aside, guiding Rūamoko down their front line.

The cacophony is deafening, and I realize I, too, am yelling. Men fall, pierced by arrow or spear. Arrows clink upon my cuirass and greaves and drop away. In the blur of heaving bodies, an archer targets the king. I load my sling, twirl, and release, aiming at his brow. I miss, and the stone bursts his eyeball, drilling into the socket. He falls, mouth open in an eternal scream.

Men scramble away from Rūamoko. I am rocked as he weaves to catch them, barking and stomping. A head crunches under his foot in a wet spilch. Seeing an exposed foe, I let fly a stone, and then I am twirling and releasing as fast as I can.

An elephant’s screech rises above the tangle of noise. Idisi picks up a man by the ankle. He stabs her trunk, an elephant’s most sensitive area. She slaps him against the ground twice, flings his limp body away, and swings her head, toppling six men with her tusks. Two scramble away on hands and knees. One, his legs broken, struggles to pull himself beyond Idisi’s reach. A giant foot smashes his ribs.

The three elephants split up, moving through Ényòn’s ranks with devastating effect. I come to recognize the distinctive crunch of bone under Rūamoko’s feet. The king’s guard rushes to keep up, and Nubiin’s warriors follow in our wake. I direct Rūamoko deeper into Ényòn’s lines.

As the battle progresses, the elephants become islands in the melee. Rūamoko’s movement is limited, and he draws more fire. With a shout, I throw myself forward and fling my shield over his forehead. A spear strikes its edge, cracking the wood. Before the man begins to throw another, I reach for a stone and find the bags empty. I nearly panic, but a calm voice within says Your bow. I grab it and an arrow, aim, and release. The man collapses. I continue firing.

Rūamoko screams and stumbles. A spear shaft protrudes near my foot. Another agonized yelp marks a second hit. I track the source to a cluster of eight soldiers. Two are throwing again. The third spear misses. The fourth sinks into the elephant’s hide up to the shaft.

A vibration builds in my body, gathering power. It rams my lungs and bursts from my mouth. The gust of my macabre scream bends the grass. Every soldier pauses, the battle forgotten. They peer about, seeking the unearthly source of the boom. My hands fly as I nock and fire arrows. Shafts find faces, necks, and chests, felling the spearmen. The fighting resumes as the last one, seeing his comrades are down, takes aim at me. I watch the spiraling point close in while fitting arrow to bowstring. Dropping forward upon Rūamoko’s head, I fire. The spearpoint catches the pangolin scales at my back, ripping the leather and cutting my skin. The warrior’s head sags, revealing my arrow jutting from his skull.

I give a shout of triumph, but my voice chokes as I am slammed in the chest with a force so great it could not have been dealt by a human, and I wonder if a god has swatted me like a gnat, and I try to run yet my feet find only air as my stomach floats into my throat then the Earth captures me in a hug so powerful I cannot breathe.

 


About the Author


Nicole writes tales of magical realism while splitting her time between Texas and the rural Midwest observing various species of wildlife and dodging alien cows. An annoying cat (with the highly original name of Kitty) and a four-pound Yorkie (named GiGi) keep her company. Nicole is the author of The Art of Living, a romance mystery series written under the pen name Coline Oseille.

To find her latest releases and upcoming novels, visit www.NicoleSorrell.com.

 

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Blog Tour: The Lonely Prisoner




The Michael Fletcher Series, Book 1

An Award-Winning Psychological Thriller


Mystery / Thriller

Date Published: February 26, 2024

Publisher: MindStir Media

 


At just 25 years old, Michael Fletcher is wrongfully convicted of murder and sentenced to 26 years in prison. Despite his desperate pleas of innocence, the system turns a blind eye, leaving him trapped behind bars. But Michael refuses to surrender to fate. Within the sterile confines of his cell, he educates himself, mentors others, and clings to the hope that justice will one day prevail.


Upon his long-awaited release, Michael embarks on a daunting mission to uncover the truth behind his wrongful conviction. Yet, freedom is not what he expected. The world has changed, and shocking revelations force him into a battle against corruption, deception, and the scars of his past. Can he reclaim the life that was stolen from him?


Award Winner in the Psychological Genre of the International Firebird Book Awards


Perfect for fans of John Grisham, Scott Turow, and Michael Connelly.

          • High-stakes legal drama
          • Powerful themes of injustice, resilience, and redemption
          • A thought-provoking journey through the flaws of the justice system

Keep reading The Michael Fletcher Series with Accused Again – Freedom Was Just the Beginning

 





Excerpt

Chapter 1

The Cell


“One-two-three wall. One-two-three door, one-two-three wall.”

Michael Fletcher counted his steps slowly in his new stay, the place where he just entered and where he would spend his next twenty-six years. The echo of the heavy steel door, closing behind him, still rang in his ears. He turned and sat on his new bed, which ran along the side wall, fixed securely to the ground. He looked up and stared at a stainless-steel toilet and a sink just in front of him. A toothbrush and toothpaste were provided. The walls were bare and white, with one single empty shelf on the opposite side. The floor was a hard, dark single surface, the ceiling was low, and the room smelled of disinfectant. Michael just sat there, stunned, both hands grasping his knees.

He was only twenty-five years old when he was found guilty. Tall, clever, friendly and handsome with his dark-brown hair and matching eyes, he had all the traits for a successful life. However, now it had abruptly ended. He sat there, still staring at the pale wall in this small prison cell, for something he had not understood and would never come to terms with. He was now locked away in a tiny corner of the world. It was like a bad dream from which he hoped to be awakened at any moment.

He looked down at his only possession that remained: his white sneakers. An orange jumpsuit and a pair of dark socks were given to him; all the rest he was asked to put in a cardboard box when he entered prison, one arm attached to a bulky police officer by a pair of handcuffs. The box was labelled with his name and birth date, then taken away for storage.

He had to strip down, naked, and endured an uncomfortable procedure that seemed to last forever to ensure he had nothing unwanted with him. He felt like a member of a lost cattle herd, driven, beaten from one room to the other, just enduring time.

He was then handed his new clothes and asked to dress under supervision. He was escorted through endless corridors, separated by sliding barred gates, when finally, he arrived in an open space with gangways passing on several levels, lit by bright fluorescent lighting along its ceilings. He was guided past countless doors, plain, fully sealed, green-painted. He could not see who was behind any of them, but he guessed other prisoners. Now he was one of them. At one moment he was instructed to stop walking while one guard took out a set of keys, opening his new stay.

Reality brought him back to his cage, sitting on a springy bed. The mattress was foam, wrapped by a clean, grey sheet. At one end were two brown blankets and on top of it a cushion, covered by a matching grey pillow cover. He was alone, locked away and felt betrayed by the world. So, what shall I do now? Michael thought, looking around, his hands grasping his knees even tighter. Blurred images, the torment of his trial and the mysterious night that all led to his arrest, were flashing in his head.

When Judge Carter slammed down the hammer, condemning him to spending the best years of his life behind bars, little explanation was given, even though the proceedings seemed to last an eternity. Michael remembered that there was a witness who saw him at the scene of the crime, but little remained in his recollection of what had possibly happened.

He vaguely recalled that he returned quite drunk after a good time at a bar with some friends. It was a chilly night in February 1996. He folded up the collar of his coat, tucked his hands deep into the pockets, and started walking down the doomy lanes of the older part of the city in the early morning, towards his newly rented flat. The streets were deserted, minus the odd homeless folk sleeping on the ground, wrapped in blankets on the warmth of the occasional ventilation hole.

His footsteps were echoing in the alleys, and then suddenly all went incredibly fast. The body, the weapon, the flashing blue lights. And, before he knew what had really happened, he found himself in the rear of a police car, his hands tied painfully behind his back with a plastic tie-down cutting into his wrist. He was taken to the local police station and into a small bright room by the officers, where they questioned him about his whereabouts during the evening and what he did after he left the bar. Michael was tired and kept repeating that he did not remember much. His rights may have been read to him; his recollections were vague, and the questioning continued almost till dawn. He woke up on a hard bench in a small single cell and was then given a black coffee. The occurrences of the previous night were fazed. Neither did he recall that he signed his name onto some papers that were put in front of him. The real implication of this was only revealed by Vincent Graham.

Vincent was a young, local lawyer working for the city. He held a black leather binder in his left hand, while offering his right promptly to Michael, as he walked into his cell. He was a bit shorter than Michael and slim, probably in his late twenties or early thirties and debonair. He was smartly dressed in a dark linen suit, white shirt, and a red tie. His hair was pitch black and nicely slicked back. After the first introduction, he explained that he took his case pro bono. Michael knew the meaning well. He was a graduate, not in law, but understood that there was no charge for representing him.

Vincent had asked to speak to him alone, so they were taken to a small bare room. The lawyer took a seat directly across a square table and opened a leather binder, which revealed a cream legal pad with a pen stuck across the top. A flickering neon strip on the ceiling emitted a buzzing sound, which made Michael dizzy, and the exposure to the harsh light put a strain on his sagging eyes. He had had a rough night in custody, had barely gotten any sleep and his brain struggled to function.

Vincent took his pen, clicked it, and smiled weakly. “Okay Michael, I am here to represent you, and everything we discuss will remain between us and in this room.” He paused and looked at his client intensely. “So, do tell me Michael,” Vincent said in a smooth tone, leaning forward, “what happened last night?”

Michael was not quite sure how to answer, as he still did not recall what had really occurred. “Hmm, why am I actually here?”

“You do not remember anything from last night?”

“Not a great deal, honestly. I left the bar and now I am here. I’ve had a very tiresome night, haven’t slept, I have a throbbing behind my eyes and my brain is switched off. So please believe me, somehow my memory is very foggy.”

“Okay, let us start with the basics. I am here to help you, to defend you. You are a suspect in a crime that was committed last night. Are you sure you do not recall anything?”

Michael placed his elbows on the table and leaned his head on his forefingers, massaging his temples slowly. He looked up, took a deep breath, and then glanced at his lawyer.

“Well, as I just said, I was at a bar, had some drinks, then left on my own and wanted to walk home. Then, suddenly there was a body on the ground ... yeah, I sort of remember that. He was not lying there like all the other homeless on one side of the pathway, well tucked away on their cardboard. He was in the middle of the pavement … that was strange. I remember kneeling down and seeing this person still moving, but there was something sticking out of his body. He had his back turned towards me. I really do not remember, but I must have touched or grabbed it when I turned him on his back. It was dark, and this person was groaning. I was not really myself, as I had quite a bit to drink. My actions were not exactly controlled.”

“And then?”

“Well, nothing really, I do not know what to say, I don’t remember much more, apart from the flashing blue lights that arrived shortly after. Hmm, what happened to this guy and where is he?”

The attorney scribbled something down, looked up, held the pen firmly in his hand, and spoke. “Okay, let us start from the beginning. Which bar did you go to? And who was with you?”

Michael answered all his questions, starting from meeting up for a get together with some colleagues from work. They were new friends really. Michael had been in town only a few weeks since graduating in economics. He worked as an accountant in a local tax office. It was Friday night and after some fast food at the corner of a street they headed for some drinks at a bar called The Duke. It was the usual chit-chat, girls, sports and before he realized it, it was about one in the morning. He left alone. Yes, his new friends wanted to shoot some pool in an adjacent room, but he decided to leave. He was tired and was due to take the train in the early morning to see his parents for the weekend. He was on his own as he left and walked home.

 

About the Author

 

 Michael J. Kundu was born in London, Great Britain, in 1969 to an Indian father and a German mother. He has lived in various places in Europe. His love for reading has prompted him to write this book giving this crime novel more than an edge of mystery and suspense, but also a contemporary perspective on life.

He has a great passion for learning languages and travelling across the globe. He enjoys spending time with his family and lives in Luxembourg with his Italian wife and two teenage children.

My multinational background, coupled with my marriage to someone of a different nationality, has endowed me with a wealth of diverse experiences. Having traversed the globe, speaking multiple languages and immersing myself in various cultures, the profound value of each individual has become a cornerstone of my worldview. These multicultural encounters have not only fostered a deep appreciation for the uniqueness of every person but have also instilled in me a commitment to promoting mutual respect, free from the shackles of prejudice related to color or religion. In composing my book, these experiences have permeated not only this narrative …but also the forthcoming sequel.


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Sunday, January 25, 2026

PROMO: Long Lost Midwife

 

 


Historical Fiction | Race & Identity | Women’s Stories | 1930s America

Date Published: September 19, 2025

Publisher: MindStir Media



Set against the charged racial landscape of 1934 St. Louis, Long Lost Midwife is a gripping historical novel about identity, obsession, and the dangerous cost of defying social order.

Pamela appears to be a privileged young white socialite, newly married and expecting her first child. But beneath the polished surface lies a restless, unsettled woman struggling against the suffocating expectations placed upon her. As her pregnancy advances, Pamela becomes fixated on one thing: finding Miss Minnie, the Black midwife who delivered her at home in 1911.

Her request ignites fierce resistance. Both families condemn the idea, and Pamela’s husband, Frank, fearing scandal and loss of control, tightens his grip—bringing in relatives to monitor her movements and even hiring surveillance to ensure she never makes contact with the midwife. Determined and increasingly reckless, Pamela secretly pressures her Black maid to help locate Miss Minnie, setting in motion a chain of events neither family can contain.

What begins as a quiet domestic drama escalates into a volatile confrontation with race, power, and truth. As long-buried histories surface, the search for a midwife becomes a catalyst for racial tension, betrayal, and violence—raising the chilling question: will this birth end in life… or murder?

Long Lost Midwife starts with measured restraint and builds relentlessly toward a tempestuous, unforgettable conclusion. It is a haunting exploration of white blindness, Black resilience, and the fragile illusions that sustain privilege in early 20th-century America.


Perfect for readers who enjoy:

● Thought-provoking historical fiction

● Novels examining race, class, and gender

● Character-driven stories set in pre-Civil Rights America

● Books that begin quietly and end with devastating force

 


About the Author


Skye Smith is a historical fiction author and retired mechanical designer whose career spanned decades of designing complex machinery using advanced computer-aided design (CAD) systems. That background in precision and structure deeply informs Smith’s approach to storytelling—where narrative architecture, historical accuracy, and character motivation are carefully engineered.

During the final ten years of a professional career, Smith moderated the Plymouth Writers Group, a MeetUp-based genre writing collective composed of engineers, doctors, legal professionals, technical writers, and MFA graduates. Within this collaborative environment, Smith completed first drafts of three novels, with two additional works developed independently.

Smith holds a degree in History from St. John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota, an academic foundation that profoundly shapes the thematic and contextual grounding of the work. Historical setting, for Smith, is never decorative—it is the backbone of character behavior and moral conflict.

Another significant creative influence comes from many years singing in Sonomento, a Minneapolis-based operatic choir active until 2024. Immersion in opera introduced Smith to the disciplined exactness of musical phrasing and libretto, where text is fluid, expressive, and shaped by emotional register. That sense of linguistic “plasticity” carries directly into Smith’s prose style.

Long Lost Midwife reflects these influences in a novel that begins with restraint and builds toward controlled chaos—examining race, power, and identity in 1930s America with precision, tension, and historical depth.


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Friday, January 23, 2026

PROMO: The Eternal Flame and the Children of Promise

 



Christian Non-Fiction

Date Published: December 23, 2025



The Eternal Flame and the Children of the Promise traces the thread of God's covenant promises through Scripture and history, showing how the "eternal flame" of God's purpose has been guarded, opposed, and carried forward to our own generation. It is written for thoughtful lay believers and seekers, pastors, and small group leaders who feel the weight of current events and want to test every headline against the unshakeable promises of God rather than speculation or fear.

Drawing on careful biblical exegesis, historical research, and engagement with contemporary scholarship, it seeks to equip readers to recognize the patterns of God's dealings with His people, discern the times without sensationalism, and anchor their hope where Scripture does: in the faithfulness of the One who calls Himself "the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob."

By the end, readers will better understand where we are in the story of redemption—and what it means to live as children of the promise in an age of upheaval.


About the Author


PJ Patrick Flynn is a retired public school administrator, teacher, and environmental consultant. She lives in the Sierra Nevada mountains, surrounded by animals and books, writing in the quiet of a high country retreat.

A seventh generation Californian, she descends from a family with more than 420 years on American soil, beginning with early arrivals to Massachusetts in the early 1600s. From the Mayflower through the Revolutionary, Civil, and World Wars, her ancestors fought for freedom, trekking across the continent over generations of Manifest Destiny to the final frontier—California in the 1800s.

Her great grandfathers helped shape the Los Angeles basin in the early 1900s as it grew from a town of a few thousand into a major metropolis. One founded an early auto parts enterprise that later folded into what became the NAPA Auto Parts distribution system, and was a 33rd degree Freemason and 32nd degree Scottish Rite Mason; the other built many of the public schools of Long Beach—campuses she would encounter again a century later when her own career in school business leadership ended amid the battle over their reconstruction.

That civic legacy extended through her grandfathers and close kin. One grandfather served in the U.S. Navy and spent three decades as an engineer in Lockheed’s Skunk Works, contributing to the secretive aerospace projects that defined the Cold War era. Another served in the Navy in the Second World War and later became a Superior Court judge for Island and San Juan Counties in Washington State. A maternal uncle spent ten years in the U.S. Coast Guard before rising to vice president of foreign research and development for Occidental Petroleum, and a maternal aunt served for twenty seven years as director of research within the orbit of the United Nations and the International Atomic Energy Agency.

Her father developed historic ranches in California and Nevada and worked in Republican politics alongside Barry Goldwater, Ronald Reagan, and Richard Nixon, later authoring two books about his time with Reagan. Until his death in 2024, he remained active in local affairs, modeling a life of engagement at the intersection of land, liberty, and public service.

It is against this backdrop of faith, sacrifice, and civic engagement that she writes today. Politics, corporate development, international organizations, Freemasonry, law, the military and its industrial complex, history, land use development, and construction all appear in her extended family story, providing a living case study of the very systems traced in this book. These ancestral strands—crossing boardrooms, bases, courtrooms, campuses, and covenants—form the soil from which her understanding of global forces has grown, and the lens through which she explores genealogy, power, and promise in The Eternal Flame and the Children of the Promise.


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Blog Tour: Adélaïde - Painter of the Revolution

 

 

Painter of the Revolution


Historical Fiction

Date Published: January 13, 2026

Publisher: Acorn Publishing



In a world where women are seen but rarely heard, Adélaïde Labille-Guiard refuses to be silenced.

The daughter of Parisian shopkeepers, Adélaïde dreams not of marriage or titles but of earning a place among the masters of French art. With Queen Marie Antoinette on the throne and a spirit of change in the air, anything seems possible. But as revolution brews and powerful forces conspire to deny her success, Adélaïde faces an impossible choice: protect her life—or fight for a legacy that will outlast her.

Inspired by the true story of one of the first women admitted to the Royal Academy of Painting and Sculpture, Adélaïde: Painter of the Revolution is a sweeping, evocative portrait of ambition, courage, and resilience in the face of history’s fiercest storm.

 


Excerpt

Prologue
Paris 1793

A column of fire reached like the Colossus of Rhodes into the night sky.

Shadowed figures waving torches poured into the Place du Carousel.

There, a clamoring mob passed wooden chairs, carriage wheels, and empty wine barrels over their heads toward the center of the square. Anything to feed the growing fire.

The Palais des Tuileries loomed to Adélaïde’s left. Its mansard roof jutted into a smoke-filled sky. To her right, the Palais du Louvre’s long wings stretched into the dark. The stone walls of the gallery that connected the two palaces flickered yellow and orange.

Adélaïde had never felt as small and alone as in that moment, between the embrace of buildings, in a space designed to dazzle royal spectators with seven hundred horses and jousting riders. Tonight, the square was filled with thousands of milling Parisians. And this time, she was the spectacle.

She pulled herself up on the tongue of the wooden cart next to the fire. Squinting against the smoke, she searched for anyone familiar.

Not a soul.

Even the donkeys had balked against their traces and been set free. Their distant braying reached her over the noise of the crowd.

Around her, men lurched about, their faces reddened from the bonfire, their sleeves stained purple from the wine they had scooped into their hands when the king’s cellars were raided. The scent of Bourgogne rose into the air. Beside her, a woman opened a dusty brown bottle and poured wine into the mouths of her companions.

Then the woman turned to Adélaïde. “Traitor!” she shouted, and drew back her arm, preparing to throw the bottle.

The crowd took up the chant. “Traitor! Traitor!” Others brandished their wine bottles.

Time slowed down. Adélaïde felt each sluggish boom of her heart, the constriction of her lungs, the loss of air she could not drag into her paralyzed chest. Was this the way she was going to die? Sliced to ribbons by a barrage of flying glass?

She raised her hands to protect her head and braced herself, but then a tall man in striped pants and a pointed red hat plucked the bottle out of the woman’s hand and emptied the last drops into his mouth. “Any Parisian knows not to let good wine go to waste,” he said.

Laughter.

The new citizens of France stomped their feet, shook their fists at Adélaïde, and threw the staves of the wine barrels into the flames. Arms brushed against her skirts. Bodies jostled the cart. She gripped the splintered seat to avoid being knocked into the fire.

The wind changed, and a rush of acrid smoke filled her lungs. She fought the urge to cough. Heat seared through her dress, burned her arms. Her mind screamed at her to run, but she had promised herself not to show fear, not to retreat.

The man in the red cap climbed into the cart. Sweat rolled from his face, and she smelled the sharp scent of his perspiration. Beneath his polished leather boots, the mountain of canvasses shifted. Fragile wood snapped. He stooped and held up a painting, still in its gilt frame. Black paint effaced the portrait sitter.

“Look at this travesty to art,” he called to the crowd.

How right you are. She kept her eyes averted from his familiar face.

“Burn it. Burn it all!” the crowd roared.


About the Author

 

 Janell Strube makes a mean barbecue sauce. She’s also a world traveler, a baker, and a bicyclist. But when she writes, her identity as an adoptee often steers her attention to topics of alienation, erased history, and displacement.

In 2024, a personal essay of hers was published in the anthology Adoption and Suicidality. Her work has also appeared in Shaking the Tree: brazen. short. memoir and A Year in Ink. Her short memoir, “Taking my Blonde Daughter to a Black Lives Matter Rally,” was selected for the 2020 San Diego Memoir Showcase, an annual live storytelling event.

While much of her writing is personal, she enjoys the freedom that comes with crafting fiction. Her desire to learn about forgotten female artists who shaped the French revolutionary period motivated her to write Adélaïde: Painter of the Revolution.

When not crunching numbers as a tax executive for a hotel chain, she can be found hanging out with Shiloh the Wheaten and plotting her second book.

 

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