Welcome to Violet Hills Productions
Violet Hills Productions presents films, screenplays, plays and novels by Leigh Podgorski and reaches out to others interested in documenting their stories
Two new romantic comedies, Mistletoe Lane (from the book of the same title by Lenny Castellaneta) and Letter to Santa, both written with Lenny Castellaneta. Scripts available for review.
New Releases by Leigh Podgorski
(Excerpts & Reviews)
| He turned to face her. Her arms swept up, encircling his neck, pulling him down. Tears glistened in the twin jade jewels, spilling down her face. She murmured his name over and over, pulling him into her, clasping him tightly, running her fingers across his face, and through his sandy hair.
Only then did he realize how much he needed this; how much he needed her; how close to breaking he had been. He felt his knees crumple. Hanging on to each other, they slid to the floor.
Kissing her, he realized how frightened he had been of losing her, of how much he had missed her, how severely he had pushed her away so certain he had been of her rejection. Her arms wound about him, her warm supple lips kissed his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth, and were a salve to the still open wounds of his heart, an elixir to the scars slashing his soul. She had the power to renew him. She had the power to drive winter from him. He wanted only to rest here forever in her replenishing embrace.
They made love before the pounding sea, the wind whistling and clamoring for admittance, the fire crackling behind them, its heat, for the moment, unnecessary.
Afterwards, they sat entwined in front of the fire.
She knew what it was like to wonder, to accuse yourself, to affix to yourself the label: Murderer. Just as he had known she could never have committed the ghastly crimes for which she was accused, so did she know the same of him. He had been her champion. Now she would be his. She looked into his steel blue eyes. She knew him.
And so he told her. Finally, he told her the whole story about the real Luke Stone. About the true man she had married. Except…except…he didn’t tell her about the ecstasy. He didn’t tell her about the rapture. He didn’t tell her about how he had stolen Matthew’s soul through his dying eyes. There are some secrets far too dark, far too cavernous to reveal to anyone, sometimes, even to reveal to oneself.
|Review Blurbs (Neuri Shape-Shifter)|
|…Characters from Luke’s past spring into his present; Gregorian chants hum in the forest; Catholic Saints animate and fairy lanterns glow. At the height of battle, the book takes the characters—and the reader—to an even deeper level of magic realism than either Desert Chimera or Gallows Ascending ventured… It’s a terrific ride. (Josh T. Amazon)|
| Matthew had dropped to the floor. He was keening. Playing with something, a bandana he had wrapped around his neck, and singing off key.
Then Armand pulled out a knife.
With one hand he twisted Luke’s arm behind his back, holding the knife aloft in the other. He forced Luke to approach Matthew. He forced Luke to his knees. He forced his hands over the knife, covering Luke’s smaller hands with his greater ones. Then, he began to slash.
The knife slipped and cut, bumping up against bone. Matthew’s eyes grew wide and round. His mouth opened in surprise. He stopped singing.
Armand took Luke’s head in his hands.
”Focus on his eyes.”
His hands were warm and sticky with blood.
Luke watched as Matthew’s eyes clouded over as if a thin translucent veil had been dropped over them.
Armand pushed his head in closer.
Matthew’s lips parted. His body shuddered. Luke felt the shudder like a breath, a gasp, then like a contrail, the shudder swirled, shimmering luminous in the moonlight that filtered into the warehouse, dancing in the beam of moonlight, and swished up and entered him, right through his heart.
He fell back against Armand.
Never. Never had he felt such exhilaration. Never had he felt such rapture! This was higher than he had ever flown before. No drug, no ritual, no magic trick, no vision, had ever felt like this before. Nothing, nothing had ever felt like this before.
|Review Blurbs (Desert Chimera)|
…compelling first volume in the Stone Quest series… flashbacks are vividly portrayed as we learn about what experiences have formed Luke and his relationship with Armand….fascinating to see where Luke goes from here…lovely echoes of Oliver Twist and Fagin… with… sinister overtones… keeps the action moving along quickly. (Evie Woolmore. GoodReads Author)
…at such a tempo I couldn’t put it down or turn the pages fast enough. ..A wonderfully constructed mix of mystery, intrigue, and action, spiced with just the right touch of the supernatural… You never know what will happen next. (Paul G. White. Amazon.)
…indescribably creepy character that is Armand…disturbing read…wild, primitive, magical and full of mystery and danger. (HH. Cuddle Bug “Loves to Read.” Amazon)
…takes us on that most magical of journeys …An expertly woven, gripping and exciting trip to that shadowy land … between… tale transcendentally possesses the best qualities of the mystical and the real, the now and the hereafter, this world and the underworld ….captivates … completely. (Robert Sperlinga. Amazon)
…a chilling epic battle both psychological and physical that takes place in the heart of Death Valley…(Josh T. Amazon)
| At the shore’s edge, the sea was calm, the water lapped peacefully against the rocky beach, the tide ebbing.
Beth Rutledge lay on the rocky sand.
Her jeans were torn and sprinkled with blood.
About five feet from Beth farther from the edge of the sea, Adrian lay in a heap, as if the sea had tossed him there in a jumble, his arms lying protectively across his body, his legs drawn up and bent. A gaping wound, still oozing blood, split his forehead.
Above, circling the bodies, one lifeless, one just stirring, seagulls squawked and swarmed, swooping down in graceful white arcs their cries jarring in the noon quiet, pecking at Adrian’s fingers, his eyes, his bloodless lips as their feasting began.
Beth stirred, moaning. She opened her eyes painfully against the high noon glare. She struggled to a seated position and stared about her dazed. Lifting one hand to her head, she brought it away, terror rising. Her hand was covered with blood. She turned swiftly now, twisting her body rapidly in the sun, awkwardly attempting to gain her feet. She saw Adrian. Covering her mouth with her bloodied hands, Beth screamed.
|Review Blurbs (Gallows Ascending)|
Murder . Some romance. And of course, uncovering the truth. (Ruth Weatherford. GoodReads Author)
…[I]f you like a good series, then this is one book you must read. (Vicky Smith. GoodReads)
This was a great plot. That little bit of past blended in with black magic. I would definitely recommend this book to any mystery fan that doesn’t mind more than one mystery. (Tracey McGee. GoodReads)
The author’s words were poetic and the scenery was beautiful, yet chilling at the same time. So much tension amidst the festivities. “Even the screeching seagulls had quieted, their feast having been whisked from them in a thick black plastic body bag.” – This gave me goosebumps…(Rose Myers. GoodReads)
…unexpected twists and turns in a fast-paced read that takes the reader deep inside Luke Stone’s world – a mystic universe of visions and second sight and magical healings, but one also where danger always lurks. This is an adventure worth embarking upon. (Josh T. Amazon)
Chief Jack knew: whenever the red man wars against the white, it is always the red man who loses.
But which was she?
Jamie said his mother’s blood flowed in his veins.
Just so, her father’s blood flowed in hers.
And so it had been husband against wife.
Father against daughter.
Brother against sister.
Whenever the red man wars against the white, it is always the red man who loses.
And what if the red man is you?
And what if the white man is you?
And what if the red man and what if the white man both together, mixed together, flowed freely together in the same veins and those veins were you?
|Review Blurbs (Ouray’s Peak)|
Although I am not Ute, I have a strong Native American lineage, and I know well many of the things done to the people- of varying tribes. The story conveys it’s deep seeded message in an entertaining way,…If you can put this book down after you pick it up, you are a stronger person than I am…, I couldn’t stop reading. You won’t either. Read this book. (B.R.A.G.H. Amazon)
This is one of the best novels I have read of late. Leigh Podgorski paints a scenic picture of the Colorado mountain country and the Indian reservation in this beautiful, memorable, coming of age story, which I consider excellent for young and older readers alike. I applaud her unique storytelling talent and look forward to more from this author. Thank you Ms. Podgorski, I didn’t want the story to end! (Jacqueline Bryant Amazon )
|The Women Debrowska
Anatola yanks the door open.
She is staring into her own face. Golden blonde curly hair, piercing sky blue eyes, Paul Newman eyes – her father’s eyes. Anatola is staring into her father’s face — her father as a young man somewhere in his mid- twenties.
He pronounces her name as it would be pronounced in Polish. Dam- brov’-ska. Suddenly, her heart is thundering in her chest, skipping beats, pounding against its chest cavity like a prisoner awakened hammering for release. Blood whooshes so loudly in her ears, she cannot hear anything else.
The brick porch suddenly pitches, rising from its foundation to crush her. From out of the whooshing of her blood a shrill screech pierces.
Rachel? Where did she come from? Anatola snaps back from a brittle fog. She lies sprawled awkwardly on the brick porch. Michael, also having appeared out of the ether, stares open-mouthed (there was that carp again) concern crinkling the corners of his Baltic blue eyes. Rachel, now speechless, stands open-mouthed and carp-like herself beside him.
”Lo…” Michael calls.
”Oh, my God. My God.” The visitor was repeating. He was still there, then, his face blanched. Not an apparition. Not a specter.
”Michael… Rachel… Oh…”
A tidal wave sluices over her, pinching her throat in icy splinter.
”Oh, my God… My God…This is… Oh, my God, my God. This is my son.”
|Review Blurbs (The Women Debrowska)|
Jack Maxwell: …vividly told, weaving together the story of one family and Polish history… a particularly powerful love story from the moment she is whisked away from the bridge to the moment she dies at the age of only 25 from a gunshot wound to the chest…
Maureen Serra: …beautiful, powerful, and deeply touching …a love letter to Poland and to all those who believe in freedom and are willing to take a stand against oppression…
Paul G. White: …Flowing with great energy and speed… contains passages… of beautiful vivid descriptions. [t]he tale not only of a family but of a nation. I could smell the snow and the blood in the air…. You won’t be disappointed.
Douglas Glen Clark: Although Podgorski’s story begins as personal quest, it quickly evolves into a discovery of Polish heritage and a family tree ravaged by oppression, revolution and a passionate attachment to homeland.
Dr. Chris Herron: When the plane crashed…carrying the Polish statesmen…I felt sorrow as if they were brothers of mine. Ms. Podgorski’s saga told the story of Polish history in a way that made its memories mine.
Arpine Ovesypian: …a captivating tale sure to become an instant classic….eloquently crafted plot deviates from tradition and keeps the reader on the edge of his/her seat…
YouTube Trailer, We Are Still Here (Katherine Siva Saubel)