The Bridge of Deathsby M.C.V. EGAN is a love story and a mystery. Fictional characters travel through the world of past life regressions and information acquired from psychics as well as Archives and historical sources to solve “One of those mysteries that never get solved”. Based on true events and real people it is the culmination of 18 years of sifting through sources and finding a way to help the reader feel that he /she is also sifting through data and forming their own conclusions. The journey takes the reader to well known and little known events leading up to the Second World War, both in Europe and America. The journey also takes the reader to the possibility of finding oneself in this lifetime by exploring past lives.
What happens in the moments leading up to disaster? "The Bridge of Deaths" follows the story of a true life event of a plane crash shortly before World War II of an international meeting of many individuals. Compiling a work of intrigue based on those who lost their lives and what they may have been seeking. Join Bill and Maggie in 2010 London as through their love and curiosity they unravel the secrets from known and little known events in the 1930s. Journey to Denmark on August 15th 1939, at the brink of World War II where a British Airways LTD airplane crashed and sunk. Five deaths were reported: two Standard Oil of New Jersey employees, a German Corporate Lawyer, an English member of Parliament, and a crew member for the airline. The reader walks away with his/her ultimate conclusions. "The Bridge of Deaths' is an unusual yet much recommended read.
5.0 out of 5 stars"An unusual yet much recommended read",
On August 15th, 1939, an English passenger plane from British Airways Ltd. crashed in Danish waters between the towns of Nykøbing Falster and Vordingborg. There were five casualties reported and one survivor. Just two weeks before, Hitler invaded Poland. With the world at the brink of war, the manner in which this incident was investigated left much open to doubt. The jurisdiction battle between the two towns and the newly formed Danish secret police created an atmosphere of intrigue and distrust. The Bridge of Deaths is a love story and a mystery. Fictional characters travel through the world of past life regressions and information acquired from psychics as well as archives and historical sources to solve "one of those mysteries that never get solved." Based on true events and real people, The Bridge of Deaths is the culmination of 18 years of sifting through conventional and unconventional sources in Denmark, England, Mexico and the United States. The story finds a way to help the reader feel that s/he is also sifting through data and forming their own conclusions. Cross The Bridge of Deaths into 1939, and dive into cold Danish waters to uncover the secrets of the G-AESY.
TodayI’m sharing a look at the making of
my historical romance, Dangerous Indenture. I’ll discuss how
the book came about, the research involved, and how I created these unique
As most readers know, I write romances in
nearly every genre: contemporary, historical, fantasy, gay, and paranormal.
When I write historical romances I never know where (or when) my story will
take me. Redemption from a Dark Past is set in the kingdom of Hungary, Loving
a Wild Stranger is a pioneer romance set in 1823, and Dangerous
Indentureis a sensual historical/mystery
set in Pennsylvania Colony in the early 1700s.
Here’s the book summary and links:
Indentured for five
years… how long can Shauna resist her master’s son?
to escape her past in Ireland, Shauna Farrow signs on to become an indentured
servant to Joshua Stewart, a wealthy man in Pennsylvania Colony. But a life of
servitude quickly turns to drudgery, and Shauna’s hopes for starting over and
creating a better life for herself are waning—until she meets her master’s
roguish son, Ashton.
Ashton needs to redeem
himself in his father’s eyes and earn the respect he has always longed for.
Meeting Shauna turns his life around, and he sets out to win her heart. Torn
between propriety and passion, Shauna struggles against her growing attraction
to Ashton as long as she can. But amidst their flirting,
something dark stirs. Shauna soon discovers why no other servants wanted to
work for the strange Stewart family. Stewart House has an unsavory
reputation: a previous servant died there under mysterious circumstances. When
another servant goes missing in the middle of the night, Shauna is convinced
that a member of the family is responsible.
Shauna’s investigation leads her close to the
truth, and yet, she’s not sure who she can trust. Events take a deadly turn
when she confronts the murderer and discovers the mystery of the Stewart
Shauna be rescued before time runs out, or will she meet with the same fate as
the other servants?
So, how did the novel come about? Dangerous Indenture is one of those
books that just jumped into my head. (Yes, every so often that happens to
writers.) One day, I overheard the name Shawna Farrell, but I thought I’d heard
Shauna Farrow. The name stuck with me and I wrote it down.
A few minutes later, I knew all about her:
she was an Irish indentured servant who came to Pennsylvania Colony and worked
at a house where a previous servant was murdered. Once I knew that, I started
outlining the book.
Before I wrote a word, I did a lot of
research. I was starting from a good place with the book—I knew where I wanted
to set the story and in approximately what timeframe it should take place.
From there, I spent time in the library
going through history books, reading up on Colonial times (What life was like, what
people wore, ate, etc.) and indentured servants (Where did they come from? Why
did they leave their home country?).
As I wrote, I incorporated my research as
background information. This gives the book a rich, historical feel without
going overboard with details that slow down a scene or are of no interest to
When I’m writing historical romances, I
include details and descriptions that are integral to the story. I don’t bog
down the plot with a step-by-step procedure for churning butter or how to
saddle a horse, and I don’t go into an endless description of how to unfasten a
corset (unless it’s befuddling a hero who is eager to remove it!)
And just because historical romances are
set in time periods before cars, the Internet, and cell phones, that doesn’t
(or shouldn’t) make them boring. My
historicals include plenty of action, adventure, intrigue, danger, comedy, and
sensual love scenes.
When I wrote Dangerous Indenture, I especially enjoyed creating the characters
and setting the stage for the drama that’s about to unfold. Right from the
start, we’re told that Stewart House is a place to be wary of, and then we (and
Shauna) meet the master of the house, Joshua Stewart, and his strange family.
Our hero, Ashton Bailey, is flawed and has
a lot of problems to overcome. For starters, he’s known as the black sheep of
the family and has been sent home in disgrace. He has a reputation as a
drunkard and a womanizer, and tends to get himself into troubling situations.
By giving Ashton all this “baggage” I made him vulnerable and provided him with
lofty goals to reach.
Shauna has come to the Colonies to start
over and make a new life for herself. The last thing she wants is to fall in
love with anyone—and then she meets Ashton. Shauna is headstrong and
independent, and not your typical heroine. She’s brash and opinionated and
falls in love with Ashton despite all of his socially unacceptable flaws. Ashton
gives her the strength and encouragement she needs to keep going when things
look bleak, and he stands up for her at a critical plot point in the story.
When I developed the secondary characters,
I made sure to give them all interesting backstories and unusual quirks. Joshua
comes off as a mean bear of a man, Minerva just might be crazy (and a
murderer), Colin is… a villain in many senses of the word, and Lila thought she
had everything going for her—for a while. Not everyone in Stewart House is as
they seem, however, and this adds another level of mystery and intrigue to the
I love the characters and the fact that Dangerous Indenture is a romance blended
with mystery. I had never written a romance set in Colonial times before, and combining
all these elements into this Gothic-type story was a lot of fun.
I hope you enjoyed this inside look at the
making of Dangerous
Indenture. I welcome
comments and questions from readers. Be sure to follow my blog for the latest
updates and visit me on social media.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kelli A. Wilkins
is an award-winning author who has published more than 100 short stories, 19
romance novels, 5 non-fiction books, and 2 online writing courses. Her romances
span many genres and heat levels, and she’s also been known to scare readers
with her horror stories.
historical romance, Dangerous Indenture, was released in March
2019. This full-length novel is set in Pennsylvania Colony and blends a sensual
romance with mystery and suspense.
She published the second half of her flash fiction series, Cupid’s Schemes, in early
2019. These two volumes of lighthearted mini-romances are perfect reads for a
quick lunchtime escape or an after-work indulgence.
Kelli released her
latest Teachable mini-course, Fiction Basics: Finding Ideas in
February 2019. She authored Fiction Writing for
Beginners through Teachable in 2018. These courses are
perfect for anyone who wants to learn how to write.
Jay Beck has continued writing about the fascinating adventures of political consultant, Mark Young, in his next book, "Casting Stones." Set in Greece during the 1985 elections, the historical novel pits the United States against the Soviet Union in a battle over Greece's future political economic soul.
The novel is set in the turbulent times of airline hijackings, terror bombing and assassinations. The Soviet KGB, Greek secret police and terrorists all conspire against Mark Young as he tries to win a national election while simultaneously rescuing the most valuable ancient sculpture ever created.
Mark is torn between the turmoil in Greece and a critical situation threatening to end his relationship with his girlfriend, Vicki back in Washington, D.C. All of these diverse threads come together in an unexpected and thrilling conclusion.
By writing fiction, I’ve try to expand on my history and the events I have observed. I still have a long way to go in tapping into all of that rich material, particularly since politics and entertainment so often go hand in hand, as I hope I have demonstrated in my work. These will be exciting areas for me
to investigate and discuss while I continue to write about them. As I mentioned earlier, the third book in the trilogy concerns the interactions between the campaigns and the time of history of Ross Perot, Bill Clinton, and George Bush, a vast political world for me to plumb. I have stories to tell.
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Once again, this morning the goats were out of sorts. The rattling of the fence awoke Anatos and he saw in the dim light that they were agitated and gathered pressed to the far side of the little pen, anxious to leave the overhanging mountainside, and find the gentle, sunny hills up the valley from the stone hut. Likely, they were also anxious to move away from the unusual odor that sometimes came up from the cracks in the nearby rocks and the tremors which had been coming more frequently. He could not smell it today, but sometimes there was something different in the air, not unpleasant, but definitely an unusual odor, not unlike rotten eggs. After clearing the ash from last night’s fire and banking in a little new wood, he finished eating his bread and milk and put down his chipped bowl. When he looked out now, he saw in the brighter light that the goats had pushed open the gate by themselves and were wandering up into his small valley, chewing on the spring leaves starting to grow on the twigs of hillside bushes, and the weeds or grass … anything foolish enough to thrive in the presence of hungry goats. He then got his wife up, smoothed her hair, put a tattered robe about her shoulders and sat her in the wobbly chair, that he had been intending to fix, by the one window in the house. There she could watch the goats and feel the sun coming down the valley to warm her while he did his chores. The sky was clear and he could tell from the flies rising in the humidity that it would be another hot day. As he walked slowly toward the goats, out away from the shadow of the tall and menacing hillside behind him, he could see down the narrow valley to the tops of the stones from his first house that had been built near the olive grove. That was years ago though, when he had first brought his family from Macedonia to the area of Delphi at the time when there were more tourists and he had his store by the road with food and the trinkets his wife made. Down toward the foot of the small valley where he had lived before, there was more water from the thin mountain stream and his trees and garden had grown much better closer to the road than the patch he tended up here in this dry soil. He had lived below in the time before the king came and brought with him the son of Anatos who was a solder in the king’s army. He remembered the stories told to him about the monarch by his son who had gone to school with the future king in Macedonia years before. Alexander had rewarded his son by making him an officer in his army and part of his personal guard. When Alexander came to see the Oracle, his son had proudly led the personal guard, and they decided to make camp in this valley, which at that time was a great honor for Anatos. He had been disappointed that many of the soldiers in the camp guard did not behave well, and his garden and most of the trees were destroyed and burned in campfires by the time they left. Later, he grew tired of people coming to see where the king had made his tent and slept, so after his son returned from Athens and the secret mission to which Alexander had sent him, he moved his wife back up to this higher place along the side of the mountain and built this smaller, one-room house where they were no longer disturbed. Here he could do his duty by watching over what his son had brought back from the stone factory. He was glad their other children were back in Macedonia and were not in this place where life was becoming more difficult. After checking that his goats were safely grazing and giving his wife some fresh water, Anatos entered the nearby cave with the humility and awe he always felt when he was among such a powerful presence. His slid his hand along the dusty rock to guide his entrance, and he wondered why after so many years there was still no word from his son or the people who worked for King Alexander in Macedonia. He was worried. They had been too long in Persia and in other places he had never heard of where they had their battles. Rumors of great victories came back to him, and he knew they must be attributed to the gods he stood before now. He had the local scribe send message after message to his son and to friends he had known in Macedonia, and even to Alexander’s mother, Queen Olympias. When would his son return?
E. J.’s audiences will recognize her scientific and sardonic approach to the history of forensic science among its descriptions of true cases and famous figures.
E. J. has presented programs on the folklore and history of crime to riveted adult audiences for more years than she cares to admit. She researches her material in such places as the Armed Forces Museum of Pathology in Maryland, the Suffolk County Office of the Medical Examiner, the crime laboratory of London’s Metropolitan Police (Scotland Yard), the Phillips Library of the Peabody Essex Museum (in Salem, Massachusetts), delving into ancient trial transcripts and medical texts, and judiciously eavesdropping in public places.
Her programs examine such subjects as murder, witchcraft, werewolves, 17th century piracy, the history and techniques of mummification, and the development of forensic medicine and criminalistics. E. J. does not present programs for young children.
E. J. has appeared in diverse settings, including Brookhaven National Laboratory, Long Island University, University of Nevada (where she was one of the few non-physicists to be awarded the annual Goudsmit Lectureship), Bayard Cutting Arboretum, meetings of various professional forensic science organizations (see Previous programs for scientists and educators), the Sherlock Holmes Society of London, Boston Museum of Science (in connection with their hosting of the “CSI: The Experience” exhibition), Holtsville Animal Preserve, and assorted historic houses and sailing ships including the Queen Elizabeth 2. She served as consultant on Renaissance poisoning for A&E’s presentation of BBC’s “The Borgias,” and has performed on radio and international television. She appears frequently at the Museum of Long Island Natural Sciences on the campus of Stony Brook University, and has served as Sy Ross Distinguished Lecturer at the University’s Roundtable.
Dr. Watson - registered as Wagner’s The Game’s Afoot (photo by W. R. Wagner)
E. J.’s Forensic Science Research As a freelance lecturer and consultant, E. J. Wagner has designed and presented programs on the history of forensic science since 1982 for the Museum of Long Island Natural Sciences, located on the campus of Stony Brook University, as well as at other venues. The purpose of these programs is to:
Awaken public interest in and understanding of natural and forensic sciences.
Explore the use of communication arts in presenting scientific subjects.
Examine the connections between natural and forensic sciences.
Encourage the press and public to adopt a positive view of the forensic sciences.
In pursuit of these goals, E. J. engages in active independent research; observing autopsies, conducting extensive interviews, and photographing in varied locations. These have included: The New York City Medical Examiner’s Office; The Suffolk County, New York Medical Examiner’s Office; the Armed Forces Museum of Pathology in Maryland; Harvard’s Countway Library; the Peabody Essex Museum’s Phillips Library (formerly known as the “Essex Institute”) in Salem, Massachusetts; the Mütter Museum in Philadelphia; the Forensic Laboratory of the London Metropolitan Police (Scotland Yard) and the Hunterian Museum in the UK.
Portraits of unyielding love. A woman, mostly alone in her world but for her dog, shares memories through letters to her old 'tesoro'; a wife trusts her sweetheart psychiatrist blindly through her divorce; a young girl lands a fairy tale wedding soon to turn into a nightmare her cousin yearns to fix. Immersive, witty, tender,
Caro M, explores the hurricane-like devastation love is capable of.
A week or two passed. A sustained flow of insubstantial words continued to arrive at a steady pace, written or spoken, with plenty of accompanying emojis as if you had been forcefully commissioned to use your whole emoji library by our one-month anniversary.
Day and night. And those early weeks I was only brave enough for my replies to mirror yours, until all our assurances blended into each other, becoming almost meaningless. We were confining ourselves to too narrow and stupid a dictionary. We were cautious, out of practice, or perhaps scared there were serious matters at stake and our weightless words helped us pretend otherwise. We should have been more frightened by the strength of the words we were purposefully leaving out. We both claimed feeling so free, so entitled, because we felt so lonely. Instead we were enslaved by terror that certain words could become too serious or too binding. I can see that now, that I should have read into things as early as then, that our relationship was one to run lighter than words. That should have told me something, something about its future, from the start.
It surprised me how soon the game wasn’t enough though.
Would it have been different had we been younger? Would we have been more patient? If we felt tormented to give free rein to our language, how else could we grow our story?
It took barely a month to move from words to pictures. A nice table set with beautiful candles as I was cooking some pasta and coq au vin for Charlotte; she loves it. You were buying wine and boiling spaghetti, alle vongole; you wished you could be having it with me. Another day a scene from my living room. You noticed my sofa. You told me the Boa was your favourite, from the same brand. You liked design. You told me all you would do to me on a Boa, as poetically as you possibly could, choosing from a new set of limited words. I felt as if I was granted a license to be rude, encouraged, as if you had opened a new door, even if it was still a door to an ulterior confined space. It felt like progress.
I responded, things I had only heard in songs, not my songs. And I sent you handcuffs, a nice set, or perhaps you did; I do not remember. We could have been two fifteen-year-olds, up a notch from our primary-school-like earlier exchanges. Although maybe adolescents do things differently nowadays; perhaps we were only middle-aged losers who had finally hooked up on selfies following their late arrival to the Instagram generation. It was suddenly like every minute of our day had to be snapped and shared so we didn’t have to tell each other anything.
And I know they say a picture is worth a thousand words, but sometimes it is worth none.
Your hand was trembling and you passed the note to me quickly like in a Soviet spy movie. I crunched it in my hand and walked away. I could tell you were staring at the back of my golden dress.
‘Stay where you fit in,’ my uncle had rightly advised me before the wedding, but I hadn’t taken his advice. Where exactly did I fit in, other than in the psych ward?
All his money seemed to light Laura up like a beauty pageant; not that she wasn’t beauty-pageant material even without it.
Was I a commodity for you at an acquisitive time? Were you a collector? Should I fret about the value placed on me perhaps as an exotic object? Because I was French? I didn’t think of French as exotic but then I was it, and you cannot be foreign to yourself, although perhaps I was exactly that.
We had known so little about this man yet had let Laura wed him. And at her own wedding she was crying.
‘My husband fucked the woman who delivered our baby!’ I clamour again, full of honesty. It’s good to peak twice, to extend the peak for as long as possible.
I will never forget the sweetness with which you dried their hair. It made me think the world of you; it made me think how life is to be based purely on emotion. After that, I was lost.
Was I guilty of puffing up a dream which could grow expectations larger than Albatross wings? Yes. But then I remembered how I was in violation mode, and that the only purpose of a dream was perhaps not to come true but to break all cages, breach all rules and run around fiercely free.
About the Author:
Mari.Reiza was born in Madrid in 1973. She studied at Oxford University and worked as an investment research writer and management consultant for twenty years in London, before becoming an indie fiction writer. Also by her, Inconceivable Tales, Death in Pisa, Sour Pricks, A Pack of Wolves, STUP, Mum, Watch Me Have Fun!, Marmotte’s Journey, West bEgg, PHYSICAL, Room 11, Triple Bagger, Opera and the Retreat, all available on Amazon.