Book Spotlight – The Artisan Heart by Dean Mayes.
This week, we are pleased to feature the fourth novel from Australian author and Intensive Care Nurse, Dean Mayes. The Artisan Heart is a contemporary fiction novel set in the rugged high country of southern Australia, where Dean grew up. It features a cast of heartwarming characters and a refreshing take on the romance genre with a strong willed and independent woman taking the lead in a story about second chances and starting over.
From the cover:
“Hayden Luschcombe is a brilliant pediatrician living in Adelaide with his wife, an ambitious event planner. His life consists of soul-wrenching days at the hospital and tedious evenings attending the lavish parties organized by his wife.
When an act of betrayal coincides with a traumatic event at the hospital, Hayden flees. His destination is Walhalla, nestled in Australia’s southern mountains, where he finds his childhood home falling apart. With nothing to return to, he stays, and begins to pick up the pieces of his life by fixing up the house his parents left behind.
A chance encounter with a precocious and deaf young girl introduces Hayden to Isabelle Sampi, a struggling artisan baker. While single-handedly raising her daughter and trying to resurrect a bakery, Isabelle has no time for matters of the heart. Yet the presence of the new handsome doctor challenges her resolve. Likewise, Hayden is protective of his own fractured heart, but something about Isabelle awakens dormant feelings of his own.
As their attraction grows, and the past threatens their chance at happiness, both Hayden and Isabelle will have to confront long-buried truths if they are ever to embrace a future.”
The author of four critically acclaimed novels and an Intensive Care Nurse in Adelaide, Australia, Dean Mayes has described himself as a late bloomer as an author – having almost given up on his dream of being published. However, a chance meeting with Canadian publisher Central Avenue saw Dean dig deep for one last shot at writing his long gestating debut and he was signed in 2009. His debut romance “The Hambledown Dream” published in 2010. He’s followed this up with “Gifts of the Peramangk” (2012), “Feast” (2015), “The Recipient” (2016) and now “The Artisan Heart” 2018. A self described Star Wars tragic, Dean lives with his wife Emily and two children Xavier and Lucy in Adelaide Australia.
Dean has kindly agreed to share an exclusive excerpt from The Artisan Heart with us today to give readers a feel for the novel;
Having climbed down from the roof, Hayden went to the back veranda, where he had positioned two workhorses. A good sheet of corrugated iron lay over them.
His failed attempt at turning the leg for Bernadette’s chair taunted him suddenly, but he brushed it aside.
“I can do this,” he growled.
Stuffing a handful of nails into his tool belt, he returned to the ladder with the new sheet and climbed up to the roof. Hayden manipulated the sheet into position, until finally it slotted into place.
A snug fit, he mused, impressed with himself as he secured the sheet to the timbers.
He almost couldn’t believe how easy it was.
“Handier than I thought.”
Hayden leaned back and wiped his brow. His eyes drifted north along the road as it wound its way out of town. A grubby four-wheel drive appeared around a far bend, its tray piled high with firewood–so high, in fact, the vehicle slewed over the road under the weight. As it drew closer, Hayden noted it was moving with considerable speed.
The vehicle’s horn began to blast, echoing through the valley. At first, Hayden frowned, thinking it was meant it for him, and he raised his hand in a hesitant wave. As he prepared to turn back to his work, the vehicle’s headlights flickered, their high beams shining bright in the daylight. Hayden watched as the crazy vehicle continued to honk and flash. Glancing down over the front of the cottage, he saw a small figure dressed in bright yellow, standing in the middle of the road.
He gasped, dropping the hammer.
Without thinking, Hayden pushed forward and slid down the roof, his body accelerating on the slippery iron. Realising he was out of control, he grasped at empty air, scrambling to arrest his slide.
Puffing his cheeks, he sailed over the edge of the veranda. Hayden grasped at the air, somehow managing to grab a length of guttering as he dropped. He pulled it with him as he fell in a heap on the steps below. Despite the explosion of stars he saw bursting before him, he did not wait.
He sprang to his feet, careened down the steps and burst through the gate, locking his sights onto the tiny figure in the road.
He baulked when the child whipped a long object into view, oblivious to the four-wheel drive that was bearing down on them–a steel beast hell-bent on murder.
Hayden swept the child up in one arm without breaking stride. A scream of tyres on bitumen split the air and the truck veered at the last moment, close enough that Hayden felt its slipstream. It swerved, bouncing over the verge, and ploughed into the cottage fence, widening the area of damage. The engine gave one last scream of protest as the wheels spun, kicking mud and grass into the air, then it fell silent.
Clutching the child, Hayden skidded on the bitumen and he gaped, unable to stop himself from crashing into the bush. He collided with a thick branch, taking in a mouthful of hibiscus flowers and foliage as he collapsed to the ground, landing squarely on his behind.
Hayden shook his head as the child wriggled from his grip.
The door of the four-wheel drive snapped open behind him and a heretical voice shouted from within. “Qu’est-ce que tu fais?!”
Planting his hands on the road surface, Hayden pushed back, extricating himself from the bush. Once free, he tried to get to his feet but his hands slipped and he flopped uselessly like a fish out of water.
Is everything in this place wet!?
Suddenly, Hayden found himself glaring up into a wild and muddy face framed with wild ginger hair and a large, bushy moustache.
The rage that had infused the new arrival’s expression vanished and was instead replaced by a look of amazement. “Mon ami! C’est toi! Hayden! Tu es ici!”
Chas Kraetzer grabbed his arm in calloused hands and dragged him to his feet. Hayden had no choice but to let him.
Finally upright, the world began to spin as he steadied himself against the exuberant Frenchman, the stench of halitosis and alcohol emanating from his bucktoothed grin. Hayden batted his hand in front of his face. “My God, Charlie! Do you bathe in a whiskey still?”
Chas Kraetzer broadened his stupid grin, slapping Hayden’s shoulder. “Bloody hell, it’s good to see you, Doc!” he crowed in his thick accent. “I saw your Holden just the other day. Looks like I did a better job on your fence than you did, eh?”
Hayden glared at Kraetzer. “Did you not see a child in the middle of the bloody road? You didn’t think to slow down?”
The Frenchman’s visage fell and his expression morphed into a pained mortification, as though realisation had just hit him square in the chest. He opened his mouth to give voice to it, but Hayden turned on his heel.
Max jogged into view around the bend from the town centre with Sam trotting along beside him, barking joyfully. People from the houses nearby appeared in their gardens, peering out to see what all the commotion was.
The child was no longer in his arms. Shaking his head, he searched around him.
A flash of yellow caught his attention and he squinted, seeing a form crouching low in the hibiscus. Bending low, he leaned through the foliage.
The wide-brimmed hat was pulled low over the child’s face and the jacket covered the small frame. It was clear he, or she, was trembling.
“Are you all right?” Hayden asked, moving sideways and back again in attempt to see him or her.
There was no response. Glancing to his right, Hayden saw Chas’s look of amusement, as though this was nothing more dramatic than a game of hide-and-seek.
Hayden leaned in further. “Hello there,” he called, keeping his voice low. “Everything’s okay. You can come out now. We just want to make sure you’re not hurt.”
The child did not move.
“Maybe offer him a sweet or something,” Chas suggested. “I don’t think that’s going to make matters any–”
Without warning, a bloodcurdling scream tore at the air and the child exploded from the bush. Reacting belatedly, Hayden backpedalled, but he fell as the half-wall of yellow came at him. He yelped as one end of the broomstick thwacked down hard on his head.
Chas’s cheeks bulged as he leapt out of the way.
Hayden brought his hands up to protect himself from the relentless blows. The child seemed determined to beat the living daylights out of him. He tried to escape but he slipped on the bitumen.
A small booted foot smashed down dead centre in his groin and he croaked.
Chas’s loud cackle ceased abruptly and he sucked in a breath at seeing Hayden crumple.
He was compelled to action. As he grabbed the child up and away from Hayden, the yellow hat flew off, revealing a cherubic face with wide, dark eyes and a mop of auburn curls.
Max rushed to Hayden’s aid as the child bucked and kicked in Chas’s grip, screaming in fury. She swung the makeshift weapon, clocking Chas in the side of his head.
“Oww!” he cried, as she struggled free and dropped to the road in a heap.
Hayden had recovered enough to clamber to his haunches with Max’s assistance. He winced, holding his groin. Looking down at the road, he saw the girl’s discarded weapon, with its sodden paper mask and bright marker colours now running. He turned to the child, who was panting where she sat, glowering at him.
Max glanced across at Chas. “Get on the UHF and radio Isabelle,” he snapped.
The Frenchman complied without protest.
Hayden glared at the child. “That hurt,” he growled. “Why did you do that? I was trying to help.”
The girl stared at him.
“Not much use asking her questions,” Max offered. “She won’t be able to answer.”
Hayden looked blankly at Max.
“She’s deaf,” Max continued. “Has been most of her life.”
Max leaned in and helped Hayden to his feet, then stepped across to the child and held out his hands. Much to Hayden’s surprise, the child got to her feet and stood close to Max’s side.
“This is Genevieve Sampi,” Max introduced with a formal flourish. “Genevieve is Isabelle Sampi’s daughter.”
Hayden was puzzled. The name didn’t immediately register.
“Isabelle Sampi,” Max repeated. “Surely you’d remember her. Rex and Charmaine’s granddaughter. They bought the old bakery building after it closed down.”
“No,” Hayden wheezed, resting his hands on his knees. “Can’t say I do.”
Chas returned from the truck. “She’s on her way,” he said cheerily, rocking on the balls of his feet.
Hayden bit his lip against the lie he had just told.
Great, he thought darkly, indeed knowing that name very well once the connection had been made.
Max waved at the residents opposite. “Everything’s all right, Hermione! All sorted here.”
He stooped to pick up a cooler bag he’d dropped on the road, along with Genevieve’s abandoned weapon. He held out his hand to her. “Perhaps we should get off the road in case any more drunk drivers come barrelling out of the mountains.”
Brushing himself down, Hayden limped over to the front steps and sat down. “That girl has a killer kick,” he hissed.
As they appraised the child, Max brought his hands together in front of him and began twisting and turning his fingers. She studied him while Hayden cocked his head. At conclusion of this strange little dance, Max looked to her, as if to question the adequacy of his gestures. The child’s face broke into a cheeky grin and she gave him a thumbs-up.
“Seems she appreciated your comment about her kick.” Max observed. “I picked up a fair bit of Auslan from your mum over the years, but I’ve let my skills lapse since…you know.”
He gestured towards the girl. “Genie is teaching me again.”
Hayden’s brow flickered. Bringing his hands up, he held them out towards her.
“What did you think you were doing, marching out into the middle of the road?” he signed.
Genevieve Sampi blinked and she was unsure of where to look. She was surprised at his ability to sign. She retreated further behind Max, though she kept her eyes on Hayden.
Max signalled at Hayden’s hands. “Whatever you said, it put the wind up her.”
Hayden sat straighter, examining the quivering child. “Are you all right?” he signed with less rancour.
Genevieve blinked, but did not respond.
We are excited to be able to give one lucky reader the chance to win a digital edition of The Artisan Heart by Dean Mayes. Just comment below to be in the running!
The Artisan Heart promises to be a big success for Dean Mayes and we are thrilled to be able to share in its release.
The Artisan Heart is available for pre-order now at AMAZON ahead of its September 1st release by Central Avenue Publishing with international distribution from Independent Publisher’s Group.
Available at GOODREADS
One of my summer reading discoveries is Darlene Foster’s six-volume Amanda series. I’m a teacher-author so I’m always eager to find fresh books that my K-8 students will love. When I came across Darlene on her blog, Darlene Foster’s Blog, I have to admit, I was really excited. I’d never found a children’s travelogue series that would appeal to kids the same way fiction does. This series does. In it, kids travel all over the world, to those names that excite every adult–Amanda on the Danube, Amanda in Arabia, Amanda in Alberta, as well as three more fun world locations.
I asked Darlene if she would mind doing an interview for my blog–just one question. That’s all I had:
How do you create readers for life?
Because that’s what these books have the power to do–turn kids into readers. Here’s her answer:
Writing for children…
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on Just Publishing Advice:
Occasionally on a blog, a gif is better than a jpeg or png image
You probably associate an animated gif with social media.
They are usually for amusement value and are often small snippets taken from a YouTube video, or even from Instagram videos.
If it is only for fun, you can find thousands of them online if free gif libraries, so there is no need to create an animated gif yourself.
Perhaps if the subject of this post was about books that are real page-turners, I could add something like this.
I know it is not the most exciting gif ever made but is apt to show you that you can add one to a blog post on most blogging platforms.
If you use WordPress, you can load up a gif in the same way that you load all your images in the Image Editor.
An excerpt from: Paul Goat Allen | March 12, 2018, Writer’s Digest. Paul Goat Allen has worked as a genre fiction book critic and written thousands of reviews for companies like BarnesandNoble.com, Publishers Weekly, the Chicago Tribune and Kirkus Reviews.
Novelists live and die by reviews yet uncovering what garners a gushing ovation or blistering takedown is often a mystery. A professional critic lays out what it takes to earn five-star book reviews. For two decades I’d been working as a freelance genre fiction book critic for outlets such as BarnesandNoble.com, Publishers Weekly, Kirkus Reviews and the Chicago Tribune. After sharing my credentials with the group, some of the writers began telling stories about mediocre or bad reviews they’d received at different points in their careers from one or more of the companies I’d listed.
As a reviewer, not much has changed since then. I enjoy all genres and have…
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on Anne R. Allen:
An Indie Author CAN publish with dignity and rise above the sleaze.
I was at a writer’s conference recently where a woman was upset because the agent she pitched didn’t believe in her book. She wanted more support, more sympathy, more understanding.
The speaker pointed out that the agent’s job is not to be your friend, but to sell your book.
Unfortunately most authors are looking for emotional support. Even after pouring heart and soul into a book and putting it out there, the rejection, apathy and invisibility of the thing they made (a tiny drop in the ocean of newly published books) can sting.
And gradually it fades into feelings of inadequacy. But it doesn’t have to.