Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: THE HERO WITHIN: AWARENESS #Christian #scif




THE HERO WITHIN: AWARENESS
Yeral E. Ogando
Christian Science Fiction

Have you ever wondered about the power we possess as Christians?

Do you love reading about superheroes and their powers?

From The Hero Within Series – Awareness

A Story that will excite your imagination, and inspire you to ask yourself “Who am I”…

It will remind you that the Gifts of the spirit manifest in spiritual warfare and through the battles we face each day.

Let it unveil the reality behind our daily lives and show you how God’s calling can bring wonder to you and those around you.

Walk beside our hero through the challenges he will face each day that will test his resolve and strengthen your spirit.

Discover the Gifts of Revelation, Power and Inspiration in and through the Spirit in our Hero.
Learn how these gifts are used by our Hero with the help of God.

Grow in strength and knowledge alongside our hero and embrace the growing process of the Holy Spirit.

Book Trailer:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbnu04b3nMQ&t=1s

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/2ZaulBW

Barnes & Noble → https://bit.ly/3e846jO

Books2Read https://books2read.com/u/4AjGAb
Kobo → https://www.kobo.com/ww/en/ebook/awareness-9


Anthony? Anthony, sweetheart, can you hear me?”
Becky’s brown face hovered inches from his own. The relief surging through him was immense, but still not quite strong enough to drown out the crushing pain that barreled through him.
An anvil sat on top of his chest, and every muscle in his body throbbed as if he had just run a marathon. The vise attached to his head kept tightening.
“Becky.” he breathed.
“Thank God, you’re okay.” She leaned forward and kissed him softly, as if she was afraid he might break.
“How long have I been here?” The intense pain grounded him—helped him forget the leaf he’d seen shifting in the breeze.
“Fifteen hours. They took you right back to surgery when you arrived. Thankfully, it went smoothly.”
“I was shot,” he whispered. Knowing a bullet had penetrated his body sobered him. He lacked the strength to even cry.
“I know.”
He glanced around at the generic hospital room, fear and safety tugging at his emotions. “Ben?” he asked.
Becky grabbed his hand “He’s at the neighbor’s house. I’ll call them with an update when the doctor gets in.”
As his Caucasian fingers interlocked with her Hispanic ones, Anthony choked up. He wished Becky could have seen the green outfield from when he had slipped away. He found himself wanting to apologize for so many different things.
“I knew you’d want Janet to know you were here,” Becky said as she squeezed his hand. “I called her right away.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve been keeping her up to date. When you came out of surgery two hours ago, she indicated she’d be here sometime tonight.”
Anthony agonized over the many texts he’d received from Janet and how he’d ignored most of them. If he had died after the gunshot, those unanswered texts would be his last impression on his sister.
Pathetic when you considered how she had rallied around when their mother died while he was still in college. No wonder Janet continued to mother him.
He glanced at Becky. She’d been crying and looked very tired. Had she been awake all night?
“You know,” he said, hoping to lift her spirits. “I went to Sam and Ethel’s store to get some ice cream bars. The strawberry ones you enjoyed so well.”
“I figured as much. Much as I like them, they are not worth this.”
“I don’t know about that.” The chuckle that rose from his throat hurt his chest. He swallowed. “You’re worth—”
At a gentle knock on the door, they turned to see a cheerful-looking doctor come into the room carrying a clipboard and a folder.
“Good to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” Anthony said. “Tired.”
“You can add lucky to the list.” The doctor moved to the edge of the bed and stood beside Becky. “We were able to remove the bullet and repair the damage. But if that slug had been a half inch lower, the chances of your survival would have been slim to none.”
Anthony clutched Becky’s hand while he searched the doctor’s face. “But I’m going to be okay?”
“You’ll remain sore for a few days, and the injury will itch unbearably while it heals. But yes, outside of keeping you here a while longer for observation, it seems you’re out of the woods.”
The doctor checked the monitors. Then he ran a series of cognitive tests, checked Anthony’s vision, and reflexes.
“Looking good.” The doctor gave a smile of approval. “A nurse will check back in an hour or so. I suggest you get some rest. Right now, it’s the best thing for your body.”
“I’ll try,” Anthony said. “Thanks.”
A very relieved looking Becky smiled at the doctor. “Yes, doctor. Thanks so much.”
“One more thing. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself crying more than usual. Any surgery near the heart seems to affect patient’s emotions.” The doctor turned about and left the room.
Becky’s face scrunched. She heaved deeply and wept into the side of Anthony’s hospital bed. “I thought I had lost you.”
He reached out and stroked her dark hair. “Well you didn’t. “I’m still here, and I’m not planning on going anywhere.”
Again the picture came to him of playing catch on the outfield with his old man. What did it mean? He sensed there was some great power waiting for him on the other side of the grass.
So was it really something to avoid, or not?
~*~
Taking the doctor’s advice and resting was easy because Anthony fell asleep with Becky still clinging to the side of the bed, their hands interlocked.
An hour and a half later, when a nurse came into the room to check on him, he roused. The nurse assured him that his vitals were good and he was headed in the right direction.
He lolled his head back on the pillow but now he was wide awake and too anxious to get back to sleep.
Becky had pulled a chair close to the bed and sat beside him quietly.
He studied her face and wondered what it had been like to receive the phone call letting her know her husband of twelve years had been shot.
How much had she seen? Had she caught a glimpse of him before the surgery, soaked in blood while being pushed on a gurney?
He continued to stare at his wife. She was so beautiful the way her long hair framed her face, and. he was overwhelmed by how much he loved her. Ashamed of how badly he had treated her for most of their marriage, he let a few tears slip out. Things were going to change.
A knock sounded at the door, and Anthony expected it was the doctor or a nurse coming to check on him again. Instead, Janet poked her head around the door. At fifty two, along with her short salt and pepper colored hair, the stress and worry on her face made her look eerily like their mother.
“Come on in.” His voice was amazingly weak.
His sister slowly entered the room looking at him as if she didn’t trust her own eyes.
Becky rose from the chair with a smile, and the two women met with a hug at the end of the hospital bed.
Janet looked back at her brother over Becky’s head and frowned. “Oh, Anthony are you really okay?”
“According to the doctors.”
“Am I intruding?” Janet asked, glancing at Becky.
“Of course not.” Becky patted the back of the chair where she’d been sitting. “In fact, why don’t you stay with him for a while? I need to go find some coffee.”
“Coffee sounds good. Could you bring me a cup too?”
With a nod, Becky headed out.
Janet took up the post Becky had previously occupied by the bed. “I don’t even know what to say. You are all the family I have left. I was so terrified.”
“I was a little scared, too,” Anthony admitted with a sheepish laugh.
“I prayed for you the entire way here. I know you don’t buy into that, but I did it anyway.”
Anthony thought of the green outfield and how their father had spoken to him. “Actually, I appreciate it.”
Maybe, the power I felt on the other side of the grass was God. It was a jarring thought. Anthony had always believed in a god of some sort, but he had basically ruled out the God who Janet devoted her life to.
Still what or who had directed him back to the world of the living, using the vision of his deceased father?
Anthony had been borderline rude to Janet every time she’d mentioned her faith. Now, as she sat at his bedside while a bandage covered his surgery wound, he wondered just how she had acquired such faith.
More than that, he wondered how he could get it. But he immediately put the thought at the back of his mind.
“Whether or not it was your praying that did it,” Anthony said offhandedly, “the doctor indicated I was lucky. Half an inch lucky, to be exact.”
“Yeah, I know. Becky told me. Would you mind if I pray over you right now?”
Anthony was a bit taken aback. But what harm could there be? “II guess it would be okay.”
With a smile on her face, Janet took both of his hands in hers. She clasped them tightly and bowed her head.
“Lord, thank you for saving Anthony. Thank you for your grace and your mercy and thank you for—”
Anthony didn’t hear the rest. Out of nowhere, a tremendous flood of grief tore through him, and he wept.
He saw the green outfield again, but this time, his father and his younger self were nowhere to be seen. Instead, it was just him in his current thirty-seven year old body.
Anthony. A soft voice penetrated his mind. I have chosen you. I have work for you to do. But you need to accept and know Me first.
Then just as quickly it was gone. The voice and the outfield. All gone in the blink of an eye.
When the vision faded, he realized he was still crying, and Janet was holding him close.
“Anthony, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Janet asked.
“I don’t know.” And he didn’t.
He wasn’t sure if the apology was directed at Janet, Becky, or God. Maybe it was intended for all three.
“But II think I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
He looked at her sheepishly, “God.”










Yeral E. Ogando was born on May 18th, 1977 in Las Matas de Farfán, Dominican Republic. Yeral is polyglot or a multilingual person.

He has been able to learn Spanish, English, French, Italian, Haitian Creole, German, Portuguese, Russian, Japanese, Modern & Biblical Greek and Biblical Hebrew.

Yeral E. Ogando has earned several degrees:

Master of Arts in Theological Studies

Master of Arts in Languages and Linguistics

Doctor of Philosophy in Theology

He has been a Bible professor for many years and teacher for several languages locally and internationally, such as Spanish, English, French, Italian, Portuguese, and Haitian Creole.

He has also been able to write the following books:

* The Hero Within – Power (Volume Two)
* The Hero Within – Nede Land (Volume Three)
* Teach Yourself Italian by Yeral E. Ogando.
* Teach Yourself Haitian Creole Conversation by Yeral E. Ogando.
* Teach Yourself Haitian Creole by Yeral E. Ogando.
* And many other books for language learning (English, Spanish, Creole and Italian)
* Coming Soon From The Hero Within Series (Volume Four – Volume Five – Volume Six)

His hobbies are reading and listening to music. He is passionate for teaching, learning and starting new ministries and businesses.

He is the founder and owner of the successful internet business www.christian-translation.com, thus reaching the world in more than 200 languages since 2004.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website:
www.yeralogando.com
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/TheHeroWithinC1
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/yeral.ogando.9


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Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: SOMEONE'S STORY by B.A. Bellec #YA




SOMEONE'S STORY
B.A. Bellec
YA / Coming of Age

In his debut endearing coming-of-age book, B.A. Bellec writes about a group of weirdos that find and save each other from the dark depths of their minds. Someone’s Story is literally Someone’s story, as in a first-person narrative of a teenager that calls himself Someone. As he struggles to find a new footing in a new space, we encounter the many ups and downs of modern teenage life, the difficulties that adjusting to adult feelings bring, and a few tear-jerking surprises along the way.

Littered with music, mental health, friendship, loss, meditation, advice, pop culture, and even inspiring an EP, there is so much nostalgia, inspiration, and depth here it is hard to absorb it all. Cozy up somewhere warm and enjoy!

“B. A. Bellec has crafted a masterpiece of emotive and well-rounded young adult fiction.”
K.C. Finn – Author

“The variety of personages, situations, and mental illnesses represented allows all readers to relate to this book and take something away from reading! This novel is on our list of all-time favourites!”
International Girls and Books

“Someone’s Story is a beautiful novel, written in great prose, very descriptive, and filled with insights about life. The author does an incredible job with themes of family, friendship, bullying, and personal development. It felt like I was reading a portion of my emotions and myself in Someone’s Story.”
Gobi Jane – Professional Critic @ Readers’ Favourite

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/3dHJU7X






It’s cold. That means different things to different people. To be specific, I haven’t seen the grass in four months. When the wind gusts, my skin burns.
That part isn’t so bad. The part that’s horrible is the wind is kicking up frozen snow and it feels like a person is throwing a handful of razor blades at me. If I don’t dress properly, I would be lucky to survive fifteen minutes. Like actually die. It’s cold.
The sidewalks disappeared long ago, so I have to brave the road for the short walk to school. It’s dangerous on these small-town roads. Sometimes, the snow is blowing so hard I can’t see more than a few feet. Scary.
When I get to the front door, no one is there. The building is small, so I can see all the way around to the lot behind it. There are a few cars. On a good day, we get twenty. I try my luck around back. The door is unlocked. Once I get in, it looks like a ghost town. I check all the rooms. Not a soul. This place is eerie and unsettling. Maybe it’s the prison bars on the windows and the ketchup-themed school colours.
Eventually, in the lunchroom, I find a few of the teachers. As I walk in, I take notice of the room right next to the lounge. It is the tiniest office ever. It’s more like a broom closet. Dr. Drum is written on the door. Funny name.
Teacher: Class is cancelled. Go home.
The teacher looks again and realizes it is me.
Teacher: How are you feeling? Is anyone bothering you?
They’re always asking questions like that. I don’t answer. Just sigh because I don’t want to brave these conditions again, but I have no other choice. I slowly make my way along the country road back home, occasionally having to put my back to the wind or tuck my head deep into my chest in order to avoid the searing pain.
To my surprise, Dad’s truck is back. Once I get inside, it takes a good five minutes until the feeling in my hands comes back and my clothing has thawed enough that I can take the first few layers off. Dad is sitting at the table.
Dad: Hey kiddo, we need to talk.
Instead of responding, I just make my way to the table and seat myself.
Dad: They're transferring me.
My eyebrows raise but I am too young and naive to really understand what that means.
Dad: They offered me a good raise in a new position. But we have to move. I didn't want to take it. I looked around. My field is declining. There is nothing local. I am lucky they offered me what they did.
My mind races.
Someone: I want to stay.
Dad: No, we just can’t.
Someone: What about my mom?
Dad: You know I don't know where she is.
Someone: I'll find her.
Dad: That's not a good idea.
I can hear the clock slowing, but at the same time my heart speeds up. Slower and faster, slower and faster. What is happening? I can’t breathe. I need a drink. I can't move. Why can't I move? WHAT’S GOING ON?! The room spins and I fade to black.
















Author of Someone’s Story and co-collaborator on the music it inspired, B.A. was born in Richmond, BC and raised in Langley, BC, before settling in Winnipeg, MB. His first adventure was a career in Finance, where he spent 15 years developing his business skills. His highest achievement was the Certified Payroll Manager designation. He currently still consults with businesses on their systems and processes. Over that period of time, he also attended film school where he started to nurture his early creative abilities.

A self-starter always interested in research, he taught himself many of the aspects of storytelling through reading books, screenplays and material online. Whenever he found an inspirational piece of art, he quickly went to the source to find the story behind the artist who created the work. It took many years after attending film school for him to finally combine his creative skills with his life experience and tell that story he had been holding back. Some of his favorite creative people: Lukas Rossi, Justin Furstenfeld, Peter Jackson, Stephen Chbosky, John Green, J.K. Rowling.

Currently he is pounding away on the keyboard writing his second novel, Pulse. This project is a change of pace and more details will come in a few months!

B.A. is also an avid jogger and walker, frequently using them as a way to work on those tough spots in life and his manuscripts. If you found it this far into his material, reach out to him on Twitter and make sure to like and subscribe to get updates on all his future endeavors.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: http://www.babellec.com
Blog: https://babellec.com/b-a-bellecs-blog/
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/b_bellec
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/babellec/


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Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: HER SECOND CHANCE COWBOY by Makenna Lee @makennaleeauthor #romance





HER SECOND CHANCE COWBOY
Makenna Lee
Contemporary Romance

Wealthy cowboy, James MacLachlan, is content running his massive family ranch and starting an equine therapy program for special needs children. After his mother died in childbirth, and witnessing his father’s destruction at the loss of true love, James sticks to casual affairs. Marriage and children are risks he won’t take.

Reese Turner visits Cypress Creek, Texas, to complete a photo assignment for National Geographic and buy back her grandparents’ cottage. After disastrous romances, she’s sworn off men to focus on her career. Marriage and the babies she longs for can wait. When she runs into an old flame, she decides she can live out a fantasy, then leave town to pursue her dreams. But love doesn’t play by the rules…

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/3ewdGh7

Entangled Pub https://bit.ly/3dCDZRT




She opened the driver’s side door, then turned to tell him good night. “Thanks for dinner.” Was that her voice sounding all breathy and wanton?
“You’re welcome. If you come out first thing in the morning, we can get an early start and go for a ride. And work on my great-great-grandfather’s mystery.”
“I like that idea.” Get in, Reese. Drive away. Instead, she brushed a leaf from his shoulder.
His full lips lowered to the corner of her mouth. The caress was gentle. Brief.
The simple, innocent kiss hit a switch inside her. One that hadn’t been tripped since their last kiss, over eleven years ago. One that other men had not managed to tap into. Her entire body warmed, sparking a shiver and a desire to stay, but she needed tonight to gather herself.
This was her chance to stay in the cottage and convince him she could take care of it. Not the start of a summer romance.
But could she manage a temporary romantic reunion?












Makenna Lee is an award-winning romance author living in the Texas Hill Country with her real-life hero and their two children. Her oldest son has Down syndrome and taught her to appreciate the little things, and he inspired one of her novels. As a child, she played in the woods, looked for fairies under toadstools, and daydreamed. Her writing journey began when she mentioned all her story ideas, and her husband asked why she wasn’t writing them down. The next day she bought a laptop, started her first book, and knew she’d found her passion. Makenna is often drinking coffee while writing, reading, or plotting a new story. Her wish is to write books that touch your heart, making you feel, think, and dream. She enjoys renaissance festivals, nature photography, studying herbal medicine, and usually listens to Celtic music while writing. She writes for Entangled Publishing and Harlequin and believes everyone deserves a happy ending.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: www.makennalee.com
Author Twitter: https://twitter.com/MakennaLeeBooks
Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MakennaLeeAuthor
Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/makennaleewriter/
Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/65227832-makenna-lee



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Happy Book Birthday to HER SECOND CHANCE COWBOY by Makenna Lee #bookbirthday @makennaleeauthor @entangledpub



We're thrilled to announce the release of Makenna Lee's HER SECOND CHANCE COWBOY today! To help celebrate, we are asking our readers if you can pleeeeze pretty please pick up at copy at Amazon or the Entangled Pub website and come back and tell us how you liked it? Or, leave a review at Amazon! 

Congratulations, Makenna, on your contemporary romance release, HER SECOND CHANCE COWBOY!







Title: HER SECOND CHANCE COWBOY
Author: Makenna Lee
Publisher: Entangled Amara
Pages: 260
Genre: Contemporary Romance

Wealthy cowboy, James MacLachlan, is content running his massive family ranch and starting an equine therapy program for special needs children. After his mother died in childbirth, and witnessing his father’s destruction at the loss of true love, James sticks to casual affairs. Marriage and children are risks he won’t take.

Reese Turner visits Cypress Creek, Texas, to complete a photo assignment for National Geographic and buy back her grandparents’ cottage. After disastrous romances, she’s sworn off men to focus on her career. Marriage and the babies she longs for can wait. When she runs into an old flame, she decides she can live out a fantasy, then leave town to pursue her dreams. But love doesn’t play by the rules...

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/3ewdGh7

Entangled Pub https://bit.ly/3dCDZRT 

Makenna Lee is an award-winning romance author living in the Texas Hill Country with her real-life hero and their two children. Her oldest son has Down syndrome and taught her to appreciate the little things, and he inspired one of her novels. As a child, she played in the woods, looked for fairies under toadstools, and daydreamed. Her writing journey began when she mentioned all her story ideas, and her husband asked why she wasn’t writing them down. The next day she bought a laptop, started her first book, and knew she’d found her passion. Makenna is often drinking coffee while writing, reading, or plotting a new story. Her wish is to write books that touch your heart, making you feel, think, and dream. She enjoys renaissance festivals, nature photography, studying herbal medicine, and usually listens to Celtic music while writing. She writes for Entangled Publishing and Harlequin and believes everyone deserves a happy ending.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: www.makennalee.com
Author Twitter: https://twitter.com/MakennaLeeBooks
Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MakennaLeeAuthor
Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/makennaleewriter/
Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/65227832-makenna-lee

Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: A WHISKERED PERSPECTIVE by M.G. Spear #fiction



A WHISKERED PERSPECTIVE
M.G. Spear
Fiction

Meet the cutest new black kitty in fiction, Pumpkin!

Like cats? Relationships? Then A Whiskered Perspective is for you.

Relationships are hard, but they are worth the effort. You should try your best, no matter what, to work things out, right? Not always.

Miller thinks she has found love but her cat, Pumpkin, tells a darker story. Not all love is equal, even if you desperately want it to be.

It’s a different take on relationship turmoil and the power of a connection between a cat and his human.

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/30K9Tsx





Have you ever been set on fire?
            I have.
            Tied up, thrown into a bag, the smell of gasoline filling my nostrils…
            Such is the way of the warrior.
            I had been minding my own business, hunting mice for dinner when the neighborhood bully caught me by surprise with a pillowcase.
            The local humans would whisper I was the trouble tom, always picking fights with their house cats, or spraying on their fence line.
            And, of course, attacking the neighborhood bully when he threw rocks at me.
            Now he had the advantage. My sharp claws could only do so much damage through the fabric, and he grabbed my legs and tied them so my claws would no longer be an issue. I yowled and spat and hissed with the rage of fire but to no avail. The way of the warrior is to accept death, but this was my seventh life, and I was not ready to give it up. But I could see no way I would survive as the pillowcase caught fire.
            “Hey!” a woman screamed.
            I heard the bully run away laughing as my flesh started to sear. The pain was building, and even with meditation techniques, I could not get my mind far enough from the pain.
            Then my miracle came. Someone doused the pillowcase in water. Cold, blessed water.
            The ropes came off and the makeshift sack was opened. Delirious as I was, I knew not to struggle as this random woman, this passerby, scooped me up in her arms and carried me down the street. She took me into her house and tended my wounds while I lay panting, grateful to be alive.
            Weeks go by, and I continued to heal and snuggle with this woman. I made sure to do nothing to upset her, to throw me away, and only sprayed in the litter box and did my business there. She was grateful for this kindness and cleaned it every day for me.
            Her house was a small three-bedroom house. She lived alone, a teacher educating other people’s children but coming home to no one. I was the answer to her loneliness. She talked to me every day about the goings-on in her life. She kept a diary, which I read from time to time. We were grateful for each other.
            This is the story of my friend and me.













M.G. Spear is a teacher who writes for stress relief, and currently has published multiple books with more in the works. She teaches Biology to both college and high school students, and mostly her days are filled with logic. But M.G’s creative side comes out in her writing.

M.G. has been writing for as long as she can remember and hones her craft by reading books and constantly writing. She is very eclectic in her writing passions, from general fiction to horror books, to motivational and humorous posts on her blog. Her major influences are Edgar Allen Poe, Gillian Flynn, Chuck Palahniuk, and Frank Peretti. She published her first short story collection, Jumping on the Trampoline, in 2006, but then life got in the way. Now she is back in the game, ready to bring more stories to life.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mgspearwriting/
Instagram: www.instagram.com/mgspear_
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/sparsur/


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Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: HOW THE DEER MOON HUNGERS by Susan Wingate @susanwingate




HOW THE DEER MOON HUNGERS
Susan Wingate
YA/Coming of Age/Mainstream Fiction

For those who enjoy reading books like Where the Crawdads Sing and My Sister’s Keeper
MACKENZIE FRASER witnesses a drunk driver mow down her seven-year-old sister and her mother blames her. Then she ends up in juvie on a trumped-up drug charge. Now she’s in the fight of her life…on the inside! And she’s losing.

HOW THE DEER MOON HUNGERS is a coming of age story about loss, grief, and the power of love.

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08676VMT3





PART ONE

the beginning
“a flower knows, when its butterfly will return, and if the moon walks out, the sky will
understand; but now it hurts, to watch you
leave so soon, when I don't know, if you will ever come back.” ―Sanober Khan
1

The Day Before

I, one Miss MacKenzie Becca Fraser, was never one for saying fuck much. But as with life, things change.
The year before, Dad removed Tessa’s training wheels. The bike had grown up, was halfway between a tricycle and a teenager’s bike. Her eyes glowed when the trainers came off. Her smile? Buoyant. My bike was what Tessa called a big girl bike—a beach cruiser in Tiffany box blue. Mine didn’t have ribbons shooting out of the handles. Can you imagine me going to school with ribbons out of the handles? My peeps would never let me live it down.
The evening before what people called the worst thing that’s happened on the island since Becca Winthrop went and flopped over dead of heart failure at the liquor store, we set off on a night ride—Tessa and me. We left Mom at home stirring up dust with her favorite electric broom. Tuesday was a lazy fall night, one with the sun and moon in competition for the evening sky; with the sun being selfish for time, trying to hang on to day even though it knew it should just stop shining, give up, and go away. We’d stuck playing cards in the spokes of our tires to add to clicking crickets, tree frogs chirping, a not-so-distant fox hacking out a cough to alert its scattered pack of food found—a doomed rabbit or kitty kibbles left out on someone’s porch. Up the hill, deep in the woods, an owl’s Psalm echoed back from its mate as if they were holding invisible hands across the horizon, not wanting to let go. Their song played while we rode.
We’d split the deck of cards, each one clipping twenty-six onto our tire spokes to deter animals from darting out into the lane ahead. Because that was all we needed—to crash into a raccoon crossing the street. Not much good for the coon either. But the road was deserted, and I kept Tessa in front, keeping my eye out for her.
Tessa rode her bike fast like she was angling to lasso the moon, which sat high at the end of the road over Old Man Johnson’s cattle farm. The big, yellow ball lolled around atop a silhouette of gossamer evergreens framing a large swatch of grazing land.
Wind fluttered that silky sable ponytail of hers as we came off the downhill side of False Bay Drive where the road at the end of summer stripes a path of thirsty grass along the strait, where cows graze in a pasture trimmed by a stand of golden poplars, crooked and bending toward the north sky away from steady winds coming off the water. Most people think that on our island in the Pacific Northwest, we live in slickers and galoshes year-round. But that’s the secret we have. Seattle gives our island a bad reputation, makes us soggy when we’re not. We live in what meteorologists call a banana belt or a rain shadow, so our island lacks the lush, drippy rainforests often found in other parts of the Pacific Northwest.
Each downstroke of my pedals matched rhythm with the plastic ribbons whipping off Tessa’s handlebars, whizzing like a thousand bees around her hands. When she skidded to a halt in front of me, I yanked left, my wheels slipping as I swerved to miss her, no doubt balding a spot on the tire’s rubber.
“What’s wrong with you?” I demanded, anger flashing hot in my cheeks and pooling into my chest.
Tessa didn’t seem to hear me. She was gaping up at the sky with that moon gaping back at her.
“What?” I repeated, but this time we were both fixed on the dang moon.
“Do you see it, Mac? The deer?” Tess was in the habit of starting, finishing, and rereading Thurber’s The White Deer for, like, the millionth time—a read way above her grade. In fact, she often fell asleep with the stupid book open-faced on her chest. Then the next morning she’d stick a crow feather in the book to mark her place and set it on her nightstand, ready for her evening read.
“There’s no deer in the moon, dork, but there might be a man if you look hard enough. You need to read real stuff. You’re getting weird.”
“See its horns?”
“Antlers.” I told her. “A hungry moon like that likes to eat seven-year-olds for dinner.” “Nuh-uh,” Tessa answered.
I rolled my bike backward, parallel to hers, close enough to sneak my hand around the back of her head and yank her ponytail.
 “Don’t,” Tessa yelped.
I enjoyed hearing her whiny kid voice. Mom called it plaintive. But Mom liked to make things sound more sophisticated. Her beaten-up chest of drawers was a chiffonier. The mossy stone patio, a pergola. Mom wanted more out of life, and I suspected she harbored a few regrets. “Our island didn’t hold a candle to New York City,” she’d complained one night. “Not even to Seattle. At least Seattle has an international flair,” she’d said.
Mom could have been a model if she’d pursued it, but she’d fallen in love, had kids. The what-happenedto-my-life syndrome seemed to have snagged her in a net she couldn’t get out of. She often talked about things she would do after Tess and I were out of school, when the house and her life were her own again. A longing filling her words, just enough for me to sense an underpinning of resentment. Her gaze would shift to the window, outside, away and away, but not for long; and she would chuckle. Then, she’d sit upright and say, “Oh, we wish on stars and mushroom caps for moon dust and fairies.” I don’t know where she got that phrase, but Mom always trotted it out when she got wistful. Maybe it came from Gramma Kiki. Who knows? It really doesn’t matter, but the oddity of a phrase like that will stick with you.
And although our island boasted an international school—Spring Street School—our town was mostly country, with nothing international about it. We didn’t even have a stoplight. Just stop signs and, of late, one abused turnabout.
When I glanced sideways at Tessa, she was straddling her bike as she stared up at the moon. I noted a certain otherness in her expression, as if we weren’t alone, as if the ghost of that deer she’d spotted in the moon had plopped onto her shoulders and was weighing her down. Her eyes seemed dark with worry and as deep as a pair of bottomless wells, shimmering with unshed tears. I think about that worry sometimes. It haunts me still.
“Come on,” I said. “We’d better get home. Mom’s already in a snit.”
“I wonder what the deer eats, Mac. Do you think it’s hungry?”
“One thing it doesn’t eat, Tess, is cheese!” I said, laughing, but Tessa didn’t get it. She didn’t know then, or ever, about the man in the moon or about the cheese the moon was allegedly made of.
I used to like the word allegedly. I’d learned it as a vocabulary word at the start of my junior year, and I got it right on a pop quiz in homeroom spelling. The teacher even had me write my sentence on the board: Gemma allegedly hid the pencil from me, but there was no evidence to prove that for sure. The sentences I would write with this word now could not be more different: I was allegedly taking care of Tessa when we went to the park the day after looking at the deer moon. And I was allegedly not watching when the car hit her.  Allegedly became an important word for me after Tessa died. It’s weird to recall how much I liked the word in my junior year but hated it afterward when I heard the cop use it.
Allegedly,” he’d said, “the younger one was in the older sister’s care.” And then, as though no one understood, “The older one was supposed to be watching the younger one.” He said one as if we were buttons on a conveyor belt at some stupid button factory. The jerk.
After Tess died, I started counting the days of the moon as it sketched out a path in the sky from crescent to half to gibbous to crescent again. I called it moon spying, and every month when the moon was ripe, I used to rush outside to search that big ol’ cheese wheel. Maybe I’d spy Tessa riding on the back of the deer ghost, but mostly I just hoped she might see me searching the moon for a glimpse of her.












Susan Wingate is a #1 Amazon bestselling award-winning author of over fifteen novels. Susan writes across fiction and nonfiction genres and often sets her stories in the Pacific Northwest where she is the president of a local authors association. She writes full-time and lives in Washington State with her husband, Bob.

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