Helen Valentina is a poet and novelist from Australia. She just completed reading THE CONTRACT and wrote an amazing review. I share it today, because it warmed my heart immensely.

​Thank you, Helen. I am deeply grateful to you, and to all reviewers, for the thoughtful comments about this book.                                                          
                      ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Full disclosure: I’m a sucker for anything about angels, redemption, universal love and honour. So The Contract, by John Howell and Gwen Plano, had me ‘at hello’ – or ‘chapter one’ as they say in the literature world.

This is a truly unique book – a cross genre meeting of spiritual, action, thriller and romantic minds. One part evocation of spiritual growth and destiny, one part thrill ride through a rollicking mystery and political action rampage, one part one of the loveliest and most affirming romantic stories I’ve read in years. I’m not giving anything spoilery away by noting the story is about two souls that willingly contract to go to earth and avert a political disaster. But how this all unfolds is delicious and should be read by the reader, not told by the reviewer here.

I must say I’ve been a long time fan of John Howell’s writing. It is fun, fast paced, warm and engaging – much as I suspect the author would be.  The fascinating thing here is how seamlessly his style and Gwen’s mix.  I truly couldn’t tell which parts were written by which, so well did they merge from one to the other.  It was very much like a harmony of two perfectly attuned instruments in a symphony.

They are the ideal writing partners to tell the story of two other perfect partners – of a different kind - as they fulfil their heavenly contract. ( And I loved the meta tip of the hat to this at the end of the book -very clever!)  This makes me want two things: that they quickly do the sequel they promise at the end, and also I want to check out some of Gwen Plano’s other writing too now.

I thoroughly recommend this book to one and all – its genre mixing offers pretty much something for everyone, and by the end you will have enjoyed a wonderful, action packed, politically on point thriller that is also a romantic and life affirming ride.

As I said at the outset, I’m a sucker for honour and the spiritually uplifting, so I shed a few happy tears indeed in the final chapters. If this isn’t what the spiritual world is (and I for one hope it is) then it should be! Don’t miss out on a sublime experience – get your copy now!

by Gwen M. Plano​

It is my pleasure to introduce award-winning author Mae Clair. If you have not read one of her books yet, it's time to pamper your curiosity and treat yourself to writing at its best. A glimpse of what you will find follows, for Mae introduces her latest masterpiece, Cusp of Night.

Hello, Gwen, and many thanks for having me on your blog today! I’m delighted to share my newest release, Cusp of Night, which features dual timelines—one set in the past and one in the present.
 
Take a stroll down this dark alley to check out the blurb:

​Recently settled in Hode’s Hill, Pennsylvania, Maya Sinclair is enthralled by the town’s folklore, especially the legend about a centuries-old monster. A devil-like creature with uncanny abilities responsible for several horrific murders, the Fiend has evolved into the stuff of urban myth. But the past lives again when Maya witnesses an assault during the annual “Fiend Fest.” The victim is developer Leland Hode, patriarch of the town’s most powerful family, and he was attacked by someone dressed like the Fiend.

Compelled to discover who is behind the attack and why, Maya uncovers a shortlist of enemies of the Hode clan. The mystery deepens when she finds the journal of a late nineteenth-century spiritualist who once lived in Maya’s house--a woman whose ghost may still linger.

Known as the Blue Lady of Hode’s Hill due to a genetic condition, Lucinda Glass vanished without a trace and was believed to be one of the Fiend’s tragic victims. The disappearance of a young couple, combined with more sightings of the monster, trigger Maya to join forces with Leland’s son Collin. But the closer she gets to unearthing the truth, the closer she comes to a hidden world of twisted secrets, insanity, and evil that refuses to die . . .
                                                               
                                                                 ~ooOOoo~
 
​I hope I’ve intrigued you.
 
For this book, I did a lot of research related to spiritualism in the nineteenth century. It’s interesting to note this was a time rife with sham mediums and charlatans who tried to pass themselves off as being able to communicate with the dead. The Society of Psychical Research (SPR) was often called upon to investigate for fraud. I found the account of Daniel Douglas Home particularly interesting.
 
Born in Scotland, Home was adopted by his mother’s sister, immigrating to America with her and her husband when he was nine. Home (pronounced “Hume”) was an odd child, often sickly. There are reports of his cradle rocking by itself, then later, furniture moving of its own accord when he entered a room. His aunt’s home was often filled with strange rapping sounds whenever he was present. The noises and unexplained movements of inanimate objects grew to such a level that Home was eventually asked to leave.
 
At eighteen, he gave his first séance. Unlike many mediums of the age who held séances in darkened rooms, Home usually conducted his during the day, or in brightly-lit surroundings. Two of his most famous demonstrations involved levitation.
 
In the first he caused a table to move about the room. Several men tried to hold it down without success. The second—his greatest feat—came when he levitated out a third story window , then entered through a different window into an adjoining room—all in the presence of three respectable witnesses. There are numerous accounts of this feat and the debate continues as to how home accomplished the deed. Conclusions run from hypnosis and illusion to hidden ropes or other trickery.
 
Harry Houdini—famous for debunking charlatan spiritualists—claimed the stunt was an illusion and that he could duplicate it. It’s said Houdini’s assistant got cold feet at the last moment, and thus Houdini never followed through with the attempt. Houdini clearly planned to use an assistant. Did Home have an associate aiding him that his guests didn’t know about?
 
Despite giving over a thousand performances during his career, Home was never exposed as a fraud. Was he a gifted magician and illusionist posing as a medium, or were his spectacles authentic? Either way, he lived in an era populated by people who held an interest in “Summerland”—and all of that makes for good fiction. 
​
                                                                  ~ooOOoo~

Each week poet Ronovan Hester sponsors a Haiku prompt challenge, and folks (like me) try to follow his lead. This week the two words are bliss and brawny. If you have interest in this poetic form, please click on his name and you'll be guided to his website where you'll find detailed instructions. 

As a native Californian, now living in the Midwest, brawny brings up one image in particular. I've tried to capture this image in a Haiku I've entitled Summer. 

My dad was not a man of many words. In fact, if you wanted to know about his work in the CCC camps or his military service, you'd have to ask him directly. And, even then, he would not say much. But, if there was a job that needed to be done on the farm or any where else, my dad was on it. He was a living example of "show don't tell." 

Dad didn't trust words. Too many he knew were hurt by them. "If you love someone, you show them," he'd tell us. And he did. 

It wasn't until adulthood, however, that I understood my dad. He gave me and my siblings a gift not easily wrapped in pretty paper. And, as he neared the end of his life, I thanked him for this extraordinary gift.

Leaning over his lift chair, I whispered, thank you, Dad, for teaching me how to survive. He didn't respond, but tears welled and rolled down his face. I had received his gift and in doing so, I had embraced him. 

To all dads, thank you for your self-gift, spoken or silently offered. 

by Gwen M. Plano

For much of our lives, circumstances define who we are: a wife or husband, a mother or father, a teacher or businessman or nurse or doctor. We give little thought to who we might be separate from our roles and titles. There is work to do, children to care for, meals to fix, a home to support.

In our retirement years, however, we are gifted time. And, it is from this vantage point that we begin to see a little differently - the shadows and the miracles of life. As we do, we have a greater sense of who we are.

When author John W. Howell and I began work on The CONTRACT between heaven and earth, we brought with us our realizations about life and our imaginings about eternity. Both of us are retired, and we have the time to search for explanations to the mysteries we encountered. Nevertheless, sometimes we wrote blindly until the answers came.

Last week, the book went live on Amazon.

A number of writers and bloggers have welcomed us to their websites, where they are graciously introducing The CONTRACT to their readers. I cannot begin to explain the profound gratitude I feel, for by their kindness, they recognize our efforts, and they acknowledge the journey.

Thank you one and all.   

by Gwen M. Plano

by Gwen M. Plano

I'm very grateful to author Stephen Geez for announcing the launch of The Contract. If you have a moment, please stop by his amazing site for a visit. 

​The trip to New York for my youngest son's wedding was magical. At every turn, there was another revelation about Love. At the wedding, there was only one reading, a poem by author Neil Gaiman. I share this with you, because I was deeply moved by its simplicity. Perhaps you will enjoy it as well. 
                                              ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

By Neil Gaiman
 
This is everything I have to tell you about love: nothing.
This is everything I've learned about marriage: nothing.
 
Only that the world out there is complicated,
and there are beasts in the night, and delight and pain,
and the only thing that makes it okay, sometimes,
is to reach out a hand in the darkness and find another hand to squeeze,
and not to be alone.
 
It's not the kisses, or never just the kisses: it's what they mean.
Somebody's got your back.
Somebody knows your worst self and somehow doesn't want to rescue you
or send for the army to rescue them.
 
It's not two broken halves becoming one.
It's the light from a distant lighthouse bringing you both safely home
because home is wherever you are both together.
 
So this is everything I have to tell you about love and marriage: nothing,
like a book without pages or a forest without trees.
 
Because there are things you cannot know before you experience them.
Because no study can prepare you for the joys or the trials.
Because nobody else's love, nobody else's marriage, is like yours,
and it's a road you can only learn by walking it,
a dance you cannot be taught,
a song that did not exist before you began, together, to sing.
 
And because in the darkness you will reach out a hand,
not knowing for certain if someone else is even there.
And your hands will meet, 
and then neither of you will ever need to be alone again.
 
And that's all I know about love.