Sunday, May 5, 2019

Cover reveal: Overdose

While sitting in the hospital's waiting room (waiting for my loved one) I started to design the cover for my upcoming medical thriller. 
Here it is:


As you may know I design all my covers--usually based on my art, be it drawing or digital art, and this one is no exception.

You may wonder: what inspired the composition?  It is a wonderful painting by Goya, depicting his own doctor taking good care of him at the time he fell sick.  By contrast, my Overdose cover hints at something more insidious, mainly by use of blue colors and by keeping the doctor's face masked.


Do No Harm: Fatal Limit by @IngeGoss

The late September drizzle rain had turned into a downpour. Umbrellas banged into each other as their owners pushed through the crowd to get into the best position to cross the street first when the light changed.  A few teetered on the curb, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. Horns erupted in the rush hour traffic. The drivers had no intention of slowing down due the weather.  A woman slipped on the wet sidewalk and grabbed the arm of the closest passerby to prevent her from falling on the hard cement. The stranger gave her an indignant sneer, pushed her hand away, and hurried to the bus shelter to get out of the rain.  In the process, he bumped into me as I sat on the dry bench, watching the mayhem unfold.  Without giving even a hint of an apology, he bent his head and his steely gray eyes bore into me as if the whole incident was my fault. Maybe he was also blaming the weather on me.
Ignoring him, but determined not to scoot closer to the edge of the bench to give him enough space to sit down, I gazed across the street and searched for Sheila, my best friend’s aunt, to emerge from the hospital. Her shift should have ended thirty minutes ago. I would’ve preferred to have stayed in my car to watch for her, but all the parking spots that provided a view of the hospital’s employee entrance were occupied. I parked in the lot behind the bus stop, walked to the bench, and waited for her.
More people poured into the bus shelter, blocking my view. I stood and peered between the heads of two women just as a bus cut to the curb. No longer able to see the other side of the street, I moved away from the horde of people, opened my umbrella, and headed toward the crosswalk.  
When I saw Sheila emerge from the hospital, I waved my hand in the air. With the rain and people scurrying about, I doubted she could see me in the crowd. Continuing along the sidewalk, I kept my eyes on Sheila and noticed she wasn’t wearing a raincoat or making any attempt to cover her head. Her soaking wet hair clung to the top of her nurse’s uniform, and she was staggering, her body swaying with each step she took. Still watching her, I made my way to the crosswalk. Sheila stopped walking and turned toward the hospital. A few seconds later, she swung around and moved in a zigzag path to the street. Sheila didn’t stop when she reached the curb.
Standing on my side of the street, I screamed. “Stop…stop, Sheila.”
A woman next to her gripped Sheila’s arm and said something to her.
Sheila violently pushed the woman away, sending the helpful stranger into the crowd behind her.
Breaks squealed. Tires screeched. But it wasn’t enough to prevent a black sedan from smashing into Sheila. Her body flew in the air, landed on the car hood, and slid to the pavement.
Screams of witnesses pierced the night air.

Excerpt from Fatal Limit by Inge-Lise Goss


No Longer Available
Do No Harm

Saturday, May 4, 2019

Cover reveal: Coma Confidential, audiobook edition

The audiobook edition of Coma Confidential is coming soon, narrated by the amazing Heather Jane Hogan, whose voice has captured my heart ever since she narrated my Women's Fiction book My Own Voice (which is included in Apart from Love) and my Dark Fantasy book Twisted. She can step into the skin of any one of my heroines, no matter their age or accent, and give them a voice.

In designing the cover for Coma Confidential, I wanted Ash to direct her gaze at you, so that her story can be told in the most intimate way, even if no one else but you can hear it. I imagined Ash floating in her own neural network. Here she is, describing it in her own words: 


I feel like a fish in a fishbowl, hovering just behind the glass. I watch them watching me. Correction: Since I can’t see, my fishbowl is opaque. All I can do is listen to them watching me.
Dr. Patel explains to his audience that in my state, I can’t open my eyes. He adds that in the second stage of coma, also known as vegetative state—which unfortunately, I have yet to reach—patients may open their eyes, but they can’t interact with others. They can’t talk.
Too bad. I have a long way to go before I can be called normal.
How does he classify patients who can, somehow, lift their pinky toe? That’s the one thing I’d like to know. Can someone raise this question with him? 
No. Nobody does. Dr. Patel goes on lecturing his students about the brain, about improving the efficiency of neurotransmitters in it, which allows signals to pass from one neuron to the next across contact points called synapses. At first I find myself bored.
I would yawn, if only I could. 
Then, his presentation conjures up an image in my mind. I picture myself half submerged in the neural network of the brain. It looks like a fishnet, where a million squiggling limbs have been swept up, limbs that are visible not only at the upper surface but also down there, at layers beneath layers of its depth.
Nerve signals are shooting around me every which way, traveling across the contact points between one limb and another. Limbs and synapses, synapses and limbs, with no limit but imagination.
I know that what I’ve created in my mind is not real—but even so, it overwhelms me. Caught under the surface, I struggle for air. An unexpected tide rises around my face, my nose. It’s touch and go. I may drown, or I may float over this constantly wriggling neural network and manage, somehow, to live on.



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? 

Wednesday, May 1, 2019

Do No Harm: The Healer by @CFFBooks

The tired, small hatchback hit a rock next to the edge of the road and came to an unexpected and abrupt stop. Erica had not seen the bulky thing hidden underneath the uncut grass. She switched off the engine and got out. There seemed no significant damage to her old banger but she couldn’t care less right now, to be honest, and decided she would leave it parked here anyway. She must be close.
Quite frankly, she considered herself lucky to have made it this far; the roads had been bumpy and her car was in a dire condition, too. It wouldn’t be much longer before it would have to be scrapped. Living in London she rarely needed it and had often been tempted to sell it anyway.
This was deepest Wales, the countryside - something that the Londoner in her had not seen for years and certainly hadn’t missed. Poor phone reception, miles to the nearest supermarket with its supplies of cigarettes and bubbly: that’s what the countryside meant to her.
She guessed the car was sufficiently off the road and out of the way. Who would come here, anyway? It was unlikely that two cars would find this remote corner of Wales at the same time, she reckoned. Erica looked around: not a living soul in sight, no houses or vehicles; she was totally off the beaten track. She could see no significant landmarks; all views were blocked by large trees and hedges. It was drizzling a little and although it was past lunchtime, there was mist that reminded her of early mornings. The wind had made the spring temperatures drop more than she had anticipated and she was chilly in her inadequate city clothing.
She searched her purse for the map, which her assistant Hilda had drawn for her. It seemed as if she was in the right place; there was the small path at the foot of the hill, and the two opposing gates leading to fields with horses and sheep. Since leaving her nearby B&B, all the road junctions she had come to had been easy to recognise and here was the little shoulder by the side of the road, where Hilda had recommended she should park the car.
She assured herself once more that it was the right path and then she psyched herself up for the walk up the steep hill. The tricky part, Hilda had explained, was finding the hidden gate, which would lead her to the man himself. However, Hilda didn’t have pancreatic cancer and was not recovering from a course of chemo and so she had no idea how difficult it would be for Erica to walk up that hill. It seemed by no means the easy climb her assistant had called it. For all her recent goodness, that woman could drive her mad.
Erica looked at herself in the outside mirror of her car before getting ready to face the man. Her hair had not fallen out from the chemo but it had turned grey and made her look much older than she was. There were still crow’s feet and wrinkles despite being facially bloated – it really wasn’t fair; the worst of both worlds. People used to think of Erica as at least five years younger than she actually was, but now people thought she was five years older. Overnight it seemed, she had aged from 40 to 50 but given her current situation she would be lucky to reach 45. Additionally, she had lost a lot of weight, despite the effect that the steroids had had on her. With her mere 5’ 4’’ frame, she looked tiny and felt thin and weak.
Only this man might be able to improve her chances and she desperately hoped the trip here would be worth it. If the man really was who Hilda thought, there was a slight chance for her. If she could make him speak to her, then she was sure she could persuade him to help - if he still possessed those powers. There suddenly seemed a lot of ifs.
She locked the car and began the climb up the tree-covered hill. Her trainers slid on the moist moss, her jeans too tight for some of the big steps she had to take. There was only a tiny trodden path, which seemed easy to lose sight of, curving its way upwardly through the trees. She was glad she had the map. Hilda deserved an award for organising this; if Erica ever made it back to her position at work she would make sure to find a way of compensating her, if she had anything left after she had paid the man.
Her assistant had come here a few days ago and had scouted the place out in the manner of a gifted detective. Hilda had been an angel the last few months with an uncalled for loyalty and devotion which Erica felt she didn’t deserve. 

Excerpt from The Healer by Christoph Fischer


No Longer Available
Do No Harm

A Tale of Long Lasting Love

LISTENER

Shannon G


 A Tale of Long Lasting Love 

Overall  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
    
4 out of 5 stars
Performance  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
    
4 out of 5 stars
Story  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
    
4 out of 5 stars
Reviewed: 04-06-19

This is a beautifully written story of just how love can see us through the most difficult times in life. Dealing with Alzheimer disease is a very hard thing to do and Uvi Poznansky does a wonderful job portraying everyone's emotions. The characters are nicely developed and the story well written. I enjoyed listening to the memories Lenny shared with us. Seeing the love form from a bud and blossom into a beautiful flower was wonderful. The narration was well done. Each character had their own voice and emotions. Don Warrick has a nice voice and read at a good pace. He helped to bring the story to life and made it more enjoyable. Even though this is book three you don't have to have listened to the other two to enjoy this one.

I was given this free review copy audio book at my request and have voluntarily left this review.

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

Relax Ma, I know what I’m doing

In the backyard, Ma is tossing a small stick for my golden retriever to fetch. But as I come in, Browny forgets all about the game and leaps up, almost knocking me over with the full force of happiness.
My mother says, “I know you love chicken soup, Ash. I made some for you.” 
I say, “Smells delicious, all the way from the kitchen, Ma.”
She smiles. “It’s been simmering all day.”
Her hand runs ever so softly over my forehead, so I avoid telling her that I’m tired of the same old meal. I bet she also cooked some carrots and peas, but having been called a vegetable, I promised myself not to eat them.
It’s time for a change. 
So, I decide to surprise her with a new recipe, which I learned a few months ago from my boyfriend. At the time, we cooked it together in his kitchen. 
Just thinking back to that evening makes me miss Michael so much. In recent weeks, I have lived in isolation. It allowed me to reflect on everything that has happened to me, so as to figure out where to go from here. And after all that time, the only thing I know for sure is that I pine for him. I long for the warmth of his embrace. I miss his passion. 
Am I ready, at long last, to rekindle it?
I go to the kitchen, Browny’s paws tapping the floor close behind me. I heat some oil in a large saucepan, chop some garlic and onion and toss them in. Listening to the start of the sizzle, I sprinkle oregano, cumin and cinnamon. My golden retriever sniffs the air with great excitement.
I cover the saucepan, letting the onion cook until it is tender. From time to time, I stir it. For good measure, I mix in chili powder and flour.
Ma comes in just as I start whisking in her chicken broth.
“Oh no!” She purses her lips in disapproval. “Why are you wasting it?”
“Relax Ma,” I say. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, Ma! This is going to be great over chicken and rice. Mole sauce celebrates the flavors of traditional Mexican cuisine. And it has a special nutritional ingredient, which I find absolutely essential for my diet these days.”
“Which is what?”
“Chocolate.”
She raises an eyebrow but says not a thing. 
Meanwhile, I increase the heat and cook until the liquid is reduced. Then I remove it from the heat, whisk in large chunks of dark chocolate. As they melt, I season the sauce with a pinch of salt and a dash of pepper.
The aroma is simply exhilarating. When I pour the sauce over chicken and rice, the only thing Ma says is, “Mmm.”
“Have a seat, Ma,” I say, carrying both plates to the table. “Today, we’re going to have a gourmet meal.”
“Yes,” she says, looking at Browny, who is licking a drop of the sauce on the floor. “I’m hungry.”
We eat. We lick the plates clean. We hug.

Excerpt from Coma Confidential


★ Love Suspense? Go for the ride ★

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? 



A diary of memories

A short and sweet review for Apart from Love:

April 24, 2019
A dark family drama. Very deep in content and form this is a story of memories and pain. Extremely well written and will leave the reader with darkness and light soulful thoughts.