Friday, November 17, 2017

Another Scam: Taxpayers paying for Congressional Sexual Harassment

Over a decade ago I was sickened and outraged that the Catholic Church was paying molestation settlements and legal fees while relocating predators to other churches.  One can easily argue that money collected in the baskets was paying for evil, an irony that still bothers me today.  But that's organized religion, right?  Who could get away with that nonsense in the real world?

This week the main stream media has been having a field day with Alabama's Moore and Minnesota's Franken on sexual harassment.  Their indiscretions have shone a light on Congress paying out settlement money to victims of harassment.  Taxpayer money.  Money we all work our asses off for.   Since 1997, Congress has paid seventeen million dollars in settlements regarding sexual harassment and discrimination.  There is a special fund.  So far, 268 pay-outs have been made.  How was this slush fund of settlement money created?  The 1995 Congressional Accountability Act-yes, that's the real name of legislation.  Could the slap in the face be any harder?  Accountable for what?  Harassing someone who complained and then having taxpayers bail you out?  Oh, I am PISSED!  The frosting on the cake is that by law Congress doesn't report who is being accused of the charges.
To reiterate:  Congress passes a law to protect itself from sexual harassment and uses our money (taxes) to make extra hairy problems go away.  My approval rating has gone from 0% to -100%.  In fact, I will vote for the challenger for every election since the incumbent could have used taxpayer funds to get himself out of trouble.  Comments appreciated.

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Goddess Fish Tours Presents: The Unseducible Earl by Sheri Humphreys

The Unseducible Earl
by Sheri Humphreys


GENRE: Historical Romance



When an earl who’s given up on love and has settled on an engagement to a darling of society falls for a Crimean War nurse, he must either forsake his love or embroil them all in scandal.



The earl turned his head. Their gazes locked. For a moment she was privy to his rage and stark pain. Then his lids closed, his fingers spread, and his shoulders lifted with a huge breath.

She moved forward. His eyes, when he opened them, were neither green nor brown nor blue, but an intriguing blend of all three, putting her in mind of the colors of a clear stream. The raw emotion she’d glimpsed was gone. A composed man stood before her. A man lauded for clear-thinking leadership, whose parliamentary speeches were quoted in The Times. 

“Miss Thorne?”

“Yes, I’m Victoria Thorne. How do you do, your lordship.”

He gave a short nod. He appeared exhausted. Dark smudges marred the skin below red-rimmed eyes and creases bracketed his wide mouth. Though fatigue radiated from his face, it didn’t detract from his pronounced attractiveness, in part bestowed by a fine, straight nose and strong jaw. Thick auburn hair swept back from a wide forehead.

“My apologies, ma’am. I wouldn’t have chosen such an introduction to Cheriton Court. I deserve to be relegated to barbarian, but I hope you’ll withhold judgment.”

“Perhaps you had good reason, sir.” The little bit she’d overheard made her think it likely.

His jaw bunched. “Yes. Only it’s kept me away from my brother’s side too long.” He turned toward the door. “Please, come with me. I need your help.”



AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Sheri Humphreys used to be an Emergency Room nurse, but today applies bandages, splints, and slings to the characters of her Victorian romance novels. She loves to ignore yardwork and housework and read—usually a book every one to three days. Having conjured stories in her mind her entire life, she wondered if she were normal. Then she began putting stories to paper and became a two-time Golden Heart® finalist. She lives with a Jack Russell mix rescue, Lucy, in a small town on the central California coast.

A Hero to Hold received a prized Kirkus Star and was named to Kirkus Reviews' Best Books of 2016.


Buy Link:


Sheri will be awarding a copy of <i>A Hero to Hold</i> and $15 in Boroughs Bucks to 2 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thursday, November 9, 2017

XPresso Book Tours Presents: Yumoyori Wilson's Starlight Gods Series

Dark Wish
Yumoyori Wilson
(The Starlight Gods, #1)
Publication date: September 8th 2017
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance
What do you get when you add free and dumb?

My name is Makoto Heart and I’ve always wished for a chance at freedom. Every day, I prayed before the Starlight gods, asking for their divine assistance in accomplishing such a difficult task.
Being an experiment for as long as I can remember, my hopes of obtaining freedom have diminished, drastically. The disappointment haunted me, as myself and my spirits struggled to survive. I had no hope left, believing my final plea fell upon deaf ears, yet again.
But what happens when my prayers are finally answered? I’m thrust into fulfilling a destiny, with the help of six star knights. Suddenly, I am no longer experiment 555, but the stolen princess of Heila.
Freedom, how you have teased my troubled soul. May the Starlight gods guide me and my knights, on this path towards the unknown.
~In Stars We Trust~
Dark Wish is an extraordinary new paranormal reverse harem series.
Recommended for 18+ audience, containing mature sexual content and strong language.
“Mako…can I kiss you?” He asked quietly, his voice deep and husky, the sound made my stomach flipped; my body ignited to life, craving his touch.
“Okay.” I whispered back, my heart racing with anticipation.
He leaned in slowly. I allowed my eyes to close as his lips pressed lightly against mine. They were smooth and moist, the kiss was soft and inviting, but ended quickly. He pulled back slightly, allowing a second to pass, waiting for me to tell him to stop.
I didn’t want him too, my mind raced with a sudden desire to feel his lips against mine, once more. And again, he pressed his lips against mine, firmer this time. His resting hand moved to cradle my head as he deepened the kiss, our lips interlocking. His taste was sensational, the rich hazelnut flavor of coffee still lingered on his lips.
My arms roved over his torso slowly, venturing over his sculpted chest, causing him to shudder. I silently cursed at the soft fabric of his shirt, as it hindered me from touching his skin. My hands continued their ascent over his chest, reaching his shoulders, wrapping around his neck. We pressed against each other; the hardness of his sculpted body pressed against mine, sending a shockwave of electricity through me.
My lips pressed firmly against his, letting him know I wanted more – I needed more, and he delivered accordingly.

Author Bio:
Yumoyori Wilson is from Toronto, Ontario. She loves to sleep and write her days away. She works at night as a registered nurse. She has a little addiction to bubble tea and coffee but loves to workout. She has big plans for the writing world and can't wait to share them with everyone.


Tuesday, November 7, 2017

Winter's Siren by Krystal Jane Ruin

Winter’s Siren
Krystal Jane Ruin
Publication date: November 1st 2017
Genres: Paranormal, Young Adult
For the last five years, Fawn has been the star soprano of a secluded opera house, forced to sing for her kidnapper.
His daughter, Devi, waits patiently in the shadows, hiding a face so horrible that no one who’s seen it will look at it again.
As Fawn plots her escape, whispers spread through the shaded corridors of dark sorcery, warning her that she must flee by the next opening night.
But when Fawn draws close to the exit, it’s Devi who’s standing in her way, leading Fawn to suspect that Devi has something to gain if she fails.
(a dark reimagining of Swan Lake)
Frosty air nips at my nose. I stand almost knee deep in fresh fallen snow, letting the diffused sunlight hit my face. There is no sound. Peace settles over me. In this moment, I truly feel like I’m in the middle of nowhere.
Something cold and wet explodes on the back of my neck. For a moment, I fear the worst. A boil. Pus. My father’s description of my mother’s face plays out in my mind.
But then I hear Andrew laughing behind me. I touch the rough skin on my neck and bring a shaky and damp glove to my face. Snow. It’s just snow.
It’s the middle of the day, and my face is uncovered. To make everything worse, it’s bright outside. Freezing and overcast, but bright.
My hands fly to my face automatically.
“Are you going to let me get away with that?” Andrew laughs again.
I twist around and peek at him through my fingers.
He stands before me, his arms spread wide. A thick coat covers his arms, and in his gloved hands, he holds another snowball. “You have two seconds to stop me!”
I flip my hood over my head and drop down to gather snow in my hands.
Another snowball bursts against my head. The wetness plasters my hair to my face. I hurl my deformed ball in his direction. It misses him completely.
Another wad of snow lands on my neck while I gather a larger, rounder ball of snow. “Cheating!” I throw my handful at him. It lands weakly by his knees.
“Here, let me help you.” He climbs towards me and gathers a nice, solid ball in his fist. He hands this to me, and then stands back and spreads his arms wide again. “Try again.”
I throw it square at his nose.
“Ow!” He covers his face and cries out dramatically. “It’s in my eyes!”
“Stop it! Are you serious?” I navigate closer to him, and he falls back into the snow. I run to his side and hear laughter bubbling out from behind his hands. “Jerk!” I shovel snow over his body, and he laughs all the while.
Then he goes still. I stop.
“Andrew?” I lean in close. “Andrew?”
He lunges out of his shallow grave and tackles me to the ground.
A panicked scream leaves my body as he lands on top of me, heavy and warm. Then a strange sound comes out of my mouth. Something that’s never come out of it before. Laughter.
His braid hangs down, inches from my sunken cheek. Suddenly aware of how close his head is to mine, the laughter dies in my throat, and I slap my gloves to my cheeks.
“You have such beautiful eyes,” he says.
My breath is trapped in my chest. It hurts. I don’t know how much he can see of my face—my hood is pulled low and my hair and hands cover everything else—but I fear it’s too much.
“Andrew . . .”

Author Bio:
Krystal is the author of supernatural and paranormal fiction, living in the Tennessee Valley with a collection of swords and daggers. When she's not hoarding stuffed pandas, hourglasses, and Hello Kitty replicas, she can be found in YouTube hole or blogging about books, writing, and random things at


Monday, November 6, 2017

Interview with David Thompson-Review of Sister Witch-The Life of Moll Dyer to Follow

David Thompson talks about the real Moll Dyer and more in his newest novel, Sister Witch-The Life of Moll Dyer.  My book review of his latest novel is below.

Q: You mention at the very end of your book that Moll Dyer is a real legend or ghost story.  Please tell us more about her.

A: Oh my…well Dina- you asked for it! The historical evidence of Moll’s life is mostly undocumented. Courthouse records from the late 1600’s were destroyed in a fire. However, there is evidence of two Mary Dyers arriving in Maryland around this period (and Moll was a common nickname for Mary). There is also a letter written by a colonist referencing “Moll Dyer having a countenance so ugly it hurts to behold her.” Further circumstantial evidence includes a road named after her, and likewise a small run that traverses what is said to be the original Dyer homestead.
     Most stories associated with Moll indicate she came alone to the colony from Ireland via England, but some oral tradition holds she was accompanied by an older male family member. Many reports describe her clothing as old and threadbare, but originally made of very high quality materials, such as nobility of the time might have worn. She was renowned for her curative prowess, and hated for her lack of any social graces. A virtual hermit, she traded herbal remedies with local Native Americans, and it is said she enjoyed their companionship over that of fellow Europeans. These traits, combined with a two year drought (causing devastating crop loss), an outbreak of disease, and a superstitious citizenry, spelled Moll’s doom.
     In the dark of the coldest winter night in 1697, the colonists rose up against her, proclaiming her a witch. They formed a mob (encouraged by the governor!) and set Moll’s cabin ablaze. Somehow she escaped her funeral pyre, and fled blindly through the woods.
     Several days later, a young lad, searching for his missing cow, stumbled upon Moll’s lifeless body. She was bent over a large rock at the river’s edge, frozen solid. When Moll was pulled away, the rock bore indentations where her palms rested and her knees touched. It is said the strength of her curse on the local citizenry engraved the marks.
     The 300 pound rock now sits in the courtyard of the St. Mary's County courthouse with a simple plaque proclaiming it “Moll Dyer’s Rock.” Visitors to Maryland's southernmost county, overcome with curiosity, report both curses and cures after touching the infamous rock.
Q: How did Moll Dyer inspire you to write about her?
A: I was born and raised in a state that as a colony was founded on religious freedom. The same colony that humiliated and castigated Moll Dyer (mostly because she was different), burned her out and eventually caused her death. Her tragic tale has always drawn me in, haunted me, so she simply needed to whisper in my ear to motivate me.
Q: Do you believe in ghosts?
A: I do (and not from blind faith alone!).
Q: Have you been to her cabin in Maryland?
A: It really was burned to the ground, and its exact location is unknown, other than the road and stream it was on. There are some questions about her famous rock as well. It’s possible the “Moll Dyer rock” located at our local courthouse might not be the real one! Pictures taken during the 1930s seemed to show a much larger rock with substantial knee and hand indentations. I’ve received a clue where the “real” rock might be located, and if true, that might narrow down the cabin’s original location, but more to come on that!
Q: Are more Moll Dyer books in the making?  If not, what are you working on?
A: I plan three altogether following her progeny over the years. The second one is set around 1810, and centers on Moll’s great grandson. It is currently undergoing my final revisions. The last one will be relatively current. Moll will have a cameo appearance in each!
Q: If Sister Witch became a movie, who would play Moll?  Zachery?  Sean?  Nema?
A: Moll- Emma Roberts (American Horror Story), perhaps? Or Georgie Henley (Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe). Moll would consider actresses “fancy girls” I suspect, and she considered vanity the ultimate sin, so some serious makeup might be required for either lady.

Sean- Chris Evans or Karl Urban. Remember Sean was a bit of a “dandy” when we first met him.
Nema- Keke Palmer (Scream Queens, Animal) or Nicole Beharie (Sleepy Hollow)
Zachary? HMMM. From baby to a 16 year old might be more than the makeup department can handle. For his more mature roles, I’d like the new kid (Alexander Calvert) on Supernatural. He has the inner good guy/bad guy turmoil figured out.
Q: Who are some of your favorite authors?
A: Poe, Thoreau, Camus, Straub, Tolkien, some Stephen King...yeah, I’m pretty much a mixed bag.
Q: Did you plan/outline this book, or did you rely on inspiration as you progressed into the story?
A: Both. I started out with a vague outline, but as the characters told me stuff (mostly when I was trying to sleep), I had to reevaluate the direction I thought it should go. Strange how characters become almost real to you, isn’t it?
Q: Did Moll Dyer have a wolf dog?  Do you have a dog?  If so, what kind?
A: Local traditions says it is so, and many of the sightings of her in modern times indicate a ghostly wolf dog at her side. Our beagle, Uno, was with us for 15 years, and was the sweetest little pup ever born. We still miss her, and we haven’t yet had the heart to get another.
Q: Would you like to share an excerpt?
                                                     Chapter 14
Dropping into a crouch, the man lifted his bow towards us.
Peter leapt from the fire and rushed him. The man dropped his bow and turned to face Peter’s charge with a savage smile on his face. Uncle went for his gun as Peter and the Indian collided and wrestled each other to the ground.
Uncle pointed his gun, but was unable to get a clear shot as they grappled.
“Peter, get out of the way!” Uncle yelled.
First Peter was on top, and then the other, and Peter again. My throat choked tight, as I searched for a stick to use as a weapon, and grabbed a burning brand from the fire.
“Stop it, get away from him!” I said, swinging the branch.
The strange man caught Peter under the arm and flipped him to the ground.
“Ouch, damn it, Two Bears, that’s enough!” Peter said with a laugh.
“Don’t move Peter, I’ve got him.” Uncle said, aiming the gun.
“No, Sean, stop!” Peter shouted. “Two Bears is a friend!”
Uncle lowered the gun with reluctance, unsure what was happening, and hesitant to drop his guard. The man named Two Bears stood and offered a hand up to Peter. He said something I could not follow, and Peter shook his head no, and they both laughed.
“Two Bears says my fighting has improved, but I still need a woman’s help.” He said pointing at the still burning stick in my hand. I tossed it back into the fire.
The two men walked over to us. “Easy Sean, everything’s fine,” he said holding his palms up toward us.
“Sean and Moll of the English, meet Two Bears of the Conoy.”

Q: How can we stalk you?


Thank you, Dina!

Thank you, Dave!

Book Review:
Sister Witch is about a young girl, Moll Dyer, who is from Ireland in the 1800s.  She falls in love with the wrong man (James).  He rapes her and she becomes pregnant.  Her family protects her reputation by sending her to America with her uncle.  On the passage to the states, she meets a couple, Gideon and Beth.  They make plans that would help Moll and her uncle out.  Beth is also pregnant, but she loses the baby and dies.  Gideon blames Moll and calls her a witch.  Her mother taught her a great deal about roots and plants which only adds to the 'witch' accusation once Moll settles in America.  She and her uncle get a farm together in some kind of indentured-servant type of deal.  Moll has her baby and names him Zachery.  He doesn't know that she is his mother and grows up thinking he is her brother.  Without giving too much away, Moll learns that some evil spirits are plotting against her and her son.  She sacrifices it all.
This is a terrific tale for anyone.  Great story-telling by David!  I loved Moll and her Indian friends.  I also love her dog, Waba.  It reminded me of my dog.  Great tale and highly entertaining.  5/5 Stars

Friday, November 3, 2017

Hitler Never Killed Himself: JFK Papers Prove It

Well, well, well-another conspiracy that turns into truth.  History has once again did us all wrong.  As many have claimed for decades, Hitler never killed himself.  He escaped to South America on April 30, 1945.  A CIA informant told the CIA that Hitler lived in Columbia with other ex-Nazis in the 1950s.  An ex-SS agent, Phillip Citroen, was in touch with Hitler in a city called Tunja.  His Nazi officers even called Hitler the Fuehrer, hiding nothing.  The body that was conveniently burned and taken away by the Soviets was the body of a 20-40 year old woman.  The Soviets further burned Hitler's body and threw the remains in a river in 1970.  This story will be updated as more documents are being released.
The Best Seller and The Sequel both talk about Hitler's escape.  If you like Nazi conspiracy theories, give this series a try.  Goodreads Giveaway will soon start for The Sequel.  Enter for a chance to win one of three signed copies.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

The Sequel by Dina Rae

The Sequel

by Dina Rae

Giveaway ends December 30, 2017.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
Enter Giveaway

Wednesday, November 1, 2017

Goddess Fish Presents: Snakes Can't Run by Ed Lin

Snakes Can't Run
by Ed Lin

Ed Lin picked the '70s as the era of his novel.  Here's a blast from the past and a trip down memory lane!  Thanks, Ed!

1970's Era of Snakes Can't Run
When I was writing the first book in the series, This Is a Bust, I restricted myself to shows, films, newspapers and books from the 1970s. And maybe it’s not right to use the word “restricted,” because the 70s were an incredibly productive era. The times were also loose.
Listening closely and thoroughly to the early albums by Stevie Wonder and Santana blew my mind. Was it rock? Soul? Salsa? Blues? It was everything and things back then weren’t in easily marketable categories.
Same with crime films. Take The French Connection. Gene Hackman toys with suspects that border on absurd comedy (“Did you ever pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?") to throw them off. That menacing playfulness of an NYPD cop could only happen in the 70s, before all these pesky suspects’ rights started being enforced. And Hackman as Popeye Doyle, shot that guy in the back! In his eyes (and the viewers), it wasn’t wrong because we know the guy is guilty. Why let him get to trial where jurors could let him off on some dumb technicality? I loved the film so much, after seeing it, I immediately watched both documentaries on the bonus DVD.
What about the claustrophobic confusion of Mean Streets? It’s a film with no good guys. There’s not even okay guys. Just bad guys and worse. Who do you root for? What do you want to happen? As a viewer, you just brace yourself from scene to scene--as dramatic as riding in a 70s New York City subway car as it lurched from station to station, sometimes with the lights going out in between.
I loved the book Bloods by Wallace Terry. It’s an oral history of Vietnam veterans (my narrator Robert Chow and his partner John Vandyne are both vets). One vivid part that I remember is that three men, back from the front, went to church together and were invited to step up to the podium to tell the congregation about their experiences. Each man stepped up and each one choked up and cried without being able to say a word. I found the documentary based on the book at the New York Public Library, and that was riveting, as well
On the flip side, for comic relief, there was “Barney MIller”. It was funny and yet it also allowed discussion on prime time TV about social issues. As a kid, I remember the show was the first time I ever heard about gay men. And who could ever forget Fish’s formula for determining a person’s age: multiply the height by the number of times they go to the bathroom.
America had turned 200 and yet its identity was an open question. Vietnam had ripped the country in half. And apart from what America was going through at the time, China and the Chinese diaspora was at a crucial juncture in 1975-76. The old top combattants in the Chinese Civil War were dead and dying and the Republic of China (Taiwan) and the People’s Republic (Red China) were duking it for world opinion and hegemony over Chinese communities all over the world.

New York City’s Chinatown in the 70s seemed like such a rich time and cultural intersection, how could I not want to write about it? Anything could have happened there, and it did.

GENRE:   FICTION/Mystery & Thriller



Set in New York City in 1976, Snakes Can't Run finds NYPD detective Robert Chow still haunted by the horrors of his past and relegated to tedious undercover work. When the bodies of two undocumented Chinese men are found under the Brooklyn Bridge underpass, Chow is drawn into the case. Most of the officers in his precinct are concerned with a terrorist group targeting the police, but Chow's investigation puts him on the trail of a ring of ruthless human smugglers who call themselves the snakeheads. As Chow gets closer to solving the murder, dangerous truths about his own family's past begin to emerge. Steeped in retro urban attitude, and ripe with commentary on minorities' roles in American society, this gritty procedural will appeal to fans of George Pelecanos and S.J. Rozan.


By the time I got to Henry Street under the Manhattan Bridge overpass, one black-and-white and one unmarked police car were already there.

Peepshow was standing at the edge of the crime scene, twirling his baton, the one thing he could do without fucking up. "Keep moving, keep moving!" he yelled to the murmuring Chinese people. He touched his cap when he saw me. I nodded back.

Two bodies, Asian men in their twenties, lay on their sides. Both had their hands tied behind them with wire. They didn't look fresh, and one man's tattoo behind his ears stood out in sharp contrast to the white bloodless flesh of his neck.

I walked up to English, but before I could say anything he put a hand on my shoulde.r

"These fucking bag monkeys won't let me past the tape," he said, pointing out the forensic team collecting samples around the bodies.

"They're just trying to do their job right."

"I'll do their job for them right now. These guys died from gunshot wounds and the bodies were dumped here. You can analyze for blood type all you want, but you can't find the criminals looking down a microscope."

"I hear you."

"You know what solves crimes?"


"Shoe leather. Walking around and asking questions."

"All right."

"Chow," he said, coming in closer. "You see the guy in the crowd in the red knit shirt smoking a cigarette?"

"Yeah," I said, knowing better than to look immediately.

"I don't like his face. Too smug."

"I'll follow him."


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Ed Lin, a native New Yorker of Taiwanese and Chinese descent, is the first author to win three Asian American Literary Awards and is an all-around standup kinda guy. His books include Waylaid and This Is a Bust, both published by Kaya Press in 2002 and 2007, respectively. Snakes Can't Run and One Red Bastard, which both continue the story of Robert Chow set in This Is a Bust, were published by Minotaur Books. His latest book, Ghost Month, a Taipei-based mystery, was published by Soho Crime in July 2014. Lin lives in Brooklyn with his wife, actress Cindy Cheung, and son.

Facebook: None
Website: None



Ed Lin will be awarding a limited edition print copy of the book to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Friday, October 27, 2017

Vril Society and the Nazis

The Vril Society, a secret society in which Hitler and his top officials believed in, was made famous by an old book, The Coming Race (1871) by Edward Bulwar Lord Lytton.  The book is about an underground world of aliens that use a power source called Vril.  The aliens call themselves the Vril-yas and have special powers of healing and telepathy.  The Vril-ya were also descendants of Atlanteans.  Hitler linked his Aryan ideology around this race of aliens.  The Coming Race was considered a 'cult-classic' among occult elite circles of Europe.  
Still today, there is little evidence about the Vril Society that Hitler made so famous.  Some believe it never existed.  Others believe it was the precursor for the Thule Society.  
The Vril Society used mediums such as Maria Orsic to channel aliens before and during World War II.  She and the other mediums were women who grew their hair as long as they could, believing the hair helped communicate with aliens from other planets.  She and the other mediums received futuristic technological blueprints for super-weapons.  
No one can argue that Hitler and his engineers were ahead of world in terms of their air program.  Were extraterrestrials helping them?  After the war, some say that Maria Orsic and her followers took a flying saucer to another planet. Others say she and other Vril members took up a residence in Antarctica.  
Does the Vril Society exist today?  I had a very difficult time finding an answer one way or another.  There are links with the Black Sun Society, Albert Pike (American Freemason), and the Theosophical Society, but no proof of the group's continuation from Germany.
The Best Seller and The Sequel fictionalize some of the occult linked with Hitler and his Nazi Party.

The Sequel:
The Best Seller:
Facebook: Dina Rae Books

Thursday, October 26, 2017

Goddess Fish Book Tour Presents: Saving Nary by Carol DeMent

Saving Nary
by Carol DeMent

Giveaway Below!


Guest Post-Genocide of the Cambodian People

Multicultural fiction provides a gateway for exploring, risk-free, another way of living and thinking.  In this day and age of racial disharmony and misunderstanding, that opportunity is more important than ever.  In writing Saving Nary, a novel about the genocide of the Cambodian people and their subsequent resettlement in Western countries, I chose fiction as the vehicle to tell the story in the hopes that such a format would be more accessible to the general public and reach more readers. 

The tale of Cambodia’s woe is a largely forgotten story. Even among my own contemporaries, people like me who’d witnessed the carnage on the TV news, the fall of Cambodia to the Khmer Rouge was a blip on the radar, consumed by the larger conflict of the Vietnam War. 

And so it has been very heartening to me to hear from readers that Saving Nary has awakened their interest in and compassion for not just the plight of the Cambodians, but for refugees in general.  Readers have said the book spurred them to action-some did research on the Khmer Rouge to find out more about what really happened in Cambodia.  Some looked with fresh eyes upon their immigrant coworkers and colleagues and inquired about their customs, their countries, their impressions of America.  Some visited mosques or temples for the first time. In all of these instances, readers said their lives had been enriched by reaching out to a new culture.

The best multicultural fiction not only teaches us about a new culture, but makes us question our own, for no culture yet exists that has gotten it all “right.”  Some may excel in scholarly pursuits but lag in civil rights protections.  Others may soar to spiritual heights but lack basic education.  Cultures that pride themselves on manufacturing and technology may downplay the importance of protecting the environment.  What drives these differences in cultural development is usually due in part to both core values and economic or existential reality.  And without new perspectives and insights, cultural attributes may become rigid, unyielding and entrenched.

Enter the multicultural novel.  As readers become engaged with the characters, they begin to root for them, and to see a new culture through sympathetic eyes.  They may learn ways of thinking or behaving that surprise or inspire.  We may particularly admire the way a character’s culture promotes graciousness or bravery, and hope to cultivate those qualities in ourselves.  By opening our eyes to new belief systems and different modes of problem solving, multicultural fiction can spur discussion and enrich the way in which we perceive and relate to the world around us. 

Now, more than ever, such openness is needed as we bumble our way through issues and challenges that are increasingly global in nature.  By combining the best of a myriad of cultures, we may someday get it right.  Indeed, our very survival may depend on it.

GENRE: Fictional



A Finalist in the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Awards, Saving Nary explores the losses, loyalties and secrets held within families broken by war and genocide. This compelling novel presents a palette of unique characters who struggle to make sense of the events that led them to America, even as they ponder the bewildering culture and lifestyle of their new homeland.

Refugee Khath Sophal lost everything when the Khmer Rouge swept into power in Cambodia: his livelihood gone, his family dead or missing; his sanity barely intact from the brutality he has been forced to witness.

Now resettled in the Pacific Northwest, Khath treads a narrow path between the horrors of his past and the uncertainties of the present. His nights are filled with twisted dreams of torture and death. By day he must guard constantly against the flashbacks triggered by the simple acts of daily living, made strange in a culture he does not understand.

Then Khath meets Nary, a mysterious and troubled Cambodian girl whose presence is both an aching reminder of the daughters he has lost, and living proof that his girls, too, could still be alive. Nary’s mother Phally, however, is another matter. A terrible suspicion grows in Khath’s mind that Phally is not who or what she claims to be. A split develops in the community between those who believe Phally and those who believe Khath. And those, it seems, who don’t really care who is right but just want to stir up trouble for their own personal gain.

Khath’s search for the truth leads him to the brink of the brutality he so despises in the Khmer Rouge. His struggle to wrest a confession from Phally ultimately forces him to face his own past and unravel the mystery of his missing daughters.


“Go back to Cambodia?” Pra Chhay stared at Khath with puzzled eyes.

Khath nodded. “What choice do we have, brother?” he said. “Our people are being forced back across the border into the arms of the Khmer Rouge. My daughters will have no chance now to get into Khao I Dang. We must go back to continue our search for them.”

Pra Chhay, dressed in saffron monk’s robes and cracked rubber sandals, stood framed by the setting sun outside the open doorway of the bamboo and thatch shelter he shared with Khath and five other families. The odor of too many human bodies crowded into a small living space hung heavy in the air spilling across the threshold.

The rectangular shelter was partitioned by side walls into six open-faced cubicles, three to a side, facing a center corridor running the length of the shelter. There was no privacy other than what could be attained by turning one’s back to the open side of one’s cubicle or crawling inside a mosquito net hung over the thin kapok sleeping mattresses on the floor. The shelter’s only doors were located at each end of the central corridor, opening directly to the outside.

With no way to secure themselves or their meagre belongings, the refugees lived in helpless fear of night visits by bored Thai soldiers, whose transgressions ranged from theft to rape. Pra Chhay and Khath occupied an end cubicle by the door, making them even more vulnerable to unwanted attention from the soldiers, but because of Pra Chhay’s position as a monk, they were usually left alone.

As Pra Chhay slipped his calloused feet out of his sandals, stepping barefoot into the corridor, a gentle breeze puffed out the hem of his robes and blew camp dust into the shelter.

Khath motioned to Pra Chhay to shut the door. Careful not to waste a drop of the day’s ration of precious water, he barely moistened the corner of a rag and ran it over random surfaces in their cubicle that might attract and harbor dust: the wooden altar in the corner, the cracks and edges of the bamboo slats that formed the walls of the hut, the straw mats that covered the floor. A squat wooden bench, left behind by the prior resident, completed the amenities of the living space.

Pra Chhay took off his outer layer of robes and hung them on a sliver of bamboo pulled out from the wall to serve as a peg for clothing. Turning, he watched Khath rub his cloth over the wooden bench, back and forth, back and forth, harder and harder, the knuckles gripping the cloth turning white with effort.

“Khath, stop it. You will polish our only seat away to nothing,” Pra Chhay said. “Tell me exactly what you heard today that makes you say we must return to Cambodia.” The monk settled himself comfortably on the floor.

With an effort, Khath slowed his rubbing and carefully folded the rag and laid it on his lap. His eyes followed the tiny particles now dancing in the single ray of golden sun that slipped through the crack between the outer door and its frame. He laced his fingers tightly together to stop their reaching for the rag as, mesmerized, he watched the motes settle onto the areas he had just cleaned. The sight of dust on surfaces where it ought not to be was still intolerable to Khath, though nearly six years had passed since his obsession was born on the day the Khmer Rouge killed his wife and son.

“Silence that boy,” the soldier had said to his wife on that awful day. Khieu gathered their son Bunchan into her arms, but how is one to soothe a toddler who cries from hunger when there is no food? Khath, Khieu and their three children had been walking for three days in the heat and humidity, shoulder to shoulder with thousands of other refugees inching their way out of Phnom Penh by order of the Khmer Rouge. Already hunger, thirst and exhaustion had thinned their ranks: the elderly and the ill simply dropped along the sides of the road, patiently awaiting the mercy of death.

Given only minutes to prepare for their exodus, the food Khath and his family carried was gone in a day. After that, they bought, scavenged and bartered for whatever nourishment they could find along the way. Now, they stood next in line before a table of grim-faced cadres in the simple uniform of the Khmer Rouge: black cotton shirts and pants with kramas, red-checkered scarves, wound around their heads or necks. The cadres were checking identity papers and quizzing the refugees about their prior occupations.

Bunchan’s incessant crying enraged the soldier. “Silence him or I will,” he warned Khieu.


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Carol DeMent worked in the field of South East Asian refugee resettlement for seven years, and completed master's level research into international refugee resettlement policy. She lived for two years in Thailand as a Peace Corps volunteer and has traveled extensively in South East Asia. Her first novel, Saving Nary, was a  Finalist in the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Awards.



Carol DeMent will be awarding $10 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Who are the Reptilians?

Short Answer: The Reptilians are a race of aliens that resemble reptiles.  They come from the Draco constellation.  They are some times called Reptoids or Lizard People.  They tend to be tall with green eyes and scaly skin.  Like other races of aliens, they can communicate with others by using telepathy.
Draco Constellation

Long Answer: The Reptilians have been at the root of several conspiracy theories.  Some believe this race of aliens can shapeshift into very human beings.  They choose to impersonate heads of state, royalty, CEOs, celebrities, and other people of influence. Their goal is to genetically engineer humans and manipulate Earth to their advantage.  They landed on Earth over a thousands years ago on the continent of Lemuria.  Some say they were on Earth before the Atlanteans of Atlantis, some say after.  Either way, they have shaped the world to suit their own purposes.
The Reptilians became famous through author/personality/conspiracy theorist David Icke.  Icke took the race of aliens to a new level by claiming they shapeshift into Queen Elizabeth, Hillary Clinton, Tony Blair, and George Bush.  He believes that the Illuminati share many of the same DNA as the Reptilians.  They are behind the Freemasons and Illuminati.  New World Order is their ultimate goal.  Icke is a very interesting conspiracy theorist, but is also very controversial.  Some of his beliefs are anti-Semitic.  He also once called himself the son of the Godhead, causing some to question his sanity.
Reptilians also make an appearance in demonology.  The snake is mentioned in both Christian and Muslim religions.  Some believe the Annunaki, a race of aliens from Sumeria, were the Reptilians.  They are responsible for much of the evil in the world.  Some say that they like to eat human flesh and drink human blood.  
A great deal of theories and fiction have been written about the Reptilians.  What do you think?  Are they running the world, waiting for the moment to lead us all into New World Order?

The Sequel, my latest and greatest novel, will be available October 26th via Solstice Publishing
Oct. 26 Release Day!

Another Scam: Taxpayers paying for Congressional Sexual Harassment

Over a decade ago I was sickened and outraged that the Catholic Church was paying molestation settlements and legal fees while relocating pr...