Friday, March 20, 2026

I can’t open my mouth to save my life

 Normally, all the parking lots surrounding the Irvine Spectrum Center are packed year round, let alone during the holiday season. So if you find a spot, consider yourself lucky. This time, however, luck is the last thing on my mind, even as the ambulance creeps into the parking area, even as its tires grind to a halt. 

Parking is not what I want. Escape is.

My captor, Vlad, pops the back doors open, revealing a lot that at first glance, looks utterly deserted. Barely lit by a sliver of moonshine, a couple of burnt vehicles are glistening close-by, propped askew against each other. A smell of smoke wafts over their mangled bodies.

I suppose some people have it even worse than me, so I tell myself: consider yourself lucky.

I wrack my brain to figure out what must have happened. Here is my best guess: when the blackout hit, people ran away in search of a safe area, one that is properly lit. Trampling over each other, they fled as fast as their legs could carry them from the shopping area back to their cars. They fumbled about in the dark, revved up their engines,  somehow, and drove off with no regard to any traffic rules, which caused confusion, mayhem, and deadly crashes.

Vlad smiles. “Animals,” he says, with a tone of superiority, over the sounds of looting in the distance. “That’s what they are. Animals.”

Meanwhile, a voice emanates from his cellphone, announcing, “Vee are being followed, boss.”

I nearly jump out of my skin. We are, really? 

“Don’t bother to tell me what I already know,” says Vlad. The tone of his voice sounds utterly bored. “Listen, wait here for me.”

The Russian accent at the other end makes obedience sound like a heavy lift. “I Vill, boss.”

“I’m taking the girl with me.”

“Vy? I can take care of her just fine.”

“Really?” says Vlad, without bothering to raise the pitch of his voice to a question. “You can’t be trusted to follow orders, can you.”

“Vy, following orders is vat I do best!”

“Well, well, well, your best is not good enough,” Vlad says, his  tone of disgust deepening. “What you did to this girl went too far.”

He buttons up his fur coat and turns up his collar, which makes me raise an eyebrow. This is Southern California, not Siberia, for crying out loud! 

But there’s no point in pointing this out to him, because I can’t open my mouth to save my life. Besides, the tilt of his chin tells me how stubborn he is, to the point of not accepting anything I might say, especially when it comes down to matters of fashion.

I raise my other eyebrow, just to make sure I can. Yes. It’s a good feeling.

Meanwhile, his thug must be done mulling over what was said. “The girl is dispensable. Is it not vatt you said, boss?”

Vlad shouts, “Hell no, she isn’t! Not yet!”

Coma Confidential

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Ash finds herself in the ER diagnosed with coma. She has no memory of what has happened to her, but what she can do--despite what everyone around her might think--is listen to the conversations of her visitors. Will she survive the power outage in the hospital and then, being kidnapped out of it? 


★★★★★ "This suspenseful story spins into a wild race for survival for Ash, filled with terror, courage, and a journey that will have you cheering her on."

Sunday, March 15, 2026

Review (The David Chronicles): A Soul Beckoning for a Beacon of Light

 I don't often check my books on Amazon.de, which is why I missed this beautiful review of The David Chronicles: Trilogy until now. 


imageHM Holten
A Soul Beckoning for a Beacon of Light

March 6, 2022

Who was David? Who was the shepherd turned king? Was he caught up in ambition and women, or was he a poet searching for his god? Maybe he was an ordinary man with an extraordinary fate. Maybe he was all of the above. In the David Chronicles Trilogy, Ms Poznansky searches for answers. In doing so she opens a pit of depravation. She shows us an ageing man who looks back and a young man who strives to conquer the world. Both are David, and both are searching for answers that they may never be able to accept. David carries Goliath's head with him, but not only that. He longs to go back to being an entertainer, but his fate takes him where he must go. Without his music, he is lost. The poet and musician becomes a king and a reluctant soldier. It is possible to discuss whether the Aramaic language contained modern-day American swearwords, but it isn’t the issue here. To find the essence of the man David, Ms Poznansky uses every language known to man. The plot arc is massive, taking the reader from the playful performer to the decrepit old king, showing all the aspects of his rise to power, his fall from grace, and his final time as an ageing monarch. A tour de force of an accomplished author.

Sunday, March 8, 2026

Review (The Edge of Revolt): A Powerful and Intimate Portrait of a Fallen King

I'm deeply touched by this review, as the reviewer S Charlton (from the UK) truly understood what this book, The Edge of Revolt, is about:

S Charlton 
Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 3 March 2026
Even reading part of The Edge of Revolt, I was struck by how vividly Uvi Poznansky brings King David to life. This isn’t distant biblical storytelling — it feels immediate and deeply personal. The modern voice makes the ancient court drama feel relevant and emotionally intense.
What stood out most was the exploration of family betrayal, moral struggle, and the heavy cost of silence. David is portrayed not as a legend, but as a flawed, conflicted man facing painful consequences.
A compelling and thoughtful reimagining of a timeless story.

Thursday, March 5, 2026

At this point, my life mattered little to me

 The SS guards tapped their fingers nervously on their batons. They might have been wondering, why did the SS officer resort to driving through back roads? Had he received word that the main roads were booby-trapped, or that certain bridges had been blown up? How reliable was this information? Who had given it to him? Was the entire procession heading closer and closer into an ambush?

At this point, my life mattered little to me. If brought all the way to the final destination, I would be forced to go through a mockery of a wedding, after which I would be executed at once, at the hands of the Nazis. On the other hand, if this truck were to be attacked by French Resistance fighters, I might end up being just as doomed. Either way, my chances of survival looked grim. 

From time to time I toyed with the idea of forcing my way through the SS guards and flinging myself down, somehow, over the back edge of the moving vehicle. At the mere thought of it, my muscles tightened. I was ready, almost ready to make my move, come what may. But no, that would be suicidal. There was no way for me gain any speed to make an escape, with my legs chained together. 

By now, the fear in me turned into something harder, into an urge for revenge. It permeated my heart, my mind, every fiber in me. I could not wait to see French fighters descending upon the Germans. I could not wait to hear the sound of a grenade tossed in the air, coming down at us with a shriek, announcing the approach of destruction. 

When spotting birds nestled on a branch I did not listen to their annoyingly happy chirps. Instead I imagined how—alarmed by the sound of explosion—they would start fluttering about, scattering every which way. 

I pictured the partisans lurking there, just behind those trees. Were they drawing closer? Were they taking aim? Soon, I hoped, they would be hurling petrol bombs. With dark anticipation I looked for the ensuing cloud of petrol droplets, listened for the vapor igniting into a fireball, waited to feel the heat of spreading flames.

But no, no such luck! To my disappointment, the trip remained uneventful throughout the night and well into morning, when the tires of the Blitz truck scraped off the road and into a stop. 

My tongue felt dry as I licked my parched lips. We had been given no water, no food since the beginning of this journey. Now, the driver got out of the enclosed cab, and our captors jumped off the back of the truck to stretch their limbs, leaving us chained, yet unattended. 

The covering over the top and sides of the cargo area blocked our view. We heard their voices, their bursts of laughter. Down there, they ate and gulped one mouthful of Schnapps after another. The aroma—just like gin flavored with fruit—wafted in through the canvas. It intoxicated me. Such was the power of depravation. It sharpened the senses.



Marriage before Death

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Audiobook


From USA Today Bestselling Author, Uvi Poznansky, comes a captivating WWII Spy Thriller:After D-Day, her photograph appears on the most-wanted Nazi propaganda posters. Who is the girl with the red beret? She reminds him of Natasha, but no, that cannot be. Why does Rochelle step into his life when he is led by SS soldiers to the gallows? At the risk of being found out as a French Resistance fighter, what makes her propose marriage to a condemned man?

 

★★★★★ ”The story of how they survived such horrors is extraordinary. Also extraordinary is the author's deep and gorgeous writing.”

Sunday, March 1, 2026

Start a new series this spring: Ash Suspense Thrillers

Let me give a flavor of three snippets from each of my books in the series Ash Suspense Thriller. If these arouse a sense of suspense, you'll know where to find your next read...

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Her cry penetrates every cell in my bones. I try to hold my hand steady. It’s not an easy thing to aim at the back of a man—even if he is slapping her around, just the way he did me. 

Before I can find the trigger, the door opens. 

And there is Vlad.  

Excerpt from Coma Confidential

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While dangling in agony on my chain from the closet rod, I notice the only other thing hung on it, in the shadowy part of the narrow space: a plain metallic coat hanger, over which a long coat is loosely wrapped. 

After a while, the coat becomes a presence of its own. It smells of sweat and gunpowder. It is black, its inner lining is greenish. At the bottom of its hem, there is a streak of blood, which brings back to mind the view I had the other day in front of the elementary school from under the belly of a car. 

Excerpt from Overkill

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I struggle to release myself, to no avail.

“Oh,” he grumbles, “what an ingrate you are! That surveillance device served a medical purpose. It allowed me to monitor your progress, for your sake and for science! Stupid woman, how dare you cut out what I put in? And you thought I wouldn’t find out?”

In utter distress, I resort to pretense. “Please, Dr. Patel. How could I even guess it was you who put it there?” 

His grip tightens.

Excerpt from Overdose

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If anyone would ask me later why I threw a match into a wastebasket full of tissues, added a pile of the papers I was supposed to be organizing, and left it behind a closed door, burning, I would be hard pressed to explain my plan. Why? Because I have none. Impulse is what drives me. The events of the last couple of days have forced my hand. I can no longer remain inactive. 

By instinct, I grasp that something drastic needs to happen—for better or worse—to change my situation. Fire will do. Things staying as they are will only prolong my misery. 

Excerpt from Overdue