Sequel to END OF DAYS_FREE!

http://www.amazon.com/THREE-SPIRIT-KNIGHT-Roland-Yeomans-ebook/dp/B00AD94EQE/

FREE!

For a LIMITED TIME!

 {Starting Midnight Pacific Time}

The End of Days has swept away the valiant heroes in the Katrina devastated French Quarter. 

Only one survivor: Alice Wentworth, the Victorian ghoul. 

 Victor Standish, son of the Angel of Death, returns to find only his great love, Alice, still alive. 

The others he loved are gone. When they needed him, he was not there. 

"They have gone where it is impossible to bring them back," Alice sobs.

Victor shakes his head.  "Impossible just gives birth to legends."

And though it endangers all Reality, getting his loved ones back is what Victor plans on doing!

 REVIEWS:
 

5 Stars -- RICH STORYTELLING:

"Roland Yeomans is an incredible storyteller. The Three Spirit Knight is rich story filled with exciting and interesting characters like Alice and Victor. Reading this story was a rewarding experience." 

- RACHELLE WORKMAN

5 Stars --  UNIQUE

"I loved this book. It was definitely unique. A little sci-fi-time travel- mixed with ghouls, demons, vampires, Gods and Godesses.

And I loved the main character, Victor Standish, a gypsy, and the son to the Mother of Death.

I know this is going to sound rather quirky, but this book had a lot of heartfelt wisdom and universal truths that left me in deep thought--

sometimes hysterically laughing."
 

I'm looking forward to reading more of his books."

- SHELLY ARKON

5 Stars -- COME ON, TAKE THE JOURNEY

"Three Spirit Knight includes a history lesson, a delving into the underworld, a love story, and a hop scotch through time. 

Victor Standish, son of The Angel of Death, battles past presidents, ghosts and goblins, while managing to keep his sense of humor intact, in his latest adventure with Alice.

Roland Yeomans's work is an experience well worth one's time. Come on, take the journey. You won't be disappointed."

- ELLIOT GRACE, author of SOUTH OF CHARM

4 Stars -- A TRIP INTO DANTE'S HELLS

 "Like descending into Dante's Hells, Victor Standish goes deeper and deeper into situations he's not meant to survive. 

Everyone wants a bit of him. In the beginning of this story, Victor is on his way to a duel with Andrew Jackson, in 1834. 

Later he is sent into the realm of Faerie. In each time episode, the entourage who support him grows, as does the danger lurking in the shadows.

 Sam McCord, Alice, Coyote, and others are there to lend a trick or two when needed. With a mother called the Angel of Death, Victor has to be quick on his feet.

 He never knows when she'll show at precisely the right moment to throw him into another time era. 

He knows he'll land on his feet, most of the time.

The world inside Meilori's is a world that gives no return guarantees. 

Victor's a hero, but he's not in shining armor. Make that street casual."

- D.G. Hudson

5 Stars -- LEAPS OF FAITH

" I am no stranger to the works of Mr. Yeomans. 

Each one of his books holds a treasured lesson amongst the descriptive prose and action-packed scenes. 

Once again Victor and Alice are on the move.

 Each leap of faith changes the destiny of all mankind. 

Victor's forever wit and street-wise manners manages to keep himself alive, but for how long?

 Each chapter engages the reader with an intriguing quote. 

This, along with Yeoman's incredible historical knowledge and unlimited imagination, 

 fuels our own and takes us on a whirlwind of a journey."

- Michael Di Gesu

For Melissa Bradley_Cancer Always Plays a Deadly Hand

Michael di Gesu asked us to write a cancer story to be included in an anthology.

 All sales will benefit our friend Melissa Bradley's fight,

as with losing her job and undergoing chemotherapy, the cost of staying alive is sky high.

She  needs our help.

There is also a medical fund to help raise money for the expensive treatment.

 Go here if you feel you could spare a few dollars for Melissa.

Michael and Melissa would prefer funny stories. 

Funny. 

Sometimes laughter is a scarse commodity when cancer is in the same room.

But bravery, grace under pressure, and a firm resolution to go out standing tall ...

those can be found in souls staring straight into cancer's eyes.

My own cancer is too close to write about. 

 My mother died of breast cancer.  My best friend is dying with it.

So what to write?

This is the fable I crafted.  I hope you enjoy it.

 PLAY THE HAND YOU'RE DEALT:

"All of us have a path to follow, and that path begins in the heart."
- Samuel McCord

The gas lights gleaming from his bald head, the young boy in the wheelchair looked up at me.

"Gosh, Captain McCord, I always wanted to see the insides of Meiloiri's."

He sipped his ice tea held with unsteady hands.  "To think a hero like you'd make time for just a kid with cancer like me."

The ghost of Mark Twain sat down beside the boy and winked.

"There ain't no just kids to Sam.  And you're the hero.  Me & Capt. Sam, why we get so jim-jammed with fright sometimes we get all turned around and actually RUN to danger instead of AWAY FROM it!"

A flurry of snowflakes slowly formed in the chair beside me into a tall, regal woman in white buckskins & lightning hair.

THE TURQUOISE WOMAN.

Eyes the color of her name pierced me.  "This poker game has the potential of a loaded gun."

Mark nudged the frightened boy with a wink.  "Mother Nature there sure sucks the joy clean outta the air, don't she?"

The boy clutched my arm as the 3 remaining players pulled up their chairs and sat down.

The bald man in grey Armani grinned like a skull.  "Am I late?"

I said, "You always come too soon, Cancer. I see you brought your usual companions, Despair and Hopelessness."

 Cancer smiled at the trembling boy.  "Ah, I see you recognize them as well.  They keep you company with me in the long, long watches of the night."

"I've heard that," I said.  "That's why I set up this game."

Cancer laughed like the breaking of brittle bones.  "You cannot win."

I patted the boy's shaking fingers.  "Watch us."

Cancer drew out a deck from his inside jacket pocket.  "I'll deal the cards."

His shark smile widened.  "I always do."

I patted the boy's tightening fingers.  "It's not the cards you're dealt, son, but how you play them that counts."

The heavy fog called Hopelessness murmured, "You have Zero Chance, boy." 

Mark refused to look at his dealt cards, winking at the boy.  "You know what the Zero said to the Eight?"

"N-No, sir."

"Why, ain't that a lovely belt you're wearing!"

The boy laughed, and the fog thinned though it growled.

Mark nodded to the threatening fog.  "What did the right eye say to the left one?"

The boy shook his head.  "What?"

"Between you and me something smells!"

The boy laughed so hard that ice tea came out of his nose, and Hopelessness faded away completely.

The man-shaped leech called Despair murmured, "Laughter won't stop the pain, boy!"

The boy cocked his head.  "I-I do hurt less now."

Despair whispered, "But the pain kept you up all last night."

Turquoise Woman sent a spiral of snowflakes shimmering to the boy.  

"And so you were awake to see my sunrise, were you not?  Was it not beautiful?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am!"

"All else in New Orleans slept thru it.  Only you saw it."

"Wow!  Really?"

"Really ... which is why I sent you the robins this morn to sit on your sil and serenade you."

"It was lovely, ma'am.  I heard them in my head all day."

Turquoise Woman smiled.  "See how much more you lived than everyone else in New Orleans?"

She stroked his cheek.  "The pain does not let you sleep thru life.  These past weeks you have lived on a level few ever achieve, appreciating what most take for granted."

I winked at the boy. "Know what you get when you quit?"

"N-No, sir."

"Neither do I.  I've won.  I've lost.  But I've never quit.  All it takes is getting up one more time than they knock you down."

I patted his steady fingers.  "Each scar life gives us is a gift, son."

"It sure doesn't feel like a gift, sir."

"No, not at first.  But think on it, son.  Where we are unhurt is where we are unsure of who we really are.  Where we are wounded & healed is where we get to show what we're made of."

The boy's jaw firmed, and the leech called Despair disappeared.

 Cancer flipped over his cards.  They were a Royal Flush.  "I win!"

"No," calmly said Turquoise Woman.  "You lose."

She smiled like a new sunrise at the boy.  

"You may hold the boy for a season.  But only a season.  And even in that season, the boy decides if he chooses laughter and courage over despair and hopelessness."

Turquoise Woman gestured, and a robin fluttered on the boy's shoulder.  "If his treatment works, you will lose your hold on him."

Cancer sneered, "And if I kill him?"

 Turquoise Woman smiled wider.  

"Then, he goes to the Great Mystery where those like Mark Twain here will keep company with him for eternity.  And pain will not even be a memory."

I squeezed the boy's arm.  "Forever with laughter and love.  Not too bad, huh?"

Mark Twain nudged the now-smiling boy.  "You know what sound porcupines make when they kiss?"

"No, sir."

"OUCH!"

The boy covered his eyes and groaned, "That was terrible, sir!"

"Hey, whipper snapper, you got it for free!"

"I was over-charged," grinned the boy.

And Cancer got up and slowly walked away. 

In the shadows, CANCER plays a deadly hand

Michael di Gesu:
http://writing-art-and-design.blogspot.com/2014/08/the-big-c-bloghop-update.html

is doing THE BIG C BLOGHOP September 15th 

to help Melissa Bradley with her expenses as she fights cancer. 

Write a story about cancer. They are trying for comical, uplifting, inspirational.  (Quite a chore, right?)

My mother died of breast cancer.  My best friend is dying of it.  Their stories are theirs to tell. 

Cancer has so many variables.  How to write something that speaks to each one?

So what to do?

Sam McCord came to my rescue as he often does in my story, PLAY THE HAND YOU'RE DEALT 2 weeks early:

"All of us have a path to follow, and that path begins in the heart."
- Samuel McCord


The gas lights gleaming from his bald head, the young boy in the wheelchair looked up at me.

"Gosh, Capt. McCord, I always wanted to see the insides of Meiloiri's."

He sipped his ice tea held with unsteady hands.  "To think a hero like you'd make time for just a kid with cancer like me."

The ghost of Mark Twain sat down beside the boy and winked.

"There ain't no just kids to Sam.  And you're the hero.  Me & Capt. Sam, why we get so jim-jammed with fright sometimes we get all turned around and actually RUN to danger instead of AWAY FROM it!"

A flurry of snowflakes slowly formed in the chair beside me into a tall, regal woman in white buckskins & lightning hair.

THE TURQUOISE WOMAN.

Eyes the color of her name pierced me.  "This poker game has the potential of a loaded gun."

Mark nudged the frightened boy with a wink.  "Mother Nature there sure sucks the joy clean outta the air, don't she?"

The boy clutched my arm as the 3 remaining players pulled up their chairs and sat down.

The bald man in grey Armani grinned like a skull.  "Am I late?"

I said, "You always come too soon, Cancer. I see you brought your usual companions, Despair and Hopelessness."

 Cancer smiled at the trembling boy.  "Ah, I see you recognize them as well.  They keep you company with me in the long, long watches of the night."

"I heard that," I said.  "That's why I set up this game."

Cancer laughed like the breaking of brittle bones.  "You cannot win."

I patted the boy's shaking fingers.  "Watch us."

Cancer drew out a deck from his inside jacket pocket.  "I'll deal the cards."

His shark smile widened.  "I always do."

I patted the boy's tightening fingers.  "It's not the cards you're dealt, son, but how you play them that counts."

The heavy fog called Hopelessness murmured, "You have Zero Chance, boy." 

Mark refused to look at his dealt cards, winking at the boy.  "You know what the Zero said to the Eight?"

"N-No, sir."

"Why, ain't that a lovely belt you're wearing!"

The boy laughed, and the fog thinned though it growled.

Mark nodded to the threatening fog.  "What did the right eye say to the left one?"

The boy shook his head.  "What?"

"Between you and me something smells!"

The boy laughed so hard that ice tea came out of his nose, and Hopelessness faded away completely.

The man-shaped leech called Despair murmured, "Laughter won't stop the pain, boy!"

The boy cocked his head.  "I-I do hurt less now."

Despair whispered, "But the pain kept you up all last night."

Turquoise Woman sent a spiral of snowflakes shimmering to the boy.  

"And so you were awake to see my sunrise, were you not?  Was it not beautiful?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am!"

"All else in New Orleans slept thru it.  Only you saw it."

"Wow!  Really?"

"Really ... which is why I sent you the robins this morn to sit on your sil and serenade you."

"It was lovely, ma'am.  I heard them in my head all day."

Turquoise Woman smiled.  "See how much more you lived than everyone else in New Orleans?"

She stroked his cheek.  "The pain does not let you sleep thru life.  These past weeks you have lived on a level few ever achieve, appreciating what most take for granted."

I winked at the boy. "Know what you get when you quit?"

"N-No, sir."

"Neither do I.  I've won.  I've lost.  But I've never quit.  All it takes is getting up one more time than they knock you down."

I patted his steady fingers.  "Each scar life gives us is a gift, son."

"It doesn't feel like a gift, sir."

"No, not at first.  But think on it, son.  Where we are unhurt is where we are unsure of who we really are.  Where we are wounded & healed is where we get to show what we're made of."

The boy's jaw firmed, and the leech called Despair disappeared.

 Cancer flipped over his cards.  They were a Royal Flush.  "I win!"

"No," calmly said Turquoise Woman.  "You lose."

She smiled like a new sunrise at the boy.  

"You may hold the boy for a season.  But only a season.  And even in that season, the boy decides if he chooses laughter and courage over despair and hopelessness."

Turquoise Woman gestured, and a robin fluttered on the boy's shoulder.  "If his treatment works, you will lose your hold on him."

Cancer sneered, "And if I kill him?"

 Turquoise Woman smiled wider.  

"Then, he goes to the Great Mystery where those like Mark Twain here will keep company with him for eternity.  And pain will not even be a memory."

I squeezed the boy's arm.  "Forever with laughter and love.  Not too bad, huh?"

Mark Twain nudged the now-smiling boy.  "You know what sound porcupines make when they kiss?"

"No, sir."

"OUCH!"

The boy covered his eyes and groaned, "That was terrible, sir!"

"Hey, whipper snapper, you got it for free!"

"I was over-charged," grinned the boy.

And Cancer got up and slowly walked away.

ANOTHER WINNER! MICHAEL DI GESU.

"As you get older it is harder to have heroes,

but it is sort of necessary."
- Ernest Hemingway.

I quote Hemingway because Michael Di Gesu is one of my heroes. He toured the world as a model, gaining wisdom and perspective.

When the winds of fortune blew against his career, he defiantly re-set his sail, using the ill wind and his knowledge picked up along the years to become an interior designer.

When the tides of that venture slowed, he ventured forth into new waters : that of becoming a published writer. His never-ceasing good humor, determination, and talent will see him succeed in this I am sure.

Michael lives another Hemingway quote :

"But man is not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed but not defeated. The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are stronger at the broken places."

Michael is such a stronger person.

So that was why I was so happy when, after THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH sold the necessary copies, I drew Michael's name to win the AUTOGRAPHED MICHAEL WHELAN LITHOGRAPH of SUNRUNNER.

He gained 20 entries when he posted a review of THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH on AMAZON, SMASHSWORDS, GOODREADS, and finally on his own blog, IN TIME :

http://writing-art-and-design.blogspot.com/

Check his blog out why don't you? And if you're not already, become a Follower, too.

Now, when I sell only 10 more copies of THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH, I will draw from the names of the reviewers of it on Amazon for AN AUTOGRAPHED ROBERT DOWNEY, JR. IRON MAN POSTER. How cool is that?

If you are a current reviewer of LEGEND, now is the time to give it away as a gift (100% of the profits this January go to The Salvation Army). If you haven't reviewed it ...

Now is the time to do it before the 10 copies are bought!

When only SIX more reviews are posted on Amazon,

I will draw from the 15 names for AN AUTOGRAPHED CHARLES SCHULTZ 1967 LIFE MAGAZINE. {Or if you wish, A CLINT EASTWOOD AUTOGRAPH.}

This could be an early Christmas for you.
***
If you want to see who could play Samuel McCord and his mystic love, Meilori, watch this trailer :

HIBBS : MISS OLIVIA, I'LL BE THERE, BUT FIRST I HAVE TO SEE HARRY POTTER

Hibbs, the cub with no clue -- and no breath, here!

Huff. Pant. Gasp. All this running is wearing me out!

Miss Olivia, I'll be there. Don't you worry! http://thatrebelwithablog.blogspot.com/

But first, I want to read Mr. Roland's entry into Mr. Michael's HARRY POTTER BEST MATE blogfest : http://writing-art-and-design.blogspot.com/2011/03/harry-potter-blogfest-who-would-be-your.html

{From the journal of Captain Samuel McCord} :

I walked through the mirror into Dumbledore's office. The scent to the air was of cherry blossoms. I smiled bitterly. It was the perfume of my wife, Meilori. He was trying to make me feel welcome and only managing to make me feel more alone.

Poor Albus. He was so wise in so many things ...

just not in matters of the heart.

Which explained his being fooled by Gellert Grindelwald.

I made my way through the maze of spindly tables upon which sat delicate looking silver instruments that whirred and emitted small puffs of smoke, as well as an incredible collection of books, which made up Dumbledore's private library, and his ill-advised Pensieve.

Fawkes the phoenix chirped my way. I winked back. The Sorting Hat chuckled. I grinned back.

Albus smiled as if it hurt him. "Come sit down, Samuel."

He was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, and a purple cloak.

His nose was very long and crooked. Being broken will do that to a nose. The first break came from Gellert's fist. The second came from mine in the fight that broke out when I told him the truth about Gellert.

He forgave me. Friends do that. Even to friends who speak painful truths.

As I sat down at his round desk, I pointed to his withered right hand. "Voldemort?"

He shook his head. "I myself have opened the door to the next great adventure I'm afraid."

I started to reach for his gnarled right hand. "Maybe I can ...."

A voice with all the warmth of a slap said to my left, "Do what the world's mightiest wizard could not do? Hardly!"

I turned. Serverus Snape. He gloomed a room just by entering it.

I smiled crooked. "Still wearing the cast-off's from THE ADAMS FAMILY movie I see. Angelica Huston looked better in that dress."

His right eyebrow arched so high that I was surprised it didn't cut his forehead. "How droll. Low humor from a muggle. How unsurprising."

I wagged a gloved forefinger at him. "You know you like me."

Snape looked as if he smelled his own upper lip. "Me? A friend to a muggle?"

Albus' blue eyes twinkled. "You will note that he did not deny it."

He pointed to the empty seat at the other side of the table. "Come, Serverus. Samuel promised to teach us that colorfully named game. Ah, what was it now?"

The blood of the Angel of Death burned cold in my veins as it murmured I would never see either one of them alive again. I managed a smile.

"Texas Hold 'Em."

Snape sniffed the air touched with the kiss of cherry blossoms and looked at me with haunted eyes.

"You still love her though she deserted you? After all this time?"

I nodded, and though we both saw different faces, we both said the same word,

"Always."

Albus' eyes grew wet as he looked at the two of us. "I, as well."

And so three friends drawn together by broken hearts and lost love dealt meaningless cards to one another into the dregs of the hollow night.

***

THE BEAR WITH 2 SHADOWS BLOG TOUR_TO MICHAEL'S AGAIN

I am humbled and truly pleased at the number of my friends, old and new, that visited Michael Di Gesu yesterday.

He and I are chatting again. We do that a lot, but this time you get to eavesdrop. Come follow me to see what mischief we are up to :

http://writing-art-and-design.blogspot.com/
***
A friend emailed yesterday and said how sad it was that I went through my childhood without a father. I smiled sadly and wrote back : My Father never left me :

AND SO IT BEGINS_THE BEAR WITH 2 SHADOWS BLOG TOUR!

Welcome, Everyone!

Don't stay here. This is just the starting line.

The next stop is IN TIME, where you'll find Michael Di Gesu interviewing me.

I'm heading there right now. Follow me :

http://writing-art-and-design.blogspot.com/

***
Happy Mardi Gras, Everyone!
One of the most anticipated parades of Mardi Gras season in New Orleans, the Krewe of Muses never fails to deliver.

MARDI GRAS, FRIENDSHIP, AND MY BLOG TOUR

Happy Mardi Gras Eve

Mardi Gras is a fantastic series of celebrations.

I want to celebrate ... friendship.

Michael de Gesu of IN TIME. He has been with me from the beginning of my ePublication of THE BEAR WITH TWO SHADOWS.

He has been the cornerstone of the blog tour for it. As has Denise (L'Aussie). WordsCrafter. N.A. Williams. Donna Hole.

D'Artagnan had only three musketeers to accompany him into legend. I have five. I doff my plumed hat to you all.

My blog tour will be fun, mysterious, and legendary. There are books autographed by Dean Koontz, Neil Gaiman, and Jim Butcher to win. There are maidens to save, monsters to slay, and Gypsy to feed.

Oh, sorry that last was just for me. For you, here is the initial schedule :

1. Michael @ In Time ... March 8th ... The man behind the prose. Part One


2. Michael @ In Time ... March 9th ... The man behind the prose. Part Two


3. Words Crafter @ Rainy Day Wanderer March 10th ... My personal reactions to the publication of THE BEAR WITH TWO SHADOWS


4. Words Crafter @ Rainy Day Wanderer March 11th ... Her personal take on the publication of THE BEAR WITH TWO SHADOWS


5. Denise @ L'Aussie March 12th ... Part I. of the genesis of my writing style


6. Denise @ L'Aussie March 13th ... Part II. The influences which shaped the style of my writing in THE BEAR WITH TWO SHADOWS.


7. NR Williams March 16th ... Myth and world myth melding in THE BEAR WITH TWO SHADOWS


8. Me here doing a Hibbs and St. Patrick's Day post March 17th


9. NR Williams March 18th ... Part II. How the Dreaming runs through THE BEAR WITH 2 SHADOWS.

10. Donna Hole March 21st The spiritual Native American message and reflections in THE BEAR WITH 2 SHADOWS.

11. There will be more blog hosts to join in and become fellow musketeers, storming the Bastille of the Publication World.

Oh, I mentioned Mardi Gras didn't I?

We in Louisiana think we know about Mardi Gras. But it has been around for thousands of years. Certain historians think that ancient fertility rituals performed by some tribes were the roots of Mardi Gras. These rituals welcomed spring's arrival.

Parts of the customs from the old festivals are also found in Lupercalia, a Roman circus-like festival taking place annually in mid-February. The Catholic Church wanted to shift people's attention from pagan festivals so they instituted the festival of Carnival, derived from the Latin word carnelevamen { farewell to flesh.} Or Hello to Lent so to speak.

Mardi Gras came to North America in 1699 when the French-Canadian Pierre le Monye, Sieur de Iberville was exploring the Mississippi River. He and his men camped on a bend of the river sixty miles south of New Orleans on March 3.

Pierre knew that Mardi Gras was being celebrated back in France so he decided to name that spot Pointe du Mardi Gras. And the rest is infamy, ah, I mean history

***

In honor of my blog tour for THE BEAR WITH TWO SHADOWS, here is the legendary Lakota artist, John Two Eagle, with Tarja and Nightwish :

THE TURQUOISE WOMAN BEAT ME TO IT

I woke up this morning feeling like I was a horse that had been rode hard and left wet!

The coughing wouldn't let me be, echoes of that pneumonia that had tried to take me way back in that ice-bound Detroit basement apartment.

So I fed Gypsy, my cat, wearing her surgical mask to keep my germs to myself. I sat down at my laptop to see what mischief I could find on the web.

Then, I found Jules had written a lovely post about THE BEAR WITH TWO SHADOWS :
http://fragilemouse.blogspot.com/2011/02/i-got-bear-to-pick-with-you.html#more

Summer Ross was the next one I visited to find this :
http://summersvoice.blogspot.com/

I next checked up on my friend, Olivia Herrell :
http://thatrebelwithablog.blogspot.com/2011/02/bear-with-two-shadows.html

Jessica Bell next made my morning so much brighter despite the coughing :
http://thealliterativeallomorph.blogspot.com/2011/02/there-are-certain-ways-of-marketing.html

Nicole Ducleroir was the next friend who became a crusader for me :
http://nicoleducleroir.blogspot.com/

All this after, Elliot Grace had my back like a Texas Ranger of old with his post :
http://elliot-grace.blogspot.com/2011/02/rolands-two-shadows.html

And after WordsCrafter gave me a shout-out a few days ago :
http://therainydaywanderer.blogspot.com/

For once, I was at a loss for words. Gypsy fell over in a dead faint : me being speechless doesn't happen all that often. LOL.

I, alone, am left of my childhood LEAGUE OF FIVE. No family survives. Those close to me from childhood and loves have all been taken before their time.

Like a lone turret of a sand castle, looking at the ruins of sand left by the sweeping tides, I sometimes feel quite alone.

My friends, Elliot, Jules, Summer, Olivia, Nicole, WordsCrafter, and Michael (who, even now labors to remove the flaws from my book's format and is the genius behind the design of my book) -- you have reminded me that he who has friends is never alone and is far richer than Midas ever thought of being.

Thank you. Estanatlehi blows you a kiss. Hibbs chuffs a smile your way, too.

- a very moved Roland

MY FIRST PUBLISHED BOOK_THE BEAR WITH 2 SHADOWS_PART II

This is the first cover for THE BEAR WITH TWO SHADOWS.

Michael Di Gesu and I were just learning the ropes so we pondered and came up with the cover that we eventually went with.

But I wanted his hard work to be seen.

Just like I want my book to be read. Amazon does offer a FREE Kindle for PC. With it, you can download for FREE my book's first three chapters. And if you like them, you can even buy my book to download to your computer. How cool is that?

The link to get your free Kindle for PC is :


http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html/ref=amb_link_85832051_2?ie=UTF8&docId=1000426311&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=auto-sparkle&pf_rd_r=0XR2WH8Z9W4354ZQMBD7&pf_rd_t=301&pf_rd_p=1285988362&pf_rd_i=kindle%20for%20pc


Yesterday I wrote of the genesis of my book with the tales of my mother as I lay ill with pneumonia during a terrible ice storm in Detroit.

Today I give you a thumbnail about what THE BEAR WITH 2 SHADOWS is about :



In a land just beyond your mirror lies a realm few discover. It is a magical, dangerous dimension. There lurks your darknest nightmares and your fondest hopes.

For nearly two thousand winters there, the seasons have flowed inevitably one into another. Life is as it always has been. The Huron war with the Iroquois, the Commanche with the Lakota, and the Apache with everyone.

Across the great waters, the Mongul storm the great wall of Chin. The samurai of Nippon invade Indus. And the vast Collisium lies in ruins, overgrown with vines and olive trees.

The deer and bear roam the deserted villages of Gaul. And the lonely wind whispers through the towering monoliths of Stonehenge. The race called Whyte is not even a memory. Except to Estanatlehi, The Turquoise Woman, once named Gaia, Goddess of the Earth, by the People she alone remembers.

All of which means exactly nothing to the young bear Hibbs. For as long as he can remember, he has been raised by The Turquoise Woman, whom he simply calls GrandMother.

Trained by her, hunted by the Lakota, accompanied by the strange hawk, Little Brother, Hibbs has happily ambled from mountain to desert to forest, even sometimes across the great waters.

Often he has asked GrandMother why she has led him to so many different lands. The answer has always been : Because a moving target is harder to hit.

He thinks it is a joke. It is not. He is hunted by more than the Lakota. He is being hunted by a being now known as the Gray Bear, though that has not always been his name.

Hibbs is the unknowing key to rescuing the race once called Whyte from oblivion. For that very purpose the Turquoise Woman has raised and trained him. But now she repents of her actions.

She has grown to love the young bear. And for the Whyte race to live, Hibbs must die.

So she has hidden him in the ancient land of Eire, home of all manner of strange beasts and wonders, ruled by the stag-being Cernunnos. Here she hopes she can cause Hibbs to be lost among so many fearsome creatures.

It is a vain hope.

Hibbs, large of heart, bold of spirit, cannot see pain without trying to help. He has become a healer. And heal he will do no matter how much Cernunnos protests.

And protest the tyrant does -- with his vast army of Darklings. To survive, Hibbs and Little Brother must escape, using a mysterious construct called a Sidhe Mound.

Estanatlehi sees her plan to save Hibbs further unravel as the bear and hawk find themselves in Avalon, now being bloodied by an eon-long civil war.

There, in the crystal and gold palace of Caer Wydr, Hibbs interrupts the dark ritual, Diatheke, setting the race called Whyte a step closer to their destiny and himself into a desperate struggle of spirit with the Gray Bear.
***
Go to Amazon, download the free Kindle for PC, and read the free first three chapters for yourself. You may just find them not terrible.
***

THE BEAR WITH TWO SHADOWS_MY FIRST eBOOK at AMAZON

I have published my first eBook :

THE BEAR WITH TWO SHADOWS.

He waits to show his world at

Link :

http://www.amazon.com/BEAR-TWO-SHADOWS-ebook/dp/B004MDLWD0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1297221020&sr=1-1

My great good friend, Michael Di Gesu, set the design and the text of my cover.

Let's all give him a cyber applause for being one of the best of the good guys!

As I stepped outside tonight and shivered, I felt warmed. Odd you say.

Not really. Not if you knew of the winter I almost died of pneumonia ... and of my mother's tales told to me as I lay coughing in the cold darkness.

My mother was half Lakota Sioux and half Irish. She learned young the harsh truth that sometimes nightmares invade our waking hours to swallow our world.

I, too, learned it early in my childhood. My mother and I found ourselves living in a basement apartment during one of the worst winters in Detroit's memory.

Money was scarse. Food, too. Warmth even more so. Then, the power went out.

For days.

To keep my mind off the numbing cold and my worsening cough, my mother told me tales spun from the legends of the twin worlds of her own youth.

As I lay shivering under my blankets in the darkness, a magical world slowly took shape within my mind. And I was lost in wonder.

Souix legends contested with the fae and foe of Irish myth.

And the cold became only the chill embrace of Estanatlehi, the ghostly Turquoise Woman. Mother told me that while Estanatlehi's touch was cold, her heart was warm.

So the colder I got, the more it made me feel loved, for I knew that an unseen someone was only hugging me closer. And within the shadows at the far corner of my bedroom, I could almost make out the hulking form of the guardian of all hurting children,

Hibbs, the bear with two shadows.

My mother taught me to love winter. It is a season when you feel the bones of the landscape - the loneliness, the solitude of it. Something waits beneath winter --

the whole story doesn't show -- much like the strangers you meet.

And to tell the tale my mother whispered to me in the cold shadows is why I wrote the 80,000 word Native American/Celtic children's fable, THE BEAR WITH TWO SHADOWS.

His world is one that you cannot reach by car. The mind is the only vehicle that will take you there. The only fuels you need are imagination and the ability to still dream.
***

BAD, WORSE, WORST the 3 KEYS of your 1 PARAGRAPH SUMMATION

But first things first :

Michael Di Gesu has labored all day on my manuscript to save it from format Hell. The odds were against him. But anyone can quit.

Michael's a hero. And heroes don't know the meaning of the word "quit." Sadly, I don't know jack about high tech. But Michael prevailed against the awesomeness of my cyber-ignorance.

"Thank you" is too meager a phrase, good friend. But thanks, Michael!

Now, on with our regularly scheduled post :

BAD

WORSE

WORST

Those are the signposts you keep in mind when writing your

one paragraph summation in your queries.

What?

Yes : BAD ... WORSE ... WORST. They are the 3 keys to writing a GOOD one paragraph summation for your query.

I.) Think Three Act Play :

Act I. Bad (First Sentence)

You introduce your character and set up the conflict.
Conflict being the goal that is desperately desired and the adversary who stands in the way.

Act. II - WORSE (The next three sentences.)

Each sentence details a disaster derailing the progress of your main character and the victories of the adversary. Each disaster gets progressively worse.

The sentence of the first disaster contains the MC's decision which sets the disaster into motion. The sentence of the 2nd disaster contains some small victory for the MC that is destroyed by the sudden turn in fate. The sentence of the third disaster contains the seeds of the final confrontation between the MC and the adversary.

Act III. - WORST

The final sentence contains the final confrontation and its resolution.
If you don't detail in full the resolution,

you should at least give definite hints on how the story ends with the MC triumphing over the adversary -- even at the cost of his/her own life.

II.) Polish this paragraph until it flows like the narration to a movie trailer.

III.) IMPORTANCE of this paragraph summation :

This paragraph is the skeleton of your thoughts as you write your novel.

Go back to it often and check to see if it matches the story you're writing.
a.) If not, no big deal.
b.) Just revise your paragraph accordingly.

You will not become bogged down if you have this paragraph as your guide and map to chart your course through your chapters.

IV.) This paragraph has to be intriguing and persuasive.

A.) The agent will most likely decide to reject or ask for more from this one small paragraph.

B.) This paragraph should probably contain that all important hook, without which most queries are immediately rejected.

C.) Reading this paragraph like the voice-over to a movie trailer will help you in deciding what that all-important hook should be.

D.) A well-written one paragraph summation will provide the outline for your one page (single spaced 500 words) synopsis.

EXAMPLE OF A QUERY THAT WORKED FOR ME :

Dear Mr. Wonderful Agent :


Re-imaginings. Have you ever looked at your image in the mirror and thought does the world I know exist for this copy of me? Or beyond that reflected corner is there a more magical, lyrical, dangerous world?

Thirteen year old Victor Standish lives in such a world.

There are strange tales told by the vagrants of the French Quarter when the midnight hour tolls. The hours fade as the shadows creep closer. The tales are not to amuse, but to keep weary eyes from closing.

For the creeping shadows are hungry.

One such tale is THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH.

Thirteen year old Victor Standish is repeatedly abandoned and picked up by his unpredictable mother. He learns “free running” and other skills a boy needs to survive the mean streets.

Victor finds New Orleans brings "mean" to a new level : the supernatural level. A mysterious Jazz club owner takes him in. Victor learns the Jazz club is actually the Crossroads of Worlds ... and the owner has the blood of Death in his veins. They both find love and adventure as Hurricane Katrina approaches.

Think THE DRESDEN FILES meets AUNTIE MAME.

The undead Abigail Adams marshals her forces to repel the Shadowland invasion led by her European counterpart, Empress Theodora. While the jazz club owner tries to keep the French Quarter safe, Victor falls in love with the British ghoul, Alice. His “ghoul friend” he calls her.

Between Victor's wits and Alice's strange abilities, they save the jazz club owner from Theodora and Abigail Adams.

Joy turns to dread when the Angel of Death arrives at the door of the Jazz club to claim him. Victor does not understand why he merits a visit from the Angel of Death. But to save his new family, he faces her.

He discovers she is no stranger. And he understands why the Angel of Death has come to pick him up ... again.

She is his mother.

Thank you for reading my query. I would be happy to send you sample chapters or the full manuscript. I hope that you find some gem in the flood of submissions that pour your way. May your New Year hold only happy surprises with some relief for punished eyes and swamped workloads.

Roland D. Yeomans M.A.

{The pitch section is exactly 300 words (a half-page single-spaced) Altogether it is approximately 400 words.}


*) I hope this helps in some small way when you are writing your queries and your novels. Your friend, Roland
***