tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62177974752716258542024-03-24T00:11:24.487-07:00Diane Scott Lewis, historical authorDiane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-49317778547293559092024-03-04T05:47:00.000-08:002024-03-04T05:47:56.035-08:00Can their love overcome dangerous obstacles? by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioPTf0N7tnXLNgnQGHlQRDVlWHRcNxpnklG2NDvnhRZ0BsieQiD4AB5w9R5MObouTuNLsM0dVHY7r5kftO93PfXdhnQlIaOXYSz3qJoVaXvtD5yuot2weSD1tNiP2m5fcyNbjojOTRA7mteUAMLd5b249SPJuGQSu11GPlXISLy8SZbd1HpB7h-cTVI-c/s2100/Bretagne-ScottLewis-1400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2100" data-original-width="1400" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioPTf0N7tnXLNgnQGHlQRDVlWHRcNxpnklG2NDvnhRZ0BsieQiD4AB5w9R5MObouTuNLsM0dVHY7r5kftO93PfXdhnQlIaOXYSz3qJoVaXvtD5yuot2weSD1tNiP2m5fcyNbjojOTRA7mteUAMLd5b249SPJuGQSu11GPlXISLy8SZbd1HpB7h-cTVI-c/w167-h251/Bretagne-ScottLewis-1400.jpg" width="167" /></a></div><br /><p></p><span style="font-size: large;">To purchase, please click <a href="https://books2read.com/Bretagne-a-forbidden-affair">HERE</a><br /><br /><br />Formally "Outcast Artist in Bretagne," my WWII novel is now "Bretagne: a forbidden affair."<br /><br />August is the German commandant of southern Brittany. Norah is an Englishwoman trapped in France after the German invasion. The two fall in love after she draws his portrait, desperate for money. August loathes Hitler and has plans to take Norah to Switzerland. Every moment is rife with danger.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;">Norah has been caught forging; can their romance continue?<br /><br /><br />Read an excerpt:<br /><br /><br />“I understand. It’s so awful.” Norah drank from her cup, her gaze searching. “I just want us out of this war, some place safe for you and me. A cottage on Lake Lucerne?”<br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">“I’m working on that. As soon as my son graduates next autumn, I can put in my papers, then take him out of Germany.” August drank half his cup, stood, fetched his tunic, and put it on. “I have to leave now to inspect the airfield at the tip of this peninsula. I’ll return tomorrow. Why don’t I bring over my horse, and you have your cousin Jean spend the night here? He can ride Maler, and I’ll rest easier knowing you aren’t alone.”<br /><br />She rose and stepped up to him, her smile tempting, her eyes moist. “That’s a perfect idea, thank you.”</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGnstoRP4CtcdUNjVHe7cBorLp5jb9wCt99bgZhFLz-SSqGOB8K2Zs2CqzJuaOVh36pmKz_YnEZAJXyIOr8iaRyQ2AxLFtAC1z9Hy85nx2o_qiCou8uL_tts1WlFtavuzivUuyxJ-Dn5RWTLQS5lqrJ8cBt_JX6mAQQEcS5q1deKq0HjLfUb6u3GB6S6c/s1196/happy%20ending3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="1196" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGnstoRP4CtcdUNjVHe7cBorLp5jb9wCt99bgZhFLz-SSqGOB8K2Zs2CqzJuaOVh36pmKz_YnEZAJXyIOr8iaRyQ2AxLFtAC1z9Hy85nx2o_qiCou8uL_tts1WlFtavuzivUuyxJ-Dn5RWTLQS5lqrJ8cBt_JX6mAQQEcS5q1deKq0HjLfUb6u3GB6S6c/w483-h246/happy%20ending3.jpg" width="483" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">He bent, longing to wipe away any hesitation, any lasting doubts, and kissed her, hard, his hands in her hair. Tasting the sweetness of her lips, he pressed her close. She wrapped her arms around him. He pulled back, stabilizing himself before his resolve melted. “I wish I could stay, but we slept late, and I must bring Maler.” He turned from her flushed face, put on his hat, and left the cottage. August’s body thrummed like a tuning fork. He yearned to indulge in their passion, but needed to stand aloof, the man in charge, for just a little longer.<br /><br /><br />Diane lives is Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund. <br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-7591445298067836202024-01-26T05:51:00.000-08:002024-01-26T05:51:00.125-08:00Four Stars from Amy's Bookshelf Reviews, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibvOEO9KQraV1LGYn2BKJcuLkPJESOpLRF4srz0uPuGJOLrzskaIV1rCHkRGKwEhrZjEqEFVXFKdYyotJn6SmDh9KWuNdTWmzwMV9VlAFij5dcc7-mrhbHkx3fS6sXL3rr26gzDWw_GkRcnnQgymSxkGLOj8osnI4qq_A7v14smj1-5C7pyxQFOd9eOSM/s300/Bretagne-ScottLewis-200.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibvOEO9KQraV1LGYn2BKJcuLkPJESOpLRF4srz0uPuGJOLrzskaIV1rCHkRGKwEhrZjEqEFVXFKdYyotJn6SmDh9KWuNdTWmzwMV9VlAFij5dcc7-mrhbHkx3fS6sXL3rr26gzDWw_GkRcnnQgymSxkGLOj8osnI4qq_A7v14smj1-5C7pyxQFOd9eOSM/s1600/Bretagne-ScottLewis-200.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Notice the new title!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">To purchase, please click <a href="https://books2read.com/Bretagne-a-forbidden-affair" target="_blank">HERE</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Excerpt from review:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">The story is endearing and heartbreaking. Diane Scott Lewis brings the story to life. This read is more than just words on a page. Bretagne: a forbidden affair is a definite recommendation by Amy's Bookshelf Reviews.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWiO1-Gu3aKnVH6QiYU_pDbLfZS0hP9b1tTg9AMusX8Rf8Yun98SOGPD2mUUoV1B72M7LrsWr9w3yKgkwSrf_MqBi8HVsBqfwZaHu1e04f04SotDjkBnFGC6bo7arFxY2BVOVBHWrBhVozpB3ejOv3MrI3mdIEWDwzQ1OgHkfLu-GpLOjdlVGY0v30DZc/s1022/Winner%20new%20title%20NN%20Light.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="761" data-original-width="1022" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWiO1-Gu3aKnVH6QiYU_pDbLfZS0hP9b1tTg9AMusX8Rf8Yun98SOGPD2mUUoV1B72M7LrsWr9w3yKgkwSrf_MqBi8HVsBqfwZaHu1e04f04SotDjkBnFGC6bo7arFxY2BVOVBHWrBhVozpB3ejOv3MrI3mdIEWDwzQ1OgHkfLu-GpLOjdlVGY0v30DZc/w263-h196/Winner%20new%20title%20NN%20Light.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">To read the complete review:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://amysbookshelfreviews.com/f/diane-scott-lewis--bretagne-a-forbidden-affair?fbclid=IwAR3Wjm76HTO4dOej2GykSfgesULdrtUtwKRY8lUWnE0c4zE9DWknC1uxJKE" target="_blank">Amy's Bookshelf Review</a></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.</span></p>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-82143458855947172642023-12-22T05:42:00.000-08:002024-01-12T05:03:36.715-08:00Bragging Rights, and contest Winner by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2BtsJjAGHtzSF7CT6QSHiQ4Zh12yb7pEisNSk6UC5IcfeMlzhY76ASQxyCq-3SZsJKF1Ii-ifFUkBOHwYGj3Q6dwQq836EDthyphenhyphenEOXiRY-3eO-qB01D4l5Q5TvSSfneA1Sr5sv5Xj9sowCx6sAOQs2ju4GKa-O5vdo2pGRqvxz0moCJJQgzcAIaw6pE0/s1080/Diane%20Scott%20Lewis%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2BtsJjAGHtzSF7CT6QSHiQ4Zh12yb7pEisNSk6UC5IcfeMlzhY76ASQxyCq-3SZsJKF1Ii-ifFUkBOHwYGj3Q6dwQq836EDthyphenhyphenEOXiRY-3eO-qB01D4l5Q5TvSSfneA1Sr5sv5Xj9sowCx6sAOQs2ju4GKa-O5vdo2pGRqvxz0moCJJQgzcAIaw6pE0/w290-h290/Diane%20Scott%20Lewis%20(1).jpg" width="290" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large; text-align: left;">To purchase, please click </span><a href="https://books2read.com/Outcast-Artist-in-Bretagne-Lewis" style="font-size: x-large; text-align: left;">HERE</a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">My book, <i>Outcast Artist in Bretagne</i>, is the winner in N N Lights Book Heaven best book for 2023 in historical fiction.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.nnlightsbookheaven.com/post/nnlba-2023-winners">https://www.nnlightsbookheaven.com/post/nnlba-2023-winners</a><br /><br />Here is an excerpt:<br /><br />At the sound of a boot scraping over stone, Norah peeked around the tall rock. Her pulse spiked. The Commandant stood a couple of feet away, straight as a steel beam, arrogant, gazing out over the Atlantic. His Nazi uniform was a terrible mockery to the village of Saint Guénolé.<br /><br />She’d thought herself secluded here. Why had she taken the chance? She hunkered down and should slip away, since she could be apprehended for spying on the German officer. Though that’s not why she was there. Loathing coated with fear rippled through her. <br /><br />Almost frozen with inaction, she slid down a little more into the cove of rocks’ shadows. She glanced at her drawing book. The sketch of the Atlantic Puffin, delicate in its lines traced in colored pencils. The orange legs and strong red and black beak on a body of black, pale gray, and a white underside shimmered on the page. In profile, its eye shone with life, and the puffin looked about to take flight. <br /><br />A gust of wind tossed her hair into her face, a thick sweep of strawberry-blonde in the scent of brine from the sea. <br /><br />Did she hear his boots scrape closer? What if he peered over the rocks? Swiping her tresses aside, she shrank deeper into a cleft and glared over the ocean, longing for her home in Yorkshire, angry and upset at being stranded. But she must pretend to be calm, in control. <br /><br />The Southern Finistère coast, with its rugged, rocky outline, was a buttress against the forceful ocean waves that slapped the stone slope two yards below her toes. The dark indigo of the Bay of Biscay reflected a blue spring sky. Spray filtered through the air, a mist that refreshed her skin—except today. If she could only sneak to the north coast and be capable of swimming the channel. <br /><br />Inching to the side, Norah crept, head down, out from the semi-circle of tall rocks on the opposite side from the Commandant. Thankful she wore trousers and not a skirt, plus sturdy Oxford shoes, she brushed off her backside. She hurried past the monolithic-like stones with golden lichen clinging to their bases, across an open area of grass and into the bushes then woods. Her pencils rattled in the canvas bag. Her legs grazed against the orange and yellow wildflowers.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffZb19ZPKDvhb3F7xDoUD7EnG_dOYKsKJL1n12pOp3I5Hn4cMBl_fMr7CBrQ4g_IS1hWT534cOlJwkLtOpzuxGt86vOBNB_EJD_2TP62yBbqyzALH8WTv5_f17HCyTKj_ob1nrjLQxa1ZR6ipQ4UOVD7GvQ8GaW8qbSyZTTq9RqwD5NFGDMNOT4LP5zE/s1196/Five%20stars%20ocean.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="834" data-original-width="1196" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffZb19ZPKDvhb3F7xDoUD7EnG_dOYKsKJL1n12pOp3I5Hn4cMBl_fMr7CBrQ4g_IS1hWT534cOlJwkLtOpzuxGt86vOBNB_EJD_2TP62yBbqyzALH8WTv5_f17HCyTKj_ob1nrjLQxa1ZR6ipQ4UOVD7GvQ8GaW8qbSyZTTq9RqwD5NFGDMNOT4LP5zE/w283-h197/Five%20stars%20ocean.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">A sentry or two always patrolled this area. She tried to remain inconspicuous, but more soldiers had arrived in the last few weeks. The Germans had started to build ports somewhere along here and a special one, heavily guarded, right below the village. She must be more careful. <br /><br />As she pushed her way through gorse bushes and scratchy plants, sharply fragrant, she pondered the German officer’s reasons for standing at the cliff, which he did often—but never so close to her cove. Was he waiting for reinforcements by sea? Or coveting England across the channel? But that view was on the northern coast of this peninsula that stuck like a fat finger out into the Atlantic. <br /><br />The Nazis’ bombing raids had already decimated so much in London in the Blitz. They’d also dropped bombs on York, but with minimal damage so far. Her country had been attacked by German planes from September ’40 to last month—the worst raid ever on London. She groaned. Now June, would it start again? <br /><br />Since last year, Hitler planned an invasion of England, but it had failed to land any troops. <br /><br />Her stomach clenched with more anger she needed to temper. She increased her stride, sucking in the fresh air. Rustling behind her, footsteps—too close. Someone panting then a hand grabbed her shoulder. <br /><br />Norah flinched and swung around. A baby-faced soldier in Nazi greenish-gray scowled at her. “What are you doing here?” he demanded in heavily accented, terrible French, two of his teeth jagged like a weasel. <br /><br />She straightened, chin high, the pad pressed to her stomach. Inside, she trembled. “I live nearby. I was enjoying a walk. I draw birds.” Her French was passable after the year entrenched with her cousin, and her schoolgirl lessons from a decade ago. Her arrival happened only five weeks before the Germans invaded France. A desperate year because of that and for anguished, personal reasons.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaOCZ2kW70T923MSJMwxw0JmPC7Ai13DogdRZNGG7FilVjKsjk6TzCw2YDiLlHKjt4KKSKj3sR47sarxQN05d8LBimMA_r37ufccC0c1FSfQQDj9MyyuvkwzRtHiGw4UVybGgvbQJzxq1r3WFTmeNnbiuCMMlvf6f7qnpa9rUPxJEzJjK8TAdAFpwVXBM/s1615/Norah%20paints%20to%20forgetWukdWomen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1615" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaOCZ2kW70T923MSJMwxw0JmPC7Ai13DogdRZNGG7FilVjKsjk6TzCw2YDiLlHKjt4KKSKj3sR47sarxQN05d8LBimMA_r37ufccC0c1FSfQQDj9MyyuvkwzRtHiGw4UVybGgvbQJzxq1r3WFTmeNnbiuCMMlvf6f7qnpa9rUPxJEzJjK8TAdAFpwVXBM/w379-h291/Norah%20paints%20to%20forgetWukdWomen.jpg" width="379" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">The young man pointed at her book and bag, then shouted over his shoulder in German. <br /><br />Was he alerting his superior? “Please, I’ve done nothing wrong.” She had no desire to come face to face with the Commandant. “You can search me…if you want.” She cringed at that idea. <br /><br />“I have no choice but to report you.” The soldier shouted again. The officer’s heavy footsteps thudded closer. <br /><br />He burst through the bushes, tall and broad-shouldered, his expression stern. The two Germans spoke in their guttural language. <br /><br />Norah wanted to collapse to the ground but refused to show intimidation. Her spine nearly crackled as she held it firm. <br /><br />The Commandant confronted her, his blue eyes penetrating. “What is your purpose out here at the shore?” He had distinct cheekbones, a handsome face, his lips full; a man of about forty. An iron cross hung at his high collar. “You don’t care to take instruction from we Philistines. Civilians are restricted.” <br /><br />“I apologize,” she tried to keep the revulsion from her tone, though his near-teasing words —or perhaps a taunt—put her off-balance even more, “I was out for a walk and…I used to walk by the shore. Before—” Before you damned Germans arrived.<br /><br /></span><p><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.</span></p></div></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-2012741260239053842023-11-01T05:14:00.002-07:002023-11-01T05:14:43.188-07:00Illicit Lovers Share a Tender Moment<p> </p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF6TtQFRJ5I0X68qbSp3OlU6YsmXXdF4J0_2S5dRXe_QWsRDNrAqiDusp2-qhBifmb4O-XSdOzaWVx76leN5wWDPEBSuwF1npmWMpRO67rDKyy4a-pgqBGs1qnr68mkRIZ-pJLNodeBFEdE7eZS8bJ0y9CXJ0Lajh5MjNB1vH6QUx_yFx4n_X22EuNQx4/s1213/Five%20stars%20SALE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="814" data-original-width="1213" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF6TtQFRJ5I0X68qbSp3OlU6YsmXXdF4J0_2S5dRXe_QWsRDNrAqiDusp2-qhBifmb4O-XSdOzaWVx76leN5wWDPEBSuwF1npmWMpRO67rDKyy4a-pgqBGs1qnr68mkRIZ-pJLNodeBFEdE7eZS8bJ0y9CXJ0Lajh5MjNB1vH6QUx_yFx4n_X22EuNQx4/s320/Five%20stars%20SALE.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">On Sale, only 4.99. To purchase, please click <a href="https://books2read.com/Outcast-Artist-in-Bretagne-Lewis">HERE</a><br /><br />I hope you enjoy this intimate moment between my characters, after last month's turmoil when August caught Norah with forging material. This scene takes place prior to that. An unlikely romance during WWII.<br /><br />August kissed Norah’s naked shoulder, her skin warm after their lovemaking. Her lithe body felt natural against his in their mutual musky scent. Crickets chirped through the open window where a slight breeze filtered around blackout curtains, into the dark room of the gardener’s cottage. The moonlight outlined them both. “I love you, mon amour.”<br /><br />“I love you…so much. And this is nicer on a mattress,” she murmured, her back to him as they snuggled under the sheets on the iron bed.<br /><br />“You seemed a little agitated earlier; is something wrong?”<br /><br />She turned and touched his face. “I’m fine now. Can I ask where you got that huge scar on your right side?”<br /><br />“I was shot seven years ago, trying to warn friends.” He really didn’t want to go into the details, the pain, at this moment. But he was naked, like she was, to be explored in all his flaws. He shoved away those ugly memories, brushed his lips over hers, then traced his fingers down her silky, soft back. “I’ll tell you more later. In the morning, we’ll plan our picnic, and you can meet my stallion, Maler. He might like his picture drawn, then painted.”<br /><br />“Another handsome portrait. I’d be happy to.” She reached up and ruffled his hair. “Even in the shadows, I like your hair mussed up.”<br /><br />He smiled. “No military strictness?” Wouldn’t it be ‘freeing’ to not have to wear that uniform each day, which wrapped him in the menace of the Wehrmacht?<br /><br />She nestled her head on his chest. “My cousin’s husband might ask me to leave their home.”<br /><br />“Why? What has happened?” His mind immediately went to the rumor of a forger, an inquiry he’d yet to begin.<br /><br />“He thinks…I’ve been there too long already.” She sounded evasive. Or he read too much into it.<br /><br />“Is it as straightforward as that?” Here was the source of her anxiety. A shame to have to discuss these things after they’d shared such sweet passion tonight. He did need to find out what she knew. “Is it because you are with me?”<br /><br />She sighed and ran her fingers down his abdomen. “That’s part of it. I was wondering, though you might object, if I could move in here.”<br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8_r4DAC85Whc0HO9k5LehtKf3L2s4aEmON6S2P1d-em_7ydbj2LVp2HGBCSJeiCVax-aaVGGWE4EabuOmDw5G5Ds9I3xC9XeoQMU_TD3HXFoCaalqvIiO3IpUTkTS6uhGXoyjv27UsO9OahymEiHCJCEpg6Tpx2ipFlNhY-wI7c8Bh0uI4_3oPCd-BBE/s1013/Couple%20kisiing2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="537" data-original-width="1013" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8_r4DAC85Whc0HO9k5LehtKf3L2s4aEmON6S2P1d-em_7ydbj2LVp2HGBCSJeiCVax-aaVGGWE4EabuOmDw5G5Ds9I3xC9XeoQMU_TD3HXFoCaalqvIiO3IpUTkTS6uhGXoyjv27UsO9OahymEiHCJCEpg6Tpx2ipFlNhY-wI7c8Bh0uI4_3oPCd-BBE/s320/Couple%20kisiing2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><span style="font-size: x-large;">August closed his eyes, enjoying her touch, but now these other problems pushed in. “You’d be alone, though I could come most nights; unless I leave for inspections. Let me think about it.” He could throttle the damn butcher. He wanted to recapture that languid, satisfied feeling he’d just had.</span><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><span style="font-size: x-large;">“You could provide me with a pistol, for protection,” she whispered.</span><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><span style="font-size: x-large;">He grasped her wandering hand. “That is dangerous, too.” Non-Germans weren’t allowed weapons, for obvious reasons. “I would worry about you out here.” But where else could she go? Anywhere close by, without her family, she’d be open to worse scrutiny and hazard.</span><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><span style="font-size: x-large;">She kissed his chest, her mouth warm on his skin. “I know how to fire a gun.”</span><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><span style="font-size: x-large;">“I’m not surprised.” He pulled her against him and kissed her firmly on the lips. “We should sleep, then talk about this soon. I’ll think of a solution.” Another, more personal question niggled at him. He hated to continue to dishonor her when he felt this intensely about her. He let the question slip out. “Norah, would you marry me? Though as a German officer I might be a threat to you and your people for a short time more."</span><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><span style="font-size: x-large;">She breathed in slowly. A few minutes of quiet. “As difficult…yes, I would. We’ll go to Switzerland, you said. You can retire next year?”</span><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><span style="font-size: x-large;">“That is my intention.” As soon as he could take his son with them—after graduation—away from the Nazis, and count on his daughters being protected by their husbands.</span><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><span style="font-size: x-large;">He kissed the top of her head as he hugged her, holding on to his dream, making it real. He needed her love, though other troubles such as the direction of the war, and the business with the U-boat, kept him from any true peace. But negotiating life was always a challenge. She couldn’t be involved in the clandestine activities in the village—he must believe that. Yet Schmidt was certain to cause problems.</span><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><span style="font-size: x-large;">August closed his eyes, trying to drag himself into oblivion. He knew his family wouldn’t be thrilled when he married an Englishwoman. One thirteen years younger, and his mistress. But his love blurred all these battles.</span><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><span style="font-size: x-large;">He rested his cheek on her lush, fragrant hair as she snuggled against him. Her name was whispered in the allegations. The picnic—he swallowed a groan; he must question her then.</span></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-85229439519190872752023-09-21T05:11:00.001-07:002023-09-21T05:11:36.371-07:00I interview my anti-hero from Outcast Artist in Bretagne, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpDCoMiRGTYSdC66Jcszm_GLn0L8NBgVNvT9a1X0MKCZRg9egAk1X65JXWQt-0LdUqwnjpeXhKzDp9tsQRIyQVO8bvdhmmPkWjLi8e7p8DrGUWI5T69T8MQLQl6tQDvbs9jMABLo6SmbzsdVXc0-rbLJxA6tpfKMHmd2eAUKcgYV9uOjHewUcif4_Jfg8/s1196/Five%20stars%20ocean.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="834" data-original-width="1196" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpDCoMiRGTYSdC66Jcszm_GLn0L8NBgVNvT9a1X0MKCZRg9egAk1X65JXWQt-0LdUqwnjpeXhKzDp9tsQRIyQVO8bvdhmmPkWjLi8e7p8DrGUWI5T69T8MQLQl6tQDvbs9jMABLo6SmbzsdVXc0-rbLJxA6tpfKMHmd2eAUKcgYV9uOjHewUcif4_Jfg8/s320/Five%20stars%20ocean.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><span style="font-size: large;">To purchase the ebook or paperback, click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Outcast-Artist-Bretagne-Diane-Scott-ebook/dp/B0C24NLLBK">HERE </a><br /><br />I previously interviewed my heroine, Norah, to dig deeper into her character. Today it's my hero (who you'll think at first is an anti-hero) It's fun to talk to them out of the written context of the story. I hope you enjoy it.<br /><br />Today I interview Major August von Gottlieb, the commandant of Southern Brittany.<br /><br />Major, I understand that though you're in the German army, you don't care for Hitler's policies?<br /><br />A tall, handsome man, with blond hair and blue eyes, the Major sits and adjusts his greenish-gray tunic with the Iron Cross. "I came to realize that Hitler is a madman. His policies are getting good people murdered. When I was assigned here, in this bucolic village, I found I wanted a different life. But it isn't so simple to leave the German army. I would be shot as a traitor, unless I plan carefully."</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQkaLNv7hc60B5dpi9s98c7qVwL5VZOa2rSAnDMY86oMbYSHP_R6uaxPKjqRz9ZFuZr0XDubhrrJy5ULplXSh2w8Rzvxj3kKVtNmh4ZvTnJuNFAfxSTQNYx9GyQ1E_YW7m9UWnYacbOIyUv-4Lv7idgVmBHZZ5VFa-PvXPzS6LOTey9znDqRKDqFCLSE/s640/Wehrmacht_Heer_(WW2_German_Army)_Uniform_Truppensonderdienst_Stabszahlmeister_(Hauptmann)_Feldbluse_Waffenrock_Ritterkreuz_des_Eisernen_Kreuzes_Dopp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQkaLNv7hc60B5dpi9s98c7qVwL5VZOa2rSAnDMY86oMbYSHP_R6uaxPKjqRz9ZFuZr0XDubhrrJy5ULplXSh2w8Rzvxj3kKVtNmh4ZvTnJuNFAfxSTQNYx9GyQ1E_YW7m9UWnYacbOIyUv-4Lv7idgVmBHZZ5VFa-PvXPzS6LOTey9znDqRKDqFCLSE/w278-h209/Wehrmacht_Heer_(WW2_German_Army)_Uniform_Truppensonderdienst_Stabszahlmeister_(Hauptmann)_Feldbluse_Waffenrock_Ritterkreuz_des_Eisernen_Kreuzes_Dopp.jpg" width="278" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>Have you set any of these plans into motion?</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />"First, unlike so many officers, I refused to starve the population by sending away the food supplies. I make certain the villagers keep their fair share."<br /><br />Do any of your fellow officers resent this?<br /><br />"Ja, they do, and are sure to make snide remarks to me. But I am in charge." He rubs his cleft chin, his gaze penetrating. "I was nearly killed in an incident having to do with Hitler a few years back. It's made me more determined."<br /><br />I see the pain cross his features. Have your superiors complained?<br /><br />"I was visited by one colonel, but I eased his mind. We need strong workers here to build the special port."<br /><br />And what will this special port be used for?<br /><br />His eyebrows rise. "I cannot divulge that yet. It is something I plan to, let's say, take care of so no further damage is done to England or France from this area."</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">A noble plan. I hear you have a young lady that you're interested in.<br /><br />"I do. We are both in love." His eyes soften and he smiles tenderly. "She is English, so that is another strike against me. I hope we can manage a future together. I feel such passion for her. But there are many obstacles." He stares off for a moment. "She has had a rough time of it, and I want to soothe her and be a decent man for her."</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tkqTm-Rg7ssfV73-fXYmq9ef9f9T9f2JS7ImRW1GEepAYrmKVruUFI9QgxxbY99kUy71OhQ9yfVkvH02NlKAJMInnUZTihJkuOPGT1R4FkbKZlVZv2HPsuw7OrPbfv2oH63P3l32pMFm3wMBB2P89gyJqJsdIhO2Hj92eA6Y4km-JnV46zkp8P6r8b4/s1013/Couple%20kisiing2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="537" data-original-width="1013" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tkqTm-Rg7ssfV73-fXYmq9ef9f9T9f2JS7ImRW1GEepAYrmKVruUFI9QgxxbY99kUy71OhQ9yfVkvH02NlKAJMInnUZTihJkuOPGT1R4FkbKZlVZv2HPsuw7OrPbfv2oH63P3l32pMFm3wMBB2P89gyJqJsdIhO2Hj92eA6Y4km-JnV46zkp8P6r8b4/s320/Couple%20kisiing2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">The villagers have vilified Norah because of her relationship with you.<br /><br />"I regret that. If I'm not destroyed by the peril to come, my wish is to escape with her to Switzerland and get married. I want to honor her. There are so many secrets and scheming around us." He fists his hand, his gaze troubled. "But I cannot tell anymore than that." Gottlieb stands and puts on his high-capped hat. "I have work to do. I must bid you good day, frau."<br /><br />Well, thank you for speaking with me. I wish you both success. Hmmm, an officer working from within to sabotage Hitler. I'm intrigued how he will do it, and what needs to be 'taken care of.' Norah had mentioned a weapon in her interview.<br /><br />Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.</span></div></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-2668954047557496872023-09-04T06:37:00.002-07:002023-09-04T07:09:08.155-07:00On a More Personal Note, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> <span style="font-size: large;">Lately my husband has had a terrible cough. Doctors could not figure it out. Then his calcium levels went through the roof.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">They put him in the hospital for major tests. His lymph nodes are swollen. More tests. We finally got the results. Cancer, the word you never want to hear.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It's thrown us all in disarray. He'll start radiation soon, at a hospital 40 minutes away. They have an excellent cancer center there. I'm still in a daze. He is emotionally up and down.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My sons will help drive him back and forth. Even our wine lady offered to drive. I'm speeding along a backroad.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc9wvelPMtUwrMf7W-LHyTZKDjSss_oN7enLU-EArm_tRjOCcyWWq8aR0gnCjIDhUc0ae2MPQUrx7P2i1wyBjOfc4iANTMHlLaAEBfLQzftXpAQJYjnx9HyckLsO0ic4RMAl7PsjSOxTnCHzGtQ32VXKv7OWxKLDWNBJ-Ps05tHHiBX9vu_OUZBycP-F0/s1189/Racng%20backroads.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="1189" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc9wvelPMtUwrMf7W-LHyTZKDjSss_oN7enLU-EArm_tRjOCcyWWq8aR0gnCjIDhUc0ae2MPQUrx7P2i1wyBjOfc4iANTMHlLaAEBfLQzftXpAQJYjnx9HyckLsO0ic4RMAl7PsjSOxTnCHzGtQ32VXKv7OWxKLDWNBJ-Ps05tHHiBX9vu_OUZBycP-F0/w376-h142/Racng%20backroads.jpg" width="376" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-size: large;">How to cope? How to keep writing? It's literally one day at a time.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I must resurrect my off-beat sense of humor for a situation that is far from amusing. Plus comfort a man who is staring at his own mortality.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5YSMo96HTk-KYDLd56n0YTdDOp2rEzZhDRM42MhTTUKh4vhakckx4PO_q1AOJIyqtYjNoFxlJLcsE1wnJTQJrFP3aqOuojMwd7I3GRtQnMiEw9z9TIrNubc8RqXcIYVv8tXYEh6ViyJJwyRH8iq4WqkpmPmMw-ftilnxpfAwFrNjyZEHiXyPIm-ZQBUg/s1197/Kick%20Cancer.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="1197" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5YSMo96HTk-KYDLd56n0YTdDOp2rEzZhDRM42MhTTUKh4vhakckx4PO_q1AOJIyqtYjNoFxlJLcsE1wnJTQJrFP3aqOuojMwd7I3GRtQnMiEw9z9TIrNubc8RqXcIYVv8tXYEh6ViyJJwyRH8iq4WqkpmPmMw-ftilnxpfAwFrNjyZEHiXyPIm-ZQBUg/w295-h172/Kick%20Cancer.jpg" width="295" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">My friend in England is going through this with her husband. Her advice is a great comfort. Even my publisher is involved, her husband now deceased, was a great believer in help from the spirit world. We'll use any means possible to get through this.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">My oldest (longest) friend has been there, too; by now she may wish she could hide!</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeDt3pGtqDwr1Djb8-guFDzMEXX12YhwuFod-SHBWFhLu4tyBiOE-qzFCyntflAdi8m30u3japLZbT1AcfJtJ9XvhuqQj1an71jA0dttQdz8KtreawkRkvoFdqKGXeDq7Ss_bbL7xOFXuBZbAfCN5mPXU6P-JUk2PgI5X4IPPLKw8l6uyQZapCpgFNEs/s462/Candy%20and%20Diane_crop%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="451" data-original-width="462" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeDt3pGtqDwr1Djb8-guFDzMEXX12YhwuFod-SHBWFhLu4tyBiOE-qzFCyntflAdi8m30u3japLZbT1AcfJtJ9XvhuqQj1an71jA0dttQdz8KtreawkRkvoFdqKGXeDq7Ss_bbL7xOFXuBZbAfCN5mPXU6P-JUk2PgI5X4IPPLKw8l6uyQZapCpgFNEs/w250-h244/Candy%20and%20Diane_crop%20(2).jpg" width="250" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-size: large;">Now I must get my head back into the YA novel I'm working on for publication next year. It's all surreal.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I'm a Type A who needs to dial down to a B.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Prayers if you got 'em!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-2599391786300490982023-08-07T05:30:00.001-07:002023-08-07T05:30:00.137-07:00N.N. Lights excellent review of Outcast Artist in Bretagne, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-rfuujGNg5e4ZXWBBn-zAnHazpfSft5Mg_BywKmkkoTMDOWOrYm50J6QoVqQlIaxHhHuWKt9Ix1GWrHLigXwnKxigvUjPbqkpBoCMABY4CBDvNNcGhvYWHJBwh1hrpzI-NSkTNWdlCCJ-Qpt4tFlWW_-hlu8tSllCuwUHk9iKwU2dMrTJ0r4vaS2XwY/s1518/Outcast%20Artist%20in%20Bretagne%20BR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="759" data-original-width="1518" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-rfuujGNg5e4ZXWBBn-zAnHazpfSft5Mg_BywKmkkoTMDOWOrYm50J6QoVqQlIaxHhHuWKt9Ix1GWrHLigXwnKxigvUjPbqkpBoCMABY4CBDvNNcGhvYWHJBwh1hrpzI-NSkTNWdlCCJ-Qpt4tFlWW_-hlu8tSllCuwUHk9iKwU2dMrTJ0r4vaS2XwY/s320/Outcast%20Artist%20in%20Bretagne%20BR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">N.N. Lights gave my novel an excellent review.</span></p><span style="font-size: large;">Outcast Artist in Bretagne is a powerful, multi-facet story of love, hate, war, compassion, and courage. It’s a love story, true, but it’s one set against the turbulent era of German-occupied France.<br /><br />The year is 1940, and British citizen Norah Cooper finds herself trapped in France, a guest of her cousin and her husband. Not trusted by either the French or the Germans and carrying a past considered shameful at the time, Norah can’t deny her attraction to Commandant August von Gottlieb.<br /><br />The forbidden love story is only part of the saga, as Lewis immerses us into the early years of World War II where the Americans have yet to get involved. Their love, complicated enough, becomes wrapped inextricably with the war when each keeps their own secrets of their clandestine activities—activities which could get them killed.<br /><br />Lewis doesn’t just tell us about the conditions of the occupation, she paints a vivid narrative of the harsh lives the French lived under German rule. From the daily fear to the scarcity of food, to the mistrust citizens had for one another, this story gives the reader the privilege of eavesdropping on history.<br /><br />The major strength of this tale lies with the characters. We can’t but come to empathize with the townspeople—especially the children—living under austere economic and societal conditions. But we’re also given a realistic view of the German soldiers, who very often are portrayed as buffoons or cartoon characters. Here we see they have families, fears, doubts, and desires. The full tragedy of the war is fully unveiled.<br /><br />Typically, we see the history of World War II through a series of black and white newsreels. Lewis splashes shades of color on the time period and reveals a richer, more vibrant era.<br /><br />Lewis has written a historical romance guaranteed to give you a book hangover unlike any other. My advice? Ignore your TBR pile and read Outcast Artist in Bretagne while you’re on the beach this month. You can thank me later. <br /><br />My Rating: 5++ stars<br /><br />Buy it Now: <br /><br />Amazon US: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Outcast-Artist-Bretagne-Diane-Scott-ebook/dp/B0C24NLLBK">https://www.amazon.com/Outcast-Artist-Bretagne-Diane-Scott-ebook/dp/B0C24NLLBK</a></span>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-7572697437109903862023-07-28T05:30:00.061-07:002023-07-28T05:30:00.153-07:00A Time Travel and a Spy Story, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8Z54S6fH3LUEhHBmltFI1Zo2daZ76DtbCSM8DNwmbEDSeOdFvKuLp6vWiujR2rmMZ3xs6bJLWowH4-PPYSS1dxyB63pfPQj0Ci8sCiBhBkPUx7YK2ZMTh98yJBAFcIOvfpHzCQfw5ttGB2hdt8gL8FWsonZn6hiBGYv5pblJduXUMTAfpNWwYZygxas/s1500/Beyond%20the%20Fall%20Book%20image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1383" data-original-width="1500" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8Z54S6fH3LUEhHBmltFI1Zo2daZ76DtbCSM8DNwmbEDSeOdFvKuLp6vWiujR2rmMZ3xs6bJLWowH4-PPYSS1dxyB63pfPQj0Ci8sCiBhBkPUx7YK2ZMTh98yJBAFcIOvfpHzCQfw5ttGB2hdt8gL8FWsonZn6hiBGYv5pblJduXUMTAfpNWwYZygxas/s320/Beyond%20the%20Fall%20Book%20image.png" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">Can a sassy San Francisco gal from the 21st century survive when she's hurtled two hundred years into the past in a neglected cemetery? And what about the handsome farmer who may be a grain smuggler? After Tamara's nasty divorce, can she trust again? Caught up in England's turmoil during the French Revolution, can she ever go home?</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">To purchase BEYOND THE FALL, click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Fall-Diane-Scott-Lewis-ebook/dp/B07HDFRLT4" target="_blank">HERE</a></span></p><span style="font-size: large;">"Colum and Tamara have become my favorite characters of all time! I absolutely will recommend this book to all avid romance readers who love fast, and intriguing plot!" ~ Mariola S. Librarian via Netgalley</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPI1K2x47_GSYrGioJ5IQsMQ2t6hZ7oXC9iL9_7rexx6pPp9A9s-yXk_9teW6AEGmIhEo_0CWFxTC02HQa74Le6BnhHqkpfyfmCF9mlwxy61rVQvxVJX97jImCAapOZZf-mylZpS_kiNOtdgq_SE-VPBJuE8ECP_Rd7Tc0CT_TsRAMXAsx46p1QMJyEXA/s1500/To%20Entice%20a%20Spy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="1500" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPI1K2x47_GSYrGioJ5IQsMQ2t6hZ7oXC9iL9_7rexx6pPp9A9s-yXk_9teW6AEGmIhEo_0CWFxTC02HQa74Le6BnhHqkpfyfmCF9mlwxy61rVQvxVJX97jImCAapOZZf-mylZpS_kiNOtdgq_SE-VPBJuE8ECP_Rd7Tc0CT_TsRAMXAsx46p1QMJyEXA/w379-h291/To%20Entice%20a%20Spy.png" width="379" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">Countess Trehearne returns to England in the midst of the French Revolution. She's determined to avenge the death of her companion in Paris. Her probing embroils her with a deadly spy and her childhood love, Robert. Will their passion heat up before she becomes the spy's next victim? Robert works for the new Secret Services. He discovers they stalk the same villain. Can he protect his old love before it's too late?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Tamara from <i>Beyond the Fall</i> makes an appearance in this novel.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">To purchase, TO ENTICE A SPY, click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Entice-Spy-Diane-Scott-Lewis-ebook/dp/B09D9ZCRKX" target="_blank">HERE</a></span></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;">"Ms. Lewis does an excellent job of keeping you invested in Eseld and Robert. A historical romance that is thoughtfully researched, features a couple that is older (late 30s), and a plot that is interesting and fascinating. So do yourself a favor and pick this little gem up. You'll thank me later." *Harlies Books*</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives is Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAxn6E4jaFenK2CjUeahEdTf5ETGIMZse1nMUz1VvX7K8DNyjkakH6nlcnDHmvJjy6c0jYPCVKxQZWPa1nKNDEr9QpPN8Hy3xyZdPFAWMna7UpnN_7vod-d2nqnLUvLxT4TjVjevzORrd5vkIeJ5-wKWFwM_Ol0qVBc9CN7PRTMcBH47U-DrSqEXBohg/s1357/Lilly%202021%20March.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1357" data-original-width="1207" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAxn6E4jaFenK2CjUeahEdTf5ETGIMZse1nMUz1VvX7K8DNyjkakH6nlcnDHmvJjy6c0jYPCVKxQZWPa1nKNDEr9QpPN8Hy3xyZdPFAWMna7UpnN_7vod-d2nqnLUvLxT4TjVjevzORrd5vkIeJ5-wKWFwM_Ol0qVBc9CN7PRTMcBH47U-DrSqEXBohg/w210-h236/Lilly%202021%20March.jpg" width="210" /></a></div><br /></span></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-69732292276843211632023-07-03T04:41:00.000-07:002023-07-03T04:41:41.401-07:00A Male Reviewer says my Hero is too Virtuous? by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvD5Rts48dNk0K-zf1LAFiH06TKAXhZGEu-kbkYWoyjgW8UYCSg9tBRYkFIyGpDLc_Lnw2HAThI0kyVYD1MkzTvgdKIr6CTAqQMKpBY6UXz3XeYyvThB9rhSlnLe8UMHDutDam2pY_Q5SukofaddUooKRjrQq68rG5y9_La8qP30cuKcqpbQcQ8zFtRY/s1314/August%20and%20the%20beast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="1314" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvD5Rts48dNk0K-zf1LAFiH06TKAXhZGEu-kbkYWoyjgW8UYCSg9tBRYkFIyGpDLc_Lnw2HAThI0kyVYD1MkzTvgdKIr6CTAqQMKpBY6UXz3XeYyvThB9rhSlnLe8UMHDutDam2pY_Q5SukofaddUooKRjrQq68rG5y9_La8qP30cuKcqpbQcQ8zFtRY/s320/August%20and%20the%20beast.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Can a German officer throw off the vileness of the Nazi Regime? That very vileness is why he strives to make changes in his life. But first August must destroy a killing-machine.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Meeting the exiled Englishwoman, the artist Norah, encourages him to act. He aches for the passion he's never experienced. Will they find their happy ending in the chaos of WWII?</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi74Z7BE1S94bYoaI_LZ-xYyzxJaHH8UyCKXCUWuZa7w_cbKkbBRg569HlV1Nhfzn9HCFLy7Yt3lZzgSA9M2mXy0E6hi6bkAGeWThJ8NPhshF_hf7-mNofNqXOy2tWQSR2BK7EZJ2KG_US5EQ8lvRDXVQkQBPBMkbGaqHd0o1CIHJxToQ0UHXaSot4ucmM/s300/OutcastArtistinBretagne-ScottLewis-200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi74Z7BE1S94bYoaI_LZ-xYyzxJaHH8UyCKXCUWuZa7w_cbKkbBRg569HlV1Nhfzn9HCFLy7Yt3lZzgSA9M2mXy0E6hi6bkAGeWThJ8NPhshF_hf7-mNofNqXOy2tWQSR2BK7EZJ2KG_US5EQ8lvRDXVQkQBPBMkbGaqHd0o1CIHJxToQ0UHXaSot4ucmM/s1600/OutcastArtistinBretagne-ScottLewis-200.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">To purchase, click <a href="https://books2read.com/Outcast-Artist-in-Bretagne" target="_blank">HERE</a></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Read the review (he doesn't mention this virtuousness in it, though)</span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/R34ILXA0HUO7B7/ref=cm_cr_dp_d_rvw_ttl?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B0C24NLLBK"> All Is Fair In Love And War</a><br /><br />Reviewed in the United States on June 29, 2023 FIVE STARS<br /><br />"This is the rare book by a modern author in that it transports the reader to France of 1940, and it never feels false or contrived; you really feel like you're there because of Ms. Scott-Lewis's detailed descriptions and knowledge of and obvious intense research into the period and place. And you feel the anguish from the two main characters as they fall in love against the backdrop of the war and the fact that they're on opposite sides. That anguish turns to friendship, to lust, and finally to love as they carefully navigate the increasingly dangerous terrains of love and war. Historical romance is not my usual genre of choice, but I was riveted by the story which draws on other wartime romance novels and movies (Casablanca anyone/), yet tells the story in a new and refreshing way. I heartily recommend this great novel!" Brettw</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives is Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.<br /></span><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-29502668968024830302023-06-18T05:36:00.006-07:002023-06-18T12:04:28.578-07:00Norah tells us why she found a connection to Major von Gottlieb, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRIl44lBjhB0Adbq51vpJYYP6WDghp7R_v4rGjRzVGyQ8PYSG0NW940oEOT1Ty_rWJLn1_P9RNF-q7jME-7ZFKlGyGjusq0ZRJDcPu0AdvrWRo0WpnnVXtc7Z7zKSTWrzZvFgPeMkYggBDkf-Tta1fgGNta9vc3NlPxSyOVBax3xNmYE_Q16N28H2z/s1080/Outcast%20FB%20%235.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRIl44lBjhB0Adbq51vpJYYP6WDghp7R_v4rGjRzVGyQ8PYSG0NW940oEOT1Ty_rWJLn1_P9RNF-q7jME-7ZFKlGyGjusq0ZRJDcPu0AdvrWRo0WpnnVXtc7Z7zKSTWrzZvFgPeMkYggBDkf-Tta1fgGNta9vc3NlPxSyOVBax3xNmYE_Q16N28H2z/w231-h231/Outcast%20FB%20%235.jpeg" width="231" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">To purchase Outcast click <a href="https://books2read.com/Outcast-Artist-in-Bretagne" target="_blank">HERE</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Interviewer. "I'm sitting here with Miss Norah Cooper in the small village of Saint Guenole in Brittany. Miss Cooper, you were trapped in France after the Germans invaded, visiting</span><span> your cousin for personal reasons, and now you just want to go home to England. You're an artist and decided to draw the Major, the man in charge of the occupation. Why was that?"</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"He offered me a great amount of money, and I needed to pay my way." Norah brushes a hand through her strawberry-blonde hair. "My cousin's husband threatened to demand I leave. I had no place to go."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"You didn't find this idea with the Major repulsive?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, at first. But the Major surprised me." Norah smiles, looking a little embarrassed. "He was very kind, and then I learned a secret about him that really changed my mind."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"And what was that?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"He hated Hitler's policies. Plus he brought more food to the village after I asked him to." Norah sighs. "He wanted the war to end and live a peaceful life."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"Then an attraction grew between you two?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"Slowly." Norah gazes around. "When we got to know each other better."</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUKeUPJG-TUEBxrG2TlFKgKC7xfsEYk4G3PZsNjKwiLvdSHWmf46qGMAypb8v0Pu2zf6vw9ndGSQnqZMNXp4TTtAkkmytf7CVbPYdEcs-zmuIWbJcIMNkT__shKl1QT1O2EHth62rI83KfBNXd7fWnJU2O6n4FLn7t1le48VxazSeaXRYSFqWAkcL9/s640/Granite_at_Porz_Rolland_in_Brittany_in_France_2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUKeUPJG-TUEBxrG2TlFKgKC7xfsEYk4G3PZsNjKwiLvdSHWmf46qGMAypb8v0Pu2zf6vw9ndGSQnqZMNXp4TTtAkkmytf7CVbPYdEcs-zmuIWbJcIMNkT__shKl1QT1O2EHth62rI83KfBNXd7fWnJU2O6n4FLn7t1le48VxazSeaXRYSFqWAkcL9/w251-h168/Granite_at_Porz_Rolland_in_Brittany_in_France_2.jpg" width="251" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"Weren't you afraid of being ostracized?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"I am ostracized. The villagers, my cousins. It is very difficult. The Major, August, he told me a terrible weapon was on its way. And he planned to disable it so it wouldn't be used against my country."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"I see. Did you fall in love with him?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Norah smiles again, though it's a little sad. "We fell in love. As crazy as that sounds. I discovered the man he really is, inside. We have a passionate relationship. But I knew it would be perilous."</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPUyQ-KpgbJrHK9_STmgbmombI_zoVFK_zaJ5Y0RnLpEKTeV_CLTP-20HfBNslLBT5s71Ae_QUnRirnelqFjv3AwUZXMMkn2tTxndW7coPGGHPF2kZNZ6DC0oO1cuNO_-AaysIQXE9CGA8KQyfAlZSiOMOK3p2cMbzO1ZAEJg_wZyt_FIzrcgjyIj/s640/Brittany,_France_(Unsplash).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="423" data-original-width="640" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPUyQ-KpgbJrHK9_STmgbmombI_zoVFK_zaJ5Y0RnLpEKTeV_CLTP-20HfBNslLBT5s71Ae_QUnRirnelqFjv3AwUZXMMkn2tTxndW7coPGGHPF2kZNZ6DC0oO1cuNO_-AaysIQXE9CGA8KQyfAlZSiOMOK3p2cMbzO1ZAEJg_wZyt_FIzrcgjyIj/w269-h179/Brittany,_France_(Unsplash).jpg" width="269" /></a></div><span><p><span style="font-size: large;">"Do you have plans for a future?"</span></p></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"He has to complete his sabotage. I got involved with forging documents. We kept secrets. But our love is strong." Norah presses her fingers to her cheeks. "We speak of escaping to Switzerland. But there are so many obstacles. Threats of arrest. I still hope we can have our happy ending. Or maybe I'm being naïve."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Interviewer. "I hope you can find a happy ending in the midst of war. Thank you for speaking to me."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-76467994626761570232023-06-07T05:00:00.074-07:002023-06-07T05:00:00.140-07:00A Brief Excerpt and a Brittany recipe, Outcast Artist in Bretagne, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbOB35COptpp9hO1dVoFY1VwGcVjj9TuKchn7DJymcRJs4TKpMN8sTuRwHyT4O9t-qD2ud4edJ8IlpSCEe8mSqvXn8mkPz960myY58GZHQYg-8L8t4YhQRm2Hq9W8RiGqniA9505KOGCFo0Kdhj4GOoMXjxtk3QduBDRX2X3jG13niD8UtZpnFfu5/s1810/Outcast%20Kindle%20and%203D%20book%20cover.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="1810" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbOB35COptpp9hO1dVoFY1VwGcVjj9TuKchn7DJymcRJs4TKpMN8sTuRwHyT4O9t-qD2ud4edJ8IlpSCEe8mSqvXn8mkPz960myY58GZHQYg-8L8t4YhQRm2Hq9W8RiGqniA9505KOGCFo0Kdhj4GOoMXjxtk3QduBDRX2X3jG13niD8UtZpnFfu5/s320/Outcast%20Kindle%20and%203D%20book%20cover.png" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">Click here to <a href="https://books2read.com/Outcast-Artist-in-Bretagne" target="_blank">PURCHASE</a></span><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">August risks both their reputations by taking Norah to draw a castle, then lunch at an outdoor café. Their relationship exposed for all to see. A forbidden love that could end in heartbreak.</span></p><span style="font-size: large;">The waiter served steaming bowls of <i>Cotriade</i>, the local fish stew, made with bass, eel, mackerel, other fish, potatoes and onions. A rich smell with a hint of fishiness. <br /><br />Norah dipped in her spoon and tasted. “Delicious. So much bounty. And the perfect spices.” <br /><br />They each spoke of their childhoods and later years, trying to find common ground. He left out the growing chaos in Germany, the march toward totalitarian authority that corroded his youth. He almost told her of the day he was shot and nearly died, but didn’t want to ruin the pleasurable interlude. <br /><br />“I’m surprised the Germans haven’t taken over this city with the expansive harbor.” She glanced down across the coastline. There were a few sentries. <br /><br />“I couldn’t say if we have.” Many bunkers were being built here. He poured them another glass of wine. The wine relaxed him, and he wished they didn’t have to leave. He had the urge to trace his finger along her collarbone and lower. <br /><br />She looked at him with a wry smile. “We each have secrets, though you know most of mine now.” <br /><br />“That might be so. I still need to find out who murdered my landser.” August said it casually, certain she wouldn’t admit if she knew. He finished his stew. “I’m sorry, the commandant returns in me.” <br /><br />“Are you trying to scare me off?” She ate more stew, her tongue licking juice from her lips, eyes sparkling. “I haven’t heard anything; that’s the truth.” <br /><br />He laid his hand over hers. “I believe you. And again, forgive me for asking.” He curled his fingers around hers. “This is a perfect day with an exceptional woman.” <br /><br />Norah drank her wine. “Please continue. I’m listening in earnest to your flagrant flattery.”</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOlZWr--no9DQhlpXeQqD1LBeRG76UANjgzlNt_D5EeTK5TJjpCapw669OXnCsJeIj61Rl3FCxnOnBaL45_LjANlVbkxOxL-UUx_i5SEjEUm4zf5vuuIbu8QiR7uUkIpesupw-R1dSCuzwZNHIBi-HfsRw4VBtpT8cZIsFgVUXUHAFsYUh8fvLZRBz/s640/Mussel_soup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOlZWr--no9DQhlpXeQqD1LBeRG76UANjgzlNt_D5EeTK5TJjpCapw669OXnCsJeIj61Rl3FCxnOnBaL45_LjANlVbkxOxL-UUx_i5SEjEUm4zf5vuuIbu8QiR7uUkIpesupw-R1dSCuzwZNHIBi-HfsRw4VBtpT8cZIsFgVUXUHAFsYUh8fvLZRBz/w266-h199/Mussel_soup.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;">Recipe for </span><i style="font-size: x-large;">Cotriade:</i></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>Heat 3 oz butter in a large saucepan</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Add one chopped onion and stir for two minutes</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Add one chopped leek and two chopped garlic cloves, stir for another two minutes</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Add three sprigs of thyme </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Add six medium potatoes, peeled and quartered.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Cover with one litre of cold water, season with salt and pepper.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Bring to a boil and cook for five minutes</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Add three pounds of whole fish (monkfish, flathead, john dory, whiting), cleaned and cut into one inch pieces</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Add the fish pieces and shake the pot. Simmer for five minutes</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Add twelve mussels, cover with a lid, and cook for 2-3 minutes until the mussels have opened up.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Serve the stew in large bowls and sprinkle with half a cup of parsley</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-79998498114661140662023-05-27T08:20:00.003-07:002023-05-28T05:06:16.535-07:00A best selling author loves Outcast Artist in Bretagne, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSWf4g57S8vYPTEX0euQMciD5hqo4JntEDxoB_VwO7scqT3tbI0S_60tliEv1H6HHZim4-M3JAgTzEPNfzCz0FJ-fgPz-TlL66p6KNQElMTP7Z7SUwRdy1oO3ILzQ2vtUf_P0Agm7vINzElvzTSZrV_HIcge6htMiBkOwl6IBl5fYWkpgFfLUQ_g-q/s1080/Outcast%20Artist%20IG%205.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSWf4g57S8vYPTEX0euQMciD5hqo4JntEDxoB_VwO7scqT3tbI0S_60tliEv1H6HHZim4-M3JAgTzEPNfzCz0FJ-fgPz-TlL66p6KNQElMTP7Z7SUwRdy1oO3ILzQ2vtUf_P0Agm7vINzElvzTSZrV_HIcge6htMiBkOwl6IBl5fYWkpgFfLUQ_g-q/w241-h241/Outcast%20Artist%20IG%205.jpeg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">To purchase the novel, click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Outcast-Artist-Bretagne-Diane-Scott-ebook/dp/B0C24NLLBK" target="_blank">HERE</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">USA Today Best selling author, Maggi Andersen, wrote this review:</span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><br />"Passion and danger in war-torn Brittany! A riveting read!</span><div><span style="font-size: large;">A different take on a popular genre. A French village in war time. A young Englishwoman finds herself in occupied Brittany and in love with a German officer. He has his own plans which makes for a thrilling read. Very emotive and well written. The Brittany villagers are great characters too. I wasn't sure how it would end until the last page."<br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-size: large;">Blurb:</span></p><span style="font-size: large;">Unwed and pregnant, Norah Cooper flees England to hide with her cousin in Brittany before Germany’s 1940 invasion. After her baby is stillborn, she's trapped under the Occupation. Norah consoles herself by sketching wildlife. When she’s caught near the coast, she comes under scrutiny of the German commandant, Major August von Gottlieb.<br /><br />August loathes what Hitler is doing to his country and France but is duty-bound to control the people in his jurisdiction. The young Englishwoman piques his interest. Is she a spy? He asks her to sketch his portrait so he might uncover the truth.<br /><br />Soon, their relationship evolves into a passion neither can deny. He plans to sabotage a major war machine of the Reich, while she secretly helps the Resistance. Will their love ruin her and end in heartbreak?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjahGpbIKzv2odkZCNCLCbL9QXwQcPrS6OlJvXvRcgHQC8f-2rik9xMROwy8GN7A_cI_4kcFCk6vB7NiWNLxfqXcvHE6pDIQ6xrwbH3CvpOPPETiNlynWANgobj9tXQDmnKA03Mby_nLvnxDN5ZhJLSuXAGsb6xnAMGaLYFmlVZ-gc-vL_zqmz-KsHI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="640" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjahGpbIKzv2odkZCNCLCbL9QXwQcPrS6OlJvXvRcgHQC8f-2rik9xMROwy8GN7A_cI_4kcFCk6vB7NiWNLxfqXcvHE6pDIQ6xrwbH3CvpOPPETiNlynWANgobj9tXQDmnKA03Mby_nLvnxDN5ZhJLSuXAGsb6xnAMGaLYFmlVZ-gc-vL_zqmz-KsHI=w212-h226" width="212" /></a></div><br />Or will they overcome the odds and survive the surging threats. <br /></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.<br /></span><br /><br /><br /><p><br /></p></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-18537884157645898972023-05-21T06:39:00.000-07:002023-05-21T06:39:11.097-07:00An Intense Excerpt, the Major faces his past, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICUvH2tUPq8iRqmVGvUCCx_IIEjusuRW9qk8FQL1kfJJFFC_qSNn_hh7p6jOkDhgNFg1I-vI9DDXmRY2eSjP4-YjAGTOC67rtvt3tzJvQMw88ysaAQ_0H5sGx6PXjx6ENAYIIuNhbeo8i1o5Xc5SjhwXgCu4dtJ-4ozp1d1Uo5OLb2_ppIgepqk6B/s1487/Uniform%20his%20plans2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="859" data-original-width="1487" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICUvH2tUPq8iRqmVGvUCCx_IIEjusuRW9qk8FQL1kfJJFFC_qSNn_hh7p6jOkDhgNFg1I-vI9DDXmRY2eSjP4-YjAGTOC67rtvt3tzJvQMw88ysaAQ_0H5sGx6PXjx6ENAYIIuNhbeo8i1o5Xc5SjhwXgCu4dtJ-4ozp1d1Uo5OLb2_ppIgepqk6B/w486-h281/Uniform%20his%20plans2.jpg" width="486" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">To purchase Outcast Artist in Bretagne, click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Outcast-Artist-Bretagne-Diane-Scott-ebook/dp/B0C24NLLBK" target="_blank">HERE</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Can a damaged Englishwoman find love with her worst enemy, or will the brutal war rip them apart?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Read an excerpt, the reason for August's nightmares, the disaster of Germany under Hitler. August tries to save innocent people and nearly loses his life.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Will he tell Norah, the woman he's starting to love? How can the two of them help the resistance and undermine the Reich?</span></p><p><a href="https://bwlauthors.blogspot.com/2023/05/the-major-faces-his-nightmares-in-my.html"><span style="font-size: large;">https://bwlauthors.blogspot.com/2023/05/the-major-faces-his-nightmares-in-my.html</span></a></p><p><br /></p>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-36294486084688850732023-05-12T04:41:00.028-07:002023-05-12T04:41:00.155-07:00A Wonderful Review of Outcast Artist, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKQtW2zM121PhnWOKORs1UJtWFd7Q9Cq-OHQNawIMvw71fcMn-97GZHsVwvAIA2APQ3FWy2OiO56lxWEhT4HwPoI96p7fXJRTPD6-DcAx-VejPVwPAQpCXzgrwLQE-YMTKiJfHjQa8rRlO9y5I1eiN0xK3KKufjCpt85zoHzkloavtkOKWd8gabEa/s1080/Outcast%20FB%20%235.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKQtW2zM121PhnWOKORs1UJtWFd7Q9Cq-OHQNawIMvw71fcMn-97GZHsVwvAIA2APQ3FWy2OiO56lxWEhT4HwPoI96p7fXJRTPD6-DcAx-VejPVwPAQpCXzgrwLQE-YMTKiJfHjQa8rRlO9y5I1eiN0xK3KKufjCpt85zoHzkloavtkOKWd8gabEa/w244-h244/Outcast%20FB%20%235.jpeg" width="244" /></a></div><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">To purchase the book, click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Outcast-Artist-Bretagne-Diane-Scott-ebook/dp/B0C24NLLBK" target="_blank">HERE </a></span><div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Anita Davison (the Bookstore Mysteries) reviewed Outcast Artist in Bretagne:<br /><br />With war on the horizon, Norah Cooper fled to France to escape personal tragedy and make a fresh start in the home of her cousin Loeiza, her husband Yann and their children in the picturesque coastal village of Saint Guénolé where she spends her time wandering the cliffs and drawing sea birds.<br /><br />Within months of her arrival, German troops occupy the village and Norah finds herself trapped; unable to return to England and living under the suspicion of both the locals and German soldiers. Conscious she is putting her cousin and her family in danger, she is always on the verge of being arrested and sent to an internment camp or the wrath of suspicious villagers; Norah treads a dangerous path, when all she wants is to heal her damaged emotions and draw.<br /><br />Norah juggles village life with hostile soldiers until she meets the Commandant, Major August von Gottlieb, a widower with three adult children. August has his own demons in that his lacklustre devotion to the Fuhrer has resulted in his being sent to a lesser command of Saint Guénolé instead a more prestigious command in Paris. <br /><br />His first meeting with Norah is unremarkable, but as their paths cross, they both find themselves unable to ignore the spark between them until admiration becomes passion. As their illicit relationship develops, August starts to make allowances for Norah’s nationality and protecting her, which does not go unnoticed by his more fervent junior officers.<br /><br />August is also under scrutiny by his Wehrmacht superiors to treat the locals harshly for small crimes. A compassionate man, August finds this increasingly untenable, but he must maintain a semblance of uncompromising power or risk being replaced by a more dedicated officer willing to wreak cruel vengeance on the villagers.<br /><br />August and Norah’s relationship progresses and rumours abound, and Norah, in her attempt to prove she is not a collaborator to the village that she has grown to love, agrees to help the local resistance group.<br /><br />Can Norah keep all her secrets and forge a future with the man she loves in occupied France? Or will their positions on opposite sides not only keep them apart, but destroy them both?<br /><br />Ms Scott Lewis’ novel is extensively researched on the location and period during the early years of WWII. An emotional tale of forbidden love with the couple determined to conquer every obstacle. August is a worthy hero, walking a fine line between protecting the woman he loves and his loyalty to his country without compromising his morals. I can see why Norah could not resist him, despite living under harsh invaders, I found myself rooting for these two, hoping they could overcome what stood between them. An excellent story to read on a sun lounger with a drink beside you.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.</span></div></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-69396720172881974802023-05-01T04:42:00.006-07:002023-05-01T04:50:03.120-07:00New Release, Outcast Artist in Bretagne WWII heartbreak and forbidden love, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFbvbJkbR0BU0siRdhLpBvFT0WnHRyRaJqBe6OMdioVH4Q1p3c44VKLjZHFdx7d4NuZiu2eeT3-gnRM3yiRq1K91KA-YHyZObqsWVJDbJbrlPudHdJctG_1eO-rv5HW7intJWrXzaj67j6AlTH6TbrDRHkYCuUizqBs8FXtpcouH2S5kLR3iBd61S/s1810/Outcast%20Kindle%20and%203D%20book%20cover.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="1810" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFbvbJkbR0BU0siRdhLpBvFT0WnHRyRaJqBe6OMdioVH4Q1p3c44VKLjZHFdx7d4NuZiu2eeT3-gnRM3yiRq1K91KA-YHyZObqsWVJDbJbrlPudHdJctG_1eO-rv5HW7intJWrXzaj67j6AlTH6TbrDRHkYCuUizqBs8FXtpcouH2S5kLR3iBd61S/s320/Outcast%20Kindle%20and%203D%20book%20cover.png" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">Just released, paperback and Kindle: click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Outcast-Artist-Bretagne-Diane-Scott-ebook/dp/B0C24NLLBK" target="_blank">HERE</a></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />“Diane Scott Lewis has written a beautifully evoked, thought-provoking, war romance filled with suspense. It kept me hooked to the last page.” Maggi Andersen, USA Today Bestselling Author.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Read an excerpt:<br />Norah faces August after the execution of a resistance fighter.<br /><br />Norah balled her hands, tears welling in her eyes. “I see the reasoning, the rules of war. But I have all this anger and sorrow I don’t know what to do with.”<br /><br />August clasped her upper arms as if to keep her from running off. “I understand your misery. However, it was my responsibility.”<br /><br />“Why did it have to happen?” She pressed a fist against his chest. “I know, that’s rhetorical. But I’m—”<br /><br />“I wish it hadn’t. I really do, though the outcome was inevitable given the sentry’s death. And if Kerguelen hadn’t bragged about the shooting.” August kissed her forehead. “Meine Liebe, please understand.”<br /><br />“I can’t forgive what this war has done to us all.” She pushed at him with the heel of her hand, but not overly hard.<br /><br />“This war has torn apart the world. We are in a storm, trying to be normal.” He traced a finger under her chin. “I missed you.”<br /><br />“I…missed you.” She thumped her knuckles on his collarbone. “Dammit. My instincts are a mess. And I’m caught between two worlds.”<br /><br />“You’re in an untenable position. Don’t let this tragedy change what we have.” He rubbed his thumb over her cheek and opened the summerhouse’s back door. “Let’s go inside.”<br /><br />“Everyone… The villagers, my cousins. I’m condemned, marked as your woman.”</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.</span></div></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-54201099945892484362023-04-17T05:18:00.004-07:002023-04-17T05:21:18.158-07:00Available for pre-order, Outcast Artist in Bretagne - WWII heartbreak and forbidden love, by Diane Scott Lewis<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3iwznWQlZqzkZcoXqUeZga5HBvXdYSRW1KQOtXyNXLsTYJKUlVyK1FK5SliZrcziSEX4Z1t7Rm4DUqVu8qxCguDbH6i5ne3uI2UvShFPyZa_62trUUkMdA7yawNc-cnz1cdkpudQ7Tb55yiCGEG4070eWgTOWQw9hHYW87jXKKmLwGrs73KNLvPou/s1810/Outcast%20Kindle%20and%203D%20book%20cover.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="1810" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3iwznWQlZqzkZcoXqUeZga5HBvXdYSRW1KQOtXyNXLsTYJKUlVyK1FK5SliZrcziSEX4Z1t7Rm4DUqVu8qxCguDbH6i5ne3uI2UvShFPyZa_62trUUkMdA7yawNc-cnz1cdkpudQ7Tb55yiCGEG4070eWgTOWQw9hHYW87jXKKmLwGrs73KNLvPou/s320/Outcast%20Kindle%20and%203D%20book%20cover.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"> E-book, ready for pre-order: click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Outcast-Artist-Bretagne-Diane-Scott-ebook/dp/B0C24NLLBK" target="_blank">HERE</a></span><p></p><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Can a damaged Englishwoman find love with her worst enemy, or will the brutality of war rip them apart? Is she a spy? Will he retaliate against Hitler? A dangerous love affair.<br /><br />Read an excerpt: <br /><br />August confronts Norah in the summerhouse.<br /><br />But he still yearned to know; it had been so long since someone cared—if she cared. “Tell me what is in your heart.”<br /><br />She turned and met his gaze. “I’m not one to mince words. I’m rather blunt, as you’ve pointed out.”<br /><br />“Then let’s be honest, please.” His throat felt raw. He should let it go, allow her to dismiss him.<br /><br />She sighed and blinked quickly. “I have feelings I shouldn’t have.”<br /><br />“Ja. As do I.” Two lonely people, or something more? Silence followed, punctuated by rain and the whistle of wind around the building. Her eyes looked huge, and startled, even in the shadows. A woodland creature; but was he a savior or a predator?<br /><br />Finally, he said, desperate to say something, “May I see what you’ve done so far on the portrait?”<br /><br />She smiled, looking relieved by the change in subject. “No, not yet. I want it to be completed first.”<br /><br />He moved toward her, playfully. “Just a peek won’t hurt.”<br /><br />She spread her arms as if protecting her masterpiece. “Mais non. I’ll tell you when.”<br /><br />August took a long step toward her. Fräulein Cooper came forward at the same time. They bumped into one another, her breasts right below his chest. He clasped her upper arms. She stared up at him, lips parted, inviting, yet wary. Past helping himself, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. A tightening started low in his body.<br /><br />She quivered beneath his hands, but didn’t move away, her breath warm on him.</span><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaSk2vsvKWItHEbMnhLthcmpU_58ojPtS4myc4vBsc0c-lRnDp6I7E42rA0dleMozo2OQNOhQACmfbTCikNoASdZoLwxvYNeFYi28OR_BKjnHNQzENOd1M8vM9v5UvttrvisotHiblEEj7IkEGzZRXKcAIj09RbsNXjzcHI4qn285t7aC1Vbpgpg19/s640/French_Cottage_Nyhs_S-138.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="640" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaSk2vsvKWItHEbMnhLthcmpU_58ojPtS4myc4vBsc0c-lRnDp6I7E42rA0dleMozo2OQNOhQACmfbTCikNoASdZoLwxvYNeFYi28OR_BKjnHNQzENOd1M8vM9v5UvttrvisotHiblEEj7IkEGzZRXKcAIj09RbsNXjzcHI4qn285t7aC1Vbpgpg19/w292-h194/French_Cottage_Nyhs_S-138.jpg" width="292" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Thunder boomed and rattled the windows. The rain pounded like drumbeats on the roof. The gunshot sounds from his nightmares faded.<br /><br />“This is wrong, especially for you,” he whispered into her mouth.<br /><br />“I know. Terribly improper. We shouldn’t.” She remained in place, her form delicate under his fingers, and kissed him back with a tiny moan.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />“Norah.” Her name felt right, sounded poetic. He pulled her snug into his arms, their kiss deepening. She tasted sweet and verboten at the same time. The heat of desire radiated through him.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p><br /></p></div></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-15988334713505185532023-03-27T04:52:00.026-07:002023-03-29T05:59:02.452-07:00An Excerpt from my upcoming release! Outcast Artist in Bretagne, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xp-LfEJeWprIX5Xvk3TeREf2TKbN349pKHbXX-_GlVOjJUlzMcfHW9PJuL0BTz7gyvxeTArqpQ_OHmnk9YKp9zkRkTjZWQt6JlvztXelR6bV0OuFv5giSWw8hJ2b3LO1u4RfxtZjTWShRGrmrmCbD85dafv_fz_WcaV9BipLnXfKnSTOnUy6TfbK/s960/A%20Frightening%20Encounter2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xp-LfEJeWprIX5Xvk3TeREf2TKbN349pKHbXX-_GlVOjJUlzMcfHW9PJuL0BTz7gyvxeTArqpQ_OHmnk9YKp9zkRkTjZWQt6JlvztXelR6bV0OuFv5giSWw8hJ2b3LO1u4RfxtZjTWShRGrmrmCbD85dafv_fz_WcaV9BipLnXfKnSTOnUy6TfbK/s320/A%20Frightening%20Encounter2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Blurb:</span></p><span style="font-size: large;">Unwed and pregnant, Norah Cooper flees England to hide with her cousin in Brittany just before Germany’s 1940 invasion of France. After her baby is stillborn, she's trapped under the Occupation as war expands across Europe. Norah grieves and consoles herself by sketching wildlife. When she’s caught too near the coast, she comes under scrutiny of the German commandant, Major August von Gottlieb. <br /><br />August loathes what Hitler is doing to his country and France but is duty-bound to control the people in his jurisdiction. The lively young Englishwoman piques his interest. Is she a spy? He questions her and asks her to sketch his portrait so he might uncover the truth. <br /><br />Soon, their relationship evolves into a passion neither of them can deny. She endures taunts from the villagers. His superiors warn him of not being harsh enough—he could be transferred or worse. He plans to sabotage a major war machine of the Reich, while she secretly helps the Resistance. Both acts are fraught with danger while kept secret from one another. Will their love ruin her and end in heartbreak? Or will they overcome the odds and survive the surging threats on all sides?</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NcTYesSvNyY6ciHZ8CZRLhV0Cm691uf2s7LwaUdDHXkpot_3X-8stypaADB9SwgZtnjvNT7Vimckevi_y_puuCqaiPxA013c2NTTvTLUcWlG2i2hpzqq7XZS919LP1yOElNTcZoZMkdLsBcX4CYfT0d8v_cl8HqfEle5fhrmnmZl63IULB0PUCJV/s640/Water_Fowl_-_geograph.org.uk_-_4019183.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NcTYesSvNyY6ciHZ8CZRLhV0Cm691uf2s7LwaUdDHXkpot_3X-8stypaADB9SwgZtnjvNT7Vimckevi_y_puuCqaiPxA013c2NTTvTLUcWlG2i2hpzqq7XZS919LP1yOElNTcZoZMkdLsBcX4CYfT0d8v_cl8HqfEle5fhrmnmZl63IULB0PUCJV/w223-h167/Water_Fowl_-_geograph.org.uk_-_4019183.jpg" width="223" /></span></a></div><br /><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Read an excerpt: Norah confronts the Commandant for the first time.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://bwlauthors.blogspot.com/2023/03/a-frightening-encounter-from-my.html">https://bwlauthors.blogspot.com/2023/03/a-frightening-encounter-from-my.html</a></span></div><div><br /><div> <br /><br /> </div></div></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-75761360932665287992023-03-17T04:00:00.012-07:002023-03-17T04:00:00.179-07:00Excerpt from Hostage to the Revolution, sequel to Escape the Revolution, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI9_RgHOrGhnX7zSyuTb-2H9k_Gv8ojEebzCl9SxHDwSpWSj89Z7UmPPtn2D8YhAO6_a3UjKAsd8Tm8dtkTaDj1PE4obQkXTbe1ZvdTJiiynAq2rS4RwnQ3ebi3iRfTc1wNX7cHduIREYDo9OSiH1AomHsdU1sqWLIXIlw8TexUJzloR7HHr7hbtGl/s1274/Lewis-HostageRevolutionPRINTCOVER30%25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="916" data-original-width="1274" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI9_RgHOrGhnX7zSyuTb-2H9k_Gv8ojEebzCl9SxHDwSpWSj89Z7UmPPtn2D8YhAO6_a3UjKAsd8Tm8dtkTaDj1PE4obQkXTbe1ZvdTJiiynAq2rS4RwnQ3ebi3iRfTc1wNX7cHduIREYDo9OSiH1AomHsdU1sqWLIXIlw8TexUJzloR7HHr7hbtGl/s320/Lewis-HostageRevolutionPRINTCOVER30%25.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><span style="font-size: large;">Continuing Bettina's misadventures from <i>Escape the Revolution</i>, will she find her lover or be kidnapped by the revengeful revolutionaries?<br />An excerpt.<br /><br />The woman lowered her Carnival mask to reveal the perfect, glacial features of Lucrece Bardou, Geralde’s former fiancée. <br /><br />Lucrece raised her elegant brows. “Very well, we’ll talk here. Are you seeing my Geralde? You have been noticed with him these past months.” She swatted her fan. “And you were dancing with him out front, like two peasants.” <br /><br />Bettina half-expected this and stifled a laugh. The wine seeped into her muscles, calming her. “We have spent time together, yes. Why is it your business? I heard you were involved with someone else.” <br /><br />Lucrece tipped up her perfect chin. “That didn’t work out. Geralde and I were practically married. I plan to convince him to change his profession and settle down, with me.” She poked her fan into Bettina’s face. “Without you underfoot.” <br /><br />Bettina swiped the fan aside. “If he wants to court me, that is our affair.” She grew irritated, yet the idea of his courting her again sent excited quivers along her body. But what about Everett? Could she banish the idea of cheating on a man declared dead? Would the deep hollow in her heart finally heal? “I have nothing more to say to you, Madame.” <br /><br />“You stay away from him, I’m warning you.” Lucrece turned. A masked man bowed in her path. She jabbed her fan into his chest. “You had better not be a Negro, sir. The law forbids you to mask.” She tossed her curls in superiority and flounced off. <br /><br />Bettina laughed at the woman’s haughtiness and walked in the other direction from the shrew. She looked around for Geralde, unsure if she should warn him about Lucrece. He may not even want to court Bettina again, and she couldn’t blame him. She’d find him and ask him to dance with the others, under the gigantic crystal chandelier that shimmered and reflected candlelight in sprinkles across the ceiling and walls. <br /><br />Someone tugged on her sleeve. Bettina glanced down to a Negro child dressed in white cap and apron. “Yes, dear?” <br /><br />“Pardon, Madame. A man wishes to speak to you.” The girl stared up with large black eyes. “He is on the side gallery.” <br /><br />Was it Geralde, hiding from Lucrece? “Show me where. Is he a handsome man in buckskins?” She followed the child down a short hallway to a set of long windows. Then she hesitated, uneasy in the shadows. “Can you ask him to come inside?” <br /><br />“He says he has news about your children.” The girl opened the windows. <br /><br />Could Fred be here? Were the children ill? Bettina winced and poked her head out to scan the dark porch. “Who is here?” Now she wished she’d brought someone with her. <br /><br />A man stepped forward, and waved the girl off. The long windows clicked shut. “I have news from your nephew. You must return to the cottage.” <br /><br />“What has happened? Are my children all right?” She hurried out, thoughts confused. <br /><br />He clasped her arm. “Come with me, Madame, and I will explain.” <br /><br />“Tell me who you are first.” She resisted his tug on her arm, her skin prickling. <br /><br />His grip tightened and he shuffled her toward the steps. “Do not fight me, I have a gun.” <br /><br />“<i>Mais non</i>. How dare you. Let me go!” Bettina gasped and struggled. A pistol barrel stabbed into her side.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.<br /></span><br /></div></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-30200567281153242302023-03-04T07:04:00.001-08:002023-03-04T07:04:19.945-08:00A young woman running from French assassins, Escape the Revolution, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7CyBReIMqKTb7cOkwKAiCqdMb-N1ioNkhfW2U54StxhxVpHsx_IOJL_iZ7TrNDkwYM3dOpTd1i0gP2_YLaypU_--ulCSlU_8zMNTTtWc8A-8dxzGoC42YJfKb4ITdZXXTN0T5JZksNYaYfUxUwAJyLt0-SXkpPZasQGfirpWutdhpguJVbWpFUcx/s1179/Lewis-EscapeRevolution-PRINTCOVER30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="832" data-original-width="1179" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7CyBReIMqKTb7cOkwKAiCqdMb-N1ioNkhfW2U54StxhxVpHsx_IOJL_iZ7TrNDkwYM3dOpTd1i0gP2_YLaypU_--ulCSlU_8zMNTTtWc8A-8dxzGoC42YJfKb4ITdZXXTN0T5JZksNYaYfUxUwAJyLt0-SXkpPZasQGfirpWutdhpguJVbWpFUcx/w358-h253/Lewis-EscapeRevolution-PRINTCOVER30.jpg" width="358" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Purchase Escape the Revolution <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Escape-Revolution-Diane-Scott-Lewis-ebook/dp/B06XZWXVJ2" target="_blank">HERE</a></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Read an excerpt: </span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Around a corner, Lisbette started when a figure emerged from an alley and blocked their path. Armand halted, twitching his shoulders before the huge man who trudged into their lantern’s glow. Lisbette cringed at his filthy clothes. His face looked as if someone had tried to carve their initials into his cheeks. A stench rolled off him, like the slime washed up from beneath the sea. <br /><br />“So, this is the one?” The giant tugged a frayed hat low on his forehead. Water dripping off the roof behind him smacked the cobbles and stirred the mist around his bulky frame. <br /><br /> “Certainement. This is she, and please be gentle.” Armand glanced at her, his eyes droopy above gaunt cheeks, sadder than she’d ever seen them. “Is it quiet down there, at the harbor?” <br /><br /> “Quiet enough for what we need. Only one from customs. I’ll be there.” The man turned around and in a splat of footfalls the gloom swallowed him up once more. <br /><br /> Lisbette shivered and bunched together the edges of her cloak, already damp from the increasing rain. “Who is that dirty man, Armand? I still don’t understand why you insist on sending me off at this hour and with no decent companion.” <br /><br /> “I’ve explained that it’s too late to engage anyone. But I promised your mother I’d keep you from harm.” He averted his eyes when he mentioned her mother, then coughed into his hand. “Let’s keep walking, my dear.” <br /><br /> “Maman will not approve of this. We should go back to the house. You’re ill. I feel the heat in your arm.” Lisbette wondered if his fever had confused him. The shock of being dragged from bed, her interrupted sleep, scrambled for reason in her head. But the cold air sharpened her fears like a needle. “Ma foi, why is my leaving so urgent?”</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Follow Lisbette on her frightening journey to England. Will she find solace or more danger?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.</span></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-63439940995959564812023-02-27T05:26:00.000-08:002023-02-27T05:26:00.459-08:00War over oysters? An excerpt from my 1950s novel Ghost Point, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHICZamJ-kn14wHtNdSnxGYDXi8NznOljk7g3-WKyw37d2bNHEWC0jRTiorj4AZH7MlOqUrHSMbxoKXpxty5xcRx-xjdCdWTF2kq86tlwf6lzUUnAqVO04Hpj10HjH5UMGdXKG7grqqMkJNJf1PMFfbIlaplgmxQJlXxWBz0GTVNbtyOP_FViARGto/s225/ScottLewis-GhostPoint-blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="150" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHICZamJ-kn14wHtNdSnxGYDXi8NznOljk7g3-WKyw37d2bNHEWC0jRTiorj4AZH7MlOqUrHSMbxoKXpxty5xcRx-xjdCdWTF2kq86tlwf6lzUUnAqVO04Hpj10HjH5UMGdXKG7grqqMkJNJf1PMFfbIlaplgmxQJlXxWBz0GTVNbtyOP_FViARGto/w175-h262/ScottLewis-GhostPoint-blog.jpg" width="175" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Purchase e-book or paperback <a href="https://books2read.com/Ghost-Point" target="_blank">HERE</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In 1956, Luke, a young oysterman is caught up in the illegal dredging of oyster beds, dodging bullets from the Maryland Oyster Police. His wife, Yelena, is feeling restless. She wants more from her life. Will a handsome stranger entice her or is he after her husband?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Excerpt: </span></p><span style="font-size: large;">Their rubber-gloved hands culled through the oysters. Each rattle of shells cut into Luke’s brain as he hurried. The stink of the sea and slime filled his nose.<br /><br />Suddenly a spotlight illuminated <i>Sally </i>and the crew stared into the light, shading their eyes. Captain Jim gunned the stern’s Johnson motor and the boat rumbled and jerked. The winder engine kicked in again. The men hoisted up the dredgers as the police boat nosed its way through the mist to block their escape. <br /><br />“Damn it all.” Luke jerked his dredger across the deck. His body tightened at the dangerous possibility of arrest. How would he protect his family from jail?<br /><br />“Stop!” the Maryland officials shouted. A whip sounded as they tried to lash a line across their vessel’s bow. Monroe Sally bumped alongside the police boat. A shot exploded from beside him. The police captain staggered and grabbed his shoulder. The officers aimed their rifles and shots whistled across Luke’s head and right shoulder. He cringed and ducked down among broken oyster shells and mud. Would this be his last night on the earth?<br /><br />Their boat retreated into the fog at full speed, hugged the shore, then slipped into a cove. Captain Jim cut her engine. Lights off. The crew stayed crouched and held their breath, listening for the growl of a pursuing motor. Silence enveloped them. Frogs grunted in the rushes. Luke cursed to himself at whatever idiot on <i>Sally </i>had fired first.<br /><br /><br /> </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0W_BGoBcRRYujUsf1aTe_uelrNgho5hQxU_YhU2MV8qNro9jI9lx6BtZ4WD-nwBVzuH2_yVocyzr_xNojIr9cBv3CfippdDbDDW6QoTemm0_ert8F5ZiHGSYYujGZ8RnIZeC4hZfAuJNmSecfSSY64228Rlr0CXvnRqgUloWDExXaPGPCbn-2s6Hp/s1648/Monroe%20Bay%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1407" data-original-width="1648" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0W_BGoBcRRYujUsf1aTe_uelrNgho5hQxU_YhU2MV8qNro9jI9lx6BtZ4WD-nwBVzuH2_yVocyzr_xNojIr9cBv3CfippdDbDDW6QoTemm0_ert8F5ZiHGSYYujGZ8RnIZeC4hZfAuJNmSecfSSY64228Rlr0CXvnRqgUloWDExXaPGPCbn-2s6Hp/w228-h195/Monroe%20Bay%20(2).jpg" width="228" /></a></div><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.<br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-26389572137966424892023-02-15T04:36:00.000-08:002023-02-15T04:36:42.090-08:00A time-travel excerpt, Beyond the Fall, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8QMwYVYd3WxHZDBaqKaGxQwv396gf0d81X8vqfuknRsZQezQgMTApzWEKyEheWSwDkGRA_s21Brr2qvyKApYU8r859ulUVnipyWioVe3G6Wx_hqPycm1go8_DE_1QDRFf1dfsMWDstEWjJ02KV_EVyjcTtdG2zsdTx-sjlCRsSmKVsFRKjq4kqsek/s2243/BeyondtheFall_w12824_ib.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2243" data-original-width="1400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8QMwYVYd3WxHZDBaqKaGxQwv396gf0d81X8vqfuknRsZQezQgMTApzWEKyEheWSwDkGRA_s21Brr2qvyKApYU8r859ulUVnipyWioVe3G6Wx_hqPycm1go8_DE_1QDRFf1dfsMWDstEWjJ02KV_EVyjcTtdG2zsdTx-sjlCRsSmKVsFRKjq4kqsek/s320/BeyondtheFall_w12824_ib.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Tired of the gloomy winter? Enjoy a trip to the past as soon to be divorced, San Franciscan Tamara falls back</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">200 years to a gritty England caught up in grain riots.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Purchase <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Fall-Diane-Scott-Lewis-ebook/dp/B07HDFRLT4/" target="_blank">HERE</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Excerpt: Cornwall 1789</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p></p><span style="font-size: large;">Tamara ran down the porch steps and across the yard to better see. Colum marched near the rear of the mob as if he were a herding collie. In a rumble of fury and feet, men were chanting, fists raised. Birds flew from the trees and scattered into the sky like confetti.<br /> <br />She hiked up her skirt and hurried to the end of their lane. A group of women swept up behind her. “Come along, an’ fight for our rights to have our bread.” One woman grabbed her arm and dragged Tamara with them. “An’ for our men to earn good wages.” <br /><br />“I’m all for your rights.” Tamara skidded beside the scruffy woman who smelled of beer and bad breath, her teeth yellow, two missing. She tried to tug herself loose, then decided she needed to follow Colum and see what hazard he might encounter, or cause. <br /><br />She finally pulled free of her escort and wended forward through the people, her long skirt slapping against her legs. <br /><br />The marchers trudged on, up the main road that headed north, shouting, “Cheaper bread, fair wages!” <br /><br />Dust clotted in Tamara’s nose as she squeezed through the crowd. She was used to long walks but not in awkward clothing. She tripped and rushed on, trying to catch up with Colum who had melted into the horde of men. <br /><br />More people joined them. The mob closed in around her, poking and prodding, stinking of sweat. They followed the rocky coast gouged with inlets along Falmouth Bay. The salty breeze blew over her, teasing at tendrils of her hair. <br /><br />She took an elbow to the ribs, a shoulder to her chin, but kept pushing through. Now she was glad for her sturdy hiking boots. <br /><br />Her knees and ankles began to ache, a blister forming on one foot, as more time passed. She swiped perspiration from her face. <br /><br />Louder shouts and curses erupted as they approached the outskirts of the larger town of Falmouth four miles to the north. In the distance, houses clustered on an incline, and a castle squatted on a peninsula that jutted out into the Carrick Roads she recalled from her map.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Elegant buildings sat among smaller cottages with thatched roofs. How beautiful it all looked, unmarred by modern intrusions. Yet here she was in the middle of an agitated throng. Her breath heaved. Where was Colum?</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Gunshots pierced the air. The soldiers bore down on them. Terror coursed through her. She could be killed, forever stranded in the past.<br /><br /><br />Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /></div></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-49051086746268969782023-02-11T07:22:00.001-08:002023-02-11T07:22:50.627-08:00Her Vanquished Land, a sexy Welshman and a torn loyalist during the American Revolution, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCzTMFQb6JGaVbCnkL9BPLJlVSAo8DbohU5PJ_fkJ7uainQmvDBRJjzb2MEJDNyk0soQYJ28P8T0dvupNoPMSqJZ5o4Jh490tThcKoomY2ZwZBqxwYrpmPLcQILP3AvgdaSETGgtA41RYFSLg9vli7PhCcULWyhaoAjLymNJ0aOIRLfNJpR61zDXSb/s420/HerVanquishedLand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="279" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCzTMFQb6JGaVbCnkL9BPLJlVSAo8DbohU5PJ_fkJ7uainQmvDBRJjzb2MEJDNyk0soQYJ28P8T0dvupNoPMSqJZ5o4Jh490tThcKoomY2ZwZBqxwYrpmPLcQILP3AvgdaSETGgtA41RYFSLg9vli7PhCcULWyhaoAjLymNJ0aOIRLfNJpR61zDXSb/s320/HerVanquishedLand.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Purchase <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Vanquished-Land-Diane-Scott-Lewis-ebook/dp/B07VY58VPQ/" target="_blank">HERE</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Read an excerpt:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p></p><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Philadelphia, PA 1780<br /> <br />Darkness increased as the sun lowered when Rowena and Sam approached the tavern. The close-in buildings further shaded Fourth Street and Chestnut Street, the corner on which the Indian Queen stood. Each nook and cranny, every shadow, had her flitting her gaze about, hand on her muff pistol in the frock coat’s pocket. <br /><br />She checked behind her again, to see if anyone followed. They’d snuck out the rear door, through her aunt’s garden, praying no guard would catch them. <br /><br />“My aunt said many rebel delegates lodged at this tavern when they discussed their plans to form their own government,” she whispered. “And cut their allegiance to Great Britain.” <br /><br />Expansive and three stories high, the Indian Queen boasted an almost Dutch-shaped roof. An alley ran beside it, black as pitch. Raucous laughter drifted from the building. <br /><br />“I’ll go in and check for Mr. Atherton, say I has a verbal message,” Sam said. “To be safe.” <br /><br />“I could do that. Don’t I look manly enough?” She tried to tease, but disliked being marked as the weaker of the team. <br /><br />“Aye. Good enough, but I’ll pass easier.” He grinned. “Then we’ll know the layout of the place. Your aunt warned that a porter greets everyone who enters.” <br /><br />“I’ll wait at the alley entrance, but don’t tarry long. Bring him out to me, that’s what I need.” She slipped into the cooler shadows. Was James spying for the loyalists, or colluding with the rebels? If he was with the revolutionaries, she must stop him—in some way. What was the atmosphere in this, as her aunt informed them, largest tavern in Philadelphia? She risked much just being here. <br /><br />Rowena tugged her hat low and pressed her back against the brick wall near a shuttered window. A cat ran past her. Rats scratched in debris. She wrinkled her nose at the stench of urine. More noise and moving about came from the building. Music also sounded: a lively fiddle. A drunk sang off-key. <br /><br />Heavier noises from behind her. Footfalls? Nape prickled, she snatched out her muff pistol and whipped around about to release the trigger. <br /><br />The scent of pine rose up; a harsh breath, almost a wolf-like snarl. Her fingers clenched around the small stock, Rowena pointed her weapon at the murky presence looming over her.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />“Have a care, <i>bachgen</i>.” The Welsh accent pierced through Rowena. The dark stranger! He bent closer in the Indian Queen’s alley. “Ye might be the same boy as before. ’Tis dim, and I’d like for once to see ye in the light. Now, I warn ye, put down that gun.”</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives in western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-14389345673065958322023-01-31T07:45:00.000-08:002023-01-31T07:45:02.757-08:0050% off Sale at Smashwords! Fiction of all Genres, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFXtW6lveOTfDzvbcQ2tmuPqza43TX5h6xjKExSG8MKXrw9CqiyuCGcPjLeo0gI2B4BNuW_U2xx8u8FGQ3dU6MzQ0TgfUzvCQ_8JJYA8roZd9ot7_a3F8qRQPGRWWAwFrJ75GRMYmMZJ-c2--OeimRh6bEoN1JM-AZ8P6Md8YeJDr0a8h5x6ItHr6/s1615/Smashwords%20sale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1615" data-original-width="1240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFXtW6lveOTfDzvbcQ2tmuPqza43TX5h6xjKExSG8MKXrw9CqiyuCGcPjLeo0gI2B4BNuW_U2xx8u8FGQ3dU6MzQ0TgfUzvCQ_8JJYA8roZd9ot7_a3F8qRQPGRWWAwFrJ75GRMYmMZJ-c2--OeimRh6bEoN1JM-AZ8P6Md8YeJDr0a8h5x6ItHr6/s320/Smashwords%20sale.jpg" width="246" /></a></div> <p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">All my publishers books are 50 % off on Smashwords. It's easy to sign up, no fuss, no muss (whatever muss is, lol).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">All genres for a staggeringly cheap price. Don't miss out! Scroll down to find mine.</span></p><p><a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x6umtig x1b1mbwd xaqea5y xav7gou x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv x1fey0fg" href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.smashwords.com%2Fprofile%2Fview%2Fbookswelove%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR1QmGMPpoGINcqGFsC4WXAWldW8JCqnBzDGL6XCHstd69JddoMqzxhIj5g&h=AT1fDNw7SkRIK5JdIPK-1sWt4gkUgCroO0GHpJu-3Ox4rU_gECJ9lqcRlGxc4u1YMHQH1-aW2sgdoMzWuJ19sOB0Ql6r_yvxWFvBYhV0AcuUoejns-yAjqHbRjZ4viL1mgHy&__tn__=-UK-R&c[0]=AT3FAn968ww8QY3fwT3ca5SSNQtIq-OS1mT4El5NcBsGefS23sSmJqS0Of4Iw_Ryi-K6CODj4Ha3f9X94FOHZREpVart-tUdMzo6WVe1YdvpkTZE3l7nwb-2ABG7J2j1xGveHNkR_mNd8BgQbVdEC-FmdiLokt_W3qEczKSmKuKB9cl9WuJQXoFRMyE4SH25xEYnwkH1ZmIV5fFh_XPNkaU" rel="nofollow noopener" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bookswelove</span></a></p>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-23712879069529425442023-01-18T06:57:00.001-08:002023-01-18T15:27:33.744-08:00An Excerpt from my new release, Napoleon's Elysium, by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh941_Dy0oHPQJJkc19OsUNROPQ8QVmXg8Tb8M1Yy9tLfCnSCfSd3CCmEMxZnYz0POBRtxBUOp-N3Gdn7-Mc6-yNX9gtjGiOc3GEr936HWBXQ7dWNzc64p0sLw9SOt2lsF---0vzTjucCDTcQ2CP2eYQzfKObyXL-WmdbMTGwxKnuFXP_yKozrjnEAM/s2560/desire_and_betrayal_2560%20E%20FINAL%20COVER.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="409" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh941_Dy0oHPQJJkc19OsUNROPQ8QVmXg8Tb8M1Yy9tLfCnSCfSd3CCmEMxZnYz0POBRtxBUOp-N3Gdn7-Mc6-yNX9gtjGiOc3GEr936HWBXQ7dWNzc64p0sLw9SOt2lsF---0vzTjucCDTcQ2CP2eYQzfKObyXL-WmdbMTGwxKnuFXP_yKozrjnEAM/w255-h409/desire_and_betrayal_2560%20E%20FINAL%20COVER.jpg" width="255" /></a></div><br /><p></p><span style="font-size: large;">Purchase <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Napoleons-Elysium-Desire-Betrayal-Helena/dp/B0BRC947NM">HERE</a><br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Amelie is caught singing in her garden at St. Helena, a ruse to attract Napoleon's interest. She's shocked when it works. Her father drags her into the house to confront the emperor.<br /><br />Light-headed, Amélie sucked in her breath and managed a smile. “How do you do, Your Majesty.”<br /><br />She realized too late the emperor was supposed to speak first. Aware she should curtsy, her mind went blank, leaving her at a loss as to which foot went where. She dipped her head.<br /><br />“Mademoiselle, the little gardener. Is that you I heard singing so spiritedly out in the courtyard?”<br /><br />“You did listen? Oh, I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Your Majesty.” She grinned wider and didn’t glance at her father who stood rigid near the door.<br /><br />“No, no, you misunderstand. You haven’t disturbed me.” Napoleon laughed softly. “I find your voice very interesting. Have you had formal training?”<br /><br />A rush of awe heated her from the inside out at this praise from the one man their entire world revolved around. Her knees trembled. “Very informal training, Sire, and self-study recently...from the books I borrowed from...I—”<br /><br />“You learned to sing like that from books?” His sweet smile and flashing blue-gray eyes illuminated his pallid features.<br /><br />“No I...but I do love to read. You learn so many different things. It opens up the world...” She broke off, ashamed of her babbling, twisting the ribbon under her chin with nervous fingers.<br /><br />“Quite right, Mademoiselle. Would you mind singing that song again for me, now?”<br /><br />She blinked at him. “Of course...I wouldn’t mind, Sire.” The idea of singing directly in front of the emperor with her limited knowledge of music made her toes curl in her muddy shoes. A voice in the wind might not sound so melodious in the confines of a house.<br /><br />“Tres bien. Come into the reception hall. It has the most space.” Napoleon strode from the room.<br /><br />Passing her father, she barely looked at him as she followed the emperor through the house to the front. The green reception salon was Longwood’s largest chamber. A mahogany billiard table the British had brought up in the first months of their residence took up a fifth of the space. An old piano stood in the far corner. Two lumpy sofas and several chairs slumped against the walls. Two globes, one of the Heavens, one of Earth, flanked the door from the drawing room. <br /><br />Amélie stood in the realm she’d been eager to explore. The wind rattled the window panes as she felt her nerves rattling beneath her skin.<br /><br />She hid her dirty hands behind her back and waited for some signal to begin. Napoleon sat and nodded his head.<br /><br />Amélie anxiously cleared her throat and started to sing. Tentative at first, her voice sputtered and crackled as she grappled for control. Now gathering momentum, she hoped her singing exuded a rich tone. She closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breath, hitting the high drawn-out notes and concentrating on doing her utmost—fearful of making a mistake. <br /><br />When done, her body quivered at the exertion. She took another slow inhale before meeting the emperor’s gaze.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Diane lives in western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty puppy.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /></div></div>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6217797475271625854.post-64190787608453710832023-01-05T04:38:00.001-08:002023-01-05T04:41:26.424-08:00A new release, "Napoleon's Elysium, Desire and Betrayal on St. Helena", by Diane Scott Lewis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltwdFykUyHJMX6XCmiHP2wdUbgHUZH4FSP1KBF-nmsvuGHsWeI-ThHd3MKVXxmlQsYy-AhmEmPYnJ3d__q2asAPw9dAp06ny4lVTnbXEfE4y0pX2oOuBCP7VyLb-fAPzrMweF6SPCIbu7PzuXxKtLazzlM7_ohtV6dEEsBUAeSJSIHSwvuORrrO6S/s2560/desire_and_betrayal_2560.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltwdFykUyHJMX6XCmiHP2wdUbgHUZH4FSP1KBF-nmsvuGHsWeI-ThHd3MKVXxmlQsYy-AhmEmPYnJ3d__q2asAPw9dAp06ny4lVTnbXEfE4y0pX2oOuBCP7VyLb-fAPzrMweF6SPCIbu7PzuXxKtLazzlM7_ohtV6dEEsBUAeSJSIHSwvuORrrO6S/s320/desire_and_betrayal_2560.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Buy <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Napoleons-Elysium-Desire-Betrayal-Helena/dp/B0BRC947NM" target="_blank">LINK</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I worked over ten years on this novel, in between writing another novel, and starting a third. I kept revising, honing it down to an acceptable word count. I had to take out actual historical personages I wanted to keep, and some of the fictional, which was no great loss. I published it in 2011 under the title <i>Elysium</i>, but this is a totally revamped version thanks to the editorial help of Joanne Renaud, who also painted the beautiful front cover. The cover design is by Karen Ronan.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I hope you enjoy this restructured work.</span></p><span style="font-size: large;">In 1815, after the battle of Waterloo, Napoleon Bonaparte is exiled to Saint Helena. On this remote, volcanic island, Amélie Perrault, the daughter of Napoleon’s head chef, is fascinated with the fallen French Emperor. She’s secretly writing an erotic romance novel, gleaning the finer details from books.<br />When her beautiful singing voice catches Napoleon’s attention, she is drawn into his clash with their British jailers, court intrigues, and a burgeoning sexual attraction. She’s eager to experience the erotica she writes about.<br />Napoleon is soured on love, yet this young woman’s devotion tugs at his heart. After political maneuvers fail to release him, he desires freedom no matter the risk—but he regrets deserting the only woman who loves him for himself.<br />Amélie suspects someone in their entourage is poisoning the emperor. Will she uncover the culprit in time and join in Napoleon’s last great battle plan, a dangerous escape?</span><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Diane Scott Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05724042672923318289noreply@blogger.com0