Entertainment – Page 4 – Britt Skrabanek

Beneath the Satin Gloves is Free!

My first book, Beneath the Satin Gloves, has been reworked, polished, and rereleased.

And…you can have it for free until Sunday on Amazon! (Promo runs 2/25 – 3/1, midnight P.S.T.)

If you can be so kind as to leave a quick review when you finish the book, that would be very awesome of you. As an indie author, we depend on you, the beautiful people, to help get our names out there.

One reader described Beneath the Satin Gloves as “a little bit romance, thriller, time travel, and historical fiction”.

Here’s all of the info for the newbies around here…

A modern-day woman torn by her illusive dreams awakens to a strange life in 1943, hurdled against the throes of destruction in wartime Berlin. Following a haphazard trail of clues, she discovers her new identity as Alina Feuer, code-named Sparrow, a famous entertainer seducing a high-ranking SS officer to gather vital information for the Allies.

But Alina is an amateur in these incessant spy games. She relies solely on her wit and instinct to make her next move, while frantically hiding her erratic behavior from the watchful eyes of her suspicious liaison/love interest and her pestering socialite gal pal along the way. A reluctant heroine, she must use charismatic glamour as her weapon of choice to fulfill her deadly mission before the week is through.

GRAB IT NOW AT AMAZON

GRAB IT NOW AT AMAZON UK

Thank you for supporting the indie author movement.

The Rerelease of My First Book

Nothing compares to the sweet love we writers have for the very first story we write.

Ah, man. The vast unknown we explore, the sincere concentration it takes, and the melancholy that blankets us when the story is finished…well, it’s unmatched.

I’ll share a little secret with you guys.

I didn’t grow up wanting to become a writer. Archaeologist, dancer, veterinarian, and fairy were all in there. But never writer.

I never dreamed of writing a novel. Hell, I certainly never thought I would write three.

Why?

Because I never thought I could do it.

I’d always loved reading and writing, but I never saw myself on the other side. As an architect of stories, building something that never existed before, something that would actually speak to people.

I was in my mid-twenties, lost and confused, working a high-end retail job that was the opposite of me, and partying any chance I got.

There were so many blurry years from working and playing way too hard that I realized something.

I had no purpose. My life was sailing by without me, while I was drowning in a meaningless sea.

Then one day, my husband Mr. H dared me to write a novel. I had a dream that inspired me, then I took out my little journal, and started writing gibberish on my lunch breaks.

It took me three years to write my first book. I didn’t know what I was doing. But, I created something and set it free.

And still to this day, I don’t really consider anything I put out there “a novel”. I also struggle with calling myself “a writer”.

Some of you may remember my crazy ass going back to my second book, Everything’s Not Bigger, and reworking the entire damn thing.

You probably thought I would move on from my past works at this point, right?

Well, I didn’t.

I went back to my first book, Beneath the Satin Gloves, and for the past three months, I have reedited the work with tireless energy during my bit of free time I cherish for these creative obsessions of mine.

I must admit, I really enjoyed reconnecting with Alina, my lounge singing spy—and WWII Berlin, an era and city I have forever been captivated by.

Anyone new around these parts should know that this book isn’t just another WWII thriller. There’s a time travel thing going on, since the main character is actually a woman from modern-day who wakes up in the past.

I shouldn’t play favorites, I know, but I do adore this story. It’s my firstborn, and there is no way to change that kind of undying love.

So even though the new version is already on Amazon, obviously I’m going to put this out there free of charge.

Beneath the Satin Gloves will be absolutely FREE next week 2/25-3/1 on Amazon and Amazon UK. So, stay tuned!

Until the rerelease, I’ll leave you all with a scene I like…

Haunting whistles blew in the train station. The mechanical scents brought her back to reality after being in deep thought for many hours. Steam eclipsed the scene while the crowd hurried to board for unknown destinations across Europe, with frayed clothing and worried hearts.

Alina’s short time in the United States must have been an eternity for the people here. Everything had aged and there was an undeniable heaviness in each footstep. Laughter and gaiety had been decimated by an unfathomable fear of what was to come. Even the departing hugs were different, exuding a phantom touch instead of a comforting embrace.

Everything was dark and unsettling. The fearful train station validated her decision to throw herself into unforeseen danger.

She had strict instructions to board the train without a word to Emil. But she had one last thing she had to say to him, and the risk was worth taking.

Perched on a bench, one leg crossed over the other, he flipped through a newspaper in his simple suit, trench coat, and black hat. He was supposed to blend in, and Emil was an expert at being inconspicuous. Yet his striking looks worked against him, making him stand out in the drab crowd.

Emil sensed she was moving toward him. He walked away, expecting her to give up on the futile chase and board the train.

Maybe she was flirting with disaster as she seemed destined to do, but Alina yearned to see his face once more. What if it was the last time?

The distance grew between them. A heartbreaking emptiness washed over her, and she felt like she was drowning. Alina took bigger strides to catch up with him.

He stopped to look at the schedule on the board.

She pointed at a time, standing close to him, feeling his welcoming heat between their thick coats.

His gloved finger pointed next to hers, sneaking one last touch. “Entschuldigung, Fraulein.”

“I want you to know I’m not afraid.”

Emil snickered. “You’re fearless, but I’m battling my own demons over here.”

“That’s why I came over.”

“Needless to say, but you shouldn’t have. You were distinctly ordered not to.”

“I really don’t care what your orders were.” Alina smiled, glancing at her watch.

He looked around, pretending to search for the appropriate departure track.

“Do you believe in past lives, Emil?” She scanned the schedule, drawing her finger down the time options.

“You disobeyed my orders to have a damn philosophy discussion?”

“Answer the question.”

Emil bent down to adjust his shoe laces, which were already tied. “I’d rather have this debate with a glass of brandy, lying naked with you, anywhere but here.”

“Would it surprise you if I said being a spy is the easiest thing I’ve ever done? Almost like I’ve done it before.”

He sighed and stood up, squinting at the schedule. “Are you just saying this gibberish to make me feel better? Because it isn’t working. The longer we stand here, the greater chance we have of getting killed.”

“I also wanted to say I love you, if that’s alright.”

He swallowed, then his eye twitched.

She realized he didn’t know how to deal with the sentiment. A man as attractive as Emil had been loved plenty of times before. But, had he ever loved anyone in return?

“I want to spend my life with you after this is over.”

Alina snuck a peek at his face to try to search his eyes for an emotional reveal. But, there wasn’t time.

Emil did the unthinkable—he walked off.

She watched him for a second, then turned her attention to the train. Crushed, Alina fought back tears as she meandered up the narrow steps of the entrance.

What was she expecting? He couldn’t exactly sweep her into his arms.

She supposed it didn’t matter in the end. She wanted to confess her feelings in case it was her only chance. And confess she did, humiliating as it was.

Alina sank into the musty train chair, trying to shake off her feminine emotions. This wasn’t the time for an outburst. She needed to focus on the dangerous road ahead.

Shutting her eyes, she detained her tears behind their eyelid barriers. Her finger ran across a torn patch on the bottom of the chair.

To calm herself, she imagined sitting on a mountain overlooking a vast valley. She almost had the serene image set in her mind when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

Her heart beat faster as she opened her eyes. She almost released a loud sigh of relief when she saw it wasn’t the Gestapo but a helpful train attendant.

“Entschuldigung, Fraulein. You dropped this?”

Declining with a smile and a shake of her head, she changed her mind after recognizing the same newspaper Emil had been reading.

“Danke.”

He nodded, then continued down the aisle.

As if it was a bouquet of roses, she inhaled the newspaper, a peculiar act which roused the curiosity of the two old ladies sitting across from her.

Alina grinned. “Don’t you just love the smell of newspapers?”

One woman tipped her bright blue hat at a chic angle, leaned in and lowered her voice. “Not with the filth in them these days, my dear. But I used to.” She began gossiping with her friend, pretending like the daring comment had never been spoken.

The train whistled to signal their departure—away from neutral Switzerland, into Nazi Germany.

Alina turned each page, longing to find something inside. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but somehow the man who delivered the newspaper seemed out of place. Almost like he didn’t work on the train at all.

On the last page, she saw Emil’s handwriting…

I do believe.

I do love you.

And I will wait as many lives as it takes.

The Fate of the Lovers Bench

I didn’t have any master plans to write this particular post on Valentine’s Day.

To tell you the truth, I’ve never been much of a fan of the holiday. As a young girl, Valentine card rejections and those gross chalky hearts made a cynic out of me.

Some might actually see this as a cruel story to tell on a romantic holiday, but it depends on how strong your belief in love is.

For some, love is about happy endings. For others, the true romantics, they know that real love never ends.

The story about the lovers bench began last year in May, when I wrote The Bench Where Lovers Had Been.

This spot with the bench is my favorite place to rest after a long hike. The view of Portland is absolutely stunning.

The whole city—slender streets, busy cars, shiny buildings, expansive bridges—is surrounded by sleepy volcanoes and undulating mountains.

On a clear day your eyes hardly know what to do with themselves. It’s that gorgeous.

And the bench, worn by Pacific Northwest rain for many years, was covered in love carvings.

I used to touch these carvings, imagining stories of the lovers who decided to boldly tattoo their initials and hearts into the wood in this public place.

Perhaps these couples were still together, or perhaps they had grown apart, but the lovers bench allowed their tender moment to live on.

Until one October day, I walked over to the bench and my heart fell. There were no more professions of love embedded in the wood.

The wood was blemish-free, devoid of the beautiful scars which told so many stories.

When I wrote The Lovers Bench Is Gone, many of you were as heartbroken as I was. And like me, you all wondered what had happened to the old bench.

Had they repurposed it somehow, turned it into a piece of art for someone’s home? Or, had they done something else?

Well, I found out.

It took me about a month and I was thrown around to some different people before I got my answer. I have been sitting on this information for some time, but today I have decided to reveal the fate of the lovers bench.

Hi Britt,

Due to a combination of overzealous carvings and wear n’ tear on the bench you mention, Portland Parks & Recreation had to replace the bench with a new one. We reused the metal parts that were salvageable.

Hi Britt,

My colleague in maintenance just asked me to clarify. We actually re-installed the same, refurbished bench. Not a “new” bench. What you see up there is the same bench just with new boards, and we had the leg irons freshly powder coated. History lives on!

Hi Portland Parks & Rec Guy,

Thanks for the info. We writers are a curious bunch, so we were dying to know. Did anyone keep the carved boards, do you know? Seems like they would make neat art decor. Perhaps they were too beat up and ended up in recycling though.

Hi Britt,

The best guess is that the old boards were used for bark dust in our system. Had they been salvageable our guys would have repainted them and replaced ’em.

So, there you have it, folks. The bench is still there, but the boards of love carvings have become part of the earth.

Instead of being sad over the fate of the lovers bench, I remembered something that made me hopeful. On that October day when I discovered the new bench, I looked down and saw this on the shiny new armrest…

I haven’t seen the bench since last fall, but I know that new love stories have been created and carved. When I see it again, I will trace the carvings and smile.

Because love doesn’t have an ending. It lives on.

“The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.” – Rumi

My Thoughts in the Wind

I had a romantic notion about Twitter the other day.

Come on now, hear me out.

I was watching one of my favorite movies that I hadn’t seen in ages. Stealing Beauty.

This is my coming-of-age movie I’ve seen about a billion times. Bernardo Bertolucci directed it, and though it’s in English, it has all of the things that I love about foreign films.

Nakedness is celebrated, not shunned or exploited. It’s slow-paced, not action-packed. It’s peaceful, not violent. It’s artistic, not shallow.

The soundtrack is awesome—Billie Holiday, Portishead, Stevie Wonder, Nina Simone, and Hole somehow work seamlessly together.

The main character, a young American woman named Lucy, is on a journey of self-discovery. Liv Tyler plays the part masterfully, with depth and a quiet beauty.

She travels to Italy in the summer to stay in the countryside with some family friends, to wander around and have her portrait painted.

All of it’s gorgeous—the scenery, the people, the food and wine. There’s also some regular napping and weed smoking.

Sounds rough, I know.

Her deceased mother was a poet and Lucy is a writer as well. Being that I idolized this character a bit, I wonder if it influenced me to become a writer in some way. Perhaps.

She keeps a journal with her at all times, scribbling her youthful angst and woes. I even copied her journal, with an envelope glued inside of the cover to harbor pictures.

But Lucy doesn’t keep what she writes.

She tears the piece of paper out of her journal and either burns her thoughts over a candle or releases them into the wind.

It’s a lot of what I do now in this online writing world I live in, especially on Twitter. I write my thoughts and set them free, often forgetting they ever happened.

Sometimes my thoughts are caught by another and read. I am reminded of that thought, whether it was meaningful or not.

But I smile, because someone connected with a little piece of me.

Then, they let my thoughts go in the wind. They travel on to others, caught and read once more, or they disappear, never to be seen again.

I don’t know why I thought this, but I’m kind of in love with the idea.

My Awakening City

I’m a sucker for cities on a weekend morning. With nobody rushing off to work, the restless streets are hushed and vacant.

I started a new Saturday morning tradition.

I drag my ass out of bed, then get dressed in mismatched Yoga clothes. I wander over to the boulangerie right when they open, before the line goes out the door.

I grab a fresh chocolate hazelnut croissant and a latte. Their comforting smells warm me.

This morning I felt inspired to capture my awakening city.

I took the kind of photos I could never take during the day, without people thinking I’m Crazy Stalker Lady.

If any of the local businesses in my neighborhood look at their security cameras, they’ll either think I’m planning a heist or just another starry-eyed tourist.

Let them think what they want. I had to share this beautiful secret.

Sleepy bakers are preparing for the pandemonium, not yet cloaked in flour or sweating beneath their aprons. Though that will all change soon enough.

A couple shares a quiet cup of coffee together, enjoying the empty cafe before they begin their day.

The library on the corner awaits the invasion of eager minds. The chairs sit still, watching over the books as they sleep.

Cutlery echoes from the restaurant opening for brunch. The sandwich board sign is set out, directing crowds inside for hot food and cozy conversation.

The tavern is unusually silent and clean. Liquor bottles rest against one another behind the bar. The old fireplace is cool, but you can still catch a hint of wood in the air.

Slowly, darkness succumbs to morning light. A runner flies past me, more cars ease down the street, and doors swing open to welcome the day.

My city is awake.