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Razer 8 #Series by P.T.Macias @PT_Macias #Romance #Suspense #MustRead

1 Mar


The hard driven, ambitious delta force operative is immune to women. His heart has been destroyed by a treacherous woman and the unexpected loss of his family. These events have driven him nearly into insanity. The hard knocks in life propel him into grasping his emotions, his thoughts, and his physical condition. He focused on his goal. Loco doesn’t allow any type of distractions or obstacles to stop him. His actions and recklessness have earned him his nickname, Loco.

The Infinite power, Razer 8 operatives, are united and linked for infinity. His team mates recognize his pain, anger, and strength is derived from the intense impotency he feels from his loss.

The unexpected mission and unexpected encounter with his soul mate, tests his strength. His mind, heart, and soul recognize his love even before the actual encounter. The ruthless criminals threaten to harm his soul mate, pushing and transforming him into a fearless warrior.

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Ghost is an old-fashioned Southern boy fighting hard to forget his pain. He’s forced to protect his Mama and sister from their abusive Pa. Ghost is strong, silent, and soft spoken. He works hard against all obstacles and hurt.

Ghost grows up to become a Delta Force. He meets and falls for a hot Latina who sets him on fire! She captures his soul and brightens his world. He would do anything to protect her.

Duty calls and he’s forced to leave her unprotected. The unspeakable happens! Ghost calls on Infinity. Infinity aids to extract his woman from the clutches of a soulless prostitution mob. Time is running out!

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Bulldog is the youngest of the Razer 8 Delta Force Operatives. He enjoys life. He’s called upon to help out one of his team operative. Infinity is there.

He runs into Katherine Morgan, a sweet young victim. In the the process of extraction he gets caught by the prostitution gang. They mistake him with being her boyfriend.

Bulldog grabs onto that line and poses as her boyfriend. In the process of rescuing Katherine from the mob he becomes entangled in her web. Will Bulldog’s skills and training save him from falling under her spell? Will he be able to outrun the mob and his soul?

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Redfox, Razer 8 10-13-13

Redfox, Razer 8 operative mission is to infiltrate the Police Commissioner’s office and home. He has 72 hours to gather the intel on the Commissioner’s dirty business.

Redfox charms his way into the Commissioner’s home, throwing him into the arms of his soul mate. The unexpected love rocks his world and the success his mission.

The Commissioner’s daughter, Marsha Diane Bryant is a lovely sweet young girl. She falls under Redfox spell and unconditionally bestows her soul.

Redfox fears losing his soul mate in the process of completing his mission. Can their love survive the storm?

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Genre – Romantic Suspense

Rating – PG 13

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Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King) by RJ Blain @rj_blain #excerpt #fantasy

14 Feb

“Do you think they’ll actually go to war this time?” she asked, lifting up the missive and waving it in the air. The vellum crinkled, giving it the appearance that it had been read and considered several times.

“That isn’t our concern,” Breton replied. He hesitated before continuing. “It wouldn’t surprise me. Kelsh and Danar have always been at war. The question is whether or not it’ll be official this time. Unless they call the Council, we can do nothing.”

“If we don’t find him before someone else does, they’ll go to war with us.” Her brow furrowed as she picked up one of the root quills and dipped it in ink. The scratch of writing was the only sound in the room until she finished the reply. “We’ve been practicing since it happened.”

Breton didn’t need to ask what she spoke of. Something was happening, but he didn’t know what. No one did. He wasn’t certain if he could call it evil, but it wasn’t good either. There was one thing he was assured of: Whatever caused the feeling was dangerous and it was affecting all of the Guardians.

“Do Arik’s Queens feel it too?”

Riran nodded. “We want to help find him, but we can’t risk our mares. None of us have geldings or stallions. But, we can free you of this work and make it so you can go out and find him for us.”

She refused to meet his eyes, staring down at the vellum as though it held the secrets of the world within the letters written on it. The corners of Breton’s mouth twitched up.

“By ‘you’ do you mean me or the Guardians as a whole?”

Riran thrust the sheet of vellum at him. He took it and read through the document. The message from Kelsh was neither report nor letter, but the vague sort of missive that Breton hated the most. It wasn’t addressed to a man. It wasn’t even addressed to the Rift King or His Majesty. Even worse, the tone of the writing was so dismissive that Breton wanted to shred the page.

The sight of Kalen’s handwriting partnered with the careful and neutral tone of the Rift King hurt. The pressure in his chest grew until he wanted to lash out from the frustration of it all. She’d done it just right, even mastering the flicked curl added to many of the letters. It was a Kelshite habit that Breton hadn’t quite managed to convince the Rift King to remove from his writing.

“Are all of you this proficient?” Breton asked.

“Yes,” Riran replied.

“Get this mess cleaned up and I’ll think about it,” he said. He lifted Gorishitorik from the desk and held the old sword in the crook of his arm.

“We’ll need a few days.”

“Fine. Oh, Riran?”

The woman looked up from the stack of papers in front of her. “What is it?”

“Scheme against Kalen again and I’ll separate your head from your shoulders. Understood?”

Riran paled and jerked her head in a nod. Inclining his head, Breton turned and walked through the room, not caring how many of the stacks he bumped against on his way out.


Kalen’s throne is his saddle, his crown is the dirt on his brow, and his right to rule is sealed in the blood that stains his hand. Few know the truth about the one-armed Rift King, and he prefers it that way. When people get too close to him, they either betray him or die. The Rift he rules cares nothing for the weak. More often than not, even the strong fail to survive.

When he’s abducted, his disappearance threatens to destroy his home, his people, and start a hopeless and bloody war. There are many who desire his death, and few who hope for his survival. With peace in the Six Kingdoms quickly crumbling, it falls on him to try to stop the conflict swiftly taking the entire continent by storm.

But something even more terrifying than the machinations of men has returned to the lands: The skreed. They haven’t been seen for a thousand years, and even the true power of the Rift King might not be enough to save his people — and the world — from destruction.

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Genre – Fantasy

Rating – PG – 13

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The Violent Season: A Story of the Generation that Fought the Vietnam War by Maj. Ray Gleason Ph.D.

21 Sep

THE VIOLENT SEASON is an epic, expansive collection of heroic short stories centered on the gripping experiences of three young men and their families during the Vietnam War. The book presents a ‘coming-of-age’ narrative that begins in the lush river valleys of upstate New York and on the streets of New York City and provides an insightful perspective of youth and innocence plunged into the crucible of war.

As well, it transcends the “good guys, bad guys” portrayal of human conflict by presenting its readers with a depiction of good people, Americans and Vietnamese, caught up in unthinkably grim and difficult circumstances. THE VIOLENT SEASON celebrates the resilience of the human spirit and its ability to triumph over the horror and tragedy of war.

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Genre – Literary / Historical Fiction

Rating – PG13

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#AmReading – Shalimar the Clown by Salman Rushdie

27 Aug

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Shalimar the Clown by Salman Rushdie

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Genre – Contemporary Fiction

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Shalimar the Clown is a masterpiece from one of our greatest writers, a dazzling novel that brings together the fiercest passions of the heart and the gravest conflicts of our time into an astonishingly powerful, all-encompassing story.
Max Ophuls’ memorable life ends violently in Los Angeles in 1993 when he is murdered by his Muslim driver Noman Sher Noman, also known as Shalimar the Clown. At first the crime seems to be politically motivated – Ophuls was previously ambassador to India, and later US counterterrorism chief – but it is much more.
Ophuls is a giant, an architect of the modern world: a Resistance hero and best-selling author, brilliant economist and clandestine US intelligence official. But it is as Ambassador to India that the seeds of his demise are planted, thanks to another of his great roles – irresistible lover. Visiting the Kashmiri village of Pachigam, Ophuls lures an impossibly beautiful dancer, the ambitious (and willing) Boonyi Kaul, away from her husband, and installs her as his mistress in Delhi. But their affair cannot be kept secret, and when Boonyi returns home, disgraced and obese, it seems that all she has waiting for her is the inevitable revenge of her husband: Noman Sher Noman, Shalimar the Clown. He was an acrobat and tightrope walker in their village’s traditional theatrical troupe; but soon Shalimar is trained as a militant in Kashmir’s increasingly brutal insurrection, and eventually becomes a terrorist with a global remit and a deeply personal mission of vengeance.
With sweeping brilliance, Salman Rushdie portrays fanatical mullahs as fully as documentary filmmakers, rural headmen as completely as British spies; he describes villages that compete to make the most splendid feasts, the mentality behind martial law, and the celebrity of Los Angeles policemen, all with the same genius.
But the main story is only part of the story. In this stunningly rich book everything is connected, and everyone is a part of everyone else. Shalimar the Clown is a true work of the era of globalization, intricately mingling lives and countries, and finding unexpected and sometimes tragic connections between the seemingly disparate. The violent fate of Kashmir recalls Strasbourg’s experience in World War Two; Resistance heroism against the Nazis counterpoints Al-Qaeda’s terror in Pakistan, North Africa and the Philippines. 1960s Pachigam is not so far from post-war London, or the Hollywood-driven present-day Los Angeles where Max’s daughter by Boonyi, India Ophuls, beautiful, strong-willed, modern, waits, as vengeance plays itself out.
A powerful love story, intensely political and historically informed, Shalimar the Clown is also profoundly human, an involving story of people’s lives, desires and crises – India Ophuls’ desperate search for her real mother, for example; Max’s wife’s attempts to deal with his philandering – as well as, in typical Rushdie fashion, a magical tale where the dead speak and the future can be foreseen.
Shalimar the Clown is steeped in both the Hindu epic Ramayana and the great European novelists, melding the storytelling traditions of east and west into a magnificently fruitful blend – and serves, itself, as a corrective to the destructive clashes of values it scorchingly depicts. Enthralling, comic and amazingly abundant, it will no doubt come to be seen as one of the key books of our time.

Lee Harmon – What is a Liberal Christian?

6 Aug


The Preexis T en T Chris T

I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. —Revelation 21:6

“And the rest of the Christians?” John prompted.

“A few left with us. Most stayed. Believers in Jesus are divided now. When my father died a few days later, only a few friends quietly joined in mourning and left quickly, before being noticed. We had no processional. I myself prepared his body with spices and linens and laid him in a cave, hoping he would be undiscovered.”

John bowed his head. “And so, your father wanted his bones returned here.”

“It matters little what he wanted. Christians may no longer bury their dead in the cemeteries there. Ruth’s mother offered to let me lay his bones here.”

John glanced at Ruth, his suspicion confirmed that she and Matthew were well acquainted. A puzzling relationship, indeed.

“Ruth and her uncle came to Antioch when they heard of my father’s death,” Matthew explained. “Remember, Ruth and her mother settled into this house, once my father’s home, when we left Ephesus so many years ago. Up there”—Matthew pointed at the rooftop—“that’s where I sat with my father until sunset, on my thirteenth birthday, while he told me about your vision. Say, where is your mother, Ruth?”

“Sleeping, I hope, in the house. She has taken ill.” “Oh, I’m sorry. I should visit her before I leave.” “Please do.”

John steered the conversation back on course. “So you came here to Ephesus with Ruth and her uncle, bringing back your father’s bones.” “We just arrived today. Ruth came on home while I went first to settle my donkey into a public stable. Had I known I would find you here …”

John smiled, pretending no offense and hoping to lighten the tension. “Will you now go back to Antioch?”

“I don’t know,” Matthew admitted. “I have nothing to return to. I am a Jew, John! To be severed from our people, from the beliefs of our ancestors, leaves me without social ties—from everything that gives a Jew meaning in life. I am, for the first time, alone.”

“As am I.”

“No, you’re not alone!” Matthew snapped. “You don’t understand at all. They love you here, John.”

“It’s not love, Matthew. It’s a kind of twisted respect. They call me a prophet. Some in awe, others in derision.”

“You call yourself a prophet. You claim to prophesy.”

John shrugged. “I speak to you in a whisper now, Matthew. Fifteen years I have lived here among Gentiles. Fifteen years with the followers of Paul.”

Matthew said nothing and let the old man continue.

“It would not be good for others to hear what I now confess. Here, I have found God again. I have found him and have discovered him to be far greater than I imagined. That is why we write again.”

Still, Matthew said nothing.

“Do you see that cluster of people there?” John pointed with a nod, and Matthew followed his gaze. A handful of men huddled with their wives beside the stone fence at the edge of the courtyard, children playing round their feet. Jews and Gentiles both.

“John …” Ruth cautioned, shaking her head.

He ignored her. “They are watching to see if I will die.” Matthew shot Ruth a puzzled look. She bit her lip and sighed.

“They expected the Messiah to return before I die. Christians, they are, but I have lost their faith.”

“John, our people are disappointed, that’s all,” Ruth offered. “Too many times, now, we have expected the glory of God to arrive, and it hasn’t. Their hope wanes, waiting for the Messiah. Yet they still honor you.”

“Do they?” When an old man sneers, even the vipers haste away. “You!” John called across the courtyard. “And you! Come, carry your prophet to the rooftop, where I may enjoy my conversation without stares.”

“No, Father,” one called back, pointing to the west. “We cannot,

until the sun steps upon the rooftops. We cannot carry you on the Sabbath.”

“They address me as Father, but they consider me senile,” John complained. “Fools!” he called back. “Of course today is the Sabbath! Yesterday was the Sabbath! Tomorrow will be the Sabbath! Carry me now!

His audience shook their heads together. Women looked ready to cry, children sniffled or sniggered, depending upon their age. “Soon,” one of the men promised.

“Do you see? I am as alone as you. Yet we don’t have to be alone, Matthew, you and I! Not at all. The Christ wishes to dwell in us.”

“Our Christ is dead.” Matthew spat the words as four separate invectives.

“No, Matthew, our Christ lives. How did Paul put it? ‘Christ has existed from the beginning, from before the creation of the world.’”

“Paul said no such thing! My father read to me all the letters of Paul! We know Jesus was born to Joseph and Mary.”

Ruth spoke next, hoping to thwart the tension that seemed to be bubbling up between these two turbulent men. “Another letter from Paul has recently surfaced, Matthew. This time, written to the city of Colossae.”

“And you really think Paul wrote it?” Matthew scoffed. “Paul died thirty years ago.”

“It bears not only his name, but his spirit. ‘He is the visible likeness of the invisible God’, this letter claims.”

“Who is? Paul?”

“No,” Ruth smiled. “Our Lord Jesus. ‘For through Christ, God created everything in heaven and on earth. God created the whole universe through him and for him. Christ existed before all things.’”

Matthew stood dumbfounded. This didn’t sound like Paul at all. “‘For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him.’” “Ruth,” John interrupted. “Sing the hymn for Matthew.”

“Sing?” Ruth winced. Mud-plastered stone fenced the courtyard but didn’t do much for privacy, the wall being only about four feet tall. Neighboring homes, their dwellers audibly and visibly present, stood but a few feet beyond the wall in every direction. From an upper window to the south, Ruth could hear a family praying loudly to Zeus. To the west, a man stood to salute someone in the name of Domitian Caesar. A Roman visitor must have wandered by, outside Ruth’s line of vision. “Now? Must I?”

“Please. The hymn I taught you.”


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Genre – Religion / Christianity

Rating – G

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