Love in Tomes of War by Uvi Poznansky

At no other point is passion put to the test as in dire times of war. From the American Civil War to WWII, from Vietnam to the War in Afghanistan to the Persian Gulf, the stories in this boxed set summon the strength of true lovers. Written by bestselling, award-winning, and USA Today authors, the novels and novellas in this collection tell of overcoming the odds to celebrate the victory of love.

Targeted Audience: 21 and up

Author Bio:
Uvi Poznansky is a California-based author, poet and artist. “I paint with my pen,” she says, “and write with my paintbrush.” She received a Fellowship grant and a Teaching Assistantship from the Architecture department at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, where she earned her M.A. in Architecture. Then, taking a sharp turn in her education, she earned her M.S. degree in Computer Science from the University of Michigan.

Uvi writes across a variety of genres: My Own Voice, The White Piano, and Apart From Love (literary fiction), The Music of Us and Dancing with Air (romance), The David Chronicles, Rise to Power, A Peek at Bathsheba, and The Edge of Revolt ((historical fiction), A Favorite Son (biblical fiction), Home (poetry), Twisted (horror) Now I Am Paper and Jess and Wiggle (children’s book.)

What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
The first novel in this boxed set, Dancing with Air, is about how surmounting the obstacles posed by war shapes the character of true lovers. This is a new chapter in the lives of Lenny and Natasha. In the past Natasha wrote, with girlish infatuation, “He will be running his fingers down, all the way down to the small of my back, touching his lips to my ear, breathing his name, breathing mine. Here I am, dancing with air.” In years to come, she will begin to lose her memory, which will make Lenny see her as delicate. “I gather her gently into my arms, holding her like a breath.” But right now, during the months leading up to D-Day, she is at her peak. With solid resolve, she is ready to take charge of the course of their story.

I knew that my characters might die on the page, pressed between the front and back covers–unless I find ways for them to rise from the page and spring into your mind. By far the best way is forging alliances with the best and brightest authors, authors whose work is of outstanding quality and whose audience appreciates creativity. Finding such authors is a great challenge, and it takes months of research on my part, especially because this time around I was looking for stories around a shared, overarching theme: Love in times of war.

Read more, including a sample from the book
Sample from Book:

In a matter of seconds my entire world changed, and it was then that I stopped living and simply began the struggle to exist. 
There was blood on my knees, my elbows and hands, but for now, thankfully, I felt little pain. It must have failed to register in my brain, even as I saw the torn clothes, the wounds.
First, I tried to head back down to help those who were trapped. The cave was lit—just for a second—by a burst, as a few boxes of ammunition rattled nearby. I saw that the explosion had taken the roadway with it and caused the rest of the pit to collapse.
That was when I knew that I had to fight for my own survival. Half-crawling, half-clawing my way up, I was nearly choked by smoke. At last I reached the opening, where boxes of incendiary bombs, which had been jolted by the blast, were blazing.
 Once there, a soldier gave me a hand, pulled me up to my feet.
“You look as if you were thrown against a wall,” he said. “Wait here, a rescue team is just around the corner, they’ll put you on a stretcher.”
“No, no,” I said, sensing that to him I must sound incoherent. I coughed, which cleared my throat, and went on to say, “Let’s go down together, people are dying there, in the mine—”
“No! Others will, but we can’t,” he said. “I’m told we should go inside only with rubber boots.”
“These boots aren’t rubber,” I pointed at mine, “but they’re real sturdy, with these metal studs in their soles. They’ll do just fine—”
“No,” he said, sternly now. “A single spark from them could cause the whole site to go up in flames all over again.” 
I obeyed him and stumbled, somehow, into walking away, no—not walking—running, that’s what it was, running, despite the growing soreness of my limbs. With every step, the swirl of dust and particles around me was lifting, ever so gradually. Then, just as the meadow came hazily into view I heard a tremendous roar down there, behind me. 
A mushroom cloud rose over the village of Hanbury high into the sky. And with a guttural sound, mounds of earth were lifted up, then hurled back down into the ground.
Then—just over the plaintive bleating of the sheep and the chaotic blasts rocking the mine—came a different sound. I listened to it in disbelief. It was the most wonderful sound in the entire world: a hum, the low, familiar hum of my Harley.
There it was, a silhouette of the beast, with Natasha astride on top of it, hair unfurling in the wind. 
I wanted to tell her how I admired her courage, the risk she took, riding it all by herself, without my guidance, to get here. I wanted to tell her she should have stayed away. But by now I knew that for me, she would dare take any chance, come what may.
“Oh Lenny,” she said. “You look… I have no words for it.”
Overcome with sudden joy I staggered towards her.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go.”
In confusion I asked, “Where to?”
And Natasha said, “Anywhere, my love. Anywhere but here.”

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