Free literary fiction Kindle books for 11 May 15

Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Stories Book 1)

by Daisy Prescott

Amazon Top 100 Best Seller

#1 Women’s Humorous Fiction Best Seller

“… I think life is better when you have love. Not a friendly neighbor or old friends kind of love either, but a love that causes your heart to race and your toes to curl.”

Maggie Marrion is just getting back on her feet after a horrible year, or two, or three. With their twentieth reunion approaching, she invites four of her closest friends from college for a mini-reunion at her beach cabin on Whidbey Island. What she doesn’t expect is her best friends Selah and Quinn to play matchmaker. Will Maggie risk her heart and her quiet life for another chance at romance?

Gil Morrow, former grunge musician turned history professor, joins them as Selah’s date for the weekend. With the support of old friends, a few wishing rocks, the world’s largest burrowing clam, and a hot lumberjack thrown into the mix, Gil reminds Maggie she isn’t too old to fall in love.

Reality Bites becomes The Big Chill when a group of Gen-X friends spend a summer weekend together sharing laughter, tears, life’s ups and downs, old stories, second chances, and new beginnings in this humorous contemporary adult romance.

Geoducks Are for Lovers is the first novel in the Modern Love Stories series.



THE LAST BOOK YOU READ

by Ewan Morrison

Twelve explicit and deeply moving stories about love, lust, adultery and loss in the age of the internet from the Glenfiddich Scottish Writer of the Year 2012/13

‘The most compelling Scottish Literary debut since Trainspotting’ The Times.

‘A mini masterpiece’ Chris Dillon

‘A brilliant collection of searing short stories – deeply poignant’ Richard Holloway, BBC.

‘There is a complex and restless intelligence at work here, expressing compound thoughts in simple sentences that flow beautifully. It’s like someone you don’t know taking a disconcerting interest in you, putting their mouth so close to your ear you can feel their breath’ Jennie Renton. Sunday Herald.

‘Scottish purveyor of erudite filth â?¦ you’re gonna love Ewan Morrison’s debut collection, The Last Book You Read.’ Arena

“A confident and heartfelt selection of stories . . . convincingly writing all ages and both sexes in the first person, Morrison equals the everyman patter of Irvine Welsh and the personable logic of Iain Banks. Yet there is also a precise mixture of the uncompromising and the tender that’s all his own, and a full-length debut novel will be eagerly anticipated.”

David Pollock, The List (****)

‘A mesmerizing, no-holds-barred collection’ The Herald

‘Morrison’s debut short story collection, The Last Book You Read, has been the subject of fevered hype upon the international book fair circuit for some time, and earlier this month the taste-forming style magazine Arena singled it out as the essential literary purchase of the summer. In Scottish terms, it’s the most assured short story collection since AL Kennedy’s Night Geometry and The Garscadden Trains and the most compelling Scottish literary debut since Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting. In international terms, it signals the emergence of a precocious literary talent whose accomplishments suggest a sophisticated kinship with an impressionistic American literary tradition that stretches back through Douglas Coupland and Brett Easton Ellis to Richard Ford, Richard Yates, Raymond Carver and Joan Didion.’ Sunday Times. Greg Gordon

‘The Last Book You Read and Other Stories’ skilfully evinces the spiritual desolation and desperation, the intense sexual parabolae, of life in the echo chamber that is advanced capitalist society. Yet sewn subtly through the fourteen stories linked narratives are the glistening threads of hope, connectionâ?¦ maybe even of love.’ Suhayl Saadi, Author: Psychoraag

‘Morrison’s narrative voice has the perfect level of confidence and the rawness of the emotions really stings – this book’s got soul!’

David Mackenzie, director of Young Adam

‘Morrison is concerned with the indispensible necessity of personal relationships, the heroic effort it takes to initiate, trust and maintain them as well as the common everyday trials inherent in being generally human in our globalised twenty first-century worldâ?¦undeniably Morrison’s collection of short stories makes a contribution to contemporary world literature.’ : Bertold Shoene. Going Cosmopolitan: reconstituting Scottishness in post devolution criticism. From The Edinburgh Companion to Contemporary Scottish Literature.

An internet blind date; a fuck buddy; a man who is writing a book called The Adulterer’s Guide; a couple venturing out on their first foursome; a man waiting to see his children again after a divorce; a woman planning to seduce a friend’s husband. Frank, witty, disturbing and ultimately compassionate, The Last Book You Read marks the debut of a powerful new voice. These stories tell of people caught between places and lovers, between the USA and UK, between desire, addiction and regret. From this collection emerges a singular picture of modern-day relationships, their conflicts and passions. Male or female; gay or straight; young or old; married, single or divorced – the difficult loves of the contemporary urban world are charted with clarity and assurance.



Austism (Noah City Short Stories)

by Dwayne Fry

Austin Worth is an autistic man of thirty and he’s being driven to a “date” by his younger brother. Dallas is Austin’s main caregiver and Dallas has put his life on hold for Austin. Dallas does not date and has little social life. It’s not that Austin is terribly difficult to care for, it’s that he is vulnerable and lives in a town full of people that do not understand his disorder, people that fear him or want to take advantage.

Dallas’s life is about to change today, but in ways he does not suspect.



Solar Tides

by David Stetler

“Well, look who’s comin’ our way. Good God, what a woman!”

“Mmmmm,” I said, not disagreeing.

“How lucky can a guy get! Check out that healthy stride. Since you can’t see ’em too well from here, Wally, you’ll just have to imagine those great legs of hers. Too bad she’s not wearing shorts.”

“Mmmmm,” I repeated.

It was Ben’s wife, Kathryn, who was walking toward us. She had driven over my struggling, recently-planted zoysia grass simply because she knew she could get away with it.

“When she gets up close, I want you to scoot behind her and take a good look at those wonderful calves of hers.”

“Okay Ben, I’ll admit it. Southwest University girls do have great legs.”

“Kathryn had to climb four or five hills every time she went to class. Can’t say that about your lazy U.T. coeds, Wally. Crisscrossing a campus that’s nothing but flat ground doesn’t do much for a girl’s looks.”

I said, “Some folks say Southwest girls have great calves because they’ve gotta start running from their brothers when they turn twelve. Others say it’s because they’d been hitched to a plow for so many years.”

“Hey, that reminds meâ??what’s the difference between an Aggie cheerleader and a bowling ball?”

“Forget it, Ben. We’re both plagued with the same old jokes.”

“If only we had a view from the other sideâ??what a gorgeous butt you’d see!”

“She always looks wonderful to me,” I admitted.

“Screws wonderfully too,” said Ben.

“She sho’ do….”

Ben did a slow motion, show biz double-take, and in his best Amos ‘n Andy voice, he protested: “Now whoa dere, Andyâ??”

I finished the old minstrel show joke: “I mean, do she?”

Ben and I could recite the punch lines to at least a hundred high school jokes we’d shared, andâ??unfortunately for usâ??could still remember in their entirety
.
Ben turned to face me directly and said, in a lowered voice, “For the life of me, Wally, I cannot understand why I ever cheated on this wonderful woman.”

But with his next breath, he said, “And those breasts! You can tell right away that they’re the real thing.”



Victims of Winter

by David Stetler

Through darkened villages–Champagne, Grand Pointe, Pont Breaux, Carencro–I raced alongside drowsy truckers heading for home and a welcoming bed. For fifteen miles through unmapped Atchafalaya shortcuts, nocturnal bugs swarmed in the inverted cones of my spattered headlights, beamed low so that I could follow the gravel roads rushing up at me.

At home I parked under our chinaberry tree to vex my mother, who soon after she rises will find my car and then my empty bed upstairs. Across the Cecelia highway I waded through wet fields of zabasson and biting brier, as ardently maddened now as when with my father’s shotgun held at the ready I saw my exasperated hunter’s face–sweat streaked, seed specked, wild hair drooped into devil’s peaks–in Picou’s unlit windows.

Sis and Blackie circled me in A.J.’s yard, leaping and yelping, nipping my ankles as their tails wagged. I stole through my brother’s unlocked doors and ferreted my head under warm covers, where I was met with reluctant thighs, Espère, espère, je dois me laver. Celise gave me a stale greeting kiss but returned tasting of cloves, with scented hair everywhere, cleansed and renewed this early-spring morning.

Before daylight the clock radio awakened us. Fifty-one chilly degrees, folks, and Hank Williams was singing about crawfish pie and filé gumbo.

Carefully I reached over Celise’s shoulders and turned the volume down. But soon the volume rose–Ernest Tubb walkin’ the floor and Celise swishing her butt to show that she was indeed awake.

“Up,” she said, without turning her head, but I did not want to be relegated to a cold couch. She tried to yank the pillow from under my head. She tugged at my cover.

Impossible–I could not move. Celise tugged again at the blanket that covered us both, but I tucked my corner of it under my head and locked it there.

“Up, paresseux,” she said, echoing my grandmother.

Never. I would not leave this warm lair, not ever. Poor ol’ Kawliga, never goin’ nowhere. President Eisenhower is down in the Philippines with President Magsaysay. And Michel A. Castille–president of nothing, member of nothing, espouser of no particular philosophy–was exactly where he wanted to be in the universe, way down in southwest Louisiana, in bed, snuggled against Celise’s cotton-clad rump. I reached over and felt–no panties.

My pillow hit the floor and suddenly I was uncovered, naked and cold.

With one of Vieux-Mom’s quilts I lay on the couch in the living room. Perhaps I dozed off but I heard kitchen noises, and I could smell coffee brewing, bacon frying, and biscuits baking.

Suddenly it was dawn and truck tires were crunching gravel in the driveway. The amber running lights of A.J.’s truck flashed by my window.

I lay my head back onto my pillow and listened. A metallic slamming of truck doors, A.J. whispering “Shhh…” to our daughters, and then his footsteps approaching my window. I closed my eyes and waited, then peeked. Outside, A.J. stood at the screen above me, carrying Jeanie and Susie. In a stage whisper he said to them, “Listen to this,” and then in a basso profundo worthy of Papa Bear himself, he exclaimed, “SOMEBODY’S BEEN SLEEPING IN MY BED!” And in his arms Jeanie and Susie laughed and wiggled with delight.

Inside the house, there was a clattering of bare feet across the cold linoleum floor, and up onto the couch and all over their sleepy ol’ Uncle Mike they climbed, smothering me with milky kisses, milky breath. Musty and sweet-smelling little girls, urine and talcum powder, soft in their white cotton nightgowns.



One Unknown

by One Unknown

This free book will change your life. The powerful story of one man’s search for happiness, truth, and spiritual fulfillment, it is also the story of all humanity. Written in a new literary style the author calls Within/Without in which every sentence of the novel is a different quote or reference to another work ranging from ancient philosophy, The Bible, poems, music, to the words of ordinary people. Thus, one man’s story becomes the story of all humanity. Further, each quote gives hidden meaning to the story and may radically change the very meaning of the story itself when the reference is understood in context. The entire work can be read as the story of a man who finds the key to life and happiness or the story of a man deceived into thinking he has found the truth and happiness.



Aventuras in Spain: The Prequel to Aventuras in Spain – a memoir of the 70’s and 80’s in Spain

by by Sandra Staas

Collection of short stories and poems about Spain in the 70’s and 80’s. Prequel to soon to be published memoir, Aventuras in Spain.



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