Book Promo Feature – A Story of Adoption by L. B. Johnson

Indie Book Promo is happy to welcome L. B. Johnson to the blog. She’s here to share about her book, Saving Grace – A Story of Adoption. If this book sounds like something you would be interested in reading, please find a buy link below and pick up a copy or two.

CP_V1 (1)Blurb:

From the Author of the Amazon #1 Best Seller The Book of Barkley – Love and Life Through the Eyes of a Labrador Retriever – a story of family, redemption, and hope.

It started with a piece of paper–a birth certificate, sent to the author’s parents long after her birth. There is much history in that piece of paper. For she was born to an unwed mother in the generation prior to Roe v. Wade, on a warm day in August-a small, painful beginning in which she had been an unwilling participant, yet one that would shape her destiny. She is adopted into a loving home with another child that would become her beloved brother. She finds herself pregnant; she’s a teen and a college student, abandoned at the news. The options are obvious, but there is only one decision she could make: to give her child up to a family praying for one, and walking away. Saving Grace is more than a story of adoption. It’s a deep look into family-at hope and faith and why we end our days surrounded by souls that may not bear our name or share our blood, but who are our true family.

Saving Grace can be purchased from Amazon

L. B. can be found on Twitter

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Book Excerpt:

I woke to the sound of pouring rain, my family’s house mostly empty as I didn’t want a lot of people around right now. Dad lay sleeping in the next room. I needed to get up, get back to school, I’d already missed too many classes after I gave birth. But right now, all I could do was sit here and think, and cry.

The rain washes clean, but it as well leaves its mark. Marks that will not fade until further rain falls. So many summer swimming holes, and soon, wheels to take us there.

One summer, some parents out of town, I defied orders to stay home with my brother and jumped into the back of a car to go to the river to swim with my friends, to erase the sticky hot chains of being a teen with a curfew. The warm air was like a balm, fireflies flirting with twilight, the wind rippling my hair along with the summer pines, the sound almost that of silence. I looked up, hoping to see a thunderstorm erupt, unknown power in the atmosphere that would only be washed away with the rain. Water cleansing the earth.

It was a small hatchback type car, with two doors and a small back seat. We’re at a local swimming hole for teens, the car parked on an embankment pointed towards the water. My Dad was out of town, I’d been forbidden to do anything other than school and extra-curricular school activities until he returned. But I didn’t listen. It was innocent, no alcohol, just some kids, inner tubes, and some water, but still, I wasn’t to come down here without him knowing where I was at.

My friends are up front playing with the radio, forgetting to put the car in park. I’m alone in the back, trying to get out of my shorts and T- shirt as my swim suit is on underneath, ready to hit the water as soon as we are out. My head is down and I have no sensation of movement. All I remember is an abrupt “bump bump bump” pushing me forward into the seat. And the car is down that brief, sharp embankment into the water.

They say when you think you are going to die your life flashes before your eyes. Not true, all you see is water, and even before it touches your body your movement is slowed as if running a nightmare’s marathon through it. My friends were out before the hood was completely underwater. The water hisses at the windshield like a really pissed off cat, and I pull away out of instinct, anxious to protect my limbs. I was in the back, trapped by the seat. I either get over and out, or I drown, it’s as simple as that. The windows were down, an escape, even if it provides a way for the water to say hello sooner. I clamber over the seats, get into the front and move towards the window as the water pushes me away. One of my friends grabs my arm to help pull me up and out and then accidentally lets go of me, as I head, vulnerable as a leaf, downstream

There is no real chance that I’d drown at this point. The water is not that cold, there are no rapids and I’m a strong swimmer. But trying telling that to the fear. Pull, I tell my arms. My arms obey, and I break through the current and head towards shore, the vain instants of solid ground underfoot, touching me and then receding again, leaving me to flounder. But the water is not all that deep, nor all that swift, and the shore is within reach. We gather there, staring, stunned, other motorists around, as water drips through my eyes like tears. The car is submerged. No one is hurt. It hit me then, not how close we came, not that the little Pinto at the bottom of the river probably won’t buff out.

What hit me was – “I’m going to be grounded for a YEAR”.

It was only a month, and for that I am grateful, but a lesson was learned. Take no chances with the cold, precious waters. The river is wider than you think. On the mantle at home are some photos, including a couple of my Mom. Thinking of her that night, I think back to all the things I was warned about. Don’t swim for an hour after you eat. Don’t stay in the water during a thunderstorm. Be wary of the river that looks so cool and inviting for that is the one in which you will drown.

Thunder rumbles as I stay silent, still hearing her voice in my head, and responding in kind. “I’ll be careful next time Mom, promise”. Drops fall from the sky, salty, dense, leaving wet trails down my cheeks. The water rushes down, affirmation, promise, the healing power of cleansing rain.

Book Promo Feature – Wishing Cross Station by February Grace

Indie Book Promo is happy to welcome February Grace to the blog! She’s here to share about her book, Wishing Cross Station. If this book sounds like something that you would be interested in reading, please find a buy link below and pick up a copy or two.

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WISHING CROSS STATION COVER HIGH RES FULL FINALBlurb:

 

A dark fantasy romance from the author of GODSPEED and OF STARDUST…

Don’t stay a moment longer than you have to. Don’t say too much. Don’t pollute the timeline.

When nineteen-year-old college library page Keigan Wainwright is sent to pick up a private donation of books for the school’s collection, he has no idea where one of those books will take him, or what it will take from him.

Retracing a powerful man’s footsteps through the past, Keigan finds himself caught in the same dangerous trap: falling in love with a woman he was never meant to know, and uncertain he will ever find his way home.

Wishing Cross Station can be purchased from: Amazon & Barnes and Noble

 

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February Grace Author Photo 2014 Full SizeBio:

February Grace is an author, poet, and artist from Southeast Michigan. In previous novels, she has introduced readers to characters with clockwork hearts, told of romantic modern-day fairy godparents, and reimagined a legend, centuries old. Now, in her fifth novel with Booktrope, readers will board the special at WISHING CROSS STATION and embark on a trip through time. She is more than mildly obsessed with clocks, music, colors, meteor showers, and steam engines.

February can be found:

Blog  |   Twitter

Excerpt:

~*~

I took the wrapped book from my backpack, set the sweatshirt on top of another pile of schematics on the desk, and uncovered it slowly.

The look on his face changed from curiosity to one of stark terror.

“No,” he gasped, taking an uneven step backwards. He almost tripped over his cane and I rushed to steady him. “No, that book isn’t supposed to be here. He promised me he was going to take it back. He promised me!”

“Is there a problem, Mr. Sanderson?” A nurse’s aide poked her head into the room. She gave me the evil eye, and I cringed. The last thing I had wanted, or expected to do, was upset the man.

“No, thank you, dear. Just a surprise visitor. I’m fine,” he assured her, after a long moment’s pause. “I’m fine.”

“Okay…well, if you need anything, you just buzz for me.” She looked at her watch, then back at me, and frowned. “Visits are limited to fifteen minutes, you know. You’ve got about ten left.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

I knew I had better figure out if I were just wasting my time, or worse, disturbing him for no good reason.

After she’d gone, Sanderson reached out and stopped short of touching the book’s cover. “You don’t understand, it’s not supposed to be on this side.”

“This side of what?”

“The wormhole.”

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Just hearing a man his age use a term like ‘wormhole’ seemed ridiculous, let alone the thought this mystery book could have anything at all to do with one.

“I’m sorry, I thought you said wormhole.”

“I did.” He turned and slumped down into the desk chair. It squeaked beneath him, as lightweight as he was. “You see all these schematics?”

I nodded.

“Well, I worked in the roundhouse at Wishing Cross Heritage Railroad for forty years. I was not there to work on the trains. Not really.” He sized me up, taking stock. He appeared to be having a hard time deciding whether he could trust me with what he was about to say.

“J. Howard, you raving lunatic, what did you do?” he mumbled, shaking his head. “What have you done?”

He sighed, his watery eyes looking up at me again. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right, young man. I have no choice but to tell you. Truth is I was a scientist, and old J. Howard employed a lot of us for various things. I was officially supposed to be the engineering research scientist for the Park, but my real job was keeping an eye on the wormhole.”

“I’m confused,” I admitted, though I didn’t admit that I was also more than a bit skeptical as well. “A wormhole forms somewhere in the roundhouse at Wishing Cross Heritage Railroad and goes… where?”

“To the past. To the real Wishing Cross Station.” He picked up the book then and held it in his hands, lowering his eyes and closing them. “Dear God, this can’t be happening.”

“The real Wishing Cross?” My confusion deepened as my curiosity grew. “But sir, I thought that was a fictional name, meant to represent an amalgam of the kinds of stations around when J. Howard Fox was a young man. So people could come to the Park and learn about them.”

“Exactly what you were supposed to believe, and please, call me Seymour,” he replied, before abruptly setting the book down. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time to explain, they’re going to throw you out of here soon enough. Run the place like a police state, I tell you.” He reached into the small desk drawer and pulled out an ornate key. “You’ve got to take this, and you’ve got to go to the roundhouse. Tonight. When no one is there. You’ve got to hope the book will work the way I think it will to open the unstable end of the wormhole that exists there. If it doesn’t, you won’t be able to use it to take the book back in time.”

“Take the book back in time? To the real Wishing Cross? Through a wormhole?” Now I was certain this old man had completely lost his mind. There couldn’t be a wormhole below the roundhouse in a historical theme park… could there?

“I have to talk as fast as I can, and I don’t have time to repeat anything,” Seymour warned, tugging on my sleeve. He gestured toward my bag. “You got a notebook in there?”

I pulled a notebook and pen out of my backpack and waited.

“Write fast, and when you’re done memorizing this later, before you attempt to do anything with the book, take the notes I am about to dictate to you and burn them.”

 

 

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