Saturday, October 3, 2020

Saturday's Series Spotlight: D'Avaire by Jessamyn Kingley Part 1


Dra’Kaedan’s Coven #1
Summary:
Dra’Kaedan of Leolinnia was born with a mark of Fate proclaiming that someday he would be the Grand Warlock. Standing in his way is Carvallius of Mallent who is desperate to rule the warlocks. His granddaughter Latarian has little magic so Carvallius concocts a plan to kidnap Dra’Kaedan to steal his power. After carving spells into Dra’Kaedan’s back, he begins life anew as Latarian’s familiar whom she calls Ayden. With no memory of his past, the pair are shuffled off to a cottage while Carvallius enlists the help of a brutal elven tribe to rob Dra’Kaedan of his future title. The tactic backfires, and the Coven of Warlocks is destroyed.

Minutes after Brogan shifts into a dragon for the first time, his best friend is banished from their court. Loyal to the core, Brogan follows Aleksander through the castle gates of their old home. Fate turns Aleksander into a king and Court D’Vaire is established. Considered cursed by dragonkind the D’Vaire’s are ostracized. After six centuries of loneliness Brogan leaves his family desperate to find his mate. He has no idea Fate has intervened and sent his other half right to Aleksander’s doorstep.

As a familiar Ayden struggles between a voice inside him that insists he is something more and Latarian’s stringent set of rules. He finds himself torn as he and Brogan try to find common ground. Can the pair find love and will Dra’Kaedan find out his true destiny before it’s too late?

Sentinel's Dagger #2
Summary:
Sentinels are as dangerous as they are mysterious. Not satisfied with the rumors that abound, the two necromancers at the Dragon Court of D’Vaire make the courageous decision to summon their soul bound assassins only to discover the two are mates. Ripped from isolation, Gavrael and Gedeon were never taught about matebonds. They quickly realize their old lives have ill-prepared them to understand the complexity of their new connection. Before the pair can grapple with the concept of loving, an old foe returns intent on settling the score against Grand Warlock Dra’Kaedan and the D’Vaire family. Gavrael and Gedeon soon discover it takes more than their trusty daggers to finally lay the past to rest.

Vengeance From The Dark #3
Summary:
A thousand years. That’s how long Chieftain Lorcan of the Acwellan has waited to have his vengeance. At last his mate has distanced himself from the sanctity of the magic stealing stones the Cwylld elves are notorious for and finally Lorcan can end his miserable life. It is no more than he deserves after abandoning Lorcan and igniting a war between their people which has left the demonic elven of the Acwellan tribe decimated. Surprised to find the man he once loved blinded and living in a sanctuary, Lorcan is undeterred. He has a score to settle and will allow nothing to get in his way. Not even his own heart. 

Resurrection of the Fallen #4
Summary:
Reverent Knight Drystan Kempe has no use for the rumors that have swirled around him for the past two centuries. There is no way he could be the former emperor of the dragons. All they share is a common name. After all, Emperor Drystan had a love that has become legendary since his death and the fallen knight Drystan is very much alone. As a man over six hundred years old, he’s waited impatiently for the other half of his soul. When he finally finds him, he is unamused to find him bearing the name of the former emperor’s mate.

Reverent Knight Conley Gylde is confident that whoever he was before his resurrection it has no bearing on this new beginning. When the pair finally become blood-bonded, they get a great deal more than they could have ever bargained for.


Dra’Kaedan’s Coven #1
“Before you met me, did you ever try and imagine what your mate would be like?” Ayden asked.

“Sometimes. I’m shallow, so I wanted him to be good-looking. I like to laugh, so I hoped he’d have a good sense of humor. I dreamed of someone who’d love my family because my preference is to be with them. I consider myself very lucky because I got a mate who has everything on my shopping list,” Brogan replied. “How about you?”

“I honestly didn’t consider it. We were trapped so long, my only thoughts were about getting out of that cottage. I suppose if I had to make a list, the one thing I’d put on it would be to have someone taller than me. Life isn’t easy for us short people.”

“I know, I’ve seen your struggles with shelves, but I like your height. You fit just right in my arms.”

“Kind of cheesy,” Ayden decided.

“How about I love the delicious fit of your sexy, toned physique against the tall manliness of mine?”

“Too wordy.”

“Okay, last choice. Your body feels amazing against me.”

“Still has some cheese factor, but I’ll take it,” Ayden declared.

“Brat.”

“I have no regrets,” Ayden informed him.

His dragon grinned. “Somehow I’m not surprised.”

“We all have to be good at something. I’m learning to be excellent at saying whatever comes to mind.”

“You’re a good kisser,” Brogan countered. “You could spend more time doing that and less time being bratty.”

“Yeah, I’ve been trying, but my mate’s a pain in the ass and doesn’t give me much opportunity.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you wait for him to make all the moves?”

Ayden was dumbstruck. That was exactly what he’d been doing. He couldn’t believe he’d let Brogan dictate their progress until the previous night, when he’d finally demanded that the man give him more. If life was about embracing what he wanted, Ayden craved nothing more than Brogan.

Without a word, Ayden leaned forward and kissed his mate. It was no gentle peck—his tongue dueled with Brogan’s, and the dragon took control. He hauled Ayden close and massaged his back with his large paws as their mouths made love. Ayden wound his arms around Brogan’s neck as moans tumbled past his lips. Long before Ayden was ready, Brogan pulled away.

“I like it when you take charge,” Brogan told him.

“I wasn’t finished.”

“You keep kissing me like that, and I’m going to forget we’re in the living room.”

“Please, Madeline and Larissa make out in here all the time.”

Brogan’s brow furrowed in irritation. “Good for them. I don’t like sitting in here making out. My dick’s pressing against my zipper, and it fucking hurts.”

Ayden jumped off the couch. “Let’s go to my room then.”

“Taking it slow, remember that?” Brogan reminded him from where he still sat on the sofa.

“Damn it, why did we agree to something so stupid?” Ayden demanded and slapped his hands onto his hips.

Brogan narrowed his eyes in frustration as he stood. “Because you have no experience.”

“I’m over six centuries old. How long are you going to make me wait?”
“Long enough to make sure you’re ready.”

Tilting his head back, Ayden’s eyes met an angry set of navy ones, but he was an expert on what he was ready for, and he wasn’t going to tolerate anyone else making rules or guidelines for him. He’d had enough of that in his lifetime. “I think I know when I’m ready.”

“How? Huh? You’ve never been in a relationship, so how do you know?”
“I know myself, don’t I?” Ayden yelled.

“What the hell’s going on in here?” Aleksander asked as he stalked into the living room.

Ayden was lost in his anger and he didn’t think, he just acted. Lifting his finger, he aimed it in Brogan’s direction. “We’re both hard, and he won’t do a damn thing about it.”

“I’m out,” Aleksander responded as he turned on his heel and exited in the same direction he’d just come from. “I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me. You two can figure this one out on your own.”

There was a tense silence in the living room for several minutes; then Brogan bent over in half from the force of his laughter.

It made heat bloom in Ayden’s cheeks. “I can’t believe I said that to him.”

Brogan straightened, and their eyes met. “He’s heard worse. Don’t worry. Look, I know you want more, but we need to stick to the plan. This is too important to make mistakes.”

“I’m ready for more.”

“How about I’ll allow kissing and maybe a little more to be determined on a case-by-case basis,” Brogan offered as he took a step closer to Ayden and grinned.

Bridging the distance between them, Ayden walked forward until their toes bumped. “You’ll allow? It doesn’t work that way unless you want to be covered in oozing sores.”

“I think that’s more disgusting than the enormous damage you wanted to do to my ass earlier.”

“Give me one of those pecks you’re so fond of, and let’s go get a snack. We can talk about that little more you mentioned,” Ayden said as he held out his hand.

Brogan grabbed it and leaned down to touch their lips together. “We ate lunch less than thirty minutes ago.”

“Do you have a point?”


Saturday's Series Spotlight
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4
Part 5  /  Part 6  /  Part 7  /  Part 8

Monday's Mystical Magic

Sunday's Short Stack



Author Bio:
Jessamyn Kingley lives in Nevada where she begs the men in her head to tell her their amazing stories which she dutifully writes it all down in what has become a small mountain of notebooks. She falls in love with each couple and swears whatever book she wrote last is her absolute favorite.

Jessamyn is married and working toward remembering to start the dishwasher without being distracted by the scent of the magical detergent. For personal enjoyment, she aids in cat rescue while slashing and gashing her way through mobs in various MMORPGs. Caffeine is her very best friend and is only cast aside briefly for the sin better known as BBQ potato chips.

She loves to engage with readers at her website and facebook.


FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
TUMBLR  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS 



Dra’Kaedan’s Coven #1

Sentinel's Dagger #2

Vengeance From The Dark #3
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  GOODREADS TBR

Resurrection of the Fallen #4
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  GOODREADS TBR

Series


Friday, October 2, 2020

πŸ“˜πŸŽ₯Friday's Film AdaptationπŸŽ₯πŸ“˜: The Midwich Cuckoos by John Wyndham


Summary:
John Wyndham's 1957 book The Midwich Cuckoos is better known by the more sensational title of its two film adaptations, Village of the Damned. The story begins with Richard and Janet Gayford who have spent the night of September 26 in London, returning to their home in Midwich the following day. Then, in ways that are difficult to pin down, the village seems changed--not quite the same place that it was before. The nightmare that descends on Midwich has dire implications for the rest of the world; whatever dwells there is sowing the seeds for a master race of ruthless and inhumane creatures who are bent on nothing less than absolute and total domination.

In Wyndam's classically elegant, calm style, this novel explores the arrival of a collective intelligence on earth that threatens to eliminate mankind. The quiet, eerie changes that befall Midwich manifest in strange ways; on the surface, everything seems normal, but scratch a little deeper and there is a clear sense of dread. After the night of September 26, every woman of childbearing age is pregnant, all to give birth at the same time, to children who are all alike--their eyes mesmerizing, void of emotion. These children are innately possessed with unimaginable mental powers and a formidable intelligence. It is these children who develop into an unstoppable force, capable of anything and far out-reaching other humans in cunning.

The London Evening Standard called The Midwich Cuckoos "humane and urbane with a lightly sophisticated wit putting the ideas into shape." Wyndham skillfully heightens the terror by making his narrative so rational and matter-of-fact. In such a nuclear and technological age, Wyndam's story is rich in irony in that it is set in the picturesque, bucolic English Village and the "enemy", the threat, are seeming cherubim.


CHAPTER 1
No Entry to Midwich
One of the luckiest accidents in my wife's life is that she happened to marry a man who was born on the 26th of September. But for that, we should both of us undoubtedly have been at home in Midwich on the night of the 26th–27th, with consequences which, I have never ceased to be thankful, she was spared.

Because it was my birthday, however, and also to some extent because I had the day before received and signed a contract with an American publisher, we set off on the morning of the 26th for London, and a mild celebration. Very pleasant, too. A few satisfactory calls, lobster and Chablis at Wheeler's, Ustinov's latest extravaganza, a little supper, and so back to the hotel where Janet enjoyed the bathroom with that fascination which other people's plumbing always arouses in her.

Next morning, a leisurely departure on the way back to Midwich. A pause in Trayne, which is our nearest shopping town, for a few groceries; then on along the main road, through the village of Stouch, then the right-hand turn on to the secondary road for — But, no. Half the road is blocked by a pole from which dangles a notice 'ROAD CLOSED', and in the gap beside it stands a policeman who holds up his hand. ...

So I stop. The policeman advances to the offside of the car, I recognize him as a man from Trayne.

'Sorry, sir, but the road is closed.'

'You mean I'll have to go round by the Oppley Road?'

' 'Fraid that's closed, too, sir.'

'But —'

There is the sound of a horn behind.

' 'F you wouldn't mind backing off a bit to the left, sir.'

Rather bewildered, I do as he asks, and past us and past him goes an army three-ton lorry with khaki-clad youths leaning over the sides.

'Revolution in Midwich?' I inquire.

'Manoeuvres,' he tells me. 'The road's impassable.'

'Not both roads surely? We live in Midwich, you know, Constable.'

'I know, sir. But there's no way there just now. 'F I was you, sir, I'd go back to Trayne till we get it clear. Can't have parking here, 'cause of getting things through.'

Janet opens the door on her side and picks up her shopping-bag.

'I'll walk on, and you come along when the road's clear,' she tells me.

The constable hesitates. Then he lowers his voice.

'Seein' as you live there, ma'am, I'll tell you — but it's confidential like. 'Tisn't no use tryin', ma'am. Nobody can't get into Midwich, an' that's a fact.'

We stare at him.

'But why on earth not?' says Janet.

'That's just what they're tryin' to find out, ma'am. Now, 'fyou was to go to the Eagle in Trayne, I'll see you're informed as soon as the road's clear.'

Janet and I looked at one another.

'Well,' she said to the constable, 'it seems very queer, but if you're quite sure we can't get through. ...'

'I am that, ma'am. It's orders, too. We'll let you know, as soon as maybe.'

If one wanted to make a fuss, it was no good making it with him; the man was only doing his duty, and as amiably as possible.

'Very well,' I agreed. 'Gayford's my name, Richard Gayford. I'll tell the Eagle to take a message for me in case I'm not there when it comes.'

I backed the car further until we were on the main road, and, taking his word for it that the other Midwich road was similarly closed, turned back the way we had come. Once we were the other side of Stouch village I pulled off the road into a field gateway.

'This,' I said, 'has a very odd smell about it. Shall we cut across the fields, and see what's going on?'

'That policeman's manner was sort of queer, too. Let's,' Janet agreed, opening her door.

* * * * *

What made it the more odd was that Midwich was, almost notoriously, a place where things did not happen.

Janet and I had lived there just over a year then, and found this to be almost its leading feature. Indeed, had there been posts at the entrances to the village bearing a red triangle and below them a notice:

MIDWICH DO NOT DISTURB

they would have seemed not inappropriate. And why Midwich should have been singled out in preference to any one of a thousand other villages for the curious event of the 26th of September seems likely to remain a mystery for ever.

For consider the simple ordinariness of the place.

Midwich lies roughly eight miles west-north-west of Trayne. The main road westward out of Trayne runs through the neighbouring villages of Stouch and Oppley, from each of which secondary roads lead to Midwich. The village itself is therefore at the apex of a road triangle which has Oppley and Stouch at its lower corners; its only other highway being a lane which rolls in a Chestertonian fashion some five miles to reach Hickham which is three miles north.

At the heart of Midwich is a triangular Green ornamented by five fine elms and a white-railed pond. The war memorial stands in the churchward corner of the Green, and spaced out round the sides are the church itself, the vicarage, the inn, the smithy, the post office, Mrs Welt's shop, and a number of cottages. Altogether, the village comprises some sixty cottages and small houses, a village hall, Kyle Manor, and The Grange.

The church is mostly perp. and dec., but with a Norman west doorway and font. The vicarage is Georgian; The Grange Victorian; Kyle Manor has Tudor roots with numerous later graftings. The cottages show most of the styles which have existed between the two Elizabeths, but even more recent than the two latest County Council cottages are the utilitarian wings that were added to The Grange when the Ministry took it over for Research.

The existence of Midwich has never been convincingly accounted for. It was not in a strategic position to hold a market, not even across a packway of any importance. It appears, at some unknown time, simply to have occurred; the Domesday survey notes it as a hamlet, and it has continued as little more, for the railway age ignored it, as had the coach roads, and even the navigation canals.

So far as is known, it rests upon no desirable minerals: no official eye ever saw it as a likely site for an aerodrome, or a bombing-range, or a battle school; only the Ministry intruded, and the reconditioning of The Grange had little effect upon the village life. Midwich has — or rather, had — lived and drowsed upon its good soil in Arcadian undistinction for a thousand years; and there seemed, until the late evening of the 26th of September, no reason why it should not so to do for the next millennium, too.

This must not be taken, however, to mean that Midwich is altogether without history. It has had its moments. In 1931 it was the centre of an untraced outbreak of foot-and-mouth disease. And in 1916 an off-course Zeppelin unloaded a bomb which fell in a ploughed field and fortunately failed to explode. And before that it hit the headlines — well, anyway, the broadsheets — when Black Ned, a second-class highwayman, was shot on the steps of The Scythe and Stone Inn by Sweet Polly Parker, and although this gesture of reproof appears to have been of a more personal than social nature, she was, nevertheless, much lauded for it in the ballads of 1768.

Then, too, there was the sensational closure of the nearby St Accius' Abbey, and the redistribution of the brethren for reasons which have been a subject of intermittent local speculation ever since it took place, in 1493.

Other events include the stabling of Cromwell's horses in the church, and a visit by William Wordsworth, who was inspired by the Abbey ruins to the production of one of his more routine commendatory sonnets.

With these exceptions, however, recorded time seems to have flowed over Midwich without a ripple.

Nor would the inhabitants — save, perhaps, some of the youthful in their brief pre-marital restlessness — have it otherwise. Indeed, but for the Vicar and his wife, the Zellabys at Kyle Manor, the doctor, the district-nurse, ourselves, and, of course, the Researchers, they had most of them lived there for numerous generations in a placid continuity which had become a right.

During the day of the 26th of September there seems to have been no trace of a foreshadow. Possibly Mrs Brant, the blacksmith's wife, did feel a trace of uneasiness at the sight of nine magpies in one field, as she afterwards claimed; and Miss Ogle, the postmistress, may have been perturbed on the previous night by a dream of singularly large vampire bats; but, if so, it is unfortunate that Mrs Brant's omens and Miss Ogle's dreams should have been so frequent as to nullify their alarm value. No other evidence has been produced to suggest that on that Monday, until late in the evening, Midwich was anything but normal. Just, in fact, as it had appeared to be when Janet and I set off for London. And yet, on Tuesday the 27th. ...

* * * * *

We locked the car, climbed the gate, and started over the field of stubble keeping well in to the hedge. At the end of that we came to another field of stubble and bore leftwards across it, slightly uphill. It was a big field with a good hedge on the far side, and we had to go further left to find a gate we could climb. Half-way across the pasture beyond brought us to the top of the rise, and we were able to look out across Midwich — not that much of it was visible for trees, but we could see a couple of wisps of greyish smoke lazily rising, and the church spire sticking up by the elms. Also, in the middle of the next field I could see four or five cows lying down, apparently asleep.

I am not a countryman, I only live there, but I remember thinking rather far back in my mind that there was something not quite right about that. Cows folded up, chewing cud, yes, commonly enough; but cows lying down fast asleep, well, no. But it did not do more at the time than give me a vague feeling of something out of true. We went on.

We climbed the fence of the field where the cows were and started across that, too.

A voice hallooed at us, away on the left. I looked round and made out a khaki-clad figure in the middle of the next field. He was calling something unintelligible, but the way he was waving his stick was without doubt a sign for us to go back. I stopped.

'Oh, come on, Richard. He's miles away,' said Janet impatiently, and began to run on ahead.

I still hesitated, looking at the figure who was now waving his stick more energetically than ever, and shouting more loudly, though no more intelligibly. I decided to follow Janet. She had perhaps twenty yards start of me by now, and then, just as I started off, she staggered, collapsed without a sound, and lay quite still. ...

I stopped dead. That was involuntary. If she had gone down with a twisted ankle, or had simply tripped I should have run on, to her. But this was so sudden and so complete that for a moment I thought, idiotically, that she had been shot.

The stop was only momentary. Then I went on again. Dimly I was aware of the man away on the left still shouting, but I did not bother about him. I hurried towards her. ...

But I did not reach her.

I went out so completely that I never even saw the ground come up to hit me. ...

CHAPTER 2
All Quiet in Midwich
As I said, all was normal in Midwich on the 26th. I have looked into the matter extensively, and can tell you where practically everyone was, and what they were doing that evening.

The Scythe and Stone, for instance, was entertaining its regulars in their usual numbers. Some of the younger villagers had gone to the pictures in Trayne — mostly the same ones who had gone there the previous Monday. In the post office Miss Ogle was knitting beside her switchboard, and finding, as usual, that real life conversation was more interesting than the wireless. Mr Tapper, who used to be a jobbing gardener before he won something fabulous in a football pool, was in a bad temper with his prized colour-television set which had gone on the blink again in its red circuit, and was abusing it in language that had already driven his wife to bed. Lights still burnt in one or two of the new laboratories shouldered on to The Grange, but there was nothing unusual in that; it was common for one or two Researchers to conduct their mysterious pursuits late into the night.

But although all was so normal, even the most ordinary-seeming day is special for someone. For instance, it was, as I have said, my birthday, so it happened that our cottage was closed and dark. And up at Kyle Manor it happened, also, to be the day when Miss Ferrelyn Zellaby put it to Mr Alan (temporarily Second-Lieutenant) Hughes that, in practice, it takes more than two to make an engagement; that it would be a friendly gesture to tell her father about it.

Alan, after some hesitation and demur, allowed himself to be persuaded into Gordon Zellaby's study to make him acquainted with the situation.

He found the master of Kyle Manor spread comfortably about a large armchair, his eyes closed, and his elegantly white head leaning against the chair's right wing, so that at first sight he appeared to have been lulled to sleep by the excellently reproduced music that pervaded the room. Without speaking, or opening his eyes, however, he dispelled this impression by waving his left hand at another easy chair and then putting his finger to his lips for silence.

Alan tiptoed to the indicated chair, and sat down. There then followed an interlude during which all the phrases that he had summoned to the tip of his tongue drained back somewhere beyond its root, and for the next ten minutes or so he occupied himself by a survey of the room.

One wall was covered from floor to ceiling by books which broke off only to allow the door by which he had entered. More books, in lower bookcases, ran round most of the room, halting in places to accommodate the french-windows, the chimney-piece, where flickered a pleasant though not quite necessary fire, and the record player. One of the several glass-fronted cases was devoted to the Zellaby Works in various editions and languages, with room on the bottom shelf for a few more.

Above this case hung a sketch in red chalk of a handsome young man who could, after some forty years, still be seen in Gordon Zellaby. On another case a vigorous bronze recorded the impression he had made on Epstein some twenty-five years later. A few signed portraits of other notable persons hung here and there on the walls. The space above and about the fireplace was reserved for more domestic mementoes. Along with portraits of Gordon Zellaby's father, mother, brother, and two sisters, hung likenesses of Ferrelyn, and her mother (Mrs Zellaby Number 1).

A portrait of Angela, the present Mrs Gordon Zellaby, stood upon the centre piece and focus of the room, the large, leather-topped desk where the Works were written.

Reminder of the Works caused Alan to wonder whether his timing might not have been more propitious, for a new Work was in process of gestation. This was made manifest by a certain distraitness in Mr Zellaby at present.

'It always happens when he's brewing,' Ferrelyn had explained. 'Part of him seems to get lost. He goes off on long walks and can't make out where he is and rings up to be brought home, and so on. It's a bit trying while it lasts, but it gets all right again once he eventually starts to write the book. While it's on, we just have to be firm with him, and see he has his meals, and all that.'

The room in general, with its comfortable chairs, convenient lights, and thick carpet, struck Alan as a practical result of its owner's views on the balanced life. He recalled that in While We Last, the only one of the Works he had read as yet, Zellaby had treated ascetism and over-indulgence as similar evidences of maladjustment. It had been an interesting, but, he thought, gloomy book; the author had not seemed to him to give proper weight to the fact that the new generation was more dynamic, and rather more clearsighted than those that had preceded it. ...

At last the music tied itself up with a neat bow, and ceased. Zellaby stopped the machine by a switch on the arm of his chair, opened his eyes, and regarded Alan.

'I hope you don't mind,' he apologized. 'One feels that once Bach has started his pattern he should be allowed to finish it. Besides,' he added, glancing at the playing-cabinet, 'we still lack a code for dealing with these innovations. Is the art of the musician less worthy of respect simply because he is not present in person? What is the gracious thing? — For me to defer to you, for you to defer to me, or for both of us to defer to genius — even genius at second-hand? Nobody can tell us. We shall never know.

'We don't seem to be good at integrating novelties with our social lives, do we? The world of the etiquette book fell to pieces at the end of the last century, and there has been no code of manners to tell us how to deal with anything invented since. Not even rules for an individualist to break, which is itself another blow at freedom. Rather a pity, don't you think?'

'Er, yes,' said Alan. 'I — er —'


After a mysterious blackout, the inhabitants of a British village give birth to emotionless, super-powered offspring.

Release Date: December 7, 1960
Release Time: 78 minutes

Cast:
George Sanders as Gordon Zellaby
Barbara Shelley as Anthea Zellaby
Martin Stephens as David Zellaby
Michael Gwynn as Alan Bernard
Laurence Naismith as Doctor Willers
Richard Warner as Mr. Harrington
Jenny Laird as Mrs. Harrington
Sarah Long as Evelyn Harrington
Denis Gilmore as Keith Harrington (uncredited)
Thomas Heathcote as James Pawle
Charlotte Mitchell as Janet Pawle
Pamela Buck as Milly Hughes
Rosamund Greenwood as Miss Ogle
Susan Richards as Mrs. Plumpton
Bernard Archard as Vicar
Peter Vaughan as P.C. Gobby
John Phillips as General Leighton
Richard Vernon as Sir Edgar Hargraves
John Stuart as Professor Smith
Keith Pyott as Dr. Carlisle



Author Bio:
John Wyndham Parkes Lucas Benyon Harris was born in 1903, the son of a barrister. He tried a number of careers including farming, law, commercial art and advertising, and started writing short stories, intended for sale, in 1925. From 1930 to 1939 he wrote stories of various kinds under different names, almost exclusively for American publications, while also writing detective novels. During the war he was in the Civil Service and then the Army. In 1946 he went back to writing stories for publication in the USA and decided to try a modified form of science fiction, a form he called 'logical fantasy'. As John Wyndham he wrote The Day of the Triffids and The Kraken Wakes (both widely translated), The Chrysalids, The Midwich Cuckoos (filmed as Village of the Damned), The Seeds of Time, Trouble with Lichen, The Outward Urge (with Lucas Parkes) and Chocky. He died in March 1969.


GOOGLE PLAY  /  IMDB  /  KOBO
B&N  /  AMAZON  /  WIKI  /  GOODREADS



AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N
KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  GOOGLE PLAY  /  WIKI

Film
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N  /  AFI
BFI  /  ALL MOVIE  /  WIKI  /  IMDB  /  TCM



Thursday, October 1, 2020

Release Blitz: Open Hearts by K Evan Coles

Title: Open Hearts
Author: K Evan Coles
Series: Stealing Hearts #3
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: September 28, 2020

Summary:
Some hearts are made to be opened.

Jae-seong Bak has never been in love. He prefers to let his personal life take a backseat to his career as a nurse, especially since no-strings hookups with men he's glad to call friends have always felt like more than enough.

After years of moving around the United States, Jae takes a job in his home city of Boston, arriving just in time to celebrate his brother Ty's engagement. In reconnecting with friends and family, Jae befriends Emmett McNeil, a young chef and Ty's future brother-in-law, whose own bad luck with love hasn't dampened his enthusiasm for life.

As the summer passes and Jae and Emmett help their families plan the wedding, the spark between the two men ignites, though each agrees to keep their hookups under wraps in order to prevent potential drama. Taken off guard by the depth of his feelings, Jae backs away, only to find that going back to being just friends with Emmett is much harder than he ever could have predicted.

Now, standing with Emmett as their siblings make their vows, Jae must decide if he's really content to hold the man he loves at arm's-length or if taking a chance on more is in the cards.


“What do you think, Zac?” Mark asked. “Have we got anything in Owen’s magic bag to give Jae’s outfit a little lift?”

“Certainly. I think Jae looks perfect as he is, however, as well as very, very tall. Neither of which is unusual.”

Their friend and co-worker, Zac Alvarez, stepped in for Jae’s hug and kiss. He’d dressed in dark colors too, which made his beads and the temporary tattoos on his toned arms even more vibrant. A suntan warmed Zac’s olive-toned skin and he looked relaxed and happy, his grin broad beneath his dark beard.

Fondness washed over Jae. He and Zac had reconnected upon his return to Boston as if no time had passed at all. It was through Zac that Jae had befriended Mark and the trio of young men who would round out their Pride party today: Aiden, Owen, and Emmett, who had moved back from Maine at the beginning of May without his partner, Sean, and was now very, very single.

“Ignore Mark,” Zac said to Jae. “He forgets that not every gay man over forty wants to broadcast a zaddy vibe.”

Jae and Mark exchanged a glance before they each cracked up laughing.
“This is not to say we don’t have some festive doo-dads for you too,” Zac said over their cackling. “The guys made party packs for everyone.”

“Great, thanks. Less so that you just said ‘doo-dads’ the way my Grandma Kay used to.” Jae let out a soft ‘oof’ as Zac elbowed him gently in the ribs.

“Smartass,” Zac murmured before he looked around. “Will your man be joining us today?”

Jae aimed a mock glare at him. “Sal already had plans. Besides, you know he’s not my man. Sal and I strictly friends.”

“Who share a big side order of benefits,” Mark chimed in, admiration written all over his face. “I remember the days when I could say words like those about myself with fondness.”

Zac snickered. “Mmm, I remember those days, too. They were before you met Owen and fell head over heels in love.”

“That’s why I remember them with fondness and not nostalgia,” Mark replied with a smile.

“Where is Owen, anyway?” Jae asked. “Out walking with my favorite dog and the guys?”

Mark shook his head. “Popcorn is hanging with my sister today.” He and his boyfriend, Owen, had found their big, white mutt at a campground last year, lost or abandoned and sweet as can be. “It’s not easy wrangling a dog his size through crowds like this, and we thought he’d enjoy a play date with his aunt and uncle and new cousin instead. Popcorn is already best buddies with my nephew, Ethan, so you know they’re having a fantastic day.”

“As for the guys, they went off into the park to buy cold drinks,” Zac said, his tone fond. “Aiden’s been on an ice cream kick this summer and I’m betting they’ve stopped at every cart they’ve passed. They should be back any second.”

The soft expression on Zac’s face made Jae smile. In the years they’d known each other, he’d never seen Zac so gone for a man the way he was with Aiden.

“That reminds me, I meant to grab a coffee on my way down here,” Jae said. “I could use the jolt.”

“We’ve got some soda if that’ll help.”

Jae’s whole body hummed at that voice. “I’d love some.”

Turning, Jae met Emmett’s dark blue gaze. He tried very hard not to stare at Emmett’s shirtless torso, too, but literally stopped short as he got a look at Owen whose tight dark curls, normally tipped platinum, glowed fuchsia in the sun. “Owen, your hair is pink!”

“Yes, it is!” Owen exclaimed. He and Aiden were just as bare chested as Emmett and all three were chuckling at Jae’s wide eyes. “It’s supposed to be just for today, but honestly, I might keep it.”

Mark cast a loving look at Owen. “Of course, you’d want to.” He ran a hand over his partner’s shoulders, stroking golden brown skin that shone with flecks of multi-colored glitter. “Are there any trinkets left for Jae, love?”

“Oh, yes.” Handing his cup to Mark, Owen shrugged a rainbow striped drawstring bag from his shoulders. “We’ve got buttons, beads, and wristbands, and a visor like Emmett’s if you want a break from the sun.” He withdrew a second bag from his own and handed it to Jae. “There’s also a fan in there, plus sunglasses, tattoos, body glitter—”

“And condoms with travel-sized lube,” Mark put in. “My man does not let his friends go unprepared.”

Jae laughed. “I’ll remember that.” Opening the bag in his hands, he peered into its depths, but looked up again as a second pair of hands came to rest by his own.

“Here—you browse while I hold.” Emmett’s grin was easy. “Can you grab drinks from my bag, A?” he asked over his shoulder. “Zac’s water is in there, along with soda for anyone who needs one. Diet Coke for you, Jae, or do you want full sugar?”

“I’ll take the sugar, thanks.” Jae tried not to ogle his stupid hot friend, keenly aware the effort was a lost cause.

Like Owen and Aiden, Emmett’s skin sparkled with glitter. He stood a few inches shorter than Jae, but he was the broadest man in their group, his chest lightly furred and muscled without being bulky, a combination Jae had always loved. Emmett radiated heat as he huddled over the bag too, his shoulders golden-pink and freckled, and he smelled of citrus and suntan lotion, a mixture Jae found endlessly appealing and a clear indication that he needed to get a fucking grip.




Author Bio:
K. Evan Coles writes diverse stories from the heart. She is a mother and tech pirate by day and a writer by night. She is a dreamer who, with a little hard work and a lot of good coffee, coaxes words out of her head and onto paper.

K. lives in the northeast United States, where she complains bitterly about the winters, but truly loves the region and its diverse, tenacious and deceptively compassionate people. You’ll usually find K. nerding out over books, movies and television with friends and family. She’s especially proud to be raising her son as part of a new generation of unabashed geeks.

K.’s books explore LGBTQ+ romance in contemporary settings.


FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
FB FRIEND  /  INSTAGRAM  /  iTUNES
GOOGLE PLAY  /  BOOKBUB  /  B&N
TUMBLR  /  PINTEREST  /  AMAZON
EMAIL: coles.k.evan@gmail.com 



Open Hearts #3

Series





Brought to you by:

Release Blitz: Regaining Trust by Nell Iris

Title: Regaining Trust
Author: Nell Iris
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: September 30, 2020
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs
Publisher: JMS Books

Summary:
Can trust once broken be rebuilt?

When workaholic Lawrence Weller walks in on the aftermath of his fiancΓ© Frankie cheating on him, his world shatters. Frankie’s the love of his life, the only person he’s ever trusted, and the betrayal leaves him devastated.

Franklin Ennis makes a huge mistake he regrets deeply before it’s even over. He pleads for a second chance, willing to do whatever it takes to save their relationship.

A love that deep doesn’t just stop, so Lawrence agrees to try. But mistakes don’t happen in a vacuum. Are they both willing to own up to their part? Will their love be enough to repair what was crushed? Can trust once broken be rebuilt?


You never told me you were lonely,” I say.

“I did!” His protest is loud and takes some of the defeat from his body. “I’ve told you a thousand times. How I miss you when you’re always working late and wish we could do more stuff together.”

I knit my eyebrows together, trying to think back and remember. He’s right. He always hugs me tightly and tells me how much he’ll miss me when he knows I’ll work late. Or how he wishes we could do something together, even if it’s only watching a show while cuddling on the couch.

”I thought that was your way of showing me how you feel about me. You being sweet and caring. Not once did I think it meant ‘I’m so fucking lonely I’ll suck someone else’s dick.’ Was it even your first time?” The question is a pained scream, hurting my throat, my head, my soul. I don’t like yelling, so I take a deep breath and start counting to ten in my head to calm down, but I’m interrupted before even reaching three.

“Of course, it was the first time,” he roars. “I’m not a cheater.”

His words are a thundercrack in an otherwise dead silent apartment, and I rear back, scramble off the couch, and turn to leave.

“No. Please.” He’s pleading now, voice cracked and bleeding out on the floor. “Please don’t leave me, Lawrence. I’ll do anything. I love you so much, don’t leave me.”

I’m frozen on the spot. Undecided. The hurt, overly-dramatic part of me wants to storm off in a huff, throw some stuff in a bag, and retreat somewhere to lick my wounds, and rage and scream and curse the treachery, while wailing out my broken heart. But the other, more rational part of me won’t let me move, the part that still remembers how much I love him, still remembers his loving kisses, his devotion. His passion.

So I sink back down on the couch. Rub my palms over my face and swallow. “I don’t know what to do here, Frankie. I’m hurt and betrayed, but at the same time I just can’t turn off my feelings for you. But how can I be with you if I can’t trust you?”

“You can trust me. You can.” He’s so sincere, so heartfelt, leaning forward -- hands twitching so he shoves them between his knees -- begging, willing me to believe him. And I want to. I really do.

“How?”

“I’ve never done anything like this before, never kissed anyone, hardly ever looked at anyone like that. It was a huge mistake and I regret it. So, so much. I know I can’t prove it, but I was going to tell you. That’s what I was worried about when you walked in. How I would tell you. How you’d react. If you’d hate me.”

I must look skeptical because he hurries to continue. “I know. It’s easy to say when there’s no way of proving intent. But I’m not a liar. You know I’m not.”

“Do I?” I push out the question around the lump in my throat.

He slides to his knees on the floor in front of me, sits back on his heels, and tries to catch my gaze. I give in to his silent pleas and meet his eyes.

“You know me, Lawrence. You know you do. You know what kind of person I am. I’m only human and make mistakes like everyone. This one was huge and more stupid than most, I know that. I’m not perfect, but I’m not a liar. I’m not disloyal. And I own my mistakes.” His face is open. He blinks away tears, but his gaze never falters. His hands rest on his knees, palms open and turned up, and everything about him invites me to see the honesty in his heart.

And maybe I can see it. The slight tremble of his hand and the pulse fluttering visibly in his neck betrays his anxiousness, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t squirm or fidget, doesn’t look away from me. Nothing indicates that he’s lying.

There’s no way he’s that skilled a liar. He’s always been open and honest and prone to blurting his emotions as soon as he experiences them. That thought deflates me and I fall back against the couch.

“Yeah, I know. I believe you.” And I do. At least my head knows. I’m not sure about my heart. Or my gut, rather.

His eyes well up and a tremble racks his body, but it’s the sight of his wobbly chin that finally cracks me. I hold out my hand, unable to not touch him anymore. “Come here.”

Author Bio:
Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bona fide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies’ room), loves music (and singing along at the top of her voice but she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, bullet journals, poetry, wine, coffee-flavored kisses, and fika (a Swedish cultural thing involving coffee and pastry!)

Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.

Nell is a bisexual Swedish woman married to the love of her life, a proud mama of a grown daughter, and is approaching 50 faster than she’d like. She lives in the south of Sweden where she spends her days thinking up stories about people falling in love. After dreaming about being a writer for most of her life, she finally was in a place where she could pursue her dream and released her first book in 2017.

Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males.


FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
FB FRIEND  /  GOOGLE PLAY  /  B&N
KOBO  /  INSTAGRAM  /  BOOKBUB
iTUNES  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS
EMAIL: contact@nelliris.com 



B&N  /  GOOGLE PLAY  /  JMS BOOKS
KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  GOODREADS TBR





Brought to you by: