Each year on August 25t, people across the United States observe National Whiskey Sour Day.
Traditionally garnished with half an orange and a maraschino cherry, a whiskey sour is a mixed drink containing whiskey (often bourbon), lemon juice and sugar. Whiskey sours are shaken then either served straight or over ice.
An alternative to the traditional whiskey sour is the Boston sour which is made by adding a dash of egg white to the recipe. Another variation is the Ward 8. This beverage has a base of either Bourbon or rye whiskey with both lemon and orange juices and grenadine syrup added for sweetness.
The first mention of a whiskey sour was in an 1870 Wisconsin newspaper.
After opening, a bottle of whiskey will remain good for five years.
An unopened bottle of whiskey can be kept for over 100 years and will still be fit to drink.
Both “Whisky” and “Whiskey” spellings are correct. Whisky is specific to Scotch Whisky, and Whiskey is Irish.
Whiskey is the official state beverage of Alabama.
Legend has it that Jack Daniels ran away at the age of 6 and learned to make whiskey from a Lutheran minister.
For more information and how to observe the day, click here.
Our author C. A. Keith is a whiskey connoisseur, and one day wrote a short story all about it. This appeared in our anthology. Mayfly. This is free to download from all retailers, except Amazon. Click on the book cover for the link.
It seems a long time with nothing much happening that we, the Electric Eclectic authors and friends, brought you an anthology full of stories about VE day. We planned a big launch to coincide with all the celebrations that were going to happen as it had been 75 years of Victory in Europe.
Sadly, along with everything else in 2020, the pandemic hit, and everything was cancelled. The book was released without ceremony and sold a handful of copies. However, one year has now past and we want to bring it to our readers attention again.
The book contains six poignant stories and is 109 pages long. Predominately Electric Eclectic authors, we invited two special friends to join us. Julia Blake and Jane Risdon are wonderful story tellers, and I urge you to check them out on Amazon.
“They called his regiment back to rest but, before they could, they received word a Canadian division were blocked in, and under attack from a German tank regiment. They went to help and leap frogged each other as they dodged bullets. With guns blazing, they blasted a hole in the ring of Panzer tanks. The Germans soon fled. As a result, the Canadian government awarded them the Maple Leaf battle honour, which they wore on their uniforms with pride. “
‘The sun was beating down on my face, the heat reflecting up from the light sand of the beach. The bombing raids on England had been devastating at times with the coastline and the major cities of London, Birmingham and Coventry also facing a daily and nightly barrage. I wondered if we would win this fight, as I twisted the spanner and tightened the bolts that had shaken loose on the fuselage. The pilot was lounging in the shade, what little there was on the beach. The conditions were vastly different with the main part of our work taking place early in the morning or later in the evening. This was the furthest I had ever been from home and I often thought about my life back there. Ena, the girl I had met back in the early days when I’d first signed up. We had been married and I knew that when or if I returned my legacy was assured. My wife had been pregnant when I’d flown away to what had seemed to me to be the other end of the world.‘
We’ll Meet Again by Jane Risdon
‘Stanley Potter’s Band played Vera Lynn’s, ‘We’ll Meet Again,’ as Mavis and her best friend Agnes sipped their tea from canteen style white china cups, their eyes watching the latest arrivals from the camp. Both girls were wearing their Sunday best and wore their hair in the latest style which they’d created for each other on Friday night whilst they listened to the BBC Forces programme.
‘Mavis, did you see the tall bloke who looks like Michael Rennie, the one near the exit?’ Agnes nudged Mavis in the ribs and nodded towards the double exit doors.
‘What? Oh yes, he does look like him. Uncanny,’ her friend replied, but it soon became apparent that Mavis was staring at another bloke who’d just come in on his own.
The soldier was tall, dressed as the others were, in uniform, but for some reason he carried himself differently and stood out from the others. Agnes was impressed but she wasn’t attracted to him like she was the Rennie look alike. Mavis noticed he didn’t appear to be with anyone else, male, or female, which pleased her for some reason.
‘Yours is a bit of all right Mavis but mine’s a cracker. See you later.’ And Agnes walked over to the man of her dreams and brazenly asked him for a dance.’
Rosemary for Remberance by Julia Blake
And it was fun. To begin with. The streets were heaving with people, so many people, all determined to celebrate this most wonderful occasion. The war was over. All those long bitter years they’d suffered through had finally ended. Barely twelve years old when it all began, Rosemary could hardly remember what it had been like before. When her parents reminisced about having plenty of food and being able to walk the streets at night with no fear of bombs dropping, she’d felt it was another world they were describing. A magical land of safety and plenty.
Andrew and his friends had acquired beer from somewhere and were openly swigging it on the streets, and nobody cared. Looking around, Rosemary saw food and drink being shared amongst friends and strangers alike. One young airman offered her a swig of his beer and she took it, not liking the sour gassy taste, but desperately wanting to be part of it all. It settled in her empty stomach, spreading a warm glow throughout her body, and she laughed with the others.
All shapes and sizes of vessels left the English ports. Any seaworthy boat went to rescue those from the French shores and the horror of the massacre on Dunkirk. The boats approached the French shoreline, horror on the faces of the captains and seamen, as they watched the slaughter continue. The boats powered ahead to rescue as many men as they could, praying for the souls of those they couldn’t. Close enough now, men were running towards them, guns were firing at them, some toppling dead in the water having been shot before they could get to the boats. Big black bursts of smoke overhead, where Spitfires and Messerschmitt’s fought aggressively in a massive dogfight. The Spitfires in protection mode, the Messerschmitt’s doing what damage they could. British, American and Canadian men fell in their thousands.
‘The wall was too far from the air raid shelter and much too far from home; where dear Daddy dug the garden and installed an Anderson Shelter with steps down and a canopy over. He made a sound wooden floor and a raised platform where he placed a mattress to make sure it did not get damp. We had a radio on the shelf. Electric light, camping stove, windproof matchsticks, kettle and tin mugs, along with all things for making tea and cocoa. It was very cosy. Even the cat would go down there. I knew my mother would be scurrying to the shelter now, pulling my brother, Peter, along with her. She would worry about my own whereabouts. Most nights we slept in the shelter, although my diary records on 6th November 1940 I slept in my own bed. I still have no idea why.‘
‘This is a wonderful, yet very moving collection of short stories. I have to admit I had more than a couple of tears in my eyes whilst reading them.‘
‘The stories will make you laugh and cry and they’ll be with you for a long time to come. Congrats to all concerned and to Paul White for putting it all together.‘
‘I’m sure it’s going to be one of those ‘can’t put it down’ reads. We owe it to those who gave their lives & those who lived with the memories.‘
‘Really good short stories, all made you think and made you realise just how lucky we all are not to have had to live through a world war. A lot of the stories made me cry and some made me smile. A really good mix.‘
Look out for articles over the next few days from Karen J Mossman, Audrina Lane, and Jane Risdon who talk about their stories.
I’ve never believed in ghost or of psychic ability but as I’ve got older I’ve opened my mind a little. I now believe that for other people, it’s different. I believe, they believe, and perhaps something has happened to them to make it that way.
As a writer, it’s a pot of gold. I love anything like that, but only if I can control it. I can’t control films or other people’s stories because my imagination is far too active after the event. Whereas if I write it, it is active before. Does that make sense?
So, what am I leading up to? Halloween. It’s lasts one day and I have a free book that you can read in one sitting. Then, if you like the character, you may wish to read more about her.
Cassidy Newbold is a clairvoyant and also an Official PrisonVisitor. This enables her to help her brother, a detective to crack his cases.
Shaking the hand of prisoner Ronnie Gunner, suspected of abducting two girls, Cassie sees everything. This horrific case would shake her to the core. With the lives of two young girls at stake, she must force herself to enter the farmhouse where Gunner kept them captive.
The huge raindrops were constant, drumming a never-ending tattoo onto the roof of the car and crashing into the windscreen like a million kamikaze diamonds which splintered into slivers of distorted white light as they hit the glass.
The intensity of the rain limited my visibility, even with the wipers on full speed I found myself squinting into the darkness of the night trying to decipher what was road, what was verge, and what was simply reflection.
One hundred and ninety miles, black night, black rain, unlit country roads.
I must be insane.
As my eyes grew tired and my brain became weary, every shadow became menacing, each refraction of light an ominous threat. I drove with a sense of foreboding, a sense all would not end well.
That realisation was enough. I must to stop soon.
Besides, I needed fuel.
“Carl, Carl” she screamed down the phone. “You have to help me. You have to come now”.
So, I reacted.
I simply jumped into the car and started to drive. I never considered the weather, never checked the fuel gauge, I just drove.
Seven times so far I have called her back. No answer. Her phone just rings. I am concerned, worried.
I should not be.
I should not be going to her.
I should not be risking my life. Not for her. Not now. Not after what she has done.
Not after the way she treated me.
But here I am, in the centre of a storm, in the middle of nowhere.
The sign pointed left, ‘Pemberton – population 756’. Underneath a second sign ‘Fifteen miles’.
I headed left, following the sign, it was not much more then a dirt track but I was going to stop at Pemberton. I was going to get fuel and a big mugful of strong, black coffee.
I would need a boost of caffeine before I saw her, before I faced whatever crisis she was having.
I drove slowly along the track, trying to avoid the potholes which were brimming with rainwater. I was having to battling the rough uneven surface of the track.
I was also battling with myself.
The Devil in me said forget her, to go home. She was a liar. She was nothing but trouble.
I had to agree.
She was all of those things, yet I still thought of her more days than I did not.
One more chance, I told myself. I would give her one more chance.
Maybe I was doing this more for myself than for her?
Maybe this had nothing to do with her at all?
Maybe I must to prove her wrong… or right.
Maybe I needed to do this to give me closure, to finally draw a line under our relationship, to free myself, so I could move on.
The dirt track levelled out and changed to a paved surface. I relaxed slightly. The rain easing, leaving a misty haze hanging in the air which surrounded everything with a wispy, ghostly quality.
My phone rang. It was her.
I pulled the car over and answered. “I’m on my way, the weather is terrible. How are you doing?”
She giggled. I could hear voices in the background. “I’m fine, I just needed… you know… some stuff… I’m fine now. I’ve friends here. You don’t need to come now. I don’t want you to come anymore. I don’t want you here at all.”
The laughter from several voices echoed down the phone.
So that was it. She was talking shit again, pumping god-only-knows-what into her veins. I should have known.
But in that situation, when someone calls out, when someone you care for, cared for, sounds so desperate, you do not think.
She said she was clean, said she was not using anymore.
I believed her… until now.
“I’m halfway to you,” I said. I had no idea how far I had come, or how far away she was from here, from Pemberton, the facts were irrelevant just now.
“Then you are halfway home too,” she answered. I heard the other voices laughing at her remark.
“Yes, I am,” I replied through gritted teeth.
“Bye then,” she said with a flippant snigger in her voice. The phone went dead.
She had gone.
I had my answer.
I had closure.
I now felt I was free to move on.
Sometimes, most times, life is a bitch.
But sometimes life gifts you in unexpected ways.
Today life gifted me a future.
You see, as I started to drive away, I saw a silhouette of a woman leaning against her car, which was stopped a little further along the road.
Not a place to be alone at this time of night, especially in such inclement weather.
I walked towards her, calling ahead as not to startle her. “Are you lost? Can I help?”
I have no idea why I said that because it was I who was lost… and in more ways than one. I also had no notion whatsoever of where I was, or in which direction I should go from here.
“No,” she answered, “I’m not lost, just out of fuel.”
I drove her into the town, explaining I too was looking for fuel and a strong cup of coffee. She found that amusing.
Pemberton, it seems, has only one garage, which also doubles up as the town’s only diner, neither of which would be open until Monday. So, I had the rest of tonight and all of tomorrow to wait for both coffee and fuel.
She was telling me I would be stuck right here, in Pemberton, for the rest of the weekend.
As it turned out, that was just fine because her home was comfortable, her coffee rich and strong, her bed soft and her body warm and tender.
Sometimes, most times, life is a bitch.
But sometimes life gifts us unexpectedly.
I hope you enjoyed this small snippet of my work.
Although this story does not appear in my book, ‘Within the Invisible Pentacle’, it is representative, in style, of the twenty-nine short, and not so short, stories which do.
Sometimes the most embarrassing things can be humorous and I wrote something a little risqué by my standards. I also wanted it to be a little cringe worthy because we’ve all been in situations that have made our toes curl.
You know that saying, never tell a writer your deepest secrets? No? Well, perhaps I made that up but it’s true. They may write it in their book!
I’m guilty of that. Someone, who will remain nameless, once told me how she lost her virginity, and many wonderful things are written in books about ‘the first time,’ the reality is it is often embarrassing and messy. You always hope you’ll never see that person again, right?
If we collected stories of first times, it would end up being really funny simply because people keep that to themselves. They don’t want to share their inexperience or be made to feel foolish. I know I wouldn’t. The truth is we have all been there and hearing someone else’s stories makes ours less shocking. The more we hear, the more amused we get, do you follow?
I wouldn’t dare ask you about your first time and neither would I tell you mine, so instead I put a tale in The Magic of Stories, one I made up, with a little bit of truth in it!
Meanwhile, I will leave you to read this amusing post entitled:
I don’t really know whether I believe in ghosts. I’ve never had an encounter, nor do I want one. I’m open-minded and believe that others have seen them and they believe.
The one thing I do know is that I love to write about them.
With this book, I had such great fun because I love my main character. Cassie, who is a clairvoyant. She is fun and sassy at times. Before I knew it I had mixed up two elements that generally don’t go together, or do they?
Scary ghosts and humour, because this isn’t a comedic book, it’s deadly serious. I believe in writing about life as it is and so many people find humour in the things that frighten them most, Cassie is no exception.
The first photograph shows the book cover, which I absolutely love. I designed one myself but was never happy with it. Then, Paul White, from The Electric Eclectic Booksmade this one for me and it says just what I needed it too, plus it is very clever having the book on the stairs, who’d have thought of that!
The second photo is the creature that haunts the house. It started out as a man but soon turned into something demonic. Here is a small excerpt.
I’d brought Damien into this and he was good enough to stand by me, the least I could do was to protect him. He was a non-believer; he shouldn’t be seeing this.
The picture underneath the ghoul is Cassie as she stares in wonderment around her. She sees more than she ever tells and has learnt to leave the undead to make their appearances on their own.
Finally, the biker is Damien, one of two sporting brothers who are also models. Winning cups and the hearts of girls is what they do. Daniel is married to discover the house he bought with his wife his haunted and she refuse to go inside.
Damien comes to Cassie to ask for help. She soon falls in love with him but is aware of his disbelief in all she does and fears their relationship may not last because of it.
Damien’s love for Cassie is severely tested, and it may be too much for him to stay with her.
I’m sure you do, and we all take it for granted everyone else does too. But this isn’t the case. Not long ago, I gave a talk to a group of ladies and asked them the same question, already knowing what their answer would be. Imagine my surprise when most said they didn’t. I spend my life in two different worlds, the online one, and the actual world.
In the latter, people are impressed you are a writer. They will happily buy a paperback and are interested in what you as an author have to say. In the online world, readers are very different, they download books and not interested in paperbacks. Neither are they impressed by you being a writer because almost everyone is. You are not unique; you are just one of many.
For those reasons, I believe we should treat the two worlds differently.
We need to address the question about Indie authors and once I explained to the group what an Indie author was, the next question became, “How do we find them?”
If you think about it, there is no central point; nothing on Amazon that says this book is published by an independent author, so what would you do?
Well, send them to Amazon and put Electric Eclectic Books in the search bar. It also works on Google and on Goodreads, too.
Launched in November 2017 by author Paul White, the brand has grown and grown. It originally started out as offering novelettes to find your new favourite author but now offers full novels too.
There are a lot of choices with Electric Eclectic and a lot of talented Indie authors just waiting to be discovered!
Paul White also wrote an interesting blog article about Indie and Readers. Head over and give it a read.
Publisher: Asteri Press imprint of Bolide publishing
Cover designer: Sharon Lipman from Fantasia Cover Designs
Editors: Michelle Dunbar, Anna Proofing, and Black Cat Edits
Nobody expects to stare death in the face, only to find out their entire life is a lie.
When marketing executive Becky is saved from near-death by Salco, she is taken to Tsinia, a magical world filled with peaceful people who are trying to forget their land is on the brink of destruction.
Becky discovers that her arrival is no accident and that she is Thya, the heir to the enchanting land. As if that isn’t enough, she learns that an Oracle prophesied that she will save the gentle Tsinians from slavery and domination by Darthorn, the Warlord of Senx.
The Tsinian council and her kinsmen are certain that a union between Darthorn’s son, Kovon, and Thya will create peace between the two lands. However, Darthorn has plans for Tsinia, as does Kovon for Thya.
Her future has been written, and, if she is to save Tsinia, she must marry Kovon, but Thya gives her heart to another – a love that is both forbidden and dangerous.
Illusional Reality is a story about hope, courage, love, and sacrifice.
The cool air refreshed her, and she was soon wide awake. Alkazar brought a seat out from the room and asked her to sit.
“As I was trying to convey to you, the gift you possess is named Flite. You have the ability to move objects with your mind. All Ganties possess this gift, and tis my pleasured duty to tutor you in the employment of your talents. To move an object, you are required to reach the Owto, a place between conscious and unconscious.”
“Sort of like a trance?”
“Similar to a hypnotic state,” he answered. “You ought to be aware of things around you and pay attention to conversations, yet you need to be able to detach yourself from reality so you can concentrate on what you desire. It is rather like splitting your mind in two.”
Alkazar laughed. “It can be. It depends on how receptive you are. Let us attempt?”
“Sure, what have I got to lose?”
“Start by relaxing your body. Close your mind and relax in the chair; feel your body loosen. When you think you cannot go further, push your body deeper.” He saw Thya push herself back into the chair. “Employ only your thoughts. Do not employ your physical being.” Thya relaxed once again. “Better. Melt into the chair. Become one with the wood. Breathe deeply. Inhale through your nose, and exhale through your mouth. That’s it. Keep breathing deeper. Good. You ought to feel as though you are drifting.” Thya nodded slightly. “I require you to imagine space as you understand it to be: be darkness all around you, apart from the stars and planets surrounding your view. You are alone, moving through space, drifting. Detach your mind and focus on the darkness – on the silence. Concentrate, Thya.” He paused for a moment. “The stars and planets are fading, and there is naught but utter darkness. Still, you move through the blackness.”
Thya was coming to the crucial part. Alkazar moved closer. He lifted one of her eyelids and saw her pupil was stationary and her breathing steady. Both were good signs. Just for a moment, he felt the urge to lean in and kiss her but pushed the thought aside. He scolded himself. He was supposed to be teaching her how to concentrate yet struggled with his own.
“Continue moving through the darkness,” he continued. “Soon, you will come to a suspended door. Tis grey in colour. When you arrive, grasp the handle until I instruct you to –”
“I sight the door,” Thya called out.
“Continue to grasp the handle. When I command you to unlock it, I want you to open your eyes. Are you prepared?”
“I am,” she answered.
Thya opened her eyes, blinked twice, and then smiled at him. “So, how did I do?”
Alkazar wasn’t surprised she did not reach the Owto; they rarely did on their first arrival at the door. However, he was surprised by how far she had gone.
“Very good. Only you have to concentrate harder. Relate to me, what colour was the door?”
“Umm… a light grey with black marks.”
“You have done well. We will discontinue for the moment. You ought to rest, as you will be tired. I will request that Pertius does not announce himself.”
“Thanks, Alkazar. I do not think I can take any of his talk of doom and gloom.”
Alkazar laughed. “Pertius has much to instruct you about your legacy, the past, and of your future. It does not have to be as doomed as you remark. I am confident that once you have conversed you will find a sudden interest to learn all.”
“If you state so,” she replied casually.
“Rest if you can. However, I declare that after our session your mind will be wandering.” He turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Understand this, Thya. If you ever require me as a friend or as a tutor, you have only to summon and I will attend you. This I vow. For the present, farewell.” He bowed then left.
Download Illusional Reality now for just $0.99/£0.99 and send proof of purchase to firstname.lastname@example.org. You will be entered in the draw for this stunning necklace – identical to the one Thya is given, an heir loom carried through the generations of Ganties, and now it could be yours.
Pre-orders are included in this contest. The prize draw is open internationally. No other prize will be given out.
The winner will be announced in Karina’s newsletter. http://eepurl.com/daKief This contest is run and organised by the author Karina Kantas.
“With most books, you have to back up a page or two. That is something I NEVER had to do with this one! It is well written and captures the imagination, guiding you into the new land and language with such easy grace that you hardly are aware of it.”
“This is a unique story filled with intrigue, deception and danger. As you read along so much unfolds.”
“The detailed descriptions let me see the magical land of Tsinia, with it’s tree-top dwellings and it’s friendly and peaceful inhabitants. Senx, the home of her ‘intended’, Kovon and his father, Darthorn, is a much darker and gloomier place.”
“Karina sets up some great and compelling characters. Thya, Alkazar, Omad, Kazer, Kovon, Siren are all intriguing for their own reasons. We love them, we hate them. I’ll let you make your own opinions. This truly is a fantastical world with magical gifts, a reluctant princess, an angry warlord and oracles, and contains lots of espionage, treachery, suspense with a bit of romance thrown in.”
“What a delightfully touching love story! Our author entwined our world with a fantasy one with action, magic and of course, love.”
Karina Kantas was born in the Midlands, UK, and has lived on the island of Corfu for twenty-seven years.
Karina Kantas is an award-winning, prolific author of thirteen titles, including the Outlaw books—the gritty MC thriller series—and the exciting YA fantasy duology, Illusional Reality.
She also writes short stories, and, when her imagination is working overtime, thought-provoking, dark flash fiction.
There are many layers to Karina’s writing style and voice, as you will see in her flash fiction collection, Heads & Tales. In Undressed, she opens up to her fans, giving them another glimpse into her warped mind.
Karina writes in the genres of fantasy, MC romance, young adult. sci-fi, horror, thrillers and comedy, romance, paranormal romance, dystopian, and erotica.
When she’s not working on her new books, she helps her clients by offering affordable Author Services five days week.
Titles To Date
The OUTLAW series – MC thrillers In Times of Violence Huntress Lawless Justice Road Rage
Collections Heads & Tales – mixed genres UNDRESSED – poetry, prose, short fiction mixed genres A Flash of Horror
In Times of Violence Young Adult Edition – MC romance Stone Cold – YA supernatural thriller Toxic – dystopian erotica
Illusional Reality duology Illusional Reality – YA romantic fantasy The Quest/fantasy – YA paranormal romance
WIP Broken Chains (Mafia Romance) currently on Wattpad