Book Review of The Story of Sassy Sweetwater!

Book Review of The Story of Sassy Sweetwater!

Sponsored by Virtual Book Tours

Welcome to Books, Books, and More Books.  I am pleased to share this book with you.  Thank you for visiting and please come again.

Finalist for the ForeWord Book of the Year Awards for 2012! Won the Eric Hoffer Award for Sassy Sweetwater for 2013 - Honorable Mention Best ebook Fiction!

Blurb: 

Publisher: Musa Publishing (January 20, 2012)
Category: Southern fiction, Contemporary fiction, Women's Fiction
Tour Date: July, 2013
Available in: eBook,  289 Pages

After thirteen years on the run Violet McLaughlin returns to Carter's Crossing, South Carolina, in 1962, with her young daughter, Sassy. The Crossing is right outside of Beaufort and the turmoil of the Civil Rights movement will forever leave its scars on the young and impressionable girl. As Sassy stands before the imposing white farmhouse for the first time, with no knowledge of her history but that the McLaughlin's are her kin, Sassy begins a journey that will tear her apart before it heals her. Growing up among secrets that will forever damage her relationship with her mother, she attempts to make sense of her past. But will her passion for art and her love for Thomas Tierney be enough to sustain her future? Will the puzzles she must solve to discover who she is be worth the journey?

Praise for The Story of Sassy Sweetwater:

"An extraordinary second in the southern fiction genre, Vera Jane Cook explores the bonds of family and the fragility of love. The Story of Sassy Sweetwater is a sparkling debut novel.

Cook has penned a sweeping coming-of-age saga that is sure to appeal to fans of romance and drama. Sassy, an assertive, observant protagonist, gains the reader's sympathy at the outset; in the manner of Jane Eyre, she survives the hand fortune has dealt her through sheer will, rising up to meet every challenge.
It is not just the gripping love story that will hold the audience's interest; it is also Cook's nuanced portrayal of Sassy's positive relationships with people whom others are prejudiced against.
Drama lovers will be pleased to note that Sassy faces lies, cover-ups, violence, murder attempts, and the rediscovery of loved ones once thought dead. None of this descends into soap opera, however, because Cook skillfully grounds these events in her protagonist's emotions. Those who know the agony of a family rupture will feel Sassy's pain as she wishes for Violet to return, yet hates her for leaving. Along with the main story, as Cook delves into the lives of Sassy's family (particularly those of Violet and Edna) she paints a haunting portrait of physical abuse filtering through multiple generations. Despite its violence, though, The Story of Sassy Sweetwater is an uplifting read."- 5 Star ForeWord Clarion Review

"The Story of Sassy Sweetwater" by Vera Jane Cook was an excellent read. This story was one that I couldn't put down until I had finished it....so I read all nite long ... (smile).

Sassy (meaning....attitude and Sweetwater..a stream.... was a very strong, desirous, and daring person. How this author was able to present such a well written novel was simply amazing....dealing with a young Sassy trying to understand the grownups in her life....mainly her mother...going from one relationship to another...then returning home... to Carter's Crossing, South Carolina.....where Sassy remained there until the end... then it was France.

Ms. Cook worked her magic in bringing out Sassy emotions to the audience. The writing was well written and each of the characters were brought to life in this great read.  I know you will find it a great read. These characters really made this a well understood novel.

The Story of Sassy Sweetwater" is a real journey that while you are on it, you will find out just what Sassy needed most in her life. Will Sassy be able to get this in the end? I found this novel an excellent novel and I would recommend this for the Adult audience."- Arlena Dean, GMTA Literary Community

"Vera Jane Cook has quickly become one my favorite writers. Her stories are always interesting and lively and The Story of Sassy Sweetwater is no exception.

In this book we follow the journey of Sassy Sweetwater as she grows and matures from a child to a woman. What a ride it is! Sassy's life is full of ups and downs but through it all she stays sweet and endearing. She is a strong and passionate character and she always seems to find a way to prevail.

If you love strong, character-driven stories you'll love The Story of Sassy Sweetwater."-Sweet Tea, Amazon.com Reviewer

" I really enjoyed how the author brought Sassy Sweetwater to life. You can almost hear her southern drawl as you read her words. The characters are richly created and bring the story even more to life. Other than Sassy, my favorite character was Grandma Edna. This woman starts out as someone who seems untouchable, and turns out to be Sassy's greatest champion. She has so many facets, like a true southern lady who married young and to a very volatile man, she finds her own way of taking control of things and people around her and still keep her charm.

Anyone looking for a solid story of life, its ups and downs with great female characters would really enjoy this book."- Kmusings, Amazon.com Reviewer

Author Information: 

Vera Jane Cook, writer of Award Winning Women's Fiction, is the author of The Story of Sassy Sweetwater, Lies a River Deep, Where the Wildflowers Grow, Dancing Backward in Paradise and Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem.

Jane, as she is known to family and friends, was born in New York City and grew up amid the eccentricity of her southern and glamorous mother on the Upper West and Upper East Side of Manhattan.

An only child, Jane turned to reading novels at an early age and was deeply influenced by an eclectic group of authors. Some of her favorite authors today are Nelson DeMille, Calib Carr, Wally Lamb, Anne Rice, Sue Monk Kidd, Anita Shreve, Jodi Picoult, Alice Walker and Toni Morrison. Her favorite novels are too long to list but include The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, Cheri and The Last of Cheri, The Picture of Dorian Grey, Wuthering Heights, Look at Me, Dogs of Babel, The Bluest Eye, The Art of Racing in the Rain, Body Surfing, Lolita, The Brothers Karamazov, She's Come Undone, Tale of Two Cities, etc., etc., etc.

The Story of Sassy Sweetwater is a finalist for the ForeWord Book of the Year Awards for 2012. Her first novel, Dancing Backward in Paradise won the Eric Hoffer Award for publishing excellence and the Indie Excellence Award for notable new fiction, 2007. The Story of Sassy Sweetwater and Dancing Backward in Paradise received five stars from ForeWord Clarion Reviews. The Story of Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem is her first paranormal novel.

The author works by day for an education publishing company as an account manager and lives on the Upper West side of Manhattan with her long term partner, her Pomeranian, Daisy, her Basenji/Chihuahua mix, Roxie, her Chihuahua, Peanut and her two pussy cats, Sassy and Sweetie Pie.

Contacts:

Vera Jane Cook's Website: http://www.verajanecook.com/

Vera Jane Cook on Twitter: https://twitter.com/verajanecook
Vera Jane Cook on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/vera.j.cook

Review: 

Initially I thought this would be a book similar to other “farm house/small town” tales, but it was so much better.  Sassy lives up to her name.  The story is funny, sad, irreverent, sweet, and very well-written.  I loved to see all the ups and downs that she went through.  And the story was written in such a way that you felt as though Sassy was your best friend or sister and you saw her go through all this as part of your life.

I give this book 4 out of 5 clouds.

This product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my opinions or reviews.

Book Review of Aberration

Book Review of Aberration

Sponsored by Innovative Book Tours

Welcome to Books, Books, and More Books.  I am pleased to share this book with you.  Thank you for visiting and please come again.

Blurb: 

 

FBI analyst Kassidy Bishop is assigned to the “For You” killer’s task force after a series of sadistic murders bearing the same signature arise in different parts of the country.

The homicides are both calculated and savage, occurring in different states, but bearing the same signature: the words “for you” scribbled at each crime scene. The case chills Kassidy, bringing back memories of her own encounter with a violent criminal five years earlier.

 

Kassidy’s mentor, legendary agent Talia “The Confessor” Crossen knows the task force assignment is Kassidy’s chance to prove to her colleagues that she belongs in the Behavior Analysis Unit. For five years, other FBI agents and profilers scoffed at Kassidy’s appointment to the BAU, believing she was only offered the position in exchange for her silence about the brutal assault that almost killed her.

The stakes rise when the task force links the killer’s signature to Kassidy. As more and more bodies turn up, Kassidy must delve into her past and the mysterious death of her twin sister, which holds the key to uncovering the killer’s identity.

The closer Kassidy comes to finding the killer, the closer she comes to a deadly confrontation that could cost her everything—including her own life.

Author Information: 

Lisa Regan is a suspense novelist.  She has a Bachelor’s Degree in English and Master of Education Degree from Bloomsburg University.  She is a member of Sisters In Crime and Pennwriters. She lives in Philadelphia with her husband and daughter.  Her first novel, Finding Claire Fletcher was recently nominated for the eFestival of Words Best of the Independent eBook Awards in three categories:  Best Novel, Best Thriller and Best Heroine for Claire Fletcher.

Links: 

·         Website    http://www.lisaregan.com/

·         Blog    http://www.lisalregan.blogspot.com/

·         Facebook    https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lisa-Regan/189735444395923

·         Twitter    https://twitter.com/Lisalregan

·         Goodreads    http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6443334.Lisa_Regan

·         Amazon Author Page      http://www.amazon.com/Lisa-Regan/e/B009YY091I/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

BUY NOW LINK:

·         Amazon paper book

·         Amazon Kindle copy

Excerpt: 

CHAPTER ONE

Kassidy

It was a blitz attack. Cowardly. He hit me over the head with the baseball bat I kept next to my bedroom door. I was asleep. I never even heard him. The next thing I knew, I was tied to a chair in my dimly lit dining room. I woke suddenly to a high-pitched keening. He was shooting me up with something. My left forearm pricked and burned. My head felt heavy, achy. My eyelids weighed a ton each, but I lifted them and looked at him.

He smiled. A cranked-out, toothy smile, his wide lips peeling back from his teeth. He held up an empty syringe.

“Crank, bitch,” he sneered.

I thought, where was that needle before tonight? That was my first thought. Whether or not he just infected me with HIV or hepatitis. I didn’t wonder how he got in, if I had a concussion, how long I’d been unconscious, or if he had raped me while I was out.

I wiggled in my seat, but there was not much give.  My hands were bound to the armrests of the chair. My feet were tied in the same fashion to the front legs of the chair. I glanced at my dining room table and saw a knife, a ball of twine and my standard issue Glock nine millimeter.

He paced back and forth in front of me. He was waiting for the crank to kick in. Waiting for me to become fully awake. He wanted me to be fully cognizant during the torture he was about to inflict. My head lolled. I don’t know how long it was before he got impatient and slapped me hard across the face. White hot pain streaked through my jaw.

“Wake the fuck up,” he growled.

I swallowed. “I’m awake.”

He picked up the knife, flipped it open and used the tip of it beneath my chin to hold my head up. I looked into his eyes. Wild eyes. Green and brown. I’d seen them before.

“You thought you had me, didn’t you?” he said.

He needled the knife until I felt a small puncture. A drop of blood slid down, pooling in the hollow of my throat. As I became more alert, the blurred edges of the room turned sharp one by one. My heart thumped furiously in my chest, rattling my rib cage. Soon I’d be fully awake, conscious of every last detail of my death.

It wasn’t how I thought I’d go. I thought—okay, I’d hoped—I’d be shot in the line of duty or killed in a car wreck. Maybe even cancer or simple old age. Too much to hope for.

It had to be this. Torture, rape, death and probably dismemberment at the hands of a violent criminal. I knew I was going to die. It was just a matter of how fast or how slow.

I thought of my parents. Well, mostly I thought of my dad. This would kill him. He’d always been so worried about this sort of thing. I always assured him that these things never happened. Never. They only happened in books, movies or on TV. Real life wasn’t like this. Real FBI agents didn’t have to worry about collars coming after them.

He pulled the knife away with a sound of disgust. He continued to pace. My head felt full. The crank made my spine ramrod straight. I held my head up and looked at him. He wore khakis, loafers and a muted green shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular forearms. His greasy black hair was in disarray. Even so, he didn’t look like a killer.

They never do, Kass.

That’s what my SAC at the Baltimore field office said when I closed my first string of homicides. The FBI didn’t normally handle homicides, but several state and city police departments had asked for our help tracking a particularly malicious serial killer whose work spanned three states. Again, I thought of Ted Bundy. He had been handsome and a charmer from all I heard.

The man before me was a charmer, but he had the blackened heart of a demon. As if sensing my thoughts, he looked right at me. A sneer slithered across his face. I wondered if this was how he’d looked to his previous eighteen victims.

“Remember me, bitch?”

“Nico Sala,” I said. “I wish I didn’t remember you.”

For that, I caught a wild punch to the face. His fist landed close to my left eye. Again I felt sharp pain. This time it seared across my forehead. I could practically hear my eye swelling.

“I told you, you stupid bitch. I told you I’d find you. I’m gonna gut you alive.”

I believed him. I’d talked to lots of victims of violent crime during my career, and many of them said the same thing:  there comes a point where you know your attacker is going to kill you.

Well, here I was. Nico Sala had broken into my home. He’d shot me up, bound me to a chair, hit me. Fear crept along my body with thin, icy fingertips. I moved my arms and legs, trying to figure out how much room I had to work with to free a hand or foot. There wasn’t any.

“Don’t bother,” Nico said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

I rested and watched him with my good eye. I tried to tamp down the fear bubbling up inside, making my already thundering heart race faster. My ears filled with the sound of it, like a train roaring down the tracks. My whole body vibrated. I wondered fleetingly if it was possible for my heart to actually burst right out of my chest. It felt like it might. I drew a deep breath.

He gave me a few more slaps for good measure, grunting as he did so.

Stay calm. The fear will only escalate his violent tendencies.

It was the FBI agent in me, a ridiculously calm voice in my head. I tried to hold onto that part of me. In that moment I wanted to be the clinical behavioral analyst, not the terrified woman I was in reality.

“Aren’t you gonna scream?” he asked.

It wouldn’t do any good, I realized, tears gathering behind my eyes. People in this neighborhood screamed all the time. Everyone heard, but nobody listened.

Calm, the voice urged again. Your life depends on it. I managed to force some bravado. “What?” I said. “And forego hours of torture? Nah.”

Nico grinned and pulled a chair out from the dining room table. He faced it toward him, straddling it so he could fold his arms over its back. “I’m not going to kill you fast,” he said.

Oh great.

“I hate bitches like you. You think you’re so superior. So much better than me.”

There it was—inadequacy. The hallmark of violent criminals.

“Well, I’m not a raping murderer, if that’s what you mean,” I said.

The chair flew. His fists rained down on me. He struck me everywhere with thirty-five years of pent-up rage. I tucked my chin against my chest to avoid more blows to my face. Reflexively, my hands tried to fly upward to block his attack.

Finally he pulled away, breathing heavily. Sweating. “You’re trying to make me do it fast,” he said. “But I won’t.”

Nico picked up the chair and resumed his seat. I recovered from his flying fists as best I could. My head and chest stung. I pushed my feet against the floor to see if there was any slack.

“What’s the point of this again?” I asked, trying to make my tone casual. If I was going down, acting as scared as I felt wouldn’t change that. Blood trickled out of the side of my mouth. I felt like I just got back from the dentist. The left side of my mouth was huge and numb. Soon the slobbering would start.

“The point is you’re a stupid cunt,” he said, the petulance in his voice incongruous with his maniacal appearance.

“I just don’t see the point in killing me,” I said. “You got off.” 

He grinned then, his pearly whites as big as the moon. He rubbed his crotch, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he drawled. “I sure did.”

I ignored him. If he had in fact raped me, I was glad I didn’t remember it. Though I doubted he had. Nico Sala had made his criminal career as a serial rapist in two states. He had started out in Wilmington, Delaware preying on single women between eighteen and fifty. Neither their age nor their features were particularly important to Sala. Fat, short, tall, thin, brunette, blonde, black, white, Asian—it didn’t matter. He just looked for women who lived alone in first-floor apartments. In Wilmington, he had raped seven women. Then he moved on to Baltimore. He raped eleven women there.

Since local police in both Baltimore and Wilmington believed they were dealing with the same rapist, they had asked for FBI assistance, which my field office gladly lent. I came onto the case after the fifth Baltimore victim. Eventually, I was put undercover, living in a shitty first-floor apartment for almost a month before Sala broke in with the intention of raping me, only to be swarmed and arrested by most of the task force assigned to catch him.

I’d worked the case, seen the files, talked to the victims. Nico Sala was what investigators referred to as a sadistic rapist. He couldn’t get it up unless his victims were visibly overcome by fear. Fear that made their eyes wide, their cries strangled. Fear forming a beaded tiara across their foreheads. He liked them fully conscious and very afraid.

My reckoning would come when I was wide awake. “They let you go,” I said.

After months of investigative work and a hard-won arrest, Nico was set free on a legal technicality. The night of the arrest, two of my Bureau coworkers had been on scene, as well as two Baltimore sex crimes detectives and four uniformed Baltimore PD officers. Somehow, in spite of all that law enforcement, no one had read Sala his rights. No one had Mirandized him, which meant that the arrest was illegal. There was nothing the district attorney could do. We had to watch him go free and try to pick up the pieces while our superiors passed blame around like an office memo no one wanted to read. That was two months ago.

Nico spit on the floor. “Yeah, that’s right. They let me go so I could come find you.”

I shook off a fresh wave of pain. My whole body felt like an angry, throbbing vein. “Why?” I asked, my voice the sound of a creaking chair. I had to keep him talking. The more talking he did, the less hitting or possibly stabbing would occur. He obviously had quite a few complaints to lodge against me.

“Because you fucked me,” he said, his face screwing up in twisted lines of indignation.

“Hardly,” I said.

He threw the knife at me. I turned my head and tucked my chin. My amber hair fell across my neck, my only meager defense. The blade punctured the skin just above my right breast but not with enough force to stick. It clattered to the floor. The noise seemed to reverberate through the entire house. It must have been the crank. Again, tears stung my eyes. I blinked them back and swallowed hard, willing my composure to remain intact.

“Yeah, well I’ll fuck you tonight before I gut you, bitch.”

“You’ve never killed anyone before, Nico,” I pointed out.

“You don’t know I never killed anyone before,” Nico challenged.

With the patience a mother shows her child I said, “Yes, Nico, I do know.”

He was already on his feet again.

“I profiled you, jerk-off. You’re just an angry little boy whose mother was too overbearing”—he drew closer—“you just want to be in control. You get off on making women feel afraid, on overpowering them, humiliating them.”

My jaw broke with a loud crack. Another fist followed. “Shut the fuck up,” he screamed.

Another punch. Skin cracking skin. Lips splitting against teeth. Eyes watering, nose crumpling. His voice was unnaturally high. “You thought you were so clever, you worthless whore. Moving into my territory, leaving your window open. Waiting for me. Yeah, well I got off.”

The room tipped, descending out of sight like two halves of a broken ship sliding into the ocean.

“You fucked me,” he said. “Now I’m gonna fuck you.”

I tried to speak, but my jaw didn’t work. I couldn’t see him anymore. I felt his hands close around my throat. I tried to tuck my chin, but I was too late. The darkness came from the inside out.

I don’t know how long it was. Each time I went out, I thought it was the last time. But I kept floating back up to consciousness. It was always dark. Both my eyes swelled shut. I don’t remember much of it. He tore at my hair, stabbed me in the thighs, struck me again and again. Then he groped me, licked me, tried to kiss my broken mouth.

The pain was a dull undercurrent. I had gone to another place. A stone fortress in my head. My twin sister, Lexie, was there, hand outstretched, ten years younger as she had been at the time of her death. She smiled at me. A mirror image.

I reached out to take her hand, but I never made it. There was a chime, a familiar ding-dong that brought me back. My doorbell. Silence. I must have been alone then. I felt my hands come loose. They were heavy and weakened by hours of restraint.

I thought I was hallucinating. Maybe this was it. Death. Precious death. I wanted to go to it, rise up to it, and I did, legs suddenly free. I staggered, sinking back onto the chair. Death had a male voice. “You have to stand,” it said. I could feel death’s hushed breath on my ear as it pulled me up.

My gun was in my hands then, as familiar as a hot bath. Death lifted my arms. They trembled with the weight of the firearm. “There’s a round in the chamber,” death whispered. I stumbled backward until my skin touched the chair for feeble support.

“He’s coming,” death said. “You have to do this. Listen for him.”

And I did.

Death was gone. When Nico Sala came back for me, I brought the gun up level with my shoulders and aimed straight in front of me. I fired. I heard three footfalls, the crash of wood against wood. I squeezed off two more shots before I heard the thud of his body on the floor.

I sank with him, until the back of my head rested against the chair. I breathed.

In the movies, after the villain is destroyed and the heroine lies battered and spent, the sirens are already sounding in the distance. It doesn’t work that way in real life. The sirens come later, much later.

They told me that a pizza boy called the police. He’d been sent to the wrong address. He rang my doorbell and Nico Sala answered, wild-eyed, looking pretty frightening covered in my blood. Nico told the kid in no uncertain terms to get lost.

My face, before it underwent reconstructive surgery to repair the damage Nico Sala had done, was splashed all over the media. I was interviewed and interrogated. I met the President. I received a special commendation from the Bureau. After my recovery, I was offered a position as a Criminal Investigative Analyst in the Behavior Analysis Unit at the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime, which I accepted.

I know what they told me. I know what I remember from that night. I know that someone saved my life that night.

But it wasn’t me.

Review: 

            This was an interesting book.  I enjoy reading books that engage your brain.  I loved that there was a decided psychological aspect to the murders and analysis.  The surprise twist at the end I didn’t see and I loved the stalker.

            I give this book 4.5 out of 5 clouds.

This product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my opinions or reviews.

Book Review of The Curse Giver

Book Review of The Curse Giver

        Sponsored by Innovative Book Tours

Welcome to Books, Books, and More Books.  I am pleased to share this book with you.  Thank you for visiting and please come again.

BLURB:

Lusielle's bleak but orderly life as a remedy mixer is shattered when her husband betrays her and she is sentenced to die for a crime she didn't commit. She's on the pyre, about to be burned, when a stranger breaks through the crowd and rescues her from the flames.

Brennus, Lord of Laonia is the last of his line. He is caught in the grip of a mysterious curse that has murdered his kin, doomed his people and embittered his life. To defeat the curse, he must hunt a birthmark and kill the woman who bears it in the foulest of ways. Lusielle bears such a mark.

Stalked by intrigue and confounded by the forbidden passion flaring between them, predator and prey must come together to defeat not only the vile curse, but also the curse giver who has already conjured their ends. 

BIO:

Dora Machado is the award winning author of the Stonewiser series and her newest novel, The Curse Giver, coming this summer from Twilight Times Books. She is one of the few Latinas exploring her heritage and her world through the epic fantasy genre today. Her first novel, Stonewiser: The Heart of the Stone, won the 2009 Benjamin Franklin award for best debut novel.

Her second novel, Stonewiser: The Call of the Stone, won the 2010 Independent Publishers Book Award's (IPPY) Gold Medal for Best Science Fiction/Fantasy book of the year. Her third novel, Stonewiser: The Lament of the Stones, won the 2012 Independent Publishers Book Award's (IPPY) Silver Medal for Best Science Fiction/Fantasy book of the year. All three novels were finalist in ForeWord Magazine for Book of the Year in the Science Fiction and Fantasy Category. Her latest novel, The Curse Giver from Twilight Times Books is available July 2013.

 She holds a master's degree in business administration and graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Georgetown University. She was born in Michigan and grew up in the Dominican Republic, where she developed a bilingual fascination for writing, a love for history, and a taste for Merengue. After a lifetime of straddling such compelling but different worlds, fantasy is a natural fit to her stories. She enjoys long walks, traveling, and connecting with the amazing readers who share in her mind's adventures. She lives in Florida with her indulging husband and three very opinionated cats.

Book excerpt & First Chapters:

http://twilighttimesbooks.com/TheCurseGiver_ch1.html

ONLINE LINKS:

• Website  http://www.doramachado.com/

• Blog  http://www.doramachado.com/blog/

• Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/doramachado1

• Twitter  https://twitter.com/DoraMachado

• Goodreads  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1246272.Dora_Machado

• Amazon Authors page  http://www.amazon.com/Dora-Machado/e/B006RW7R7O

BUY NOW LINK:

• Publisher's Link:  http://twilighttimesbooks.com/TheCurseGiver_ch1.html

Review:

I found this book to be very interesting, and somewhat disturbing.  It was a good read.

I give this book 4 out of 5 clouds.

This product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my opinions or reviews.