For those who prefer to listen to their books, Springhill is now available on Audible through Amazon.com. I used KDP’s virtual voice (AI) to create it. For the most part, it does a really good job. There are instances when the inflections are incorrect, and some training is required for unfamiliar words. For example, to pronounce Coushatta, I had to enter it as Kshatta. The total runtime is just over 3.5 hours, so it’s definitely not a long listen. A five-minute sample is available for those who have read the book and don’t wish to purchase it but want to hear the audio version.
Please be sure to leave a review on Amazon if you listen to or have already read it. Those definitely help!
I’m delighted to announce the release of my fourth book, Springhill.
From the back cover:
There’s a difference between being lost and being lost in Louisiana. Being lost means that, given enough time, you’ll sort it out. Being lost in Louisiana means you can’t find your butt to scratch it. Bill Montgomery is the latter. After arriving in Springhill, his only hope is to get out. In one blistering hot afternoon, he discovered that it wasn’t so bad, but first, he had to learn its secrets and the people that lived them.
Toles sweeps the reader away, lost in the story from page one, swimming with ease in the current. Sprinkled with humor and small-town charm, the author conveys deep affection for his characters…. a sublime reflection on Americana. When the final sentence arrives and our time in Springhill must come to an end, the reader should not be surprised to think, “Oh, hell… / want more.” – Faith Phillips
An enjoyable ode to small-town America and the wonderful people who call it home… a timely reminder lof the beauty – and importance – of sitting down and listening to people’s story… so grab an ice-cold Coke and jump in with this great cast of characters. – Chloe Fuksa/Putnam Six Bookstore
You can preorder the Kindle version here. The paperback will also be available on November 8th.
If you happen to be in Enid on Friday, November 8th, please stop by the book release party.
If you can’t make it Friday, there will also be a book signing at Putnam Six Bookstore on Saturday, November 9th. Friend and fellow author Paula Benge will also be there with copies of her new book.
Before the first day, you were known. On the last day, you will be judged.
There are swords made to slay the dragon. There are swords to pierce your heart.
An angel guards your path. A fallen one seeks your soul for his own.
There are seven days in a week. There are three hundred sixty-five days in a year. There are only so many days in your life. Live them wisely.
Honor everyone. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honor the emperor.
You’re going to die.
Have a little whiskey. Not too much. It can be good for the soul. It can bring you to hell.
Pause. Let the angels go before.
Pause. Say a prayer for you and for me.
This is not the time to speak your mind. This is not the time to allow others to rule your heart. This is not the place to falter or fade. This is the place to stand.
Question. Who is going to live your life for you?
I saw the sun rise. You were there. We shall live. For ever and ever . Amen.
I’m a firm believer in Israel’s right to defend. If what happened to them happened to us, we would have dusted off the nukes. I know that we will send billions to help rebuild when it is over. I know that this is not the only aid that will be sent. I know… I know… I know… but…
The tug boat is towing a barge of food to Gaza, which I also firmly believe we should be doing. However, I could only imagine those on the Virgin cruise looking down on it and thinking, “Aren’t we good people for helping out.”
I can’t help but think that this is how we support the world when we could do so much more. We live in The Hunger Games, and we are The Capitol.
This from the hypocrite who is going to Spain to take a walk.
The wind was sucking on Dan’s shirt tails as he dove into the tornado shelter. Quickly, he slammed the door shut and spun the wheel to lock it in place.
Climbing down the ladder, he fumbled for the light switch. Nothing. He had forgotten to charge the batteries.
“Won’t be but a few minutes,” he said to the pitch and settled in, his back against the wall.
He listened, but it wasn’t the sound of the storm that caught his attention. Instead, it was a slurping squelch as something else moved in the dark.
Cautiously, he felt around until his hand fell upon a short metal pipe. He waited. Moments later, something grabbed him, and Dan started beating away with the pipe. He quit when he felt the skull of the intruder give way under a heavy blow.
“Damn zombies,” he said and went back to listening to the storm.
You knew it was the cry of my breath and you knew you would ignore there were so many cries for life but none that gave you breath
I came from a distant place a place of horrors and peace where the demons shout with glee giving us flight, while we run in terror bleeding in our lost souls
Chase me in the absence remember me when the clouds break I’ll not be there in the lightning in the cacophony in the… hmm … I might be there.
Short life bleeds into years no sense in setting clocks all read the same all chime last call
A monkey churns a tune grinds on I pop when time is… ….. time is ….. time is ….. time is… when you have become the dancing monkey you dance it rains it plays the sounds of the carnival and if you dance the dance
ah!
”Have a nibble. It won’t last but it will bait you along.”
I watched the sun my eyes wide open blistered my vision opened my mind and if it mattered we’d all play the violin and pretend the world was flat
As it is I’ve forgotten my name (thankfully, the Son remembers) fifty-nine years and the plague of our dreams Sai, we know not why skips past and dreams of a better day.
Bring me my life. Bring me my breath. I will live yes I will live
YES
Black, white, and other shades of gray. These are the colors of our mind these are the color we see….. ….. I am blue.
To hoot, or not to hoot, that is the question: For to hoot is to speak in hopes of being heard, To not is silence amongst the trees, Meditating upon the moon and the leaves. If perchance I see a friend, a hoot would surely invite them in, Whereas a foe might seek me out Only to harass, harangue, and steal my house. So, I perch wide-eyed in my hollow oak, Prudence shepherding my unspoken note, Equivocating on whether to hoot or not.
A snap, a twig, a scurrying in the night, My dinner moves cautiously out of sight. Unaware of my presence and eyes so bright, Nor of my taste for furry gray mice. I swoop, I dive, I see my mark. I reach, I grab, I clasp thin air. I sit, I frown, no wages for work, I’ll go hungry this night, my soul in despair.
My first trip to the International Space Station would be my last. Not because I wasn’t qualified or because I was planning to retire. No. This would be my last mission because I had failed to securely fasten the tether that anchored me to the station, and for the past thirty minutes, I had been drifting away. The station, now no more than a dot in the distance, would soon pass beyond the horizon of Earth, and I would float in this blackness forever.
“Robert? Colonel, this is ground control; we are working to….”
Click.
I turned off my communications link. I had approximately thirty-two minutes before I was out of oxygen. No matter what they were working to do, it would not change my fate. I choose to enter the Greater Silence while listening in this lesser one. Perhaps I may hear the door between the two snicking open.
Enid Writer’s Club April Roll Call. Must be 150 words or less. The prompt: “Jumping from a plane.”
The engine coughed, then died. No option. Quickly shouldering on the parachute, I made ready.
God knows how I would miss this plane. She had been good to me through so many dog fights, even having survived the Red Barron, but not today. Nothing more than a faulty engine and a soon-to-be-fired mechanic.
Racing to the rear of the plane and sliding open the door, I gently kissed the fuselage. “I’ll never forget you,” I said and jumped.
When I landed, my disapproving wife was standing there.
“Harold! You’re an embarrassment,” she said, hands on hips.
“That may be,” I responded, whisking my white silk scarf over my shoulder, “but I’ve got three more quarters.”
The kids standing outside the Piggly Wiggly waiting their turn on the kiddie plane groaned as I inserted my coin and waited for those magical words.
“Barron Killer Nine, you are cleared for takeoff….”
Candle in a Cave 