Find out how many schools I went to as a kid and book news about ‘Sisters of the Resistance’ by Jina Bacarr
August 11, 2024 by Jina Bacarr in category historical, Jina’s Book Chat, Paris, sexual assault, sexual violence, World War 2, Writing tagged as #sexual assault, historcal, Library, Paris, sequel, sexual violence, sisters, Translation, women, World War 2
Fifteen.
Yep. From first grade through high school, I went to 15 schools, sometimes for weeks only. I learned to be resilient but I’m still shy.
And I still remember my best ‘friends’.
Books.
I got a library card in every town, big or small, and boy, did I use it. I want to give a shout out to the librarians I met along the way who never failed to give a shy little girl who didn’t know then she was dyslexic the kind words & encouragement she needed to keep reading.
When you’re left-handed, it ain’t easy… transposing words, letters, etc. Lost because you can’t figure out directions (I remember when I got totally lost in the big ole vintage library in Lexington KY). No one talked about it then, but several librarians took time with me, finding books and helping me believe in myself.
Thank you!!
BOOK NEWS!
Sisters of the Resistance will be featured soon on NetGalley on the Boldwood Books page! If you’re a member, check it out and dowload a copy. I’d love to hear your tyoughts about the sequel to Sisters at War about sexual violence against women during wartime!
Writing the sequel to ‘Sisters At War’ (Paris WW2 — the story of two sisters and how sexual assault on a sister by the SS affects both their lives),
It’s also the story of the women of the French Resistance.
LINK to more info on Sisters At War and Sisters of the Resistance
Who are the Beaufort Sisters?
They’re beautiful
They’re smart
They’re dangerous
They’re at war with the Nazis… and each other.
BONUS The Orphans of Berlin in French
The Clue in the Weathered Hardback
July 30, 2024 by Dianna Sinovic in category Columns, Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as mystery, Nancy Drew, short fiction, writing
Emma worked her way through the tables of used books laid out at a community fair in Bucks County. Books! As if she didn’t have enough of them on her bookcases and her bedside table. Balancing an armful of books—mysteries, a literary classic, two romances—she spied a familiar cover.
“It’s a Nancy Drew.” She smiled at the memory. Her mother had bequeathed her small collection to Emma, who only skimmed them—too dated for her. But she had kept a few of the titles, mostly as a reminder of her mother, who had passed on three years before.
The book, The Secret in the Old Attic, was not one she’d read. Picking it up, mostly out of curiosity, not out of a desire to buy it, Emma opened the cover to leaf through it. Instead of a full complement of pages, though, the interior was carved out to make a book safe. Within the safe lay a folded slip of paper. She smoothed out the slip. On it, in spidery handwriting: IOU.
Fascinated at the clever use of the book, Emma added it to her stack of purchases and left the sale with the bag of used volumes.
At home, she googled the topic and learned that book safes had long been a common way to hide valuables, including money. As long as you remembered which books you’d carved up, no one else would be the wiser as they perused your shelves, either as a guest or a thief.
Lured by the information, she tucked away fifty dollars in the Nancy Drew book and slipped it onto the bookshelf in her living room. An experiment, she told herself. On a run to her public library after work several weeks later Emma remembered the book safe when she passed by the children’s section on her way to the checkout.
She pulled it from the shelf when she returned home and popped it open. The bills had vanished; in their place sat a folded slip of paper. It was identical to the one she’d seen earlier, at the sale, down to the faintly creepy message.
Feeling her pulse flutter in alarm, she dropped the book and the paper. WTF? She spun in a circle to take in the room. It was empty, as was the rest of her modest ranch, but she shivered. Who had been there? And when?
As the moments ticked past, she felt silly. I must have left the slip in the book when I brought it home. As for the money, maybe she’d imagined placing it there.
“Let me try again,” she said aloud to break the spell that seemed to keep her feet glued to the floor. Digging in her wallet, she pulled out two twenties, folded them in half and dropped them into the book safe. She tossed the IOU into the recycle bin.
This time she marked her calendar: Check in one week. Determined to solve the mystery—was she now Nancy Drew?—she set up a surveillance camera aimed at the bookshelf. If there was a thief—but there couldn’t be!—the camera would capture the culprit.
When the week had crawled by, Emma eagerly jerked the book from the shelf, then hesitated. The camera hadn’t caught any strangers in her home. What would the book reveal?
Inside the safe, the same slip of paper beckoned her to unfold it. The money was gone.
“Dammit,” she said, frustration coloring her expletive. Staring at the open book for a few moments, she hit on a solution. Two can play this game. She lay the paper slip on the kitchen table, found a pen, and printed neatly: You owe me ninety bucks. Pay up! With the refolded slip back in the book safe, Emma once again reshelved the hardback.
Barely twenty-four hours passed before Emma succumbed to temptation and pulled out the book. She laughed in surprise. No more notes; the safe contained ninety dollars in crisp bills—a fifty and two twenties—all neatly folded in half.
The cycle, she decided, had ended. She would keep the Nancy Drew book, but forgo putting anything into the paper safe, lest the mystery of the borrower be reactivated.
It was later, as she sat on the couch watching an episode of Stranger Things, that she looked at the returned cash more closely. She switched off the TV and turned on a lamp to inspect. The bills felt and looked authentic—the texture, the watermark, the colors shifting in the numerals—but the portraits . . . She struggled to remember who should be there. Jefferson? Jackson? She was fairly sure a guy named McCall wasn’t one of them. She turned the bills over. On the back, although each building was identified by caption, neither the Capitol nor the White House looked familiar.
The biggest, most obvious difference stared right at her. She ran a finger along the banner words above the buildings: United Territories of America.
More of Dianna’s stories can be found in the following anthologies:
The Ophans of Berlin speak French and me, too, in my videos by Jina Bacarr
July 11, 2024 by Jina Bacarr in category historical, Jina’s Book Chat, Paris, sexual assault, sexual violence, World War 2, Writing tagged as #sexual assault, historcal, Paris, sequel, sexual violence, sisters, Translation, women, World War 2
Once upon another lifetime, I was hired by Universal Studios as a tour guide for French and German tourists. I still have my Universal ID and parking pass…
So when my Boldwood Books ‘The Orphans of Berlin’ was translated into French by City-Editions, well, I couldn’t resist giving it a Parisian try…
I made a bunch of videos in French. Voila! Here are the links to my FACEBOOK page and story to see them.
https://www.facebook.com/stories/10218318286764331/UzpfSVNDOjEyNDQ2ODU2MzY5Njg1Njc=/?view_single=1
https://www.facebook.com/jina.bacarr
Sisters of the Resistance I is off to the proofreader!
Writing the sequel to ‘Sisters At War’ (Paris WW2 — the story of two sisters and how sexual assault on a sister by the SS affects both their lives),
It’s also the story of the women of the French Resistance.
LINK to more info on Sisters At War and Sisters of the Resistance
Who are the Beaufort Sisters?
They’re beautiful
They’re smart
They’re dangerous
They’re at war with the Nazis… and each other.
BONUS The Orphans of Berlin in French
Unusual Novel Spin Off
July 5, 2024 by Tracy Reed in category Writing I wrote a book of poetry based on one of my characters from The Alex Chronicles series. Love Notes, is thirty one love notes to be shared with a lover daily.Originally, the book was for sale, then I made it perma free. Since making it perma free, it has stayed in the top 100 Free in three categories at Amazon:
#5 in Poetry About Love
#6 in Love & Erotic Poetry
#12 in One-Hour Parenting & Relationships Short Reads
I’m a little biased, but I don’t see where the book should be considered Erotic or a Parenting & Relationships short read.
I don’t complain about the category listing because it gets a great lead into on my other books.
LOVE NOTES NO. 14
I am not easily aroused, however,
When the tips of your fingers graze my skin, igniting visions of what could be, I am.
I am not easily aroused, however,
When I feel the warm air of your breath enter my ear followed by your passionate request, I am.
I am not easily aroused, however,
When I see the deep sway of your back moving to the rhythm only you can hear, I am.
I am not easily aroused, however,
When you walk past me leaving a trail of your intoxicating scent, I am.
I am not easily aroused, however
When you smile, I am.
When I am with you, I am easily aroused. 0 1 Read more
Night Vision
June 30, 2024 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as paranormal, short fiction, writing
The night the eyes appeared in the window for the fourth time was the night Casie moved to the guest room, leaving Benjamin to sleep alone in the master.
He laughed at her the next morning. “You were dreaming. There’s nothing out there but a few deer, maybe a raccoon.”
She stirred sugar into her coffee and frowned. “They were glowing—the eyes.” She shivered at the memory, now running on a loop through her brain. “Our bedroom needs blinds or drapes—something to give us privacy.”
The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on a dramatic hillside of wildflowers, studded with hemlock and pine, a captivating view during the daylight hours. But at night, the blackness beyond the glass made her uneasy.
“The eyes were … glowing?” He chuckled. “Some dream, sweets.” He drained his mug and shoved back from the table. “See you tonight.”
She noted that he’d ignored her request.
They both loved the light, airy feel of the house. The wood floors, the kitchen with its cute eating nook, the guest room tucked into the second story—every aspect said this was a place they would be happy in.
And they had been, over the last seven months since moving in.
Until the eyes.
Casie slept lightly on a good night, and tossed and turned on a bad one. Benjamin barely stirred on his side of the bed, even during fierce thunderstorms that had her wide-eyed until the last rumble receded.
A month ago, as summer burst onto the hillside behind the house, Casie saw the eyes for the first time. Benjamin had been out of town and she was reading in bed. She sensed that someone was watching her, but the darkness beyond the windows showed nothing; the shine from the bedside lamp masked any details. Switching off the light, she waited for her vision to adjust.
There, about four feet off the ground, a pair of golden eyes glowed.
With a yelp of fear, Casie fled the room. She spent the next three nights that Benjamin was away lying on the living room couch, the drapes drawn, willing herself to sleep. During the day, she struggled to sit for more than a few minutes at her laptop. She had an article to write, but couldn’t concentrate, jiggling her foot, pacing through the house, stopping to study the yard from the master bedroom’s windows. The hillside beyond was benign, peaceful, lush and green.
When her partner returned, Casie weighed how to tell him what had happened but ultimately opted to say nothing. She began to discount what she’d seen. Had there been something staring at her? Their property was far from any neighbor—that was one of its appeals. An animal—even a bear—posed no threat as long as it stayed on the other side of the glass.
Benjamin was back home for a week before she next spotted the eyes. They had made love in the dark, then turned away from each other to sleep, he facing away from her—and the windows.
She muffled a gasp at the golden eyes, this time positioned higher up, maybe five or six feet from the ground.
“Sweets, what’s wrong?” he mumbled, already drifting into dreamland.
The eyes held their position and slowly blinked. Casie pulled a pillow over her head and closed her eyes. It’s outside, outside, outside. She repeated the mantra silently to herself.
The third night she saw them, she woke Benjamin.
“Something’s out there,” she whispered.
“Where?” He propped himself up in bed.
The eyes, which had appeared only a few feet off the ground, faded away.
“Never mind,” she said.
Sleep would be futile that night, but she took comfort in Benjamin’s soft snoring beside her.
#
Over a dinner of chicken salad, Casie listened to Benjamin recount his day. When it was her turn, she sighed. Her stomach felt as tightly coiled as an overwound watch, with her jiggling left foot the ticking second hand.
“I got nothing done today.” She stabbed a chunk of chicken with her fork. “It’s the weird eyes—I am so freaked out I can’t sit still.”
He shook his head. “This is how you get me to do what you want about those damn windows, isn’t it?”
“I’m not making it up.”
He carried his plate to the sink. “Here’s what I’ll do. When we’re ready for bed, I’ll go out, scout around with a flashlight, make sure we’re safe.” The way he said safe carried a whiff of belittlement.
True to his promise, Benjamin made a show of traipsing through the grasses and wildflowers that grew near the house, while Casie watched from the bedroom. He swept a high-power flashlight across the area, then stepped back inside the room through the glass door.
“Not a spooky thing out there, sweets.”
“Whatever,” she said, resigned that he would never believe her.
At his suggestion, they traded sides in the bed that night; he would sleep closer to the windows.
Perhaps it was that switch, or the effect of her emotional exhaustion, but she fell into a deep sleep almost immediately.
When she woke later, her phone said it was nearly two-thirty. In the dimness of the bedroom, she grasped two things: Benjamin was not in bed, and the glass door to the outdoors hung open.
“Benjamin?” she called, but softly, now aware of yet a third thing: The glowing eyes were in the room with her.
The following anthologies contain some of Dianna’s short stories:
Featured Books
ONE TASTE TOO MANY
For culinary challenged Sarah Blair, there’s only one thing scarier than cooking from scratch—murder!
More info →
THE SCRIBE OF SIENA
The captivating story of a brilliant woman's passionate affair with a time and a place . . .
More info →
SEA DREAMS
Can help from a lavender-eyed sea witch, a few enchanted cupcakes and a touch of New Moon magic really rescue a once famous now washed up artist from himself?
More info →
SEVERED RELATIONS
Detective Finn O'Brien catches the call: two kids and their nanny are dead behind the gates of Freemont Place.
More info → 
