The Colonel and the Bee-New Release

The Colonel and the Bee

by Patrick Canning

New Release

Patrick blurb

 

  • Publisher: Evolved Publishing LLC; 1 edition (June 1, 2018)
  • Publication Date: June 1, 2018

 

Blurb

A peculiar explorer and downtrodden acrobat span the globe on a building-sized hot air balloon, in search of a precious artifact and the murderous treasure hunter who seeks it.

Beatrix, a spirited but abused acrobat in a traveling circus, seeks more than her prison-like employment offers. More than anything, she wants to know her place in the world of the halcyon 19th century, a time when the last dark corners of the map were being sketched out and travel still possessed a kind of magic.

One night in Switzerland, the mysterious Colonel James Bacchus attends Beatrix’s show. This larger-than-life English gentleman, reputed to have a voracious appetite for female conquests, is most notable for traveling the world in a four-story hot air balloon called The Ox.

Beatrix flees that night to join the Colonel, and the two of them make a narrow escape—Beatrix from her abusive ringleader, the Colonel from a freshly-made cuckold. Beatrix, feeling the Colonel may have the answers to her problems, pledges to help him catch the criminal he seeks in exchange for passage on his magnificent balloon.

The criminal seeks a precious figurine, The Blue Star Sphinx, but he’s not alone. The Sphinx’s immense value has also drawn the attention of the world’s most deadly treasure hunters. A murder in Antwerp begins a path of mystery that leads all the way to the most isolated island on Earth.

What dangers await the Colonel and the acrobat?

 

Patrick

BIO

Patrick Canning was born in Wisconsin, grew up in Illinois, now live in California with his dog HANK, practicing the alchemy of writing: coffee turns into words, words turn into money, money turns back into coffee. Repeat until dead.

Patrick spends as much time as possible turning coffee into collections of words that look like books, shorts, and screenplays. Most of his stories attempt to look for the meaning of life in an adventurous way, and often employ humor, important since the search usually doesn’t turn up much. He is scared to use semi colons and rarely puts his seat back on airplanes.

Patrick event

Buy & Social Media Links

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Other Books by Canning

 

Becoming a Writer- A Journey of a Lifetime

Maybe it’s because I’m getting older. Or maybe just wiser. But I found myself philosophizing my path into becoming the writer I am today and what I hope to be in the future.

I have always loved writing. And I do mean always. I have been creating stories and characters since I first learned how to write. I think I was probably making up stories in my head even before I knew how to put them down on paper (I’m ancient. There were no computers back then).

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Many years ago (I won’t say how many but it was before the advent of the electronic mail) I decided to try the publication route. Until then I had written for fun, for myself. But I wanted to share my stories with the world, as terrifying as that was. So one day, when my oldest son was still a newborn, I wrote a novel, went to the library to check out a copy of the Writer’s Market, and began spending the little money we had on good quality paper, copying, and stamps. I still have the records from back then when the rejection letters came one after another, ripping my heart and my dreams to shreds.

I know now I wasn’t ready. I really wasn’t. I realize in hindsight that my whole life has been a long practice run for what was ultimately that moment in time when I decided to submit something during a PitMad on Twitter and got published.

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My childhood years when my father took me and my sister on road trips around my country, visiting different places and learning new things were all research trips. Those years that our family lived in different places in Africa, learning new languages, new ways, news perspectives on life? Research. My days as an animateur at a Club Med-type resort were nothing else than groundwork for characters and plot twists. The earthquakes I lived through, the hurricane, the tornado scares…fodder for stories. Losing my dad, my grandmother’s many strokes, my c-section, yoga lessons, medieval re-enactment events, being bullied as a kid and as an adult, having a son with a mental illness…you get the point. Every step of my life is now a piece in a rather vast bank of ideas and resources for my writing. I feel blessed I had such a rich life so far (even though I always thought it was a boring life) and I pledge to use it in all my stories.

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Some people take years to finish one novel. Others take years to gather enough material to write many stories. Which type of writer are you?

P.S. -Here’s a poem I wrote a while back about the sounds of my life (I’m almost sure I have posted it before but I’m too lazy to go look for it) that sort of summarizes the sources of my inspiration. I’m no poet so I apologize in advance. I hope you enjoy it at least a little bit.

The Sounds of My Memories

How does a memory sound?

My memories sound like ocean waves breaking against the sand,

Christmas songs sang out of tune,

Hail Marys and Our Fathers whispered at night.

My memories sound like my father saying goodnight

Or the last time we said goodbye.

They sound like my mother’s voice calling us to the table,

Teaching us to be kind.

My grandfather doubting men ever walked on the moon

And my grandma reminiscing about her honeymoon.

The sound of the Chestnut Man yelling

Quentes e boas!” in the cold of the street.

The whistle of the Knife-Sharpening man,

Early in the morning, drawing us in.

An old pop song playing in the background,

The sound of pots and pans in the kitchen,

The national anthem playing on TV at midnight,

What’s up doc?” and “I tawt I taw a putty tat”.

My memories sound like jet planes

Landing and taking off,

Tighten your seat belts” and “Please, don’t smoke.”

My memories squeak like airport dollies

And old airplane rolling stairs.

They are thunder and wind of an African storm,

The roaring of the fast waters of the Congo River,

The incessant bartering of women at the market,

The pleads of the beggars in the streets,

The moaning of the sick and the lonely.

My memories whistle like the wind on Scottish muirs,

And growl like the Puffins at Dunnottar.

The crystalline sound of my baby son’s laughter

And the Scottish accent of my four-year old.

Carolers singing throughout the night,

A medieval tune played out of sight.

Whistle and “Captain Aboard”,

Crowds of Navy families crying goodbyes,

Or celebrating hellos.

The silence of a Pacific Mountain,

The peace of the Puget Sound.

My memories have so many sounds.

They whisper in my ears,

Quietly, soundlessly sometimes.

They yell at me,

Loud and piercing other times.

They are echoes of my past,

Little souvenirs of feelings, thoughts, impressions,

Tiny mosaics that made me strong enough to last.

 

 

Shattered Time Anthology

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J.L. Clayton, Carissa Ann Lynch, Niki Livingston, Regina O’Connell, Ashlee Shades, Bradon Nave, Jeremy Simons, Joe Pranaitis, D.A. Roach, Genevieve Moultrie, Grace Charles, and T. Guthrie

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Lines of Time and Desire
If someone sent you a text saying they’re from the future, would you believe them? Londyn doesn’t know if this stranger with a charming personality is just pulling her leg or telling the truth, but what she does know is that it’s too much fun not to play along. With her heart now on the line and dark secrets looming, will she make the right decision or will she let the love of her life disappear into time? A romantic tale of love, time, and tragedy.
By, Author J.L.Clayton

Homecoming
Astrid finds something at a local witch’s house, something that doesn’t belong there…
It belongs to her baby brother. The only problem with that is…he’s supposed to be dead.
Astrid searches for the truth, learning that sometimes death isn’t final…
By, Carissa Ann Lynch

A Web Through Time
Meet Alex. Ordinary. Quiet. And she plays by the rules. Until she’s forced into a world where her past becomes her future and the governments of Earth are searching for her execution. Will she embrace her true nature or succumb to the threats of her parents’ enemies?
By, Niki Livingston

Willow and The Forbidden Portal
Willow, a simple Herb Woman, flees for her life after a child under her care loses his life.
Accused of witchery, she knows the only way to save her life is to find The Forbidden Portal and escape through time.
By, Regina O’Connell

Cassandra’s Choice
One moment, Cassandra’s driving along in her car to meet her new niece; the next, she’s waking up in the bed of an angry 19th-century Duke. What begins as a battle of wills soon turns into a struggle of emotions as Cassandra finds herself falling in love with the Duke. Will she make it back or choose to stay with the man she has come to love?
By, Ashlee Shades

The Secrets Crows Keep
Mildred was certain she’d escaped her past…she buried him. So when he showed up at her front door she had no choice but to question everything. As secrets are revealed, she realizes nothing is as it seems and the truth is more bizarre than she’d imagined.
By, Author Bradon Nave

Bridging the Gap
A dismantled bridge. A portal into an era time had forgotten. That was all Garrett needed to realize how better the future could be. But at what price?
It isn’t until Garrett sees his ways are destroying the future rather than bettering it that he comes to his senses. But will it be too late?
By, Jeremy Simons

Time’s Launch
The year is 2363, and the Earth Confederation launched their first time-ship the ECS Andrea commanded by Captain Joseph Dyson, the ships experimental engines move them ten thousand years into the future.
By, Joe Pranaitis

The Salesman
Melanie, consumed by guilt over a recent tragedy, struggled to forgive herself and move forward, until one day, when a peculiar salesman offered a remedy to what ailed her.
By, D.A. Roach, author

“One Cockroach Left”
A tale of dinosaurs, aliens, time travel, and a really bad day . . . sixty-six million years ago.
By, Genevieve Moultrie

Time
When tragedy strikes, Vida Morton is given the choice to go back in time, and save the man she loves, Mort Vidal. But love is a tricky game, and so is time. Especially in the face of death.
By, Grace Charles

Whisper’s of Forever
A breathless caress, an echo of desire whispering of Forever.
Layla thinks she is from the modern world, but her modern life hasn’t been simple. Plagued with visions of others, Layla always felt as if she belonged in another time with the strangers that haunt her mind. Layla will soon find out if her visions are true. A deliciously dark serenade of hope filled tragedy.
By, Author T. Guthrie

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Front Porches & Funerals-New Release

Front Porches & Funerals

By:K.A. Ware & Cora Kenborn

Release Date: February 21st

Hosted By: Chance Promotions

Cover by: Bite Me Graphics

ADD TO YOUR TBR:   http://amzn.to/2mgFg6z


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Synopsis

 

They say you can’t go home again.

But when you’re broke, down on your luck, and wanted in two states…

It’s the only place left.

Adelaide spent high school dreaming of the day she’d lift a middle finger
to her small town life and watch it all fade away in the rear-view mirror.
After marrying a man who she thought was her prince charming, Adelaide had
finally gotten everything she ever wanted…until the silver spoon was ripped
from her mouth and her prince was revealed to be just another cheating
jackass. Suddenly homeless with nowhere else to turn, she must head back to
the one place she never thought she’d have to show her face again.

Savannah just wanted to see the world, but ended up a twenty-five year old
vagabond with nothing to show for her life but a string of loser
ex-boyfriends. Instead of saving the planet, she sells jewelry on the
internet and digs in the cushions for loose change. Making the decision to
cut her losses, Savannah packs up and hits the road. It’s time to go back
to the beginning and figure out where she went wrong.

Adelaide and Savannah couldn’t wait to leave the bayou. However, when
circumstances force them out of their self-imposed exiles, they have no
choice but to belly crawl back to the place they both turned their backs
on. The Dubois sisters find that sometimes you’ve got to uncover your roots
to find your future.

The good thing about hitting swamp bottom?

There’s only one way to go…

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ABOUT THE AUTHORS

K.A. Ware

K.A Ware is an indie author living in Portland, Oregon. Her days consist of
working at her real life job in the financial field and taking care of her
young daughter. Writing is not her only passion, K.A. also serves on the
Board of Directors for a local non-profit and spends way too much time
reading. She believes in the power of words, alpha females, and that
special escape you get when you hunker down into a good book.

When she’s not busy mothering, working, writing, or reading she enjoys
spending time with family and friends and embracing the weirdness that is
Portland. K.A. loves music, so if you find yourself at a metal show in
Portland —take a look around— she’s the crazy redhead head banging at the
front.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ authorkaware

Instagram: https// instagram.com/authorkaware

Facebook: https://facebook.com/ authorkaware/

Website: www.authorkaware.com

Email: authorkaware@gmail.com

Cora Kenborn

Cora Kenborn writes contemporary and romantic suspense novels with strong
heroines, complex alphas, harrowing danger, and snappy dialogue. She loves
delving into the twisted mind of a dark villain as well as giggling while
writing romcom banter.

Cora lives in Eastern North Carolina and is a true Southern girl, who grew
up on sweet tea, front porches, and the simple life. She says “y’all,”
“fixin’ to,” and should you deserve it will “bless your heart.” She’s the
proud mother of three hyperactive and occasionally adorable children, and
wife to an understanding husband who tolerates her chaotic writer’s cave.

Although reading is her passion, she can usually be found watching true
crime shows and crafting inspiration for twisted new tales. Cora admits to
being a horrible cook, an even worse baker, and believes she’s more
dangerous with a hot glue gun than any weapon on earth. Oh, and she and
autocorrect are mortal enemies

Website: https://www.corakenborn.com

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/corakenborn

Twitter:

https://www.twitter.com/corakenborn

Instagram:

https://www.instagram.com/corakenbornauthor

Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15178303.Cora_Kenborn

Street Team:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/corasdarkangels

Reader Group

https://www.facebook.com/groups/monstersandrockstars

Newsletter: http://www.eepurl.com/b1xCtj

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A Song for Cape Verde

If you follow my blog (and I know I’ve been very neglectful of it in recent weeks) you know I have been a traveler all my life. Not by choice, mind you. Life just always took me on journeys I probably would never go on should it be left up to me. I’m not very adventurous and as an introvert as much as I love visiting new places and seeing new things I need something or someone to push me in that direction.

When I was about seven years old I lived in a small Atlantic African island called Sal in the Cape Verdean archipelago. Literally translated Sal means salt and there is a very good reason why that island bears this name. It’s been a long time so I cannot speak for the island as it is today. However, back then Sal was a small arid island that survived off the sea salt mines and lobsters. It never rained, there was not much to eat besides lobster and goats were about the only livestock that could survive the harsh environment.

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I was not too happy there at first because I was a minority of epic proportions. I was a white skinny girl in an island of dark-skinned people but, even worse, I was a poor white girl in a place where the only other two white girls my age were the daughters of officers. I was stuck between two worlds. The black girls hated me because I was white and the white girls hated me because I was poor. I won over the local girls by showing them I was almost as poor as they were, lived among them in a house with no electricity (eventually we were upgraded to a house with electricity, but not much more) and no running water and—brace yourselves—by telling jokes. Yes, I became a regular comedian as a survival strategy. I stole my “material” from my father’s old comedy records (by the great late Portuguese comedian Raul Solnado) and put on a daily show every day during recess. I can’t say I made a lot of friends, but at least I was able to get along with the other girls in school (not the white girls though. They truly hated my guts).

Solnado

Raul Solnado

Like most places where I lived in the great continent of Africa, Cape Verde holds a special place in my heart. There is something magical about Africa. We, the expatriates that lived there, used to say it was something in the water; once you drank it you could never remove Africa from your heart. For me one of the most magical things about Cape Verde (besides the wealth of lobster, which I ate for breakfast, lunch and dinner) was the music. Cape Verde were originally uninhabited islands discovered by Portuguese explorers and later populated with a mixture of Portuguese settlers and African slaves. Because of its geographic location and history, the islands developed a very unique culture and language. Creole (which I spoke once), a mix of Portuguese and African dialects, is the language spoken on the islands. Just like the language, the music also reflects the influence of both Portuguese and African traditional music. The coladeira is a fast dancing tune that sounds a little like a merengue; the morna is a slow, poignant, warm and sensual dance .

Coladeira                                                                             Morna

Thanks to my parents who loved music and dancing, I was exposed to all of Cape Verdean dances and by the time I left the island I was moving my hips just as well as the other local girls and their music was forever enshrined in my soul. I went back years later as a young adult to enjoy their beautiful isolated beaches for a few days. But nothing can describe the plight and harsh beauty of the islands better than the song Regresso by the great Cape Verdean singer Cesária Evora and later sang by the equally great Brasilian singer Alcione. I hope you have the chance to listen to it and enjoy it. Even if you don’t understand the words, the music says everything. Here’s a song for Cape Verde.

Regresso as sang by Alcione

True Magic

As writers we often have to do a lot of world building. Some of us go to even bigger lengths and build maps and pictures to go with the world your mind and creative juices created. When I was in Portugal in July I got to experience the work of someone who not only created a fantastic world in his mind but actually built. Early in the 20th century a man with a lot of money and an obviously creative mind was able to hire someone equally creative (Luigi Manini who was among other things a set-designer for La Scala of Milan and many other theaters and opera houses around Europe) to make the musings of his fantasy world come to life. This was a 14 year long endeavor that, thanks to an ambitious restoration done by a local foundation (Cultursintra Foundation) is now open to the public.

Sintra, a little town built on a lonely mountain just a few miles north of Lisbon, has always been one of my favorite places in the world. With its own micro-climate and wealth of historical lore, Sintra is a magical place that shares its geography with lush forests and equally luxuriant architecture. It was once the place of choice as a summer residence of the Portuguese royal families who took refuge here from the hot summers in Lisbon. Poets like Lord Byron also favored this location and I can well understand why. You cannot visit Sintra without feeling inspired to write. For me, Sintra is a portal to live poetry and magic.

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Vila de Sintra

On the very top of the mountain, The Moorish Castle- often shrouded in clouds and mist – gives the visitor the illusion of stepping back in time. As you drive or walk through town you can’t miss the overwhelming feel of history. The architecture, the steep, narrow roads and streets, the palaces and the villas, even the humble homes remind you of another place, another time.

This time I had a mission. I had, since moving to the US too many years ago, found out about this mysterious place called Quinta da Regaleira. Pictures of its wrongly-named Inverted Well are everywhere in the internet. I pride myself of knowing my own country very well. I studied tourism and history and I have visited places no-one even knows about. However, this place had been a private property until after I left for the US and as such it had never been publicized. It was finally opened to the public in 1996 and it has become the fodder for many stories and fantasies. It is said (I couldn’t confirm it) that the Masons and the Rosicrucian still hold their secret meetings and rituals onsite.

This magical place is housed halfway up the Serra (mountain) and other than the turrets of the main house you cannot see it from the road. Like most properties in the area, Quinta da Regaleira is protected by tall stone walls. The main palace is amazing. I was drooling over the intricate wood-sculptured ceilings of the house (there aren’t two with the same design), the neo-manueline style of its architecture, the many towers, even a small lab reminiscent of classic literature. However, you quickly forget the house once you start your walk through the massive forested property.

Qt da Regaleira

I can almost guarantee that this is where all the fauns, fairies and other magical creatures came to live in as progress made them homeless around the country. The whole garden –a totally inadequate word for it – rises upwards. If you don’t like to walk and/or climb do not visit this place. You can’t avoid it. There are very few flat surfaces in the property. It would take me pages to describe the whole place because it is loaded with buildings and features that bespeak of wondrous things. There are lakes galore, caves, wells, towers and turrets, fountains and some statuary. I made friends with a few gods from mythology along the way.

Of course, the queen of the ball is the famous Inverted Well. This is actually a misnomer. There is indeed an inverted well but because of its much humbler characteristics it hasn’t made its way to Internet fame as yet. The so called Inverted Well of cyber-fame is actually called the Initiates’ Well (Poço Iniciático), a subterranean tower that sinks almost 100 feet into the earth.  A spiral staircase winds down and around it and its walls are punctured here and there with empty niches (ritual altars?) to the bottom, a beautiful mosaic floor that opens up into a dark (and I mean dark) maze of tunnels, one of which ends on a small lake. Here you have the rare opportunity of walking on water (not really. It just looks that way). When you stand on the bottom of the well and look up, you know you just left reality and entered some other realm.

Poço dos Iniciados                             On the bottom

I spent the whole day at the Quinta and I still didn’t see all I wanted to explore. I wanted to sit on a rock under the shade of the beautiful forest and write. I thought maybe I could buy a tent and just live on the grounds but I was told I wouldn’t be allowed. Too bad. Everyone should be able to experience the enchantment at least once in a lifetime. For now, I carry the magic with me, like a little pocket muse until such time that I can return.

View from the bottom

Flying to Europe

C17

I have been away from my blog for a little while now.  For my one and only fan (you know who you are) I apologize; I have been visiting friends and family in Europe for the past couple weeks. Because of those-who-can having upped the price of airline tickets so much, common folk can’t afford to travel anywhere further than the local IKEA anymore. So we decided to take advantage of a privilege we have earned having been in the military; space-A flights. Our family had only done this once before when my dad passed away many years ago. At the time my husband was still in active duty and because of the circumstances of our trip we were able to get a seat pretty quickly both ways. Now that he is retired we are placed on the bottom of the waiting list. In practical terms this means we have priority only over mosquitoes and other household pests. Which, kidding aside, is only fair… but a pain nevertheless.

So we drive to an air force base ripe with the hope of getting a flight out way before our vacation time is over. After 3 days of waiting at Dover,  (thank you wonderful USO volunteers. Your kindness and amazing lounge made our wait so much easier to bear) we finally got to fly out. Our luxury vessel is a C17, which for those unfamiliar with military planes is that giant cargo plane you often see in action movies that can carry whole tanks inside of its bowels and poops them out through a ramp off its tail. Here we all are sitting parachute style along the sides of the plane staring at each other across the empty cargo hull. It was great that it was empty. Most of us were able to make makeshift beds on the floor and sleep semi-non-comfortably. Families with children held whole picnics on the stretched out blankets. I chose the least comfortable style of curling myself like a snail on top of two seats. It’s a miracle I could even walk at the end of the seven hour flight.

Three days  (four if you count the night we had to spend at the hotel in Rota) already burned off our two week vacation, we drive a rental along the south of Spain and into Lisbon in Portugal where yours truly is from. We now have about ten days to make up for more than three years of apart-time. I am not complaining. Any time I can spend with my mom, my sister and my nephews is well worth it. But I do wish I could have a little more time with them (more to come of my adventures in Luso-soil).

Too soon, it’s time to leave. Another  six hour drive to Spain, another night at a hotel and -tah dah!- we actually get a flight that same day (not exactly to where our own car is parked waiting for us in the good old USA but a good 7-8 hour drive from it). This after having been checked in on another flight, taken out to the departure gate only to be told the plane is in need of TLC (who isn’t?) And we must go back to the waiting room because who knows when this plane will be ready. We decide to take another flight to a much less convenient location and here I am in another C17, this time a super full one (no more floor beds or picnics).

This is where I get to praise our amazing military men and women.  They may cuss like sailors (I know my husband used to) but they are the friendliest people in the world. These guys had actually collected goodie bags (filled with Capri-Suns, chocolate and crackers) to give the passengers who by the simple fact of being there make their job just a little harder; now, not only do they have to do their jobs, they also have to play flight attendant, give up their much-deserved sleeping spaces and watch a bunch of bedraggled people sleep with their mouths wide open. You can’t see me but I am on my feet applauding them right now.

As I write this my back is absolutely killing me, I am dizzy from the lack of sleep, and I have my Kindle on an empty seat beside me while I type on my faithful bluetooth mini keyboard. The quantity of spelling crimes I am committing makes me cringe and the nine hour flight ahead of me makes me wince in pain. But I am so very grateful to the military for this opportunity to see my family. I wouldn’t have been able to afford it any other way and the silver lining is I have got so much fodder for writing. Win-win.

Come back lonely fan of mine; I will have more stories about my amazing(ish) adventure in Europe in the next few days.