A pitch-perfect, heartfelt, and enthralling story of survival, coming-of-age and redemption: Sandstorm Urban Fiction by Joyce Yarrow Audiobook Tour with Guest Post and giveaway
A pitch-perfect, heartfelt, and enthralling story of survival, coming-of-age and redemption.
Sandstorm
by Joyce Yarrow
Genre: Urban Fiction
GOLD MEDAL WINNER - Cipa Evvy Award for Women's Fiction
When
you trade the straight and narrow for the crooked pathways of crime,
it's likely to become a permanent arrangement. Unless, like Sandie
Donovan, you're a born grifter, determined to use your knack for
deception and crime to restart your life and achieve success as an
actor.
A pitch-perfect, heartfelt, and enthralling story
of survival, coming-of-age and redemption. Sandstorm is a
suspenseful, pacy read about a compelling character whose adventures
and misadventures are dramatic and exciting.
**ebook is on sale for Only $3.99 OR is in Kindle Unlimited!**
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TWO EXCERPTS FROM “SANDSTORM” BY JOYCE YARROW
EXCERPT ONE
Never go into a job cold.
You’ve got to have a plan and be ready to handle whatever comes up. Russell and I had
prepared meticulously and as a result, I’d been able to hold my anxiety in
check when walking into a bank in Kansas City or Columbus, whether I was
cashing a single forged check or cleaning out an entire account. Today was
different. My chest felt tight and my thoughts were uneasy. Because what I
wanted most could not be stolen. It had to be earned.
On the way from the subway to the producer’s address on West
28th, I stopped briefly to inhale the fragrance of a bucketful of
white lilies displayed in front of a storefront sandwiched between two newly
constructed glass towers. It was depressing to see Manhattan’s Flower District,
an oasis of green and growing plants, being sacrificed to the gods of
development.
My mood was not improved by the sight of my destination, a
grey metal door smeared with graffiti. Maybe I should drop the whole deal.
Why pin my hopes on an impoverished indie filmmaker who can’t afford to rent a
decent rehearsal space? I was struggling to make up my mind when the door
opened and Sloan came out. He’d substituted Nikes, sweatpants, and a
tight-fitting blue t-shirt for the fatigues he’d worn in Brooklyn.
“Go on up to the second floor. I’ve got to run an errand. Be
right back.” I watched him hurry down the street, One-Take Wonder printed in block letters on the back of his shirt.
Like the front door, the building’s grimy lobby and hallway
were sub-par and left me completely unprepared, when the elevator door opened,
to find myself on the threshold of a luxury loft with twenty-foot ceilings,
complete with a décor copied straight from some house beautiful magazine.
A tall, gawky woman in jeans and a Rousseau-blue velvet jacket
darted across the room to greet me. Her short black hair was combed behind her
ears to set off shoulder-length silver earrings.
“Welcome, Sandie. I’m Leslie Ann, Executive Producer of Careless Love.”
I was embarrassed to have assumed the producer was a man. I
was also fascinated by a large painting of four primitively drawn flowers,
centered on the wall behind an antique couch upholstered in gold brocade and
itself a work of art.
“That Andy Warhol silkscreen is the only real art we have
left,” Leslie Ann said. “And as much as I love Sloan’s latest project, I’ve
told him this is one piece that will never go near the auction block.”
I envisioned her coming home to find a dark rectangle where
the frame had been, my fence suitably impressed, money changing hands—all in
the second it took me to draw breath and say, “It’s beautiful.”
How incorrigible I was, for someone who had a steady day job
and whose lawless days were supposedly behind her.
Leslie Ann escorted me into the rehearsal space, where
floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls and four actors looked up at her
from their seats around a glass-covered library table. Their faces were
partially illuminated by rays of sun streaming from the skylight. It could have
been a professionally lit set.
“I see you’re dressed for the part,” commented a
rectangular-faced person with intensely cerulean eyes. “I’m Chris and I go by
the pronoun ‘they.’ I’m playing Theo.
“Pleasure to meet you, Chris,” I said, ignoring the comment on
my appearance. I’d made myself up as Janine, my hair hidden under a dark green
silk hijab and now, seeing the casual attire of my fellow actors, realized my
mistake. I took off the headscarf and draped it over the back of my chair,
taking a seat at the table.
EXCERPT TWO
Monday was my next scheduled day off from Macy’s. Phase one of
Operation Bait and Switch was the only event scheduled. I rose early and took
the subway to 81st Street, where I switched to the crosstown bus and
rode through Central Park. It was a windy day and my carefully permed red wig
rapidly turned into a rat’s nest on the walk down Madison, fraying my already
jittery nerves. I ducked into a coffee shop a block from Sperling’s gallery to
buy a quick cup of soup and use the Ladies.
I primped in front of the mirror and waited for my confidence
to return. My coat collar was trimmed in real mink, nails polished with
respectable burgundy. I was hoping my cashmere sweater set and wool skirt,
purchased from the Make Ends Meet
thrift shop, gave me a mature look that suggested toned-down old money. The
Egyptian-style pieces I’d borrowed from Jeff Vega’s stock of costume jewelry
were meant to suggest a “wealthy woman in her early thirties who wants to make
an artsy impression. Sloan would have been proud of me.
Through the window of the Old
World Gallery, I recognized Louis Sperling, sporting the same goatee and
carefully messed up wavy gray hair that graced the photo on his website. He was
deep into animated conversation with a female customer. Her luxury designer bag
dangled from her arm, tantalizing Sperling, who stared at it with unabashed
relish. He was short and slight, his pinstriped blazer and a blue silk scarf
suggesting a troll who cultivated an air of elegance.
The dealer approached me as soon as I set foot in the gallery,
his well-heeled customer antennae
fully extended, along with his right hand. “Louis Sperling at your service. May
I help you?”
I relaxed my hand in his as we shook, looking around with the
awe expected of someone worshipping at the altar of good taste. “I’m looking
for a nice painting to surprise my sister’s husband on his birthday. It’s in
January.”
“You’ve given yourself plenty of time to find the perfect
piece,” he gushed. “Any style or period in particular?”
“I’ll know it when I see it.”
He flashed a toothy smile and showed me a few paintings by
some early 19th century artists I’d never heard of.
“Don’t you have something more modern, maybe from the 60’s?
The 1960’s that is.”
Sperling eyed me closely. “Is there something specific you’re
looking for, Ms.—?
“Braughn, Melanie Braughn. No preference, but my
brother-in-law should recognize the painter’s name.”
Sperling adjusted his blue paisley ascot and took a respectful
step back, a would-be king transformed into a courtier. He’d obviously heard of
the Braughns. My late-night research into rich art collectors in New York had
paid off.
“Perhaps you know my sister, Dorothy?” I asked, praying that
he didn’t.
Sperling smiled. “I’ve never had the pleasure. How delightful
that you’ve chosen my humble establishment to find a piece worthy of the
Braughn collection.”
Earnest and Dorothy had made the list of top ten art
collectors published by The Insider’s
Guide to Art. Dorothy’s sister, Melanie, however, was a character born in
my imagination.
“So you do have
something in mind,” I said, with a wink.
It was fun to watch the confusion on the crook’s face as he
flittered from greed to caution and back again, trying to find a way to play it
safe.
“Actually, yes. There is something special coming on the
market soon. The seller lives in Connecticut and is trying to make up his mind.
I could call him and say you’re interested. That is, if you’re willing to go
higher than one-fifty.”
I smiled and nodded, as if one-hundred-and-fifty grand was
peanuts. “Who’s the artist?’”
Sperling took on a regretful air. “As I’m sure you know,
collectors are a security-minded bunch, especially before a sale. What I can tell you is that this is an
important work by a famous pop-artist.”
It had to be the Warhol.
Convince us why you feel your book is a must read.
When I talk with people at bookfairs and festivals I tell
them that Sandstorm explores how difficult it is for someone who has
committed a crime to return to the straight and narrow. Sandie’s skills as a
con artist and thief are her sole possessions, whether she uses them for good
or ill is the central question in the book. She comes up with some unique
solutions to this challenge and that’s why I feel it’s a must read. According
to one Amazon reviewer: “Yarrow nails the insecurity
and grief, the poverty and temptations, and the ill-intentioned people who prey
on those who fall into their paths. Sandie is an unusual heroine--never
perfect, but ingenious and resourceful. Her journey will grab hold of you and
twist you into knots--and sometimes tie you into bows--just like in real life.”
How did you come up with the concept and characters for
the book?
In A Scandal in Bohemia, Watson admires Sherlock
Holmes’ gift for transforming himself, telling us that his friend’s “very soul
seemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed.” Watson might have been
describing a professional actor and this made me wonder. What if Sherlock had
marshaled his extensive skills to commit, rather than solve, crimes? Better
yet, what if a talented thief and jewelry forger were to defy the odds and try
to reinvent herself as an actress and make-up artist working in the legitimate
theater? Could she ‘go straight’ when all she had known was a life of crime?
This is the challenge faced by the character who came to life on the page for
me as Sandie Donovan, a/k/a Sandie Doyle, the protagonist of Sandstorm.
My first clue to Sandie’s potential to learn new skills was
how quickly she picked up the complex processes used to create fake jewels. She
took great pleasure in mastering the craft under the tutelage of her
self-styled “rescuer,” mentor, and boyfriend, Russell. The second hint was how
enthralled she was with the acting classes she took at a community college. As
she herself says: “It was in Darshon’s class that I learned how
imaginary feelings can be the most genuine, especially for people like me who
hate showing our emotions.”
Her decision to steal back and return a painting to its
rightful owner is at the heart of the story. What she seeks to reclaim is much
more than a painting. It is her right to live life without resorting to crime,
to claim her true identity in the face of all the obstacles put in her path,
including her own upbringing. I rooted for her to make a safe landing and I
hope you will too.
Joyce Yarrow is an award-winning author of literary novels of suspense that, according to Library Journal, “appeal to readers who enjoy unusual mysteries with an international setting.”
Her coming-of-age novel SANDSTORM, won a the 2022 gold medal in Women's Fiction at the CIPA/Evvy Awards and her historical thriller, ZAHARA AND THE LOST BOOKS OF LIGHT, has been awarded 5 Stars by Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine and translated into Spanish and Portuguese. Joyce's other published novels of suspense include ASK THE DEAD, RUSSIAN RECKONING, and RIVERS RUN BACK (co-authored with Arindam Roy).
A New York City transplant now living in Seattle, Yarrow began her writing life scribbling poems on the subway and observing human behavior from every walk of life. She is a Pushcart Prize Nominee with short stories and essays that have appeared in Inkwell Journal, Whistling Shade, Descant, Arabesques, and Weber: The Contemporary West and the Los Angeles Review of Books. Yarrow is a member of the Sisters in Crime organization and has presented workshops on “The Place of Place in Mystery Writing” at conferences in the US and India.
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Thanks for hosting Sandstorm on your blog!
ReplyDeleteThe excerpt sounds really good. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDelete