Tuesday, May 31, 2016


What a lovely, heartfelt review of my book, The Music of Us:

on May 30, 2016
Reading this book was like listening to a symphony. There were exciting passages, sweet moments, tension, beautiful times and heartbreak. The story moves back to WWII when Lenny, a young Marine, hears the sixteen year old Natasha perform at his base. They are then separated by time and war as they struggle with death and fear all around them. Each time it seems they will come together , life happens. After they are finally together, they will eventually be separated forever by Alzheimer's. This well-written story is one that everyone should read.

Beach reading: The ocean, the sun setting making the sky glow orange and pink

Blake took them to a restaurant right off the water on the edge of the cove. From the table where they sat, they could look out over the water. She saw there was a small island in the middle of the bay.
“That island? Does anyone live on it? And what are those animals that are all over the beach?”
“No one lives on the island. It is mostly just rock and uninhabitable. And those animals are sea lions. They come and park themselves on the beach and bark at anything and everything.”
“This is beautiful. The ocean, the sun setting making the sky glow orange and pink. I love the view.”
“As do I.” 
His voice was deep and soft with a timbre that caressed her. She looked up and found him watching her. Her cheeks heated and she glanced away, curious over this reaction.
“Wait until you see the view from my, soon to be our, garden,” he continued. “It looks out over the city. Quite lovely, especially at night, when all the light from the gas lamps lining the streets is visible.”

Excerpt from Nellie by Cynthia Woolf. 
The novel is included in A Touch of Passion

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who not only nominated A Touch of Passion for the 
Romance Reviews Reader Choice Awards 
but also took us all the way to first place:

Sunday, May 29, 2016

True Love Renewed Every Day

"True Love Renewed Every Day"
What did you love best about The Music of Us?
This story is a wonderful story about finding true love that lasts forever. Nothing can change the course of unconditional love--not even mental illness. Marriage vows are a pledge that are meant to last forever and this story is such a glorious example of how love can last through "sickness."

Who was your favorite character and why?
Lenny is the main male character. The story is told from his point of view. He is an honest and loving guy who lives his entire life doing his very best to be a loving son, friend and husband. He is loyal and faithful and is a really nice guy.

What about Don Warrick’s performance did you like?
Don Warrick's performance was inspiring. As the moods of the story change, Don manages to convey each scene with gripping intensity. The reader is drawn into the story and becomes engrossed in what is going to happen next.

If you could take any character from The Music of Us out to dinner, who would it be and why?
I would like to meet Natasha and get to know more about her life. She has deep emotions and it would be interesting to know her innermost thoughts.

Any additional comments?
I won this audiobook in a "Mother's Day Event" on Facebook in which several authors shared audio samples of their books. It was a wonderful opportunity to receive a book in exchange for an honest review. I would like to thank Uvi for this gift to hear this beautiful and touching story of true love through the years.

Friday, May 27, 2016

Beach reading: Sara looks around, wondering whose dream this is

Just like that, John’s room is gone, and Sara finds herself outdoors.  It’s sunny out, and warm, and she can see green all around.  The athletic fields.  Intramural softball.  Sara looks around, wondering whose dream this is.  When she spots Jackie standing there at the plate ready to bat she knows for sure, although she couldn’t say how, that this is her dream.  It seems perfectly normal, a regular game of softball.  Until she turns her gaze towards the pitcher, and standing there instead of another player is a giant insect.  An ant, Sara thinks.  Wearing a university sweatshirt, with a glove on one of its–claws?–mandibles?  Whatever, Sara thinks, this is just too strange.  What the heck is going on in Jackie’s head?  And the ant winds up, and throws a pitch…
…And she’s back in another dorm room, also vaguely familiar.  She’s been in this room, and its occupant is a friend of hers.  Mark.  Mark Bainbridge.  Sara remembers attending several of Mark’s parties freshman year–or at least remembers not remembering some of them.  She also remembers that for the first couple of weeks of that year, she had a huge crush on Mark, just like nearly all the other freshman girls.  Tall, handsome, clever Mark.  Mark who is just now opening the door and walking in.  Walking straight towards his bed, which, Sara notices for the first time, is not empty.  Someone’s hidden under the covers.  For one guilty moment Sara, the memory of her crush still in her mind, hopes that when Mark pulls the covers up, it’ll be Sara under there, Sara that he’s dreaming about…

Excerpt from Dream Student by James DiBenedetto
The novel is included in At Odds with Destiny

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Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Beach reading: the rays are starting to carve out three distinct silhouettes

At the other side of the valley, the sun has just begun to rise. At first, its blood-tinged rays shoot straight into my eyes, blinding me. They make me blink, so it takes me time to adjust, to notice how, out of the shimmering air out there, the rays are starting to carve out three distinct silhouettes. 
Atop the rocky ridge overlooking the valley, three riders are now coming to a halt. Their stallions snort, scrambling a step or two backward, away from the edge. At last I recognize them: the king, flanked by his general on one side, and his son on the other.
Clasping my lyre tightly, to stop its strings from trembling in the wind, I draw closer. Along the way I try to hide from sight, cowering here and there behind pieces of mossy, soggy turf, which serves me as camouflage. I tell myself, it is time to confuse the enemy. Let him misjudge me. 
Here I am. Here I am not. 
Here is pretending not to be watching Saul, and not to be listening. 

Excerpt from Rise to Power by Uvi Poznansky
The novel is included in At Odds with Destiny

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Beach reading: The sun never leaves.

Suzette gurgled so Charity took that as her approval and began reading, “My Darling Child of my Heart, if you know nothing else, know I love you, and wanted you from the moment I knew of your existence. I know you will grow up knowing love. Your father loves you, and he will see that you have enough love to make up for my not being with you as you become who you are meant to be. I would give anything to be with you, but sometimes God’s plans do not match our own. I have no doubt you will grow to be the most beautiful and amazing person ever. I want nothing but the best for you. Never doubt that you were and are loved. I am leaving you in in the care of my two best friends. Your father and Charity will see you never lack for anything, of that I am certain. When you see the sun, know it is only me keeping watch over you, but don’t despair on the days there are clouds. The sun never leaves. It is only tucked out of sight for a short span in time. That is how I see death. I’m only tucked out of sight for a short period in time. I’m waiting for you behind the clouds, with love in my heart, and my arms opened wide, whenever you need to talk. I’ll always be here listening, whenever you need me. Have a wonderful life and always have an open and willing heart.”

Excerpt from Concealed in My Heart by Regina Puckett. 
The novel is included in A Touch of Passion

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who not only nominated A Touch of Passion for the 
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but also took us all the way to first place:

Monday, May 23, 2016

Beach reading: She’s still a little spitfire

He remembered her fondly as being a little spitfire that summer and it seemed she hadn’t changed one bit. Only now, as a woman she had a lot more power and knew how to use it. What the hell are you grinning about? Remembering how she hadn’t hesitated to jump into the battle earlier, gouging with her fingers, trying to help him; dammed if a smile didn’t warm up his insides. She’s still a little spitfire.  
He let his mind drift back in time. Over the years, one tantalizing night had continued to haunt him. It was when Cathy had let him down once he’d agreed to sing at the neighborhood bar. She’d been after him to take her to the city, and had stomped out, furious, when he’d explained he’d promised to help out his buddy who wouldn’t be able to appear that night. Since the locals were always on him to perform; they’d been thrilled when they heard he’d be the replacement.
At the beginning of the evening, he remembered watching for Cathy, getting madder and madder when she didn’t appear. He’d been so sure she’d break down and support him. Hell, if he’d known then what he knew now, there wouldn’t have been any doubt that she’d go and do exactly what she wanted. But in those days, women didn’t treat him that way. In his smug drunkenness, he’d woken up in the morning believing that, later, she’d come to find him at the ranch.
The next time he’d been with her, he’d mentioned how special their lovemaking had been; how she’d pleased him with her generosity, and she’d never denied it. So, he’d stayed happy in his bubble of belief. Now when he thought back, Cathy must have thought him either nuts, or a cheater; though neither seemed to have made any difference to her.

Excerpt from Love Me Tender by Mimi Barbour. 
The novel is included in A Touch of Passion

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who not only nominated A Touch of Passion for the 
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Her breasts are tipped with gold

Here is an interview I did recently about my historical fiction novel, A Peek at Bathsheba:

What is it that draws me to the story of David?

It is not religious reverence that draws me to the story. Rather, it is the drama of his life, which my trilogy, The David Chronicles, explores from youth to old age. I find it amazing to be in his skin over a lifetime of loves and wars, and I hope you will too.

His struggle is one that we can all feel inside us. Can he find an inner balance between conflicting drives: his ambition for the crown, his determination to survive the conflict with Saul, and his longing for purity, for a touch of the divine, as expressed so lyrically in his psalms and music?. 

David is famous for bringing his kingdom from the brink of annihilation to a prosperous age, a renaissance. With all his gifts, he is indeed a renaissance man. This is his story as you have never heard it before: from the king himself, telling the unofficial version, the one he never allowed his court scribes to recount. In his mind, history is written to praise the victorious—but at the last stretch of his illustrious life, he feels an irresistible urge to tell the truth. In the first volume of the series, David gives you a fascinating account of his early years, culminating with a tribal coronation. Rooted in ancient lore, his is a surprisingly modern memoir.

How would I define my writing style?

I would describe my writing style as layered, much like Lasagna, with each layer having a different flavor and a different texture that complements the entire dish. How do I achieve this? The process, for me, is very similar to the way I sculpt: I shape the clay, then go around the unfinished piece and view it from an unexpected direction, in various lights, sometimes in the morning, sometimes at night, so as to achieve an effect that works well for me. Similarly when I write, I shape my text several times, each time refining it with a different idea, different principle in mind. For example, one such idea would be this: the end of a paragraph leaves gap of silence before the next paragraph begins, so end it on the strongest word so it continues to linger, continues to resonate with you.

What is unique about my writing process?

As an artist, I find great inspiration in art throughout the ages, describing each moment in the life of my character, and exhibiting different attitudes towards him. Often I create a scene that is a vivid expression of a particular piece of art. 

Take, for example, the cover of A Peek at Bathsheba (volume II of The David Chronicles.) My book, A Peek at Bathsheba, includes a sighting of Bathsheba at the mouth of a cave, located just above the Kidron valley, near Jerusalem. The setting immediately brought to my mind A Woman Bathing in a Stream, painted in 1655 by Rembrandt, immediately after he painted Bathsheba at Her Bath

During the history of art, most artists portrayed Bathsheba as a fleshy, mature woman. They often placed her in a lush outdoor scenery, such as a royal garden, with flowing water or with a fountain. Spotting a forbidden woman in a setting reminiscent of the Garden of Eden is a tempting fantasy, and quite a departure from the biblical account, that states she was bathing on her roof. Artists go after their own heartand so, indeed, do writersto suggest the emotional essence of the story.

Rembrandt places his figure not in a garden, but in a cave with a pool of water, which is at once an outdoor and indoor scene (and in Bathsheba at Her Bath he presented her in an indoor scene, in her bedroom.) He worked mostly with a grays, browns, and blacks, setting objects back by plunging them into this dark tone, and bringing them forward by shining a bright light directly upon them, creating stark contrasts. The resulting image is sculptural in nature, and strikingly dramatic.

Clearly, the composition of my watercolor painting is inspired by his admirable art, shares a similar spirit of intimacy, and maintains a loving respect for the model. Here is my approach, my homage to it, which illuminates the new vision I use for the story. 

I strive to maintain a sculptural feel for Bathsheba, but take the freedom to play with a splash of colors, so as to draw contrasts between cool and warm hues. I create a variety of textures, using a loose, spontaneous brushstroke. This I achieve by applying puddles of pigments over Yupo paper, which (unlike traditional watercolor paper) is non-absorbent. I let these puddles drip in some places, and in other places, I lift and shape them into careful designs, using various tools. 

Here is an excerpt describing this scene in A Peek of Bathsheba:

Watching the cracks in the rock I listen how water gurgles underneath them, how it comes, siphoned out with a big, sudden splatter—only to be swallowed back once again. 
Such is the ebb and flow of life. 
Climbing up I imagined the view I would have up there, at the top of the world. And now, having achieved victory, I am beginning to come down, seeking reflection. 
From outside the cave comes the hoot of an owl. Outlined against a dreamy moonlight, it strikes an upright stance, and turns its large, broad head to face me. Its gaze meets mine. At the moment I feel a strange affinity to this bird of prey. Like me, it must cherish its solitude.
And as it spreads its feathers I think I see out there, behind the flutter, a curvaceous outline of a nude. I ache to touch her flesh. It is glowing with warm, reddish hues of terra-cotta. Her breasts are tipped with gold. 
As if springing to life out of some Babylonian plaque, there she stands, surrounded by owls. 
There she is, my Queen of the Night.
“Bathsheba,” I whisper. My voice gets lost in the vacuous space. 
A moment later, the owl takes off. It rises away in its silent flight, and the illusive light of the moon starts dimming out.

★ Love historical fiction? Treat yourself to a gift 
Historical Fiction with a Modern Twist...

"The miracle of Uvi Poznansky's writing is her uncanny ability to return to old stories 
and make them brilliantly fresh"
-Grady Harp, Hall of Fame reviewer

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Beach reading: We lay on a lavender blanket, deep in a field of wildflowers

Elsbeth filled my dreams in the pre-dawn hours. It was summer: sun-bleached, blazing summer. We lay on a lavender blanket, deep in a field of wildflowers. Thousands of blue lupines nodded their heads in unison in a meadow of ubiquitous buttercups. It was clear Elsbeth was content. Her radiant smile spread and grew in warmth until I felt cocooned in her love. I reached up and plucked a luscious, ripe peach from a groaning branch hanging heavy with fruit above our heads. Peach-fuzz tickled my lips and sugary juices ran down my chin when I bit into the tangy-honeyed flesh. 
I returned her smile, leaned back, and lay my head on her lap, gazing up at her. She ran her fingers through my hair in the comforting motion I’d grown to love. I felt enfolded in her essence and certain of her love. The sunlight glistened through her dark curls and they danced above me with a musical, wind-chime sound.

Excerpt from Double Forté by Aaron Paul Lazar
The novel is included in At Odds with Destiny

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She is some writer

Born and raised in Derry, Northern Ireland, Colm Herron is the author of four novels including The Further Adventures of James Joyce and The Fabricator. His newest book The Wake is a rollicking work of youthful, political, sexual, and spiritual awakening set against the Irish civil rights movement of the late 1960's. I am honored to find his review of my historical Fiction novel, Rise to Power:

on May 22, 2016
King David was some guy. And Uvi Poznansky is some writer. Put their attributes together and you have a mindwhirling novel called Rise to Power. Before I read this book I knew a fair amount about David of Old Testament fame. I knew for example that he had a few warts here and there - though not nearly as many as Poznansky came up with in the course of her boldly creative research.

There's much much more to David than his ascent from court jester to king of the Israelites. He was driven by ambitions that consumed him and left certain eminent and not so eminent corpses in his wake. To put it fairly mildly the giantslayer stopped at very little in getting what he wanted, and this included richly rewarding sex and the throne that God Himself had blessed. To tell you the truth I felt a little morally confused now and then. "How could ...." I would occasionally ask myself. But then God always did move in mysterious ways.

I sometimes had the impression as I read this gem of a novel that Ms Poznansky was sitting chatting to me. Such is the wealth of her conversational style that I wanted to come closer so as not to miss anything. And it is all told in language that is not so much colorful as kaleidoscopic. The Bible was never like this when I used to read it. And more than that, it's the only book in that sometimes unholy collection that was written by a woman. Hallelujah!

Beach reading: who would play on the beach with her

So much of what was important to her lived in that house. She loved the kids. Staying in touch with them while they were away at school, writing weekly, texting constantly, sending gifts from street vendors should be on the continuum of life, but she’d allowed it to slip. When they both decided to spend six weeks of their summer vacation away, she was beside herself and the fact that the plan wasn’t cancelled after Jack’s death really had her baffled. She wondered what would she do the rest of the summer, who would play on the beach with her, go for ice cream or pizza, and hang out in town on a hot summer Friday night.

Excerpt from Pam of Babylon by Suzanne Jenkins
The novel is included in At Odds with Destiny

Get it now
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Saturday, May 21, 2016

Beach reading: It’s starting to get a little warm out here

For the next few minutes, they remained silent, paddling in companionable silence. The sun continued to beat down brightly on the beautiful summer day. When they began to steer through a valley surrounded by towering formations of rock, the breeze suddenly became nearly nonexistent.
“Lucy likes to call this place her hideaway.”
“It’s nice here.” Murphy sighed. “It seems so isolated – as if we’re far away from everyone and everything.”
Kate pointed out a precipice high above. “Supposedly, there’re caves and walkways all along the cliffs where a local Indian tribe lived hundreds of years ago. This river flows all the way down from Canada. There was even a trading post along the Crystal Rock River back in the late eighteen-hundreds.” 
“Cool.” Murphy stared up at the towering cliffs, staggered with vegetation. Tucked here and there beside the walkways, a few lonely pines sprouted from unlikely locations. 
“It’s starting to get a little warm out here,” Kate said. She quickly slipped her tank top off from over her head. 
And Murphy’s mouth went dry. 

Excerpt from That Unforgettable Kiss by Tamara Ferguson. 
The novel is included in A Touch of Passion

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A hearty thank you to our wonderful readers
who not only nominated A Touch of Passion for the 
Romance Reviews Reader Choice Awards 
but also took us all the way to first place:

Friday, May 20, 2016

A place where sirens call your name

Kick off your flip-flops and take my hand
Sink your toes in warm sand
In each shell, a story hides
A secret whispers under crash of tides

In the distance, waves are breaking
Wet, slippery rocks are shaking
If you listen, you'll be swept
To where no ship has yet wrecked

A place for which there is no frame
A place where sirens call your name

Summertime is almost here... Get ready for beach reading
Four full-length, captivating novels:
At Odds with Destiny
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Sunday, May 15, 2016

At this time of year, it’s much too steamy in the office

“Really,” says Bathsheba. “I thought I spotted you standing by your window, with your sword aimed at me.”
To which I explain, “I could not see a thing through the glass. It became cloudy, or something. At this time of day, even though it is only the beginning of summer, it’s much too steamy in the office.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve had it with men.”
I can find nothing to say, and perhaps there is no need to. She can tell, can’t she, how desperately I ache for her.
“My life is scandal-free at the moment,” she says. “It feels nice for a change.”
Which brings me back up to my feet, because thinking about her reputation, the reputation of a soldier’s wife, makes me hot all over. 
I have no idea who her husband might be. More precisely, I do not want to figure it out. All I know is this: when he is away serving the country, serving me, this woman must have found her own way to compensate. Loneliness is a steady companion, one that ugly women can rely upon. Not so for her. 
And she must see—even through my royal garb—how hard I am becoming. She is in hot water—but I am the one boiling over.
“Give me that towel,” she tells me, as if I were her servant.
And I say, “What—”
And she says, “The towel. Yes, that one. Quick, give it to me.”
And with that, she rises up from the frothy surface. 
I wipe my eyes. How shall I begin to describe her? In the patches between the soapsuds, her skin seems to glow. The rays of the setting sun are playing all over her creamy flesh: first one nipple, then the other. 

★ Love historical fiction? Treat yourself to a gift 
Historical Fiction with a Modern Twist...

"The miracle of Uvi Poznansky's writing is her uncanny ability to return to old stories 
and make them brilliantly fresh"
-Grady Harp, Hall of Fame reviewer

Summertime... And the livin’ was easy

She scribbled something for him inside his paper napkin and, taking a quick peek, he found her name, her phone number and a little doodle of a heart. Both Leonard and Lana got up to leave at the same time: halfway through dessert. 
Little did he know that a week from now they would be sitting at the front row of the music center hall, holding hands and absorbing a heavenly soprano voice that filled the air with Summertime. She would know to tell him that George Gershwin found the inspiration to write this aria in a simple Ukrainian lullaby, and Leonard would believe her. A month from now he would rent an apartment, and they would be moving in together. 
But at this moment—on his way out, just about to open the door for Lana—he knew one thing, and one thing only: he was walking on air. So elated was his state of mind, so grand was his happiness, his heart swelled in him with such a powerful pulse, that nothing else mattered. 
Catching sight of the host winking an eye at the other guests, and hearing some muted giggles behind his back, all that left absolutely no impression in him—none whatsoever. He ignored that wink and those giggles, and closed the door. 
The whole thing flew right out of his mind until a full year later.

One Year Later.
Leonard ate his breakfast glancing, from time to time, at that note that Lana had left for him. He was torn between a need to unfold the paper and an urge to crumple it. Either way, he found himself suddenly with the realization that now was the first time in a long while—a full year, in fact—that he was alone. Completely alone. A certain feeling was throbbing in his heart—something between relief, anger, sadness and above all, amazement that she was gone and he was free. 
Leonard turned on the record player and sank into the sofa, determined to spin away the hours to the tune of cheerful melodies. He kicked off his slippers, stretched his legs across the top of the coffee table and closed his eyes, so that the sight of things would not distract him from listening. 
The room disappeared. It was Summertime
His ears started moving at the sides of his head like agitated seismographs, registering every minute reverberation, every note. On the inside of his eyelids, space started to sway around him, gently at first. It was marked by intervals, time intervals that flowed from the lyrics and swept over him, opening and closing in an increasingly complex sequence.  
Summertime. It reminded him of their first date, and of the time that passed since then. True, Lana was a good companion. He loved her. He could find nothing to complain about. 
And the livin’ was easy... 

For a whole year, she accompanied him dutifully to the Opera. And yet, time laid bare the fact that she was bored to tears sitting there, trying to entertain herself somehow by studying the costumes, the lighting, and the scenery—everything that for him was secondary. Only now did he realize that her proclaimed love of music was as real as the blond streaks in her hair.

★ Love reading? Treat yourself to a family drama ★