Song of the Oceanides by J.G. Zymbalist - Book Tour and Giveaway

About the Book




Song of the Oceanides is a highly-experimental triple narrative transgenre fantasy that combines elements of historical fiction, YA, myth and fairy tale, science fiction, paranormal romance, and more.  For ages 10-110.

The book is Free on Amazon

Excerpt

Blue Hill, Maine.

3 August, 1903.

From the moment Emmylou heard the song of the Oceanides, she recognized something godly in the tune.  As it resounded all across the desolate shoreline of Blue Hill Bay, she recalled the terrible chorus mysticus ringing all throughout that extinct Martian volcano the day her father went missing down in the magma chamber.

Aunt Belphœbe followed along, guiding Maygene through the sands.  “Why don’t you go play in that shipwreck over there?”  Aunt Belphœbe pointed toward a fishing schooner run aground some fifty yards to the south.

When Maygene raced off, Emmylou refused to follow.  By now the chorus of song tormented her so much that an ache had awoken all throughout her clubfoot.  Before long she dropped her walking stick and fell to the earth.  Closing her eyes, she dug both her hands into the sands and lost herself in memories of the volcano.  How could Father be gone?  Though he had often alluded to the perils of Martian vulcanology, she never imagined that someone so good and so wise could go missing.

The song of the Oceanides grew a little bit louder and increasingly dissonant.

Opening her eyes, Emmylou listened very closely.  The song sounded like the stuff of incantation, witchcraft.  And even though she could not comprehend every word, nevertheless she felt certain that the Oceanides meant to cast a spell upon some unfortunate soul.

Interview

What are four things you can’t live without?

Books, old movies, You-Tube retro junk, and soothing Asian music—preferably Ravi Shankar.

What is your favorite television show?

Lost in Space.  I always liked the robot because it had a great personality.  I might also add that those who love the show will see at least a little bit of Will Robinson in my Rory Slocum.  There might even be a little bit of Dr. Smith in my Giacomo Venable.

If you could be any character, from any literary work, who would you choose to be? Why?

I would be Herman Melville’s Captain Ahab because he had the perfect philosophy on life:  “What I’ve dared, I’ve willed; and what I’ve willed, I’ll do!”  Also he never did kill or harm the whale. That’s crucial because I do love whales—and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

What have you got coming soon for us to look out for?

If my first one gets good reviews and enough downloads, I would very much like to self-publish an NA fantasy I wrote back in the 1990’s.  I was in my twenties then and living and night clerking at a number of different Palestinian youth hostels in the Old City of Jerusalem.   My shift was always 11:30 at night to 3:30 in the morning.  Most of the time there was nothing to do but write to the tune of the cats caterwauling and the bells chiming and al-muezzin calling.  It was very pleasant.  Anyway the fantasy work is set during the First World War and incorporates Judeo-Christian demonology and possession, Messianism, good v. evil, unrequited love, illusory love, and about a thousand other thematic subjects relevant to young and new adults.  The whole thing may be seen as a grand metaphor for the aches and pains associated with the final stages of coming of age.  It’s very difficult to explain.

   

What books or authors have most influenced your own writing?

Japanese haiku poets.  I actually got an M.F.A. in poetry from a very famous writing school, but I despised all the obscurantist free-association poetry and confessional poetry I had to read there.  I like Asian poetry, particularly haikus in English translation.  I like the lucidity and simplicity of the language.  It’s also very philosophical, the first line telling of something eternal and the second line telling of something ephemeral and the third line telling of how the eternal interacts with the ephemeral.  As such, the third line is always a kind of subtle Shinto metaphor for the soul.  And even if I don’t quite believe in traditional concepts regarding the immortality of the soul, I always try to incorporate a wisp of metaphysics in my writings.  Everything I write is clearly indicative of some or other Socratic constant.

Thanks...

About the Author


J.G. Źymbalist began writing Song of the Oceanides as a child when his family summered in Castine, Maine where they rented out Robert Lowell’s house.

The author returned to the piece while working for the Martha’s Vineyard Historical Society, May-September, 2005.  He completed the full draft in Ellsworth, Maine later that year.

Author Links:

  

Giveaway
One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card.

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Hand Over Fist by Michael Ross - Book Tour and Giveaway

About the Book

When an old friend disappears, Martin learns nothing is what it seems…

Martin Russell can barely face the future. With dismal life prospects and an estranged family, he is at the end of his rope. When an old friend, Hannah, elbows her way back into his life, Martin’s luck begins to turn around.

Hidden within the shadows of evil, there must be some good…

Ex-policeman Bobby Tanner lost everything one rage-filled night. Now he runs a reading group for alcoholics where he meets a young drug dealer, Zack, who disturbs him in a way that’s hard to define. Bobby soon discovers the teenager is in over his head and has been dealing with a despicable individual known as The Chemist.

The roots of evil run deeper than we imagine…

Martin’s lucky streak begins to unravel when Hannah suddenly goes missing, and he turns to a friend of a friend, Bobby, for help. Thrust into an underworld empire of corruption and half-truths, he learns his friend may not be who he thought she was.

In a shadowed world of deception, stalkers, and despicable drug dealers, Bobby and Martin must uncover the truth, and fast…

Several lives depend on it.

Excerpt

At three minutes past nine, Bobby pulled up outside the Jacksons’ house where Zack was sitting waiting on the doorstep. Zack jumped up, walked briskly over to the car, and slid inside.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Bobby was pleased that Zack did not want his mother to know about their arrangement. He was not going to make it easy for Zack. He liked the lad, but drug dealers were the scum of the earth.

“Hang on, where’s the envelope?”

Zack rolled his eyes and passed over a wad of notes held together by a rubber band. While Bobby counted the money, Zack kept glancing up to his mother’s bedroom window. Bobby carefully wound the band around the notes again and turned slowly to face the boy.

“Zack, you obviously take me for an idiot. Have the money back and the best of luck!”

With that, he turned the ignition key of the Fiesta. The ex-copper had caught Zack off guard.

“Wha…wha…what d’you mean?”

“Zack, we both know this is not all of it. Forget it. You’ve made your bed.”

He pushed the gear stick into first. It had the desired effect.

“All right, all right. Wait there. No. Go around the block once, and I’ll bring you the rest. All of it.”

Bobby nodded and put the car into gear. It was a double bluff that had paid off. Firstly, he had no idea if there was any more money, and secondly, he wasn’t even sure if the Fiesta was going to start again when he turned the key. The car really was a piece of shit. By the time he had driven round the block, Zack was already walking down the street towards him out of sight of his mother’s window.

“Here we are. That’s everything.”

Bobby pulled over, started counting and gave a low whistle.

“That’s more like it! Fourteen hundred pounds! Let’s go. We should get something decent for me for that.”

Guest Post

A little bit about me and my background.

I was self-employed from the age of nineteen, and in retrospect I was, what is called nowadays, an entrepreneur. I owned a finance company, an art gallery, an antiques centre, I was a director of a PLC, and of a professional football club, and several car sales sites and workshops. My businesses turned over close to $500m in my lifetime. Before a bloody divorce I was a millionaire, after the divorce I was insolvent. In an eighteen month period my life went to sh*t.With virtually no money left I was forced to leave city life behind ne and move to the Welsh Valleys where property prices were less than a third of city prices. 

I went to a creative writing course out of nothing more than vague interest – the lady running the course, Bella, was inspirational and a new direction in my life had started. From writing short stories and winning a few small competitions, writing has now taken over my life. I write at least five days a week and my new environment is perfect for this life I like to walk my dog Wolfie around the hills near where I live, and think about my stories without interruptions. My partner is a professional musician and she hates music being on in the house, so I have got used to writing with no background noise.

I have three more books coming out this year, on July 26, a feel-good romance Chasing What’s Already Gone, with which I am really excited, it is by far the most commercial story I have written. There is a follow up novel to Hand Over Fist in November, entitled Out Of Hand, and somewhere in between a new short story anthology, Another Twenty Short Stories.

About the Author

It was a strange and twisting road that led to the publication of my first novel. From my humble beginnings, as an office clerk, to ownership of a multi-million dollar business I always maintained my love for literature.

Born and raised in Bristol, England. I spent most of my life in business, my companies turning over in the region of $500 million. The majority of that time marketing cars, eventually owning the largest Saab specialist in the world, before a bitter divorce forced me rethink my priorities. Particularly between 2003 and 2005 when I had to accept that I was no longer a millionaire but literally penniless. I avoided bankruptcy by the skin of my teeth and slowly rebuilt my life.

This led me to the life changing decision to leave the bustling city and move to live halfway up a mountain in the Welsh valleys. At the same time I started a part time six year English Literature course at Bristol University, and attended creative writing classes at Cardiff University. I left school at sixteen and this was my first taste of further education and an immense challenge.

I eventually adjusted my thinking to the academic life, and on 30 June 2015 had confirmation of my 2.1(Hons) degree from Bristol University. At the same time I also won the prestigious Hopkins Prize for my essay on Virginia Woolf and the unsaid within her text. Now the university courses are finished it will, with any luck, gives me plenty of extra time that I can devote to my fiction writing.

Thanks to the university experiences, my interest in English literature has flourished over recent years. Hopefully I have evolved as a writer from my earlier work in short stories (over ninety of them.) Although interestingly my first three novels have all been developed from a long forgotten short story.

Life is, once again, very good, and I live very happily halfway up a mountain, in the Welsh Valleys, with my wonderful partner Mari, and our rescue dog Wolfie.

Author Links:

   

Giveaway
Michael will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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Take Me to the Willow by Shelly Brimley - Book Tour and Giveaway

About the Book

In defending his life-long friendship with Charlie, Will may have inadvertently had a hand in the growing chaos that leads to the horrifying night when his familiar world is shattered.

When Will Wright, the eighteen year old son of a small-town Arkansas sheep herder in 1905, begins reading his mother’s journal, he is inspired by its startling content to start putting his own experiences to paper for posterity. An unsophisticated but principled young man, Will is becoming increasingly aware of the hatred that exists in the world. When he begins his own journal, Will can’t know what events are to take place in the next five years – from his mother’s battle with a life threatening illness, to his embarrassments of learning how to be in love for the first time, to witnessing Charlie’s fate at the hands of the bigoted townspeople. While part of him wishes the pain in those pages didn’t exist, he knows that the original purpose for keeping the journal has been realized - to show his kin how he became the man he is. He will probably never go back through and read again the pages he’s written, but someday, someone will, and they will see that along with the hurt, Will’s life had been one that knew true joy, absolute love, and undying friendship.

Excerpt

"Stop playin’ games, Maryanne!" I shouted.

Maryanne startled, and she got a real serious look on her face. A few people inside must have heard me yell, and watched us through the window for a minute or two.

"So you called me out here to yell at me?" Maryanne said with a face as pouty as an old dried up raisin. "I never took you for such a bully, Will!"

"You are unbelievable!" I shouted. "You trick me into bringin’ Hannah here by tellin’ me that you’ve got good intentions—then you send me away so you can tell her lies about me. And for what? What did you think was gonna happen, Maryanne?—that Hannah would leave me because of it, and I’d come runnin’ to you? Well let me tell you that you are…"

"I’m what?" yelled Maryanne.

I paused and took a deep breath. I played out the conversation in my mind the way my anger was wantin’ it to go, and I… I decided against it. I remembered Hannah tellin’ me not to be mean. 'Don’t be mean,' I told myself. Just say what needs to be said and don’t be mean. So I held my tongue; didn’t know I had that in me.

Finally gettin' myself under control, I said calmly, "You know what, Maryanne? Hannah’s right. It isn’t worth it."

Maryanne took to cryin’, and I think I actually saw real tears for once. I turned and started to leave.

"Will, I love you," she said imploringly.

I stopped and looked at her with a new kind of sadness… maybe even pity.

"You don’t love me, Maryanne," I said. "You just want me because I’m the only one who doesn’t want you."

Interview

What would we find under your bed?

Well seeing as how I have a five year old, a three year old, and a one year old, I’m going to say, lots of random things… toys, books, missing pacifiers. My husband also keeps his neck stretching contraption under there. You know, the usual. 

Do you listen to music while writing? If so what?

I don’t. I might listen to classical music before writing, but I work best in silence. 

Thanks...

About the Author

Shelly Brimley was born in Flagstaff, AZ, where she lived most of her life until moving to Mexico to study abroad. After graduation, Shelly did some volunteer work in Africa and completed her graduate degree while working in an adolescent drug treatment center. After acquiring her Master’s degree, she worked as a counselor at a residential shelter for children who had been smuggled and trafficked into the USA from different countries around the world. She also taught English to adult refugees before resigning to raise her children. Shelly wanted to use her experience working with others as a source of inspiration in her writing, offering a voice for those who are not typically heard or considered.

Author Links:

  

Giveaway
One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card.

a Rafflecopter giveaway