“Quelle strane ragazze”, the global distribution

From now on you can find this book all over the world, thank to the global distribution. It is a noir set in Rome, Italy, during the early ’90ies, in the Coppedè zone, also called The magic quarter of Rome. The book is in its Italian edition so  I recommend this book, available throughout the world, especially to Italian readers or anyone concerned in Italian good literature. “Quelle strane ragazze” won the National Literary Award Perseide 2014. You can find it as ebook or paperback edition at the following addresses… have a good read!


Ingram, Amazon.com, Baker & Taylor, Barnes & Nobles, Nacscorp, Espresso Book Machine, Landabooks LTD.
James Bennet,  ALS, Mercury Retail ltd, wordl of life distributors, Fishpond.com, Westbooks.
3) UNITED KINGDOM AND CONTINENTAL EUROPE                                 Adlibris AB, Amazon, Aphrohead, Bertram Books, BlackWell, Book Depository Ltd, Books Express, Coutts Information Services Ltd, Eden Interactive Ltd, Fishpond Uk, Gardeners, Langhram Partnership, Mallory International, Paperback Shop Ltd, SellerEngine software, Inc – Formally the book community, superbookdeals, Waterston’s Booksellers Limited, W&G foyle Ltd, Wrap Distribution

Chapters/Indigo, Amazon, Canadian general market segmnents including wholesalers, chain retailers, internet store, indipendent store, library suppliers and university college book stores.

Submarino.com.br, Livrariacultura.com.br.

EE Media distribution

Azymut distributions

8)INDIA                                                                                                                                 Distributor Repro India Limited

Distributor Korean Studies Information Co. Ltd


United States, United Kingdom, Germany,  France, Spain, Australia, Canada, Italy

Amazon.it, Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.de, Amazon.fr, Amazon.es: by Priority or Global Distribution

              EBOOK LIBRARIES

1) Amazon Kindle Store
(France (amazon.fr) – Germany (amazon.de) – Italy (amazon.it) – Spain (amazon.es) – United Kingdom (amazon.co.uk) – Worldwide (amazon.com)

2) Apple IBook Store
(Argentina, Australia, Austria, Belgium, Bolivia, Brazil, Bulgaria, Canada, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cyprus, Czech Republic, Denmark, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, El Salvador, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Guatemala, Honduras, Hungary, Ireland, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Malta, Netherlands, Nicaragua, Norway, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, United Kingdom, United States, Venezuela)

3) Google Play Store
(Argentina, Australia, Austria, Belgium, Brazil, Canada, Switzerland, Chile, Colombia, Czech Republic, Denmark, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Hong Kong, Hungary, Indonesia, India, Ireland, Italy, Japan, Malaysia, Mexico, New Zealand, the Netherlands, Peru, the Philippines, Poland, Portugal, Romania, South Korea, Spain, Singapore, Sweden, Russia, Thailand, Turkey, Taiwan, Venezuela, Vietnam, United Kingdom, United States, South Africa.)

4) Casa del libro for Spain
Spanish language store

5) Tolino for Germany
Germany, Austria and Switzerland. Among the stores Thalia, Weltbuch, Buch.de, Bol.de e Bucher.de.

6) Librerias Gandhi for Mexico
Mexican store.

7) Bajalibros for Latin America
E-book stores in Latin America.

8) El corte ingles for Spain
E-book store in Spain.

9) Buyuk Dogu for Turkey
E-book store in Turkey.

10) Todos tus ebooks for Spain
Spanish e-book libraries

11) Prestigio Store for Poland
Polish e-book store

12) KoboBooks 190 Countries
In 190 nations

13) Nook store
E-book library chains in United States

14) Weltbild
Germany, Switzerland and Austria

15) Playster for Canada
Canadian distribution

16) Hugendubel
German library

17) DerClub
German library

18) Buchhandlung
German library

19) Otto Media
German library

20) Kitapburada
Turkish library

21) Buecher
German Library.

22) Nineva for Turkey
Turkish library

23) Bidi for Argentina
Argentine libraries.

24) Leamos
 Latin America.

25) Nubleer
South America

26) Hummingbird
South America

27) Libreka! Distribution
Germany, Switzerland and Austria


1) MLOL Media Library Online
2) Rete Indaco
3) 24symbols
4) Bookmate
5) Overdrive
In United States                                                                                                                        6) Scribd
In United States
7) Perlego


“No steps on the snow” From june 12th to 16th great free promotion

So dear friends, don’t miss the opportunity to read for free “No steps on the snow”! From june 12th to 16th on Amazon great free promotion. It is the English edition of the Italian “Nessun segno sulla neve”, winner of the National Literary Award Circe 2013. It’s a noir plot that starts nowadays but deepens its roots in 1968 and the students fight in Rome. Francesco, a brilliant middle-aged oncologist signs in a social network while surfing the Internet together with his son, and bumps into the profile of the girl he was desperately in love with during High School ‘68, when a horrible homicide happened and the guilty was never to be found. And his current life splits up!

The end is stunning and umpredictable, just like a reader’s four stars review explains:

“There is so much I cannot say without ruining the ending, so let me leave it at this: I didn’t see it coming. If you’ve seen the movie Audition by Japanese director Takashi Miike, you know how easy it is to follow the flow of a story and then get hit with a brick in the face as the truth comes out. That happens in No Steps On The Snow, and was well worth my time.”

Presently among the first Amazon free Bestsellers Noir and Psychological in UK

And often among Amazon.com Best Sellers, as well as  De, Ca, Jp.

And don’t forget, if you love the paperback edition, it is available on Amazon:



If you want to know something more  about this book just enter the following links:

Many readers added it on Goodreads, read their reviews:


         Find it also




Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman

Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman with long, dark hair and two eyes so big that watching them you could even get into her soul. Her smile was a breeze that reached the heart, her soft hands caressed in a so sublime way and she used to feed her lips, kissing me. Her scent pervaded the whole house and her lullabies continued to rock my dreams until morning. It was nice to be with her; together we saw the sun rise and enjoyed the day until the night came, always close each other. The meals, the chants, the smell of her milk, the tales that she told about a world far away, that by her words became close and real to my eyes. It was rousing discovering that the Universe, through her eyes, was a bright horizon where all our wishes could have been realized. An endless succession of fairies and gnomes that seemed to materialize, making us part of their infallible magic. And the beautiful woman turned her happy gaze to me and to my harmonious growth.

All this festivity going in and out of the countless enchanted castles stopped the day when an evil witch made me see the beautiful woman, even before dawn, ready to go out wearing a grey apron with her long hair gathered in a white cap.

“Where are you going?” I could hardly say, trying to speak my first syllables, a question that she realized just by my infant eyes.

How beautiful was that woman, even wearing an apron that mortified her figure and a cap that hid her thick hair. She smiled at me, and her smile was less vibrant than the ones I was used to, it was almost sad.

“You’re grown up now, I’m going back to work at the factory, our neighbor will soon come here to stay with you.” She gave me a quick kiss on my forehead that had become pale and light. Alone, she was leaving me alone, no more spells to be created! I tried so hard to recall my fairy friends, asking them to realize the only desire I felt growing out of me which was to have her close to me once again.

The enchanted castles had collapsed under the blows of that one fact: she had to go to work, even if I wasn’t grown up,  didn’t speak yet and couldn’t even feed myself. And she had to do that just to give me a life.

So day after day every morning, without mercy, and before dawn, she had to leave the warmth of our bed and, even if it was raining or snowing or thundering strong, she had to go. In her eyes without a future you could see the tears that would never fall. I feared that she wouldn’t return to heat up my nights.

“When will you come back?”

A furtive glance, no longer smiling:

“Soon, very soon!” But it was never soon; in fact, at times it was longer., There was a crisis and she had to work harder not to lose everything we owned. When she was with me it was always night, and no longer did I see the sun’s rays filter through her hair which was now shorter and more sparse. Her soft and radiant skin, as I remembered, was withering more every day and her eyes were no longer immense.

At night she was able to sing only a verse of my lullabies because she was too tired. Her scent was gone and out of her hands,  the skin now rough and battered, you could have guessed it was just the terrible stench of trichloroethylene.

Poor beautiful woman! In the factory of optics they had assigned her the hardest work. The glass lenses came out of a ribbon that flowed fast, one after the other and she, faster than them, had to wash them in trichloroethylene for testing by the light of a lamp to insure there were no imperfections. Then she had to prepare the cardboard box and wrap each lens, all before the arrival of the next one. If she didn’t  do all those steps in seconds, the coming lens would fall to the ground, and she would have to pay for it with her already meager salary.

Would she ever go back to being a beautiful woman? In desperation I told myself that no, it would have never been possible. Now she was drowned out by the stench of trichloroethylene, and her eyes were perpetually bloodshot because of the acids whose vapors invaded the whole environment where she worked.

I was growing up and I asked myself many questions. Sometimes, while I ate what she had cooked, I felt it was the appropriate time to ask her some questions:

“Don’t you wear gloves at work?”

She looked at me in the sweet and gentle way that made me recognize her.

“At first they gave me a pair of plastic gloves but with the use of acids they were quickly destroyed, and the company did not provide for more. So, working with gloves damaged  in that way, I didn’t have the necessary grip on the lenses and, after I had dropped some that I had to pay myself, I haven’t used them anymore. “

Meanwhile, she was baking an apple pie. She always did it on Sunday, and that would be my breakfast for the whole week. I did not have the courage to tell her that at the end of my greedy mouthfuls, while pressing the pine nuts and apples between my teeth, I always sensed that unmistakable, nauseating, bitter and deadly odor of trichloroethylene which inexplicably had invaded our house.

“You always have red eyes, can’t you protect them?” I wondered, staring straight at her tired glance. She reflected a while and replied with a faded smile:

“Yes, at first I used a plastic mask which soon got striped and when testing the lenses, I must be sure that there are no veins on them, so I decided not to use the mask anymore.” Her answers hurt me because they were logical, but terrible. In order to keep her job, she was forced  to not protect  herself from the dangers of the elements that surrounded her. It was like walking around in a circle from which she would never emerge.

Meanwhile, I saw her, my good mother, fading and sacrificing her youth and beauty on that pagan altar that was  production, an infinite assembly line that, when measured across its length, would spread a creaky tape from the earth to the moon. The work that crushed those who did it with no satisfaction  and understood it was their only means to survive.

So sweet was that woman as she sewed something to dress me on the night between Saturday and Sunday.

“You must study, we need the money to buy books, and you won’t have my life!” She said with a flash of pride that lit and stretched her contracted features and moistened her eyes with emotion, “You’ll have a man who will respect and marry you, not like me who has been used and left alone!”

“Who was my father, mom?” I had the courage to ask of her  who had once been a beautiful woman.

Coughing, she looked away from the sewing and smiled as if lost in a dream.

“He was handsome. He had red hair and green eyes like yours and freckles scattered all over his body like those you have on your nose.”She was still in love with that man about whom she didn’t intend to tell me anymore. Was he tall, thin, good, where could I see him, at least for once in my life? Those were the questions that she, with a steady and proud gaze, forced me not to ask.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman with two eyes so huge that watching them you could even get into her soul. One day in those eyes something came that should never reach them, a relentless barrage of glass fragments fired from the demented automatic tape.

Sitting next to her in the hospital ward, while I held her hand, I heard her crying, and her despair was not only for what had happened to her but, most of all, that she had to abandon her dream about my life. It was as if, in the reality that lay ahead where perhaps she could no longer see, the only thing that hurt her was the fact that she wouldn’t be able to observe the images that concerned my future just as she had dreamed it. She coughed and cried, and my hand close to her did nothing but worsen her sadness.

My beautiful woman won’t live long, the doctor told me today. The cough is due to the damage her lungs suffered, exposed for too long a time to acids and powdered glass.

“There were no filters in the factory where your mother worked?”

“No, as far as I know there were only ventilators working, but she told me that the glass dust covered all the tables, including the one where she used to eat together with the other workers, near the assembly line!”

“Unfortunately, the fans were not enough, I am sorry.”

Once upon a time there was a cute girl with red hair, green eyes and freckles on her nose, who some time ago had believed in gnomes and fairies. One day before dawn, while outside it was raining and thundering strong, she closed her books in a drawer where usually the dreams are kept. Slowly, she wore a gray apron and hid her auburn curls in the white cap. She glanced at the warm bed that, unmade, would wait for her until late at night. Then she opened the door and stepped outside into the rain.

                                                                                       Daniela Alibrandi


This short story of my collection was published by a magazine of Italian Radio and Television and by several weeklies. It is part of the collection “Echoes of the soul” you can find entering the following link.






Interviews, the opportunity to tell about my passion: writing

                                                    ABOUT   “NO STEPS ON THE SNOW”


  1. Tell us a bit about yourself.

I am Italian and was born in Rome. In my adolescence I spent a meaningful time in USA, Manchester, New Hampshire. For family reasons I came back to Rome, where I ended my classical studies. I’m married with two children and my life has always been full of “duties”, like all mothers have. The house,the husband, the children and an interesting work as functionary in educational Field and in cultural exchanges. It was a great effort to manage all this. And in my soul I have always had inspirations that only asked to become stories, but there was never time for that. Until something happened…

  1. What inspired you to write your first book?

In 2008 an accident occurred to me and I was motionless for almost two months. My life suddenly stopped and, spending many hours alone in my flat,from which I could see each sunset on the Mediterranean Sea, I started to rethink about my high school time, my friends. I felt that those passions were still alive in me, together with the desperate feelings of that generation. The story came out and I wrote No Steps on the Snow with my left hand, the only one that I could move.

  1. How did you come up with the title No Steps On the Snow for your title?

I just thought about our life as to a great expanse of snow, that we trample on during our living, on which we fall in the worst days we live, while we walk and walk. What if, at the end of our way, turning back we would realize that we left “No steps on the snow”?

  1. Describe your main character in five words.

Sorry, mean, passionate,mock, naive.

  1. What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your books?

An author discovers many surprising things since he/she feels  that caress in the soul that is the “inspiration”. What most surprised me is how high an author is able to fly while writing. In fact, I realized that I was inside the scenes and among the characters I was creating, I saw them moving around me and I was myself part of the whole. When I wrote the final chapter of “No stepson the snow”, I wiped my tears without realizing I was crying. Writing is a magic.

  1. What is your work schedule like when you’re writing?

My work schedule is very simple. I just imagine a situation and start creating something that gets its shape page by page. The truth is that I never know, at the beginning of the story, how it will go on and in which way it will end.

  1. Do you have any writing rituals?

Well, for me it’s important to write always in the same place, that’s my studio, maybe because from that window I can see the Bay, with its magical scenery. When I need an inspiration I look at the sunset, discovering that each day dies in its own way, like every human being does.

  1. What book are you reading now?

I always read a lot, a book after another. When I was thirteen I read Hemingway’s whole collection. Now I’m reading a book of an interesting Dutch writer, Saskia Noort. The title  is”The Fiver”.

  1. Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

A writer feels he/she has a mission, which is to convey strong emotions and deep feelings to the readers. An author stays hours and hours alone,writing and creating, sometimes forgetting even to eat at lunch or dinner, if the story requires. What is the only reward that an author needs for all this commitment? A smile from a reader that enjoyed reading the book or, as it happened to me, receiving a letter from a reader of No Steps on the Snow:
“…I want to talk about  my emotions, the ones that your book has caused me. How to start? Perhaps from the feeling that has bound and imprisoned me since the first pages, from that deep sense of authenticity that I felt from the very first lines… I have seen materialized before my eyes the story described, and it didn’t matter if I was sitting on the train or standing on the subway, wherever I was, I could feel the moist air of the Tiber river, the warm rays of the sun, the scent of the sea….”.
A writer needs a return from the readers, that’s his/her only real award.