Thursday, November 23, 2017

She licks the drop off her fingertip with childish delight

“I’m hungry,” says Natasha.
“Me too,” I say. “But we’re out of bread.” 
“Then, we must have cake.”
“How about Tart Tatin? It’s a French recipe. I learned it from you, years ago.”
“Yes,” she says. “Tart Tatin.”
I see you like the sound of it.”
“I do.”
In recent years I have served not only as the father to our son, Ben, but also as the mother, because my wife has become increasingly absent-minded. Of all the new tasks I have learned, the one I like most is baking.
So I get up to my feet, give her a hand, and together we go to the kitchen. I squeeze some juice from a lemon and have her add a few heaping spoons of sugar into it. Then I bring the mixture to a boil till the syrup turns thick and dark, like amber. I tell her to unwrap a stick of butter, which I add to the mixture. Then I pour it into the bottom of a ceramic pie dish.
Natasha leans forward, taking in the aroma. She finds a spot where the syrup has dripped onto the table. “Sticky!” she says, and licks the drop off her fingertip with childish delight.
I peel a couple of apples, cut them, and have her arrange the slices in a circular pattern around the dish, right over the syrup. 
“Fit them closer together,” I tell her. “Yes, just so.”
When she is done, her arrangement looks quite messy. I cannot help thinking how flawlessly she used to do it, years ago. No matter. Perfection is overrated. 



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Wednesday, November 22, 2017

As if a gun had gone off at a horse race

The first brick flew by him so fast it felt as if a sudden gust of wind had spun by. Stunned, he looked around. Coming toward him was a row of men armed with sticks and clubs. Probably the Dead Rabbits, a local gang. Wonder what they are up to?
“You’ll not be coming into the Bowery Boys’ territory,” a man behind him called out.
Sean whipped around. A different group of men were quickly approaching, bearing clubs, rifles, and what appeared to be hatchets.
“Sean, get out of the way!” Brigit screamed from a nearby storefront.
Frozen, he stared at her for a second. Then, as if a gun had gone off at a horse race, he sprinted over to her, making good time––until his right boot snagged on a cobblestone sticking up on the street and sent him flying.
Dazed, on his stomach, he thought he heard Brigit’s voice, but with the overwhelming cotton sensation in his ears and both gangs beginning to clash all around him, he couldn’t be certain.
Hatchets hurled, clubs battered, and men groaned as knives were plunged into their chests. No longer could he hear Brigit’s voice. The din and smell of battle had overtaken everything.
When he finally managed to sit up, he imagined he saw Brigit, so far away, waving her arms, and he waited to feel his usual love. But all he felt was the stab of a knife entering his chest, his neck, and his stomach. And then he felt nothing.
Given no time for grieving, Brigit was paid a visit by Garrity the very next day.
“Girlie, if you wanna stay here, you gotta pay.” On his way out, he made sure to tap his cigar ash down on the floor next to James who hovered in the corner.
Brigit folded her arms over her bodice and chemise protectively.
“I guess you’ll have to do what I do,” the young widow-turned-prostitute said, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes as she coughed deeply.
Brigit turned to James. “We’re getting out of here, no matter what.”

Excerpt from Genteel Secrets by S.R. Mallery
Included in Love in Times of War


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Tuesday, November 21, 2017

To be above ground isn’t such a bright idea



This was the last place I expected to hear a mention of her name, not only because I knew none of the soldiers fighting by my side and not only because there was no time to speak—but also because she belonged elsewhere. In my mind, Natasha existed in another realm: a realm of peace, where I could immerse myself in thoughts, recalling our last moments together, recalling love.
Such a realm was far out of reach, because a fierce battle was raging all around me. With the shrill, howling noise of incoming rockets, which we nicknamed Moaning Minnies, this was not the time to think, let alone immerse myself in any kind of mental activity. 
I had landed with one of our infantry regiments, but in the chaos that ensued got separated, somehow, from it, and had no choice but to join another team of soldiers. They wore British uniforms—except one who, to my surprise, wore a kilt. He was armed with nothing more than his bagpipes and played a Scottish marching song, even as his comrades fell around him. 
For some reason, the German snipers seemed to spare him. They must have thought he had gone mad, and so did I.
Behind us, the coast was crowded with destroyers, landing craft, and battleships, their guns blasting the shoreline. At the same time, there was an ear-splitting crackle of firing, coming from enemy tanks here and snipers there. The sound was heavily punctuated with the boom of shells raining down upon us, all of which made me utterly confused. Scared, too.
There was no reason why one man lost his life and not another. It seemed to be nothing but a game of chance. 
Was it my time to go? I tried to act indifferent, even as I drew a startled breath. If it was about to become my last one, then... Then, oh well, so be it. 
After a while my mind became numb. It seemed as if it had always been that way, as if moving forward—for as long as I would be lucky enough to survive—that was how my mind would remain.
Looking across the river Orne I saw the Germans retreating. Even so, there was no time to get a sense of relief, because every now and again they turned around and came back to counter-attack.
The bagpipe music had long faded away. At the sound of an explosion, eight of the British soldiers just ahead of me went down as fast as pins in a bowling alley. Another soldier came forward from behind, and both of us went on our hands and knees, crawling through the tall grass to help the wounded. 
“The only thing we can do for them,” he said, in his British accent, “is this: stick their rifles in the ground and hang their tin hats on top.”
“Why?”
“To mark their position for the medics.”
Once that was done, I advanced over a mound of earth, heading in a roundabout way towards the river bank. He caught my arm, held me back, and said, “Dig in!”
And I said, “What?”
“You don’t want to die, do you?” he asked, over the firing sounds of mortar bombs. “Can’t you see, plain as can be, that to be above ground isn’t such a bright idea?” 



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"Ms. Poznansky has done it again, but this time—and I don’t say this lightly—she has written my favorite book to date in her stable of literary gems... The tension was riveting." 
Aaron Paul Lazar, Author

A Delightful WWII romantic thriller!

Here is a lovely new review, written by Aaron Paul Lazar. Aaron is a mystery writer author, and many of his books have audiobook editions. I am thrilled by what he says about the audiobook narration of Marriage before Death:

on November 21, 2017
Ms. Poznansky has done it again, but this time—and I don’t say this lightly—she has written my favorite book to date in her stable of literary gems.

Marriage Before Death continues in the Still Life With Memories series, which paints stories of the lives of Lenny and Natasha Kaminsky. (Book 1: My Own Voice, Book 2: The White Piano, Book 3: The Music of Us, Book 4: Dancing with Air)

In this story, Ms. Poznansky eloquently shifts from her previous genre of literary stories full of romance, to a wartime suspense story, still, however, continuing with the love story of our beloved couple.

I have always adored Ms. Poznansky's evocative writing, but this time she whisked me into the era of WWII French Resistance Fighters in 1944. And what an adventure it was! I trembled in my virtual boots beside Lenny when he was captured by Nazi soldiers, “this close” to being executed. He stood in a line of captured soldiers and resistance fighters, waiting to be sent to one group or the other. One group would be immediately hung in the gallows that loomed nearby, the other would be used in some fashion to help the Nazi cause. The tension was riveting.

I listened to the audiobook version of this fascinating story, told by the talented Mr. Don Warrick. His male character voices are outstanding, and his accents—whether it be British, French, German, Jewish, or American, the rendering is brilliant and on target. The female voices aren’t quite as effective, in my humble opinion, but honestly, one can’t fault a deep, stentorian narrator for not being able to completely sound like a woman. ;o)

Thank you, Ms. Poznansky, for allowing us to continue to believe that America still produces great writers who judiciously craft each sentence, and who can tell a great story at the same time.

- Highly recommended by Aaron Lazar, multi award-winning author.

Sunday, November 19, 2017

Oh this is gorgeous, a beautiful World War II story of love, adventure and pain

Once a Liberal Arts major in French Literature, J.A. Schneider, a former staffer at Newsweek, brings aspects of her fascination with medicine, forensic science, and human psychology into her gripping thrillers. I am honored that she listened to the audiobook edition of my novel, Marriage before Death, and reviewed it:

Gorgeous story, LOVE the audio version 

Oh this is gorgeous, a beautiful World War II story of love, adventure and pain. I had already read the book, but hearing it spoken by the wonderful Don Warrick vastly increased the you-are-there feeling for me. Mr Warrick doesn't just narrate, he feels every line and transmits his emotion to the listener. The magic is in hearing the story - something I've discovered in this audiobook which is just the second I've owned. In fact, listening to Marriage Before Death has introduced me to audiobooks in general, so enjoyable is the experience. I have read every book in this series, and continue to love the characters. Well done, author Uvi Poznansky, and well done Don Warrick! Thank you for a wonderful listening experience - 5 stars!

Slinking into the red curl behind her ear

Our last meeting was vivid in my mind, but already seen as though through a film of air, rippling, becoming thicker, turning into a haze. And the wild, desperate quiver of the flesh had subsided by now. Had it really happened? 
In my mind I could still hear the sighsraw, erotic, and oh, so stirringthat had passed her lips before she could bite them back. They evoked a vision of that night, bringing it from its distance back into a sense of intimacy. I closed my eyes and painted it in full detail, over and again, starting with the bedside lamp, with its oatmeal-colored, bell-shaped shade, shedding a soft glow over the half-open chocolate box, over the carved headboard, and over the curve of her shoulder. 
The light had caressed her, slinking into the red curl behind her ear, rolling all the way down from her neck to the small of her back, and from there hopping over to her hip. 
Afterwards, I had risen from the bed, casting a look back. There she was, already asleep. Her arms around the pillow, the fingers open upon the design, the intricate design in gold and deep purple, which flowed in and out of the folds of the sheets, giving a glint here and there. Her nose lightly freckled, on her cheek a hint of a dimple, and the lips parted, ever so slightly. If she weren’t lost in slumber they might have flickered into a smile. 
Even in her dream, had she felt me, putting on my leather jacket, covering her up to her ears with the comforter, then turning off the lamp? One last time, in the dark, I had taken in the scent, which smelled of chocolate bonbons and of her flesh.

Lenny in Dancing with Air



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"The writing of this intense story of love and heartbreak is what makes it a classic. You'll go through the wringer with this one, but you'll never forget it."
 ~J.A. Schneider, author

Friday, November 17, 2017

Let me introduce you to my author friends

My author friends have joined forces with me!
We bring you amazing stories
Narrated by great voice actors
just in time for the holidays. 
Click the profile image or the name of each one of us 
to learn about our work

Join us here as a 'Going' guest, so you may win our prizes:




"I paint with my pen, and write with my paintbrush"




“Forging legends one universe at a time.”



USA Today bestselling author of romantic suspense with attitude



“Addictive, award-winning fiction. You'll fall in love with the characters and love to hate the villains.”



“Escape with a book by Angela Ford.”



"What would you do if you could see other people's dreams?"



“”



“I create twists and turns that leave you breathless.”





"Life is too short to never cross the genre line."

"It's never too late to live happily ever after."


"There is no second chance at first love."



"History is woven into my stories with a delicate thread."