My Writing Corner : The Power of Healing

It is always fun to feature an author who has appeared on my blog in the past because that means there is a new book available to enjoy! My guest today in My Writing Corner is Alana Lorens, who has appeared in the past and now has a new book out. Alana has been a published writer for more than forty years, while working as a pizza maker, a floral designer, a journalist and a family law attorney. Currently a resident of Asheville, North Carolina, Alana, who calls herself an "aging hippie" says she loves her time in the smoky blue mountains.

She writes romance and suspense as Alana Lorens, and sci-fi, fantasy and paranormal mystery as Lyndi Alexander. One of her novellas, That Girl's The One I Love, is set in the city of Asheville during the old Bele Chere festival. She is the author of the Pittsburgh Lady Lawyers series, which draws on her 25 years as a family law attorney in the state of Pennsylvania. One of the causes close to her heart came from those years as well–the fight against domestic violence.

She volunteered for many years at women’s shelters and provided free legal services to women and children in need. She lives with her daughter on the autism spectrum, who is the youngest of her seven children, and she is ruled by three crotchety old cats, and six kittens of various ages.

Today we are featuring her new book, Remnants of Fire and interviewing the book's heroine, Sara Woods. Let's start with a blurb:

Looking for a fresh start, Sara Woods takes a job as a news reporter in a small town. Her first assignment for the Ralston Courier is to investigate a string of deaths, all young women, all her age. To deal with chronic back pain, she goes to the Goldstone Clinic, a local healing center with a strange reputation. As local doctor Rick Paulsen teaches Sara how to access hidden energy skills and reveal secrets from her past, police officer Brendon watches Sara’s every move. The deeper she digs into the Goldstone, the harder it is to deny links to the paranormal. Can she figure out what is going on and who to trust before it’s too late?

Let's talk directly to Sara and find out more about this story:

What happened to make you want a fresh start and what do you hope for in your new life.

Divorce. You know, it sucks. I didn’t really want it, but Jesse had an affair, and I was never convinced he’d be mine again. He always accused me of being out on the prowl for someone new, but it wasn’t true. A reporter’s life is really stressful and busy and wonderful and exciting, especially in a city like Pittsburgh. I mean, the center of everything! I guess I was so hurt that I just let him file the papers and I ran.

But now that I’m here, it’s not so bad. It was the first job that said yes to my application. I probably should have held out for something in Chicago or Miami, but …you know. Maybe I’ll learn something new about small towns.

Tell us about your assignment to investigate the deaths of several young women.

Well, the first one happened because the regular crime reporter, O’Neal, was out of town. I got sent out at the crack of dawn to cover a found body. She was a girl about my age, in the snow without even shoes. Could have been drugs, I suppose. But then my editor, Gloria, asked me to look onto it a little further. She pointed out a string of deaths, all young women in their prime, and at least some of them were patients at this healing clinic in town. So I looked up the stories in the newspaper morgue, and got sent to interview Dr. Rick Paulsen, who was the treating physician for this last girl. She didn’t tell me he’d be tall, blond and handsome. Wow. Talk about fringe benefits.

What is your initial opinion of the Goldstone Clinic?

It’s super-fancy. Like, you’d expect to find this place in a big city catering to rich people, Rockefellers and Carnegies. The living pages editor insisted we go there. Said it really helped her, and she’s pretty old, so that seemed right. The office had real plants, maintained by a service from the look of them, as well as tall silk flower arrangements in red and black, and deep pile salt-and-pepper carpet. Much more Manhattan than mid-America. Weird. And the paintings? Abstract oil paintings line the walls, bearing angry, thick strokes of paint, jagged thrusts in vertical lines of red, gray and black. Spooky as hell. But they were strangely compelling. I had to tear my eyes away.

What are your concerns about it or the people you have met there?

Believe me, after a back injury in a car crash, you get exposed to all kinds of medical techniques, surgery, physical therapy, hot treatments, cold treatments, exercise, massage, you name it. But the first time I was treated there, I went home feeling like I’d given blood, even though no needles were involved. My friend, Dedra, did, too. That was odd.

My editor, Gloria, says that treatments at the Goldstone have killed women for several years. That’s a bit outlandish. Just because they go beyond run of the mill modalities, it doesn’t mean murder, right? That’s a little crazy.

Tell us about your relationship with Brendon?

Relationship? Ha. The man’s a stalker. I mean, every time I turn around, I see him spying on me. Even after my date with Dr. Rick, there’s Brendon flagging me down with his police lights, giving me crap, asking questions. I just know he’s working for the clinic, somehow, staking me out, reporting back to them. Just like half the people in this town—it’s hard to know who might be aligned with the clinic people! I feel much safer with Dr. Rick. At least I know he’s willing to speak out against them when his patients are dying.

Want more? Let's get an excerpt:

The waiter brought the souvlaki and more bread. After he left, I leaned forward and put my

elbows on the table. “So what’s going on here? Why did you call me?”

Rick’s blue eyes dissected me. “Because there’s something unusual about you.”

Oh, please. That was as bad as ‘What’s your sign, baby?’ “Do I seem naive enough to fall for

that line?”

“Not really.” He speared a chunk of lamb and dipped it in the creamy cucumber sauce. “That

doesn’t make it any less true. And I think you really care about Lily Kimball, and what happened

to her.”

“Then you believe something ‘happened.’” Remembering his outburst at the hospital, I added,

“You think she was killed by someone. You even know who.” I watched his face for reaction.

“I suspect. I don’t know.” He took a long drink of water, as if he were trying to swallow

something unpalatable.

“But you haven’t gone to the police.” He shook his head. “Why not?”

He started to answer and then Athena swept over, wanting to make sure everything was to her dear doctor’s satisfaction. She effused with grand passion about how wonderful Rick Paulsen was, as a medical professional and as a man, her praise transparently designed to convince me, as his dinner partner and potential life mate, of his worth. He squirmed as she continued, but seemed loath to interrupt her. Once we had assured her that everything was delightful, she withdrew at last, to observe from behind the cash register.

When he didn’t answer my last question, I asked again. “Why haven’t you gone to the police?”

“You don’t understand. The police won’t be any help in this matter.”

They’re investigating her death—”

“They’re not investigating her death! They’re just going through the motions until everyone

forgets about her and they can toss her file in a cabinet, never to be seen again!” He slapped his

fork onto the table, a flush of anger suffusing his face, all the way to the tips of his ears. “Just

like the others.”

Still want more? You'll have to buy the book! Here are the links to it and Alana's social media contacts.

Buy Links

Ebooks - Amazon ebook

Paperback - B&N ebook

SMASHWORDS EBOOK:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1435752: