Northern Lights
Snowy Woods

Autumn Arrival

God’s Light




Intellectual property which is also called the IP is a very misunderstood topic. It is misunderstood by the people because it is a boring topic not many of us would love to read or hear about this, not a very exciting topic.
First, let me tell you that there are four types of intellectual property and it is very important to understand all the four IP.
The whole thing to understand about a patent is that it doesn’t give you the…
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Writing your first novel-Things you should know
We have all heard phrases that stuck with us. We use them in our writing and speech. Problems arise when we either misheard or remembered the phrases incorrectly. The results range from humorous to downright confusing.
The Correct Phrase What You’ll Sometimes See or Hear
all it entails all it in tails
by and large buy in large
chock full of …
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Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog

Time equals money, especially for authors who become indie publishers. That equation becomes all too real when you hire an editor, designer, formatter or author assistant.
Sometimes you pay for time explicitly — for instance, you’ll pay an assistant to work ten hours a month to do everything from social media to dealing with distributors. Sometimes you pay a flat fee for a service based on word count or complexity. But when you go beyond the scope of that fee, your hired expert may charge you by the hour.
Efficiency and planning are the best ways to meet your budget. Here are five ways to keep costs from spiraling out of control.



First, I must say that the story is well-narrated and I admire Sarah for telling her story for it will encourage many other women who undergo the kind of abuses and horrible things Henry inflicted on her to speak out. The narrator, Paula Slade, did an awesome job with the story, allowing the narrative voice to come out clearly and compellingly, and conveying the pathos with such vividness that will draw tears from some readers. My emotions were rattled as I listened to this story — at times my fists clenched, at times my teeth gritted, and most of the time I cringed as I followed the story.
When Angels Fly is emotionally rich and the reader can feel the honesty in the tone and a sense of desperation that stayed with the protagonist during many years of suffering. When Angels Fly is a powerful indictment of those who make life a living hell for others and a strong message of hope that we can transcend our hurts and embrace our freedom when we stop identifying with the message our oppressors want to convey — that we are not worth anything. A highly recommended read!

I thought this was pretty amazing and handy! I am sure it will help just about every author I know. Find the Free Amazon Book Description Generator Tool here. If you are looking for easy tools definitely take a look at Dave Chesson’s awesome site.
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.
A child!
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.
“Oh God!”
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.
“Where’d that–”
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.
Isabelle Sampi.
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.
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