Loving Nick

sarinarostek-72dpi-1500x2000(11)Hi you,
A chance to preorder my newest book at a reduced cost. Click the link now. Save $2.00
Loving Nick will be released in late September, 2018. It will automatically go to your Kindle at the very minute it goes live on Amazon. You’re going to love this story about a second chance for a disabled veteran.

Nicolo Vitale’s wedding to Karen Dombrowski quickly turns into divorce when he deploys to Vietnam, and she travels around Europe on business and has a one night fling with a Scotsman. She flees the marriage like a sinner out of church when she realizes she is pregnant and never tells either man about the child. Fearful, ashamed, guilty, embarrassed and invincible, she makes a life for the child and herself with the help of her parents away from both men for five years until she, by chance, meets Nick again. Will overcoming the past be enough to bring these two back together?

 

Will you be so kind as to share this post? Thank you.

Loving Nick

sarinarostek-72dpi-1500x2000(11)Hi you,
Wishing you the happiest summer ever and a chance to preorder my newest book at a reduced cost.
Loving Nick will be released in late September, 2018. It will automatically go to your Kindle at the very minute it goes live on Amazon. You’re going to love this story about a second chance for a disabled veteran.

Nicolo Vitale’s wedding to Karen Dombrowski quickly turns into divorce when he deploys to Vietnam, and she travels around Europe on business and has a one night fling with a Scotsman. She flees the marriage like a sinner out of church when she realizes she is pregnant and never tells either man about the child. Fearful, ashamed, guilty, embarrassed and invincible, she makes a life for the child and herself with the help of her parents away from both men for five years until she, by chance, meets Nick again. Will overcoming the past be enough to bring these two back together?

 

Will you be so kind as to share this post? Thank you.

Sal’s Home

A short story for you. Sal was a real person, but I never met him. The house described is where I lived. My sister and I were scared to go to the cellar, but we did and we never saw Sal there.

Sal’s Home

The last thing Grace Farrentino and I expected was to meet with a ghost. As it turned out, that is exactly what we did. There remains the question whether Grace chose the ghost or the ghost chose her.

I met Grace in 1947 in kindergarten at Number 3 public school on Cliff St in a little town near the Hudson River. Grace lived around the corner. We would meet at the red fire hydrant and walk together to school. The school was not very far away, maybe only fifty yards, but for little girls it was far enough to warrant company. We played together and share secrets in the moldy depths of the cellars of our multifamily apartment houses where we lived.

On the last day of school before the long hot summer New Jersey summer arrived, we combed the cellar of my grandfather’s house. The air down there smelled of old cooking and wet stone walls. The main area of the cellar was a kitchen. A big round wooden table opposite the furnace, stove was cover with red and white print oil cloth. The white parceling sink and icebox occupied the wall with the high window to the airshaft. One coal bin occupied the wall that faced the street. Another bin occupied the adjacent wall. Part of that bin was for coal. The rest stored my father’s fishing gear… muddy-green bib waders, thin poles, and light reels for the fresh water Ramapo River. Thicker polls and heavier reels were for the ocean.

“Look here.” I opened the doors of the dilapidated cupboard. These were my grandparents things, but they were dead and wouldn’t mind.

“Oh, wow, red carnival glass and rusty flatware. Exciting.” Grace said sourly. She picked up a green pitcher and the bottom fell out onto the wood plank floor.

“Really?”

“No.” We swept up the broken glass.

Beyond the kitchen leading towards the back of the house and the yard were more bins. One held wine barrels. Later my parents stored Christmas decorations there and my father hid his tip money in one of the empty barrels. Another bin held jars of crushed tomatoes my grandparents had bottled. Grace and I counted ninety-seven jars. My father used the last bin as a dark room for developing film. He and his nephew would work together developing family photos.

Grace reached for the slide lock on the dark room door. Our basement dog, Whitie, who was tied by a thick rope to a pipe, opened a sleepy eye, sat on his hind legs at attention, and barked.

I put my hand on top of Grace’s.

Don’t!” I said. My eyes widened. Grace’s lit with fire. I imagined what might be behind the door, or even who might be behind the door. My father had warned me never to open that door.

“He might be there.”

“I should be so lucky,” Grace quibbled with a sly smile and dancing eyes.

“My father gave strict orders,” I added hoping to assert his authority. I could feel my heart pounding from my temples to my toes. “You don’t want to see him. He doesn’t look so good.

“But he IS friendly. The other day you said in class that he IS friendly.” She challenged me to stop her as she slid the lock to the right and released the door a crack. The sound of metal on metal and the mishung wood door scraping along the concrete floor was enough to wake the dead and it did.

A horse thick voice said, “Girls? What are you doing here? Uncle Lee told you to stay away, didn’t he?”

“Grace wanted to meet you,” I boldly offered the reason we were intruding.

“Well, now that you’re here, come in, but don’t touch anything. The developing chemicals are dangerous and will burn your skin,” Sal said and coughed out a thin brown fog.

The light in the room was red. His skin was purple. One eye was just a black hole. His left sleeve was tucked into his belt. The dim light did not hide that his arm was missing altogether.

“Andrea, please close the door,” he quietly asked me.

I touched Grace’s bare arm to pull her out the door. She was cold as a block of ice in the old wooden icebox. She did not move towards me, but she did move that is until she glided further into the darkroom like she was on ice skates.

“Sit down, back there.” He nodded towards the overstuffed down sofa in the back of the room ten feet behind his work station and next to a book cased harboringonly two dusty albums.

Sal continued lifting photos from their baths and hanging them with clothespins on a line above his head. “You can look through those albums.”

Grace and I each hefted an album and sat with them on our laps. The light in the room changed. The air became misty like the air at the ocean. The light darkened and my eyes lids grew heavy. I head someone say, “Go ahead, close your eyes.” A blue mist filled the room as I fell asleep like Dorothy and her friends in the poppy field.

I stirred to the sound of the hourly bells from Holy Family Church. They rang six o’clock and I futtered my eyes open. The blue mist had been replaced by the yellow light from the single bulb above the work station. I was alone in the darkroom. Where was Grace? I looked at my Mickey Mouse watch and held it to my ear. It was still ticking , but Mickey’s hands were set at 4:05. The time we entered the dark room.

New photographs were drying over the work station where Sal had been working. I took a closer look. I saw Sal looking healthy and strong in his dress uniform kneeling in the first row of a group of soldiers in front of Lorraine Cemetery in St. Avold. Grace sat on his knee. I bolted out the door, up the cellar steps, around the corner. I found Grace sitting on her front steps reading a book. She didn’t say anything, just gave me a sly smile letting  me know I shouldn’t ask.

“You know,” I ventured to speak, “Sal is dead and buried. Killed April 24, 1945.”

“I know.”

###


Well now. What do you think of this story? Please feel free to  use the contact  form here to tell me your thoughts on this story? For example: Would you like to read more about these characters? Did you like or not like them? Is the story confusing? Is the story fun?


Copyright ©2018 Sarina Rose

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without permission of the publisher, Rostek Publishing at sarinarose2010@outlook.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GFWC

gfwc melbourneTonight I would like to say something about what I am doing tomorrow. I suppose you are thinking that I am probably going to another writers’ conference. But no. Tomorrow is a day away from writing my new book. Tomorrow, I will be atending the GFWC State convention/Conference in Orlando, Fl.

GFWC is the Greater Federation of Women’s Clubs. It is a national organization of women’s clubs whose mission is to raise money for local charities.  Each club, and there are many, raise money by gift wrapping  during the Holiday season, or organizing hugh Bunco Parties, or Fashion Shows etc, etc, etc. Each club sponsors special events to raise cash to give away. To whom you may ask. GFWC donates funds to  Hacienda Ranch for Girls , (a safe place for girls who cannot live at home for one reason or another), Canine Companions (a group that trains and provides companion dogs to the disabled),  Veterans on the Water (a recreational group for veterans), and scholarsrship money to local high school students among other worthy causes.

GFWC  members also donate time to clean up trash along local streets, sew blankets for hospitalized children, little dresses for Africa and Hearts out to Haiti, Smile Bags and heart pillows for patients after surgery.

I am proud to say that I am a member of GFWC in Melbourne, Fl and encourage you to become a member and/or support your local club with donations or time.Thank you.

Romance & More

Loving Nick is a story of second chance love during the Vietnam War. Nick falls in love with Karen at first sight at college. She is different from the women he usually dates. She wears business suits, just a hint of make-up, and doesn’t smoke. Karen loved Nick’s raw edges and his wild spirit. They become partners in a secret messenger operation delivering information about the war to other government operatives. They married right after graduation against her parents’ wishes. She was eager to marry him, but on their honeymoon, she had second thoughts. She wondered aloud if they had made a mistake being so young. Nick is confident they had not. She secured employment with a magazine to begin a career. Nick volunteered for Vietnam without discussing it with Karen. Hurt feelings and difficult times follow.

Loving Nick will be available this coming summer. Does this cover and paragraph entice you? I would love to hear from you. Send me a comment.

Best Wishes from me to you!

Sarina Rose

http://www.sarinaroseauthor.com

http://www.facebook.com/sarinarose

My books on Amazon: http://amzn.to/2qG59D9

 

 

 

 

Chic Lit Cafe Review

The Relentless American by Sarina Rose

Alt="The Relentless American"The Relentless American by Sarina Rose

Synopsis:

The Relentless American is the story of Hannah, Daniel, and Sal. In some way or another, all three are victims of the Vietnam War. Will the wounds they suffer hinder a chance for Romance?

Chick Lit Cafe’s Review:

Insightful, Meaningful & Intriguing!

Love during the time of war.
The Vietnam age is creatively brought to life in this wonderful story written by Sarina Rose. With that era being full of anxiety, fear, wrongdoing and disaster, our author captures the essence of the life experience for many during that time.

The main character Hannah O’Brian, is a zealous anti-war advocate and protester. After college, she receives a marriage proposal from her friend Daniel MacIntyre, who is in the military reserve forces. When Hannah declines Daniel’s proposal, he walks away and enlists to serve in the army in a hospital in Japan. But instead, he finds himself in Vietnam amongst the heavy fire.

The main plot surrounds around the life of Hannah and the love that she has for the two men in her life, Daniel and Sal. As their lives become entwined, due to the war, readers will be turning the pages quickly and hungrily, seeking to find out what will happen next.
Hannah does have a slight air of entitlement and she is a bit spoiled. She can be somewhat unkind. But as she grows and matures, she becomes a well-loved character in the story. Readers will enjoy seeing her as she grows more mature and understanding. I loved the way Sarina Rose developed the character Hannah. She is a very realistic character. The reader will enjoy her, and the changes she goes through along the way, as the story progresses.

All of the main characters are very attractive and appealing in their personalities and actions.
Together, and individually, they each must face difficulties and make choices that are extremely hard to decide upon. The emotions in this novel run extremely high as we follow along with the lives of the characters and the sensational plot. Readers will find themselves experiencing, perhaps the familiar, feelings of loss, desire, love and hope.

Set in the early 70’s, during the Vietnam War, older readers will be moved by this story as they recall the events and memories of that time. For younger readers, not only will they get a very interesting history lesson, but they will be thrilled by the storyline and the satisfying ending.

This the first book that I have read by Sarina Rose, and it won’t be the last.
I found her writing to be very insightful and delightful. She has a unique experienced way of pulling the plot together and weaving the characters within.

Chick Lit Cafe highly recommends this wonderful period piece of realistic and outstanding fiction.

Purchase The Relentless American

Connect with Sarina Rose
The  Relentless Brit
The Relentless Italian
Sarina’s Website
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Sarina’s Blog

The Relentless American Giveaway + Excerpt

See this #AmazonGiveaway for a chance to win: The Relentless American (The Relentless Series Book 3) (Kindle Edition).

https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/1216a9dd16580515 NO PURCHASE NECESSARY.

Ends the earlier of Aug 18, 2018 11:59 PM PDT, or when all prizes are claimed. See Official Rules http://amzn.to/GArules. >

Excerpt:

“No more blood!” the crowd chanted. It was June 1970. The television news cameras focused on unnamed faces. I held my peace sign poster high as I led a long line of war protestors east on New York City’s Central Park South. I glanced at the New York City Police Department keeping the peace, keeping us away from the two senators about to arrive for dinner at the landmark Plaza Hotel. We were sure their agenda focused on Vietnam, and we wanted to influence them to stop the bombings. We wanted them to influence Congress, the president, and Henry Kissinger who was at the peace talks in Paris.

“Will we make a difference today?” I asked my friend, Daniel MacIntyre, who had appeared at my side, but I was looking at Officer Sal Mendoza. He caught my eye.      He was one good-looking cop.

“Do you know Officer Mendoza?” I asked Daniel.

“I spoke to him at the last protest. Be careful with your attention, Hannah. He’s married.”

“Right. Thanks for the heads-up.”

Vietnam’s civil war had splintered the United States. The war divided families, friends, and classmates on its own tiny peninsula in Southeast Asia as well as in North America. It affected the military men and women as well as their civilian families. It took a heavy toll. The Vietnam War was a mammoth, frightening ogre who roared and raged over the United States. It had engaged most Americans, be they in favor or opposed. The ogre didn’t threaten the U.S. mainland or any of its territories, while it continued to endanger U.S. lives.The president continued to send troops to battle the communists.

Things were going smoothly at the protest until someone bumped me and I fell to my knees. I looked up. Officer Mendoza glanced at me. When Daniel reached down to help me, a woman tripped over him and smashed a bottle of thick red liquid on the pavement. She shouted, “No more U.S. blood!” Other voices joined hers. Soon, the chant reverberated throughout the circular drive in front of The Plaza. “No more blood! No more blood!”

A scuffle broke out as the police arrested the woman. One man tried to pull her away from an officer. Another officer grabbed the man’s arm, and both slipped on the slimy pavement. I tried to help, but someone stopped me. I turned and looked into the black opal eyes of Officer Mendoza. He marched me to the police van parked on the other side of the barricade. Another officer brought Daniel.

“They think I planned this, Daniel. Say something,” I called to him.

“You want me to say something? How about you? Go on. Speak up for yourself.”

“You’re the guy who has connections at the precinct.”

“And you’re the girl who wants to be an independent woman.”

“Later,” Mendoza snapped as he looked at me and led me van.

Daniel sat next to me. His knee leaned against mine. His shoulder followed. I knew Daniel. I knew his political and personal views on everything from high school curricula to marriage and raising children.

Sarina Rose
The  Relentless Brit
The Relentless Italian

website: www.sarinaroseauthor.com
Facebook.com/sarinaroseauthor
Twitter:@sarinarose2010
Blog: http://www.sarinarose.com

email: sarinarose2010@outlook.com

Your comments are surely appreciated so much so that I will send you free newsletter every once in a while if you submit on this form. Thank you.

The Fourth of July

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The Fourth of July

Come with me and Celebrate

Celebrate Deliverance from Evil

Celebrate Forgiveness

Celebrate love for all, the cripple, the maimed and the insane

Celebrate love and romance

Celebrate war and hate, too, for how can we know who we are if not to see ourselves in others or to learn a lesson or to say

But for the Grace of God there go I

The Relentless Brit : http://amzn.to/1DUA8t6

 

Copyright © Sarina Rose 2015

MEMORIAL DAY – MY FAMILY TRADITION – In Honor of Salvatore Basile – World War II

sympathy flowers 2

My husband and I do not do much on Memorial Day.  For us it is a quiet day. No Bar-B-Ques, no neighborhood parties, no beer bashes. I may go to Mass in the mornings or just remain quietly in prayer at home.

I was lucky enough to be a member of a marching band in junior high school. On Memorial Day I would dress in my blue and white band uniform and go with my Father to the local American Legion Post ceremony early in the morning.

In front of the building was a memorial honoring the  men who had died in war. The U.S. flag flew at half-mast. A bugler and several rifle men stood at attention. Parents, siblings, uncles and aunts stood behind memorial wreaths that line the path from the sidewalk to the memorial circle. My father and I stood behind with the name of his nephew, Salvatore Basile, on the ribbon. Sal’s father stood behind another.

The pastors of both Catholic and Protestant Churches said prayers. The commander of the Post read off the names of the fallen and someone placed a wreath around the small monument , in the center. The bugler played TAPS and the rifle men shot their guns in salute.

My father and I walked the few blocks to home silently. I would march in the parade for the first time and he would drive Hose Company #3 Fire truck that afternoon. I was very proud of my father that day and how he introduced me to the remembering a cousin I had never met. He was killed in World War II on one of the beaches in France. He never came home to be my Godfather as planned.

After the parade we could have hot dogs at the fire house. the VFW or the American Legion.

Clik here for The Relentless Brit World War II Love Story

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