Seventh Born

In a world where seventh born sons are valued for their strength and power, she is born a daughter.

Zezilia Ilar is the disappointment. Born after six brothers, she was supposed to be the son to restore her family’s prestige. She intends to remedy her shortcomings by being a dutiful daughter, marrying well and producing children, preferably a set of seven sons. But when someone offers her an alternative, she begins to dream of more.

In a society that worships a goddess, he follows the Almighty.

Hadrian Aleron, as a seventh son of a seventh son, stands to take up the second highest position in government, Sept Son. His main qualification for office is his birth. Despite preparing for this role from childhood, he does not desire what is to come. As a follower of the Almighty, he knows he will be the target of many, and his faith might eventually lead to death.

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Rachel Rossano lives with her husband and three children in the northeastern part of the United States. Homeschooled through high school, she began writing her early teens. She didn’t become serious about pursuing a career as an author until after she had graduated from college and happily married. Then the children came.

Now she spends her days being a wife, mother, teacher, and household manager. Her evenings and free moments are devoted to her other loves, writing and book cover design. Drawing on a lifelong fascination with reading and history, she spends hours creating historical feeling fantasy worlds and populating them with characters who live and breathe on the page. 

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Excerpt #3

Afternoon sun beat down on our heads as we rolled over the last mile. I didn’t mind because my attention was completely enthralled with the beautiful land that unfolded in all directions. Green grasses and trees crowded like little islands of chaos among the great fields filled with long orderly rows of vegetables and grain. Occasionally the plowed ground gave way to meadows full of cows and horses grazing peacefully.

“Turn in at the next road,” Errol instructed.

The next turn led down a narrow track thick with grass between the wheel ruts. It looked recently used, but only after many years of neglect. The road sloped downwards into the shadowed arch between straight trees.

“Ah, the girls must be here already,” Adreet commented as she fidgeted with her hat and then gathered up her stitching. I leaned forward to see around the driver. The ancient trees lined the trail, spreading their thick green canopy over us. I didn’t recognize the species, but I knew instantly that I was going to love them.

“I am glad they got here first,” Adreet said as she tucked the last of her thread away in the simple bag at her feet. “That means that the maidservants have been able to begin working on the cleaning.”

“I only hope Delmar came too. I am not looking forward to all the tending that these lands are going to need.” Errol frowned at the underbrush crowding the cart.

“Candra will help you.”

“I know, but the task is beginning to look a bit daunting,” Errol replied eyeing the appearing cottage with suspicion.

I found myself disagreeing with him rather strongly. The cottage looked perfect to me. Ivy and what I guessed was a flowering vine rioted up the walls on either side of the double main door. The peeling stones were sturdy looking despite their need of a whitewash. The windows appeared watertight with sturdy shutters for the storm season. Nestled in a bed of wild flowers and brush, I thought the entire setting quaint and refreshing after the cool pomp of the High King’s palazzo. I turned to tell Errol so, when suddenly my eyes fell upon the most beautiful sight.

A great willow, ancient by the height of its stature, stood to the left of the house. Branches and long tresses of leaves stirred slightly in the breeze and my memories of the afternoon in the High King’s garden rose to the surface.

“Are there more willows like that one?” I asked.

Errol looked up at the great tree and then turned to smile at me. “A great many more, child. This property is what they call a willow farm. The High King’s willow trees came from here as seedlings years ago. There are willow trees all over the property. Now it is more devoted to vegetables and a great pond area to the west full to overflowing with pussywillows and rushes. I am sure Adreet will have you busily harvesting some of both as soon as she has the household under control. Won’t you, dear?” he asked as the wagon stopped before the front door.

Whatever Adreet was going to say in response was drowned out by a sudden clashing of raised voices from within the house. The doors burst open and a girl of perhaps eleven came running out, red hair streaming behind her and hand clutching something. Upon seeing us, she swiftly whisked the object behind her back and plastered an innocent look on her face.

“That is my comb,” a second child yelled as she ran from the house. She was older than the red head. Half of her rich auburn hair fell down her back while the other half was pinned up nicely. “Mother, please tell Candra to give me back the comb. I am in the middle of putting up my hair.”

“You are too young to be doing your hair that way,” a third girl protested in a tone of supreme knowledge. “Besides the combs are mine and you did not ask to play with them.” Unlike her sisters, she moved with a dignified grace. I knew immediately that this was Galatea, the one prone to posing. Not just because she looked to be my age, but because I could see why she would be slightly vain. She was everything I wished to be, slender, but filling out into womanhood, with a classically beautiful face and obviously gorgeous hair that stayed perfectly in place.

I was thin. My curly hair never stayed in place and in humidity, it frizzed. My face wasn’t ugly, but it was dominated by my nose which was slightly too long for the accepted concept of beauty.

“But you told me I could borrow them yesterday,” Eloine protested.

“This isn’t yesterday,” Galatea pointed out.

“But I didn’t want to use them yesterday. I want to use them today.”

“Girls,” Adreet interjected. Her mellow voice cut through the exchange. All three girls turned to look at their mother, who was getting down from the wagon. “Eloine and Candra, give the combs to your sister.”

“But mother…” Eloine began. Candra, however, walked over to her oldest sister and presented her with a sweaty comb.

Adreet turned and simply raised a hand. Eloine’s mouth shut. “I said give your sister her comb, El. I want no discussion.”

With visible reluctance, Eloine removed the comb from her hair and handed it over to Galatea.

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The Temple of the Exploding Head Omnibus

Starfarers and explorers, the League settled on Kana thousands of years ago. They found it to be a paradise, a perfect, virtually uninhabited planet waiting just for them in the cradle of space.

Lovely Kana … it was too good to be true …

But, all was not as it seemed. Simmering beneath the ground was a demented god who had soaked Kana in blood for untold ages, luring in victims, lying to them, and rejoicing in their suffering as they died at the hands of his dark angels.
And there will be blood again … From his Temple in the ground, the Horned God stirs.
When Lord Kabyl of Blanchefort, a young man troubled by the weight of the world, dares give his heart to a girl from a mysterious ancient household, one that pre-dates the League itself, he comes to know the shadows of the past that hover over her.

He comes to know of the Horned God, and for love he is destined to face him. All roads lead to the Temple of the Exploding Head, a place of evil and death, rooted in the ancient past, but also tied to the distant future. 

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REN GARCIA, is a Science Fiction/Fantasy author and Texas native who grew up in western Ohio. He has been writing since before he could write, often scribbling alien lingo on any available wall or floor with assorted crayons.

He attended The Ohio State University and majored in English Literature. Ren has been an avid lover of anything surreal since childhood, he also has a passion for caving, urban archeology and architecture.

His books are published by Loconeal Publishing and include: The League of Elder: Sygillis of Metatron, The Hazards of the Old Ones, The Dead Held Hands, The Machine, and The Temple of the Exploding Head. LoE Book VI: Sands of the Solar Empire was released in July, 2012 and Book VII: “Against the Druries” was released in 2013. His next set of books,  “The Shadow tech Goddess” was released in 2014 with the most recent book, Stenibelle, released in June 2015.

 He currently lives in Columbus, Ohio with his wife, and their three dogs.

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Here is my review of Ren's Temple Omnibus - this is an amalgamation of the three reviews I wrote for the three separate novels.

The Temple Omnibus - Worth far more than a mere 5 stars!

As the son of the famed and handsome Captain Davage of Blanchefort and his Countess, the formidable former Black Hat, Sygillis of Metatron, young Lord Kabyl might have reasonably expected to inherit the potent Gifts of a great Vith Lord. After all, his sisters and brother have. Yet Kay can barely Waft, let alone use the Sight.

Lady Sammidoran, a Monaman Anuian, is determined to help Kay, her Arin-Dan, develop the Gifts he lacks. Yet Sam herself is pursued and persecuted by an unnamed, powerful enemy. Kay will need all the help his dead Ancestors can give him if he is to save the League from destruction.

Kay is tasked by Sam to find the pieces of a mysterious machine. This is his Trial, and he will die if he fails to complete it. Together with his cousins, Sarah and Phillip, Kay travels into Xaphan space without even knowing what he’s searching for. He must go to the Xaphan city of Waam, where resides the most feared Black Hat in existence. A Black Hat who wants Kay for herself....

Kay battles to save his love. He seems to hold all the aces: he’s brave, handsome, dashing, and insightful. Yet Kay is battling a twisted, evil being who will use all his powers, and those of his horrific servants, to ensure Kay’s failure. Not even Kay’s parents, Lord Davage and Countess Sygillis, can help him now, trapped as they are in Time and enemy space.

I love this Omnibus tale of derring-do, time travel, evil, and abiding love. Ren’s characters are always fascinating - compelling, often flawed, yet possessing all the qualities necessary to fully engage his readers. Many terrible things happen to Kay and his friends, things that will affect them all their lives - if they live. And over all floats the smiling face of Carahil, god and silver seal, offering a glimmer of hope in a grim and bitter world.

Sci-fi and fantasy fans alike will love Ren’s Temple Omnibus, which I can highly recommend. I’d rate it higher than five stars if I could.

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Sugar and Spice and all those Lies

Gina’s grandfather was a French chef whose life was cut short by a robber’s bullet. The only lasting legacy he could leave his family was his passion and talent for cooking.

Growing up poor but with a mother who is a gifted cook. Gina learns cooking a great meal is an act of love. An art that sustains and enhances life.

A world of new challenges, new friends, and new loves opens up for her when she’s chosen to cook for a Michelin-starred restaurant.

But danger lurks where one never expects it.

Can her passion for cooking help Gina survive and thrive in this world of privilege, pleasure and menace?

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Evy Journey, writer, wannabe artist, and flâneuse (feminine of flâneur), wishes she lives in Paris where people have perfected the art of aimless roaming. Armed with a Ph.D., she used to research and help develop mental health programs.

She's a writer because beautiful prose seduces her and existential angst continues to plague her despite such preoccupations having gone out of fashion. She takes occasional refuge by invoking the spirit of Jane Austen to spin tales of love, loss, and finding one’s way—stories into which she weaves mystery or intrigue.

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Excerpt 2:

At this restaurant, the second one I’ve worked for, the clientele comes from the moneyed class. Privileged with money to spare. Money to put aside for a full-course dinner costing hundreds for two people. And that’s without the wine. I could never dine here unless I gave up my apartment, banked all my earnings, and slept in my car or a homeless shelter for a whole week.

Our regular customers are often fifty years or older and established, and come twice, sometimes thrice a year for special occasions. Dining here twice a month? The guy at Table 29 must be worth diamonds to the restaurant.

I get shivers in my spine entering the dining room. I’ve only been in it when it’s empty, quiet, and bright from lights and white tablecloths. This evening, the lighting is subdued and—yes—romantic, warmed by candles and small vases of bright yellow chrysanthemums on tables. Nonintrusive, soft music plays against the hum of voices from every table.

Table 29 usually sits four, but tonight it holds only two people. I’m surprised to see that they’re quite young. Maybe about my age or a little older. And attractive. Now I’m even more curious. And intrigued. Mature and rich or nearly rich, I’ve seen a lot of. But filthy rich and young? Well, I must at least sneak a peek at what this priceless diamond looks like.

For now, though, I’m a willing peon, as grateful as strawberry blond is when I started learning the ropes in this exclusive eatery. So, I focus on the course I’m serving Table 29. How I perform at this restaurant decides whether my career goes haute cuisine or a la Burger King. But that last choice is really no choice at all. I’ll work my butt off to make sure it stays that way. It’s my future, after all, that I’m slaving for.

I recite to myself the script we’ve been trained to deliver. The script is quite simple, but this is my first foray into a dining room full of privileged clients. And hives are sprouting on my arms just thinking that I’m serving my creation to the restaurant’s most valued client. If this guy doesn’t like my dish and blabbers to Laure about it, I can kiss my future in haute cuisine goodbye. Laure is well-loved and well-known, and a word from her can make or break culinary dreams.

I quickly glance, first at his date then at him, vaguely taking in how they look. I take a deep breath, smile at neither one in particular and say, “Medallions of raw ahi, wasabi hollandaise, on a bed of diced cucumbers, vernissage cherry tomatoes, and capers, finished with a sprinkle of toasted nori. Bon appetit!”

Distractedly, my fixed smile still on, I wonder if “filthy rich” Table 29 guy holds my cooking future in his manicured hands—or, more likely, on his pampered taste buds. I take a couple of steps back, so they can start eating. Maybe I can catch a glimpse of whether he likes my dish or not before I go back to the kitchen. I’m also waiting for that “buzz” I’ve been made to expect. Nothing yet. Anything to say about my creation? Maybe that’s what it takes.

But I’m new in this game and still a coward, so I chicken out as he picks up his fork. I control the urge in my legs to run backward to the kitchen. Be at your best, Gina. Be cool. But my ego will be in tatters if Mr. Filthy Rich doesn’t like the dish.

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Real Birth

Robin Greene serves as Professor of English and Writing, and Director of the Writing Center at Methodist University in Fayetteville, NC. She is a past recipient of a cosponsored National Endowment of Arts and North Carolina Arts Council Fellowship in Writing, the Al Cleveland Award for Teaching, the Best Professor of the Year Award, and the McLean Endowed Chair of English

In addition to her university teaching, Greene teaches writing at an annual writing, yoga, and meditation retreat for women in Oaxaca, Mexico. Click on www.oaxacaculture.com to learn more about this retreat

Greene has published four books —two volumes of poetry (Memories of Light and Lateral Drift), a novel (Augustus: Narrative of a Slave Woman) and two editions of Real Birth: Women Share Their Stories. She regularly publishes poems, fiction, and creative nonfiction in literary journals and has about ninety publications to her credit

The Shelf Life of Fire, Greene's new novel, is scheduled for release from Light Messages in April 2019

Greene received an MA in English Literature from Binghamton University and an MFA in Writing from Vermont College of Fine Art. With her husband, Greene co-founded Longleaf Press, Methodist University’s literary press www.methodist.edu/longleaf/

Available for readings, writing workshops for pregnant women and new mothers, and for workshops and presentations on creative writing, academic writing, and grammar, Greene can be reached at greene.robin@gmail.com or through her website www.robingreene-writer.com

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Intimate and intensely personal, the forty-five first-person narratives contained in Real Birth: Women Share Their Stories offer readers a window into the complex and emotionally exciting experience of childbirth. Women from a full range of socioeconomic backgrounds and circumstances recount the childbirth choices they’ve made and the ways those choices have played themselves out in the real life contexts of their everyday lives.

Readers meet women from all over the country who speak to us directly––no interviewer intrudes, no judgments intrude, and no single method of childbirth is advocated. Instead, these women offer us their candid experiences, presented clearly and unflinchingly. Medically reviewed by physicians Dr. Richard Randolph for the first edition and Dr. Deborah Morris for this second edition, Real Birth offers readers a plethora of correct information as well the kind of real scoop that other books and health care professionals are often reluctant to reveal. The result is a well-grounded book that reaches across the boundaries of childbirth literature.

Real Birth is introduced by Ariel Gore, journalist, editor, writer, and founding editor/publisher of Hip Mama, an Alternative Press Award-winning publication about the culture of motherhood. Also included are an extensive glossary of medical terms, a thoroughly researched selective bibliography, and a list of resources of interest to pregnant women and new moms

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Snippet:

Second Baby-Born in the Water

We meet Eden in the childbirth pool, set up in the living room of her home as her midwife guides Eden toward birthing her daughter...

I was in the pool on my knees, hanging over the side. And I started moaning. I'd been quiet until that point. Then the contractions were like every minute. I just started doing this crazy tribal moan, and I was shaking my head from side to side. I remember feeling like a crazy person. So when I started making those noises, I remember Mary and her assistant sitting on the side, saying, "Those are different." And my husband-I don't know how he knew this-but he was like telling me, "It's okay, just try to relax. You're going to have a baby in your arms soon." I was just like, "Shut up. You don't know that. You don't know if it's going to be three days from now..." and he's like, "No, honey. You're going to have a baby very, very soon."

Mary hadn't checked me since that first time, and I remember looking over at her because I wanted her to do something-maybe pull the baby out or do something-after all, that's what they did in the hospital...like they were all up in my vagina, all these people, and I was on the epidural, and I didn't feel any of it. They told me what to do, and they moved me into position so I didn't have any autonomy in that process. But in this process, I had it all. No one was helping me. Eventually, I kind of understood that. I kept looking at Mary, wanting her to do something until I realized, She's not going to do anything for me; this is all on me this time. And that was a cool feeling.

And the contractions didn't stop. They blended together and felt like one long five-minute contraction, and I actually felt my baby moving down and out. I wasn't pushing at all. And I didn't say I have to push because I didn't. I mean the contractions just moved her down and out. I felt the baby coming down the birth canal, and I went from hanging over the side to just being on all fours in the pool. I remember swallowing water and looking at Mary, and I was like, "Mary, Mary..." calling her name. And she was like, "You're okay; you're okay." The only thing she did was come over to the pool with the monitor to check my belly.

I remember Sofie's head came out, and I was like "Mary, I need you!" And I was thinking, When is my midwife going to come over and do something? I thought that Sofie was going to fall out and that her head was going to hit the bottom of the pool. When I felt her head actually come out, I screamed at that point, and Mary, who was on the couch, only about three feet away, jumped over to me and reached down. I felt her push...it felt like on my butt... and she sort of pushed my butt back and said, "Reach down and pull your baby out."

And so I did. I reached down, and I felt her shoulders when I pulled her out, and I fell back in the water, leaning against the side of the pool and held my baby. And it was just like that. All by myself.

And my son and my mother-in-law were there. Earlier, when I was shaking my head from side to side, I was like no, I don't want Owen in here; he was walking around and making the pain worse because I was trying to be maternal for my unborn baby but also trying be aware of him, and that was too much. It made the pain worse. So they left the room. But when I screamed for Mary, she yelled for them, and Owen got to see me pull Sofie out of the water, which was pretty cool. Sofie was born in the water, and I pulled her out and down in between my legs, and then laid back and put her on my chest. That second, Sofie immediately started crying, and my mother-in-law was like, "Oh, my god! That's the most perfectly pink baby I've ever seen!" She had these rosy checks and was healthy and beautiful right away. And it was amazing to see that it can happen naturally, without any help. I never knew until I experienced that how physiological birth is-like pooping or peeing.

My husband was right behind me when I was giving birth, and he was crying and saying, "Oh my gosh, you are amazing!" He just kept saying, "You are amazing! You are amazing!" My toddler didn't cry or say anything. He was just staring at me with his jaw dropped. He was two and a half. I think that during the whole pregnancy he thought I was getting fat, even though I told him that there was a baby in there. At that moment though, he realized there really had been a baby.

We didn't know the sex of the baby. It was amazing to have this baby on me and feeling so in love with this human-without even knowing if it was a girl or boy, and not even caring. But, Mary and her assistant were checking her, and then Mary was checking me and the cord-doing whatever midwives do-and my mother-in-law called out, "Do you mind checking the sex of the baby because we all really, really want to know."

And I was like, "Oh yeah, I forgot. We don't even know, and I checked and saw it was a girl. We had a boy already, and really, really wanted a girl. It was huge for us. I'd only had one dating ultrasound in the beginning of my pregnancy as I became pregnant without having my period because I was nursing, and we needed to know the stage of the pregnancy. I really knew nothing about this baby. I had dreams during my pregnancy that my baby was a squid and that I was nursing a squid. Also, I was not used to letting go of all that control and not checking on the baby and getting ultrasounds and finding out all this stuff. So for us to have waited and then find out then after the birth was huge. And awesome.

A couple of minutes after I discovered the baby's sex, Mary said she saw blood in the pool and wanted me to deliver the placenta. She suggested that I move to the bed, which I did. I remember climbing out of the pool. Mary and her assistant told me to slow down, and said, "Let us help and support you."

By this time, I felt perfectly normal. I didn't feel like I'd just given birth. But they helped me to the bed, and I laid down with my baby. Mary checked the placenta and checked me. Then she asked if I'd like to nurse Sofie, and I was like, Sure. Because of my job and my passion, I wanted to nurse right away. So I put Sofie on my chest and was waiting for her to go through like the nine states that humans go through...blah, blah, blah...like everything I teach. And she bobs twice and lands on my nipple and starts feeding. I cried. I was like, Oh, my god! Babies can do this! Wow! What a different experience! And I thought, I'm not going to have to quit breast-feeding, and we're not going to have to use the nipple shield. It was awesome.

Mary then said, "Okay, now that you're nursing, I'm going need to give you a couple of quick pushes and get the placenta out," and she put a little pressure on my belly, and out the placenta came. Everything went smoothly. Mary placed the placenta on the bed and showed it to me: "This was Sofie's view, and this was where it was attached." That was pretty cool because I had never seen my placenta before, and I had an appreciation for it this time.

So it was all pretty cool. One of my really good friends was supposed to be the doula, but I never called her. I apologized to her because we're really good friends, but I never really needed her because Hector and I were just going through a good groove the whole time. And it went pretty fast. I mean the whole thing, from the first contractions at 10:30 p.m. to the time she was born at 5:17 a.m.-moved quickly, And it was only super painful from maybe 2:00 a.m. to 5:00 a.m.

Knowing what I know now, I would tell pregnant women to ask their mothers and friends and get good information from all sides before making their birthing decisions. Women have choices. I don't think that any one way is right for any mother, but rather that all mothers should be able to make informed decisions. Women need to hear multiple stories. Looking back on my experiences, I'd tell women to get a lot of information and only then make decisions about what might be right, be best for them.

I had a lot of doubts and a real lack of confidence before my second labor started. I didn't know that I could do a home birth without all those medical interventions. But as soon as labor began and I could tell that it was going to be so different from my first experience, I knew it was all going to be okay.

It's interesting also that my husband has become a birth advocate-which is pretty funny. He likes to tell people about our experience and how happy it's made us. Although he recognizes there's a little bit of stigma out there about having a home birth, he tries to educate the women in his MBA program about the process, how it works. And he always surprises them because he doesn't tell them that's the way they should do it, but rather speaks about how great it worked for us and how disappointing it was in the hospital. So he's an advocate now. I think it makes him happy to see me happy, especially after this second time around.

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