The Resistance

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Stealing Liberty

Posted on June 24, 2017 at 4:20 AM Comments comments (0)

 


I PRE-ORDERED THIS ONE!

About the Book

 

Title: Stealing Liberty

 

Author: Jennifer Froelich

 

Genre: Young Adult

 

A heist so monumental, it may cost them everything… When Reed Paine is sent to a secret detention school for teens whose parents are branded enemies of the state, he doesn’t expect to find friendship – especially after coming face to face with Riley Paca, a girl who has every reason to hate him.

 

But when Reed, Riley and a few others start reading the old books they find in tunnels under the school, they begin to question what they are taught about the last days of America and the government that has risen in its place. Then the government decides to sell the Liberty Bell and Reed and his friends risk everything to steal it – to take back their history and the liberty that has been stolen from them (Stealing Liberty/ Clean Reads).

 

 

 

About the Author

 

Jennifer Froelich published her debut novel, Dream of Me, in late 2011, which reviewers praised as “well-orchestrated with outstanding imagery.” Her second novel, A Place Between Breaths, published in 2014, was called “a roller-coaster ride with enough twists and turns to keep everyone interested” and won an Honorable Mention in Writer’s Digest’s 23rd Annual Self Published Book competition. Jennifer is a frequent contributing author to Chicken Soup for the Soul. A graduate of the Walter Cronkite School of Journalism at Arizona State University, Jennifer worked for many years as a freelance editor and writer before publishing her own work. She lives in beautiful Idaho with her husband, two teenage kids, and a rescue cat named Katniss.


 

Book Excerpts

 

Excerpt One:

 

My escort pushes me. “Pick up the pace, kid.” I stumble on a sharp rock and cut my toe. It hurts more than it should and I pull up to face him, fists curled at my side. I’ve grown about a foot since my sixteenth birthday, which means I can stare him down, eye to eye. He just smirks. How about I smash your nose? For a minute the urge is so powerful, my pulse pounds against my throat and red spots blur my vision.

 

Don’t do anything stupid, Reed. Pick your battles. The voice in my head is my dad’s, so I listen. We climb aboard a rusty hybrid bus parked in front of the bombed-out terminal. “Welcome,” says the autopilot. It’s one of the retro models, formed like a human, with LED eyes and everything. When magnetic tracks were first installed, citizens didn’t trust computers to maneuver vehicles safely along roadways. At least that’s what my grandmother told me. Humanoid pilots were designed to make them feel safer. Pretty soon, people had more important things to worry about. My escort takes a seat behind the pilot, but I keep going. Only one other passenger is on the bus — a girl with long blond hair who sits in the fifth row, pressed against the window. Bruises swell on her left cheekbone and along her jaw. Her lip is crusted with blood and her right eyelid is swollen shut. Nausea washes over me, along with fresh anger. “Sit!” our escort barks. The girl flinches. I take a seat across from her and shift toward the window. The door squeaks closed and the bus lurches forward. We travel on an old freeway so desolate, we don’t encounter a single other transport. I wish I was calm enough to sleep — so numb to the government’s strong-arm tactics, they no longer get to me. Instead I stare past the landscape and try not to shake. Try not to relive my nightmare or think about how it felt to wake up with a gun to my head. I imagine a different outcome. Fighting back — or breaking out of the state home before they showed up. If only.

 

Excerpt Two:

 

I’m fascinated by stories of immigrants who came to America from all corners of the world, giving up everything just to step foot on these shores. Just like my grandparents. I read about what they sought. Freedom, opportunity, safety, peace. “Give me your tired, your poor. Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” It’s from a poem once displayed at the Statue of Liberty, meant to welcome people to the land of the free, the home of the brave. It makes me sad, thinking how different everything is now. I glance at Adam. He’s studying a vinyl album cover, reading lyrics, I suspect. We’re changing, every one of us, by what we read. It’s as if we have only existed in darkness before, with one light guiding us down a fixed path. Now we’re flooded with light, and it’s a prism, shining from a thousand angles, giving us perspectives in colors we never imagined.

 

History texts call Grandma’s generation the Lost Ones, but just in passing. Teachers talk about them quickly, always ready to move on. But Grandma was a great storyteller, which made sense when she finally told me about Floodlight . Grandma said people spent a lot of time imagining the future when she was a kid. In movies, books and music, they thought up utopias, dystopias. They wrote about technology taking over or disappearing altogether. Most of all they imagined change. It’s not surprising. She was born during the dawn of cell phones and cyberspace, after analog gave way to digital. When plasma fought with LCD, then disappeared for LED, 3D and pixel paint. Satellites crowded the atmosphere. Electronic books were born, everyone began storing data on the cloud. Transportation engineers built the first bullet train and laid the first mag tracks. Gaming systems mimicked movement. Robots performed surgery and medicine got smart. Retinal grafts got to be as popular as tattoos. The first nanochips were installed, then the first tragus implants, allowing us to sync our data with any device we hold. Everyone looked to the future and wondered what next?

 

Grandma said people rush to extremes, but never settle on the truth. No one knew the great technological advances characterizing the past two centuries would stagnate, too gradually to be noticed. And the change? People celebrated it. Then they fought over what it meant, who had the right to make it happen and who should just shut up. But they didn’t understand. It was happening with or without their permission, and never how they envisioned it. Like a pebble you nudge with your foot, only to watch it roll down a hill and start an avalanche. You could have stopped the pebble, but why would you? How could you know it would destroy a town, a city, a nation? “We were rich and spoiled,” Grandma said, “throwing away more food than we ate, living from one form of entertainment to the next. Offended by everything, we grew weaker still, building bubbles around our opinions, enraged by anyone who shared ideas not matching the most popular narrative. War and disease caught us unprepared, which is why most of us didn’t survive.”

 

Excerpt Three:

 

History texts call Grandma’s generation the Lost Ones, but just in passing. Teachers talk about them quickly, always ready to move on. But Grandma was a great storyteller, which made sense when she finally told me about Floodlight . Grandma said people spent a lot of time imagining the future when she was a kid. In movies, books and music, they thought up utopias, dystopias. They wrote about technology taking over or disappearing altogether. Most of all they imagined change. It’s not surprising. She was born during the dawn of cell phones and cyberspace, after analog gave way to digital. When plasma fought with LCD, then disappeared for LED, 3D and pixel paint. Satellites crowded the atmosphere. Electronic books were born, everyone began storing data on the cloud. Transportation engineers built the first bullet train and laid the first mag tracks. Gaming systems mimicked movement. Robots performed surgery and medicine got smart. Retinal grafts got to be as popular as tattoos. The first nanochips were installed, then the first tragus implants, allowing us to sync our data with any device we hold. Everyone looked to the future and wondered what next?

 

Grandma said people rush to extremes, but never settle on the truth. No one knew the great technological advances characterizing the past two centuries would stagnate, too gradually to be noticed. And the change? People celebrated it. Then they fought over what it meant, who had the right to make it happen and who should just shut up. But they didn’t understand. It was happening with or without their permission, and never how they envisioned it. Like a pebble you nudge with your foot, only to watch it roll down a hill and start an avalanche. You could have stopped the pebble, but why would you? How could you know it would destroy a town, a city, a nation? “We were rich and spoiled,” Grandma said, “throwing away more food than we ate, living from one form of entertainment to the next. Offended by everything, we grew weaker still, building bubbles around our opinions, enraged by anyone who shared ideas not matching the most popular narrative. War and disease caught us unprepared, which is why most of us didn’t survive.”

 

Excerpt Four:

 

Reed is frowning. Something brews behind his eyes. “You said the Bell will travel by freight train?” Sam nods. “From Old Philly to the Western Sand? Any chance it will pass on these tracks?” Sam shrugs and bends over his tablet, tapping and swiping with sure fingers. Finally he raises his eyes. “It’s possible. There are a couple routes from Philadelphia to San Francisco still passable since the Yellowstone landslide, and this one hasn’t been bombed by rebels. Yet.” Reed starts pacing. “Is there a way to hack the transportation system? To make sure it will pass the school?” “Probably,” Sam says. “Even if we do, the Bell will be crated and traveling by pretty fast,” Paisley says. “Not much to see.” Reed stops pacing and his eyes lock with mine. My heart turns over. I somehow know what he’s thinking and, for the first time, the hole left by Zak’s death feels like it might heal. “I don’t want to see it,” he says. “I want to steal it.”

 

 

 

 

 

Links

 

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DreamWalkers --Giveaway

Posted on June 18, 2017 at 1:25 PM Comments comments (0)

 

 

 



Title: Dreamwalkrs

 

Author: Tiaan Lubbe

 

Genre: YA Fantasy / Adventure

 

 

 

“You walk the bridges between two worlds, between reality and dreams, Ciso.”

 

“You are a Dreamwalker”


 

Narciso di Angelo, a sixteen-year-old boy, living on the streets of Rome thinks he is the only one that can walk in other’s dreams.

 

He’s not.

 

When a mysterious and dark woman makes her appearance in one of his dreamwalks, he is rescued from her clutches by Project Somnus, a secret underground United Nations organisation, that recruits and trains children with his gifts, using them to fight against and prevent worldwide terrorist threats.

 

Here Narciso learns more of his abilities and where they come from as well as what it means to be part of a family and a home.

 

But, as the threat of the mysterious woman and the terrorist organisation Tantibus increases, he also learns what it is like to lose this.

 

“In dreams we live. In reality we dream.”

 

Author Bio


 

 

 

Tiaan Lubbe lives in Pretoria, South Africa where he spends his time teaching little monsters, directing

 

plays, doing what he calls writing and dreaming up the future. Mostly all at once.

 

Links

 

Ebook Pre-order link: https://www.amazon.com/Dreamwalkers-Oneiroi-Legacies-Book-1-ebook/dp/B0718ZQMJB/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1493639551&sr=8-3&keywords=dreamwalkers

 

Facebook Page Link: www.facebook.com/tiaanlubbeauthor

 

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Tiaan-Lubbe/e/B00NRQE7PI/

 

Goodreads Page: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35055312-dreamwalkers

 

 

 

 

 

Dreamwalkers

 

By Tiaan Lubbe

 

Excerpt:

 

Commander Sawyer comes to stand in front of us and the pods. “You will be entering a dreamscape together,” he says so matter-of-factly that I almost believe this isn’t a big deal. “Your objective is to retrieve a single sentence that will be held as a secret in the deepest part of the subconscious. You must travel through all the landscapes as a team, supporting each other and working together through the numerous obstacles to achieve this objective. Understood?”

 

“Understood,” everyone except for me says in unison.

 

“Understood,” I say a moment later. Then I realise that I actually don’t understand. He might just as well have been talking German. “Wait,” I say, trying to exude respect in my voice as I’ve never done before. I don’t know if it works, but I continue. “How’s this going to work? How are we going into a dream together? Plus I’m not tired, how will I…”

 

“di Angelo!” Agent Knight scolds under her breath.

 

“No, Agent Knight. He’s quite right to ask,” the Commander says plainly. “Sorry, Mr di Angelo. I forgot you have not had the time to be properly introduced to our technology and methods as much as the others have. Though I’m afraid you’ll learn most of it through actual and physical practice, I will be glad to give you a quick run-through. Will that set you at ease?”

 

“We’re wasting time,” Loghan murmurs from the side. Agent Knight quickly silences him with a look. The Commander ignores it, his eyes trained on me, waiting for a response.

 

“Yes, that would,” I say.

 

“Very well,” the Commander says and points to the pod next to me. “Those are sensory deprivation pods, or as we like to call them, Dreampods. They are designed to deprive you from any sensory experiences so that you can enter the dreamscapes quicker and without distraction. Basically, it hastens your process of falling asleep and reaching the REM period where most dreaming is done.”

a Rafflecopter giveaway


 

 

The Hooligans of Kandahar

Posted on June 18, 2017 at 4:25 AM Comments comments (0)


About the Book

Title: The Hooligans of Kandahar

Author: Joseph Kassabian

Genre: Nonfiction / War Memoir

During the peak years of the Afghanistan War, a group of soldiers is dropped by helicopter into the remote mountains outside of Kandahar City. Mismanaged and overlooked by command, how they survive is largely up to them. In the birthplace of the Taliban, some men lose their sanity, others their humanity. They are The Hooligans.

Written in the months and years following his deployment, Joseph Kassabian recounts his time in the isolated and dangerous country of Afghanistan. Pulling no punches, The Hooligans of Kandahar is a sobering, saddening, and often sarcastic first-hand account of America's War on Terror.

Links

Amazon (ebook) : https://www.amazon.com/Hooligans-Kandahar-Joseph-Kassabian-ebook/dp/B0719T996H/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1496313455&sr=8-1&keywords=the+hooligans+of+kandahar

Amazon (Paperback): https://www.amazon.com/Hooligans-Kandahar-Joseph-Kassabian/dp/0692754695/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1496313455&sr=8-1


Book Excerpts

Excerpt #1.

Generally, when our squad went on patrol for hours at a time, we would set up Observation Points, or OPs. OPs were areas that were slightly defensible and allowed us to watch a large area while remaining concealed from sight. That’s what the manual says about OPs, anyway.

What we really used them for was to duck away in the night for a few hours and take turns napping. A few soldiers stood watch while the others removed their overbearing gear and lay down in the dirt to catch a few minutes of much-needed sleep.

The official mission was to watch over a Taliban “rat line,” or trail used for smuggling weapons into the area. We had watched the ratline and raided various houses in the last few months and found nothing. We were all pretty sure that the ratline didn’t actually exist anywhere outside of Scream’s head.

Since Scream was adamant that something was going to happen in that village, he kept ordering us to sit in the darkness and stare at nothing.

We established a primary OP on an elevated ridge that overlooked the trail that Scream was certain was a pathway for whatever nefarious deeds the Taliban did at night. During our first ten-hour watch of the area, Walrus—who was one of the laziest people I’ve ever met—found a couch in one of the cornfields. He dragged the furniture up the ridge and into the OP, giving the position its name.

It was at that OP that some of us older soldiers had to teach the other guys the art of soldiering in the pitch darkness. Smoking without being seen became a skill. You could easily see a cigarette’s lit cherry over a mile away. If you weren’t careful, you could give away your position while feeding your terrible vice.

You could stick your cigarette and lighter into your ration bag to light it. Then cup your hand around your mouth and cigarette when you need a hit to conceal yourself from whoever wants to blow your face off in the middle of the night. A few of us switched from smoking to chewing tobacco for night patrols. The first few times I tried it I puked on myself.

There was only one guy in our squad who didn’t smoke or dip—Slim, but he made up for it in the states with a drinking habit that would make Hemmingway suggest rehab

Excerpt #2.

We had to teach our soldiers real skills to survive at night as well. You would be surprised how much noise a soldier can make shambling through the darkness with all the gear we carry. We had to duct tape down anything that would rattle or clang off another piece of equipment and spray paint any little piece of metal that would catch the moonlight.

I knew a few guys who went above and beyond by not cleaning themselves for weeks in order to smell like the natives. Like the Taliban were out in the mountains trying to sniff us out of our hiding spots or something.

Excerpt #3.

At some point during the night, all hell broke loose. Guns started cracking to life. Machine guns and rockets started ripping through the air all over. Tracer rounds started tearing through the night from all sides about one hundred yards in front of them. They had no idea what was going on and no one was actually shooting at them. No one seemed to know that they were there. It was like they stumbled upon some random turf war in the middle of nowhere. The various militant groups that operated in our area—a strange mix of Islamic insurgents, smugglers, and gangs—routinely tried to kill each other. The Afghan security forces would shoot at anything that went bump in the night. It could have easily been two different Afghan Police patrols shooting at each other.

 

 

Free Kindle Deal

Posted on June 14, 2017 at 1:45 PM Comments comments (0)

FREE ON

 

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MY FIRST BOOK

 

THE RESISTANCE

 

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Follow the link to get your free copy now

 

http://https://tinyurl.com/y86pzk8a


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