What Amazon says

Francesca Clark-Bartlett, wife of the American Democratic Party’s presidential nominee, seeks more power than she already has. Meanwhile, the attractive yet naive Melissa Iverson wishes she had never inherited her family’s vast fortune.

After they both become entangled with a 44-year-old, womanizing British intelligence agent, the two women find themselves in a web of deception and mystery. Threatening letters, dark family secrets and connections to persons of power all tell them that the path they tread is wrought with danger.

Daniel Kemp’s Once I Was A Soldier is a thriller brimming with international intrigue, and a story of poignant self-reflection.

My review

This is the second book in the series that starts with What Happened in Vienna, Jack? The author does a good job of connecting the main character in this second book to the same main character in the first book. Terry Jefferies aka Patrick West, is now middle aged, but is still working for British Intelligence under men who are devious and happy to set him up and misuse him for their own advantage. He has become a womanizer with an active service role that involves heavy drinking and seducing various women ‘of interest’ to the British authorities. Terry is a far less likeable character in this book than its predecessor, but the odd memories and backflashes to his younger days and his Irish love interest from book 1, did allow me to like him a little and feel sorry for what a poor example of a man he’d become. Terry is actually a victim in this series as his employers keep him in the dark about a lot of essential information which is only disclosed slowly as the story progresses.

Melissa Iverson is a spoiled rich kid who is hell bent on getting her own way at any cost. She is instrumental in the death by suicide of her father, following which she heartlessly retrenches the elderly couple who have worked for her family their whole lives and sells the family property. It is impossible to like Melissa as she is so selfish and heartless, she literally throws the Spencer’s out on on the street. Subsequent to her father’s death, and even before, she has spent her life hopping from bed to the next and, given that this book is set in an earlier more conservative time, she suffers several consequences as a result of her rash and uninhibited sexual behaviour. It is impossible to like Melissa and so even when she turns on the ‘poor unloved girl who just wants to be looked after’ act, I was not able to feel sorry for her. I thought the ‘setting up’ of her character was well done by the author and aided the inevitable clever twist at the end of the story.

The other important character is another spoiled and selfish woman called Francesca Clark-Bartlett, wife of the American Democratic Party’s presidential nominee. Melissa and Francesca are connected through society and Melissa published a book written by Francesca about her father. Terry’s employers need information about Francesca and her husband and Terry is sent to America to seduce her. Francesca is not the sort of woman anyone could seduce, but she is happy enough to exploit Terry, whom she find attractive, sexually and also introduce him to her circle of sad, sexually deprived friends. Terry is happy to oblige and a part of the book is devoted to his erotic engagements with Francesca and her friends.

Melissa starts receiving letters threatening her life and immediately reaches out to Terry which whom she has had a previous week long affair. He goes over to America to assist with finding the potential killer and becomes involved again with Melissa.

The story is involved and you have to pay attention while reading as the lives and circumstances of these two women unfold and their relationship with each other is revealed. Terry is injected into all of this intrigue with little knowledge of the real stakes. It makes for an intriguing and fast paced story with an unexpected and exciting ending.

Purchase Once I was a Soldier

Available as a paperback, hardcover, ebook, and audiobook from Amazon US here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B075XCQ3JG

Find other books by Daniel Kemp on Amazon US here: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Daniel-Kemp/author/B075XRTBRP

The Challenge

Creativity Challenge:
Getting to Know a Character

It can be hard to create well-rounded, real-seeming characters.  However, once you know what they would do in random circumstances, writing their stories gets easier.  I offer up this writing exercise.  From the point of view of a character, write a journal entry.  It’s even better if this journal is outside the timeline of your story.

Not Just for Writers!  If you are not a writer, pick a character from any story that you like.  If you like to cook, dish up something you think the character would like.  If you paint or draw, sketch out the character’s favorite room or place.  Or even draw the character.  You get the idea — make whatever you create something related to that character.  Then tell me what you’re going to do in a comment.  Or better yet, do your own blog post about it, and please link back to this one.

For my own response to this challenge I decided to write a journal entry for Daphne Moultrie from my “A Medium’s Peril” series.  My image collage below would be an “art” response to the challenge, with Daphne’s new gown and the pie she made.

The artwork

Picture caption: A bunch of red roses on a cross shaped grave within a cemetery filled with similar cross shaped graves.

This artwork is going to evolve into the cover of my forthcoming collection of paranormal, historical stories called And, the Grave Awaits.

You can view more of my artworks here: https://www.robbiecheadle.co.za/art-gallery/

The challenge

This is an extract from the Journal of Kate Henderson from The Soldier and the Radium Girl.

From the journal of Kate Henderson 

I am all alone in the house tonight. I could have gone to a dance with Charlotte and some of the other girls, but I didn’t want too. I am very sad, and I do not want my melancholy to spoil their fun. The newspaper headlines seem to get worse every day and I don’t know if Jake is wounded or gassed, or even dead.  

There was no telegram for me today, but I think it is too soon. If there is bad news, it will only come tomorrow or the next day. 

My curtains are open, and a lovely breeze is coming through my open window. It is heavy with the scents of damp earth and blossoms. The lights of the town twinkle in bright lines in the darkness and I can hear faint strains of music. It is so peaceful and pleasant. Such a striking contrast with what I’ve read about life for our boys in the trenches.  

Jake doesn’t say much in his letters about the conditions, but Grace tells me her brother’s letters are full of complaints about the poor conditions of the dugouts. 

“Gilbert said the first thing they did when they first arrived was to clean the place up and get it as sanitary as possible. He says there are frequent inspections from battalion, regiment, and brigade officers to enforce the requirements for good sanitation. It’s a good thing as it will help stave off diseases,” Grace said. 

“He says life is a constant battle against the endless mud and water.” 

My days in the studio are busy but the working conditions are pleasant. The big windows let in lots of light and the girls are cheerful and good company. I almost feel guilty that I have such an interesting and safe job, compared to Jake who is fighting in France.  

I wonder where Jake is now and if he is safe and well. Is he thinking of me? I wish he was here. 

You can join in Teagan’s challenge here: https://teagansbooks.com/2023/11/15/wednesday-writing-creativity-challenge-1920s-recipe/

My Dark Origins post today is a fun war book quote quiz. Do go over to Writing to be Read and test your knowledge. I will share the answers later this week.

Thank you for hosting, Kaye Lynne Booth.

Wishing all my American friends a happy Thanksgiving tomorrow.

Dark Origins – Remembrance Month edition: War book quote quiz #DarkOrigins #Warnovelsquiz

Colleen’s challenge this week was as follows:

Your writing invitation is: Compose a series of three tanka:

Below you will find the three kigo phrases (five syllables each). You can use them as the “turn lines” or “pivots” (third lines) for each of your three tanka, or as the first line of your tanka.

You must use one kigo phrase in each tanka as either the first line or the pivot line in each of your three tanka poems.

I used:

The first month of hail, Advanced spring garden, Gather around braais.

I love this idea, Colleen. I also added to Robbie Kigo poems.

You can join in here: https://tankatuesday.com/2023/11/14/24-seasons-syllabic-poetry-challenge-no-8-11-13-23-part-ii-the-beginning-of-winter-november-7-21-ritto-%e7%ab%8b%e5%86%ac/

Fickle Spring

The first month of hail

After days of loud rumbling

As black cloud gathers

Icy bullets pelt tin roof

Cats hide behind thick curtains

***

Crunchy chips collect

In drains and flowerbed troughs

Advanced spring garden

escapes excessive damage

Unlike previous onslaughts

***

Dismal grey gives way

To sun – families seize chance

Gather around braais

Smoke curling up into sky

Unmarred by treacherous clouds

Unexpected

Seeded pin cushion

Squat, unattractive green ball

Flower creator

Produces mass of petals

Revolving around bright sun

Moulting

Everywhere

On chairs, couches, and

In the beds

There is hair

Vacuum buzzes all day long

I hide evidence

Sunday Stills

Terri’s challenge is brown. Brown, brown everywhere … You can join in here: https://secondwindleisure.com/2023/11/12/sunday-stills-monthly-color-challenge-all-the-leaves-are-brown-and-much-more/

There is a joke in my captions. If you watch this you should get it:

The frog did the most amazing stretch for me:

Reena’s weekly prompt is the above picture: Let the muse take you from dark windows to light, till you see something that resonates with you. So many things keep happening behind windows – of buildings and our minds.

Ground rumbles and shakes

Raining shells light up the night

Manmade death rules all

Dark dreams

In the black

Of the night

Dark dreams grow

Fueled by memories

Of past mistakes,

Sufferings,

And hurts

Don’t let them

Suck you down

Into Hades

Allow the splinters

Of redeeming light

To bring you back

This is an extract from The Soldier and the Radium Girl

This book has been languishing for a year as I did not want to write an American courtroom set of scenes. I had an epiphany yesterday and have come up with a better ending that doesn’t require courtroom scenes. So, the writing is back on … and, this extract fits the prompt.

“There are no trenches,” the words came down the line of men marching through the darkness towards the unknown ‘front lines’ ahead. “The front lines are a series of outposts.” 

“Keep it down,” Sarge growled, “Are you trying to get us all killed?” 

What the hell is an outpost? I kept moving, my boots clumping heavily on the soggy duckboards, my bowels twisting into a tight ball, and my feet lumps of ice in the wet shrouds of my socks.  

Thank goodness I kept all four pairs of socks, I thought.

“Companies F and H go to the left here. Follow your sergeant to the dugouts.  

“Companies E and G, keep straight onwards,” the words floated softly down the line.  

Looking up, I realised I could see dark grey shadows moving through the thick mist. Morning had arrived. 

The dark grey sky had softened by the time we reached the first outpost and one of the four platoons peeled away from the group. Bypassing the next low-slung grey hulk, my platoon continued until a third materialised out of the dimness. 

“Follow me,” Sarge’s hissed softly, moving out of the line and towards the concrete bunker. I gazed at it, fascinated, and a row of round holes, set into the concrete wall, stared back at me. We followed him down some steps leading to a wooden door.  

The dark underground room was large and smelled of churned earth and sweat. After lighting the lanterns, each man found a space to stash his gear.  

A whistling sound ripped the air apart, followed by a thunderous burst as the shell hit the ground somewhere nearby. I sat down hard, my legs soft jelly. More whistling, more terrific bursts that shook the earth beneath us. Then it went quiet, a horrible loud silence in the aftermath of the explosions. 

We all sat quietly breathing deeply for some minutes, five, ten, I don’t know, and then a cheery, heavily accented “Hello” brought us all scrambling to our feet. 

A figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the light grey mist.  

“Hello, I’m your neighbour, Lieutenant Laurent.  I would like to offer you some breakfast.” 

“Thank you,” Sarge accepted. Our field kitchen would take some time to set up, so this invitation was well received. 

The French served us hot biscuits and coffee with condensed milk. I cannot describe the deliciousness of the biscuits. Soft and light, they melted in my mouth and were a far cry from the hard biscuits included in my ration packs. The good food, together with the lively conversation among the men of the French 219^th Infantry, was warming and welcoming. The strange numbness I’d been experiencing since the earlier shelling faded. 

I wonder if I can get the recipe for these biscuits. Kate could make them; she has a light hand with baking. 

This short bit of relief from the shock of the early morning attack that welcomed us to the front lines ended when Lieutenant Laurent stood. 

“It is time to start work for the day,” he grinned, his stiff black moustache coming to attention at his words. 

Two platoons were directed to work on preparing dugouts a bit back from the front-line posts. 

The rest of us were divided up into patrol units comprising a mix of American and French troops and within thirty minutes had left the advanced post. 

“Is this a railway line?” I pointed at the metal tracks. 

“Yes, the railway overlooks the canal,” a Frenchman called Aubert said. “We are going to check the Bosch aren’t attempting to repair any of the bridges that cross the canal. We’ll also check our defences.” Aubert also had a little moustache. I watched it undulate as his mouth moved. It was strangely fascinating. 

There were no signs of activity at any of the bridges. They lay wet and shining beneath the sullen grey sky that seemed to remain unchanged despite the presumed progression of the sun beneath the cloud.  

At 4.30 P.M. we approached the last bridge for the day. The clouds parted, and for a moment an errant ray of sunlight shot down, throwing up a dazzling flash as it hit something lying in the dirt on the other side of the bridge.   

Without pausing for thought, Big Mouth rushed across the bridged and snatched up a spiked German helmet – a pickelhaube.  

“Get down,” yelled Aubert, collapsing down and throwing his arms protectively over his head. We all dropped, squelching into the thick mud, face down. 

Nothing happened. After a few moments, finding I was still alive, I looked up towards the bridge. 

Big Mouth stood frozen, right in the middle, shining helmet in hand and a surprised expression on his face. It wasn’t clear to me whether his surprise was due to Aubert’s reaction or that he was still in one piece.”

These are my contributions for this week to Tanka Tuesday. While I do try very hard to put in an appropriate kigo word, I think my poems are kigo poems. They are word impressions of the season or a seasonal change at a point in time. I quite like the idea of a kigo poem.

You can join in Colleen’s challenge here: https://tankatuesday.com/2023/11/07/24-seasons-syllabic-poetry-challenge-no-7-11-6-23-the-beginning-of-winter-november-7-21-ritto-%e7%ab%8b%e5%86%ac/

Pomegranate flowers (shadorma)

Will they or

Won’t they turn into

Round and red

Delicious

Juicy, seed filled pomegranates

It’s in nature’s hands

Fuchsias Dancers (shadorma)

Delicate

Ballerinas on

Painful pointes

Tutus stiff

Tchaikovsky’s dream performance

In garden setting

Unnatural silence (tanka)

Heavy silence hangs

No buzzing sounds, no swarming

No bee visitors

Our annual guests have not come

No normality

I have deliberately repeated the word no as a word echo to emphasis that the unnatural situation this year.

Haiku

New born child’s clock starts

Elderly persons clock stops

But time, marches on

Spoiled birds (shadorma)

Rotting fruit

Partially eaten

Thoughtlessly

Disgarded

Abundance overwhelming

Loeries spoiled for choice

Cee’s photograph challenge this week is a picture that makes you laugh or smile.

We had heavy rain yesterday for the first time this year. The ducks who live on the dam looked bedraggled and bewildered by all the water. This picture made me laugh and I wrote a poem to go with it:

“What’s all this water about?” Donald asks Huey

“I’ve absolutely no clue. The sky is crying.”

“We need to warm our wet feet. Let’s try the left side.”

“All right, Boys. Eyes to the front. Ready, steady, go!

What Amazon says

Patrick thought he knew what awaited him in the afterlife. He’s learning the hard way that he was dead wrong. He is hunted by a race of giant beasts, the likes of which have never been seen by living eyes, and he is surrounded by the newly-dead from worlds beyond knowing. In this Realm, nothing and no one can be trusted.

Patrick’s choices will create echoes in the world of the living. He may be the key to salvation in this Hell known as The Realm, but it may come at the cost of his family.

With his legacy on the line, can he make the right choice?

My review

I reviewed this book in my capacity as a member of Rosie’s Book Review Team. If you would like your book reviewed, you can contact Rosie Amber here: http://rosieamber.wordpress.com/.

While I was attracted by the blurb for this book, I must admit that the reality of it did rather offend my Christian upbringing and belief system. I am stating this upfront because it may not be a suitable book for all readers.

The book opens with Patrick, a middle aged man, dying. He is aware of his surroundings and his own dying. He knows that what is happening to him is not in line with his Christian ideas about death and the afterlife. Patrick’s death was unexpected and violent and he is quickly expelled out of physical life as he has known it, and into the afterlife.

Patrick finds himself in The Realm. A dreadful place that is not either Heaven or Hell nor even the Catholic Purgatory, but rather a desolate and dreadful place for souls whom God has turned his back on. A place, where unprepared souls must spend all their time fleeing from the Hunters who feed on them, thereby turning them into monsters. There is no escape from The Realm and no way of seeking salvation or redemption. The descriptions of the Hunters were rather in line with my idea of a swamp creature or monster from a comic and their ‘eating’ of the damned souls was rather unsophisticated and unimaginative for me.

When Patrick unravels the details of his fate and understands the curse that he has unknowingly passed on to all his future descendants, he is compelled to find a way to change the status quo.

Patrick’s character is well drawn and his bewilderment and confusion on arriving in The Realm and unravelling its meaning are realistically depicted and make for compelling reading. I did enjoy his guts and perseverance in the face of overwhelming difficulties. Patrick meets a number of other characters who are equally desperate but less worthy, given the ease with which they succumb to effectively ‘making a deal with the Devil’ which in this case is the head of The Realm.

There were a number of editorial issues with the version of the book I read which had the effect of pulling me out of the story. This sort of issue doesn’t bother me if it is occasional, but I did feel the entire book needed another round of editing.

On the whole, for me, this story was mediocre in comparison to other horror stories I’ve read and I did find the depiction of a God who would turn his back on not only an individual, but his entire future line, rather unpalatable.

You can purchase The Realm from Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/Realm-Trilogy-L-Marie-Wood-ebook/dp/B0CM42CQH1

My photographs for Dan’s Thursday Doors are of the doors leading on to the private pool area at Madikwe Hills. On our first morning, I saw these cute dassies drinking out of our plunge pool – so adorable! And such a privilege. You can join in Dan’s challenge here: https://nofacilities.com/2023/11/02/ellington-turn-around/

Next up is Cee’s CFFC: Sticks and stones challenge. You can join in here: https://ceenphotography.com/2023/10/31/cffc-sticks-and-stones/

I got these amazing pictures of a cheetah on a huge rock surveying the area for a potential meal. Lucky! Lucky! Lucky!

Lastly, I got this stunning night-time picture of a warthog in an aardvark hole.

W3 Prompt #79

This is the prompt provided by Ms. D:

Deanna’s prompt guidelines

• Write a “Septolet” that refers to something that is held, something that one might hold.

Septolet?

The Septolet is a poem consisting of exactly seven lines containing exactly fourteen words with a break anywhere in between the two verses. Both verses deal with the same thought and create a picture.

Hold my hand

By way of background, Michael has had a better year than last year’s disaster. BUT … there are still problems and he’s been sick with sinus infections three times and had a hospitalisation due to cortisone induced high blood pressure. Subsequent to that interlude, he has lost 20 kilograms on a new low sodium diet and is on BP pills. It has helped and he is less tired and sluggish.

A few weeks ago when he had the latest sinus infection, 6 weeks on the heels of the previous one, the ENT doctor did another CT scan and discovered that his deformed left upper sinus is completely blocked by scar tissue and cannot drain. The short summary is that he is having more unavoidable surgery on Tuesday, 5 December. We are trying to manage the pressure headaches over the next few weeks while he writes year end examinations with pain killers.

This poem is about this surgery:

His eyes

Hold fear

As do mine

***

“Son

Take my hand

Squeeze it

Tightly”

You can join in W3 Prompt #79 here: https://skepticskaddish.com/2023/11/01/w3-prompt-79-weave-written-weekly/

This is Reena’s prompt for this week:

It’s time to get on with another prompt, in a world that is fast changing form and voice.

Here are a few phrases you can use in your piece

melody in a shriekbeauty of chaos

wisdom of insanity

sadness in profanity

lightness of intensity

Let the muse take you wherever it goes,

You can join in here: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2023/10/26/reenas-xploration-challenge-304/

I chose to write a free verse poem about the Lightness of Intensity.

Wrap it up

Words circulate

Round and round

Deja vous

Old problems

Unvaried commentary

No solutions

Any sharp mind

Clear in its ideas

Quick in the uptake

Becomes soaked

With the soggy,

Sodden heaviness

Of pointless repetition

The answers so obvious

Except to those

Wandering the maze

Of taught learnings

Stifled thought patterns

One way sign posts

Frustration

Becomes boredom

Dissolves into irritation

Catch it

This intensity of emotion

Bundle it up

It great swathes of sunshine

See the pointlessness

And let it go

Bring lightness

To the overwhelming intensity

Of that which you cannot

Change or influence