The March 2015 issue of Bewitching Book Tour's Magazine

Bewitching Book Tours Magazine Issue 33 March 2015

Bewitching Book Tours Magazine is a publication of Bewitching Book Tours and Bewitching Books.

Editor: Roxanne Rhoads Design Editor and Layout: Lisa McGeen Contributors include Bewitching Book Tours Authors and Tour Hosts learn more at www.bewitchingbooktours.blogspot.com Ad space rates are: $40 full page ad $20 half page ad $10 quarter page ad You can subscribe to this magazine at http://issuu.com/bewitchingbooktours Š Copyright 2015 Stock images from www.123rf.com

Contents

Stuck in the Research Mudbog The Morrigan Feature Earth Reclaimed Feature Icy Passage Feature Clarabelle’s Custom Creations Pouraka Feature Foxglove in the Springtime Feature Enchanter’s Echo Feature How Romance had been influenced by Gothic Fairy Tales Conan Crushes Cynical Storytelling Dark Alchemy Feature A Time Apart Feature Angel Codes Feature Stolen Hearts Feature Writing Young Adult Earth’s Reclaimed Becoming Andy Hunsinger Feature Naughty Nook Dewpoints and Decadence Feature Pinup Files

4 10 12 24 26 28 32 34 38 42 46 50 54 56 60 67 73 78 80 82

Stuck in the Research Mudbog: Rachael Stapleton tells us when to spin our wheels and when to get pulled out?

Sometimes, you just can’t avoid research—it’s like driving through mud. Actually I’m reminded of Burketon Hills, a thrilling and muddy place my Dad used to take me where 4x4 trucks with oversized tires would climb dunes and play in the mud.

Much like currently writing the third book in my Temple of Indra series except now I am the monster truck spinning my wheels and flinging dirt. The message behind both mud bogging and research is the same—drive through enough of it, and you’re probably going to get stuck. With research tires spinning, historical wars flying and forward progress on your novel halted, what is a writer to do?

Well first off let’s talk about whether or not research is really necessary for your book. In my opinion, yes, although the amount depends on what genre you’re writing. Historical fiction and techbased science fiction being quite reliant on research but really even mainstream fiction requires research at times. Getting into the mind of cops, killers, and the opposite sex doesn’t come naturally to all of us.

My series hinges on reincarnation and time travel of a sort which technically feels a lot like historical fiction because two of my main characters go back to where it all began to rescue one of their own. Here are some of the tabs open on my browser this morning Wallachian Revolution of 1848, The Politics of Witchcraft Studies, Romanian Folklore and Haunted Romania. Need another coffee? Me too.

I thought I knew enough about Romania to set a fictional backdrop there, after all I watched Dracula, The Boy Who Cried Werewolf and Transylvania 6-5000. Tee hee! Unfortunately, as I pour over the historical facts and political strife that was the Danubian Principalities, I realize this place has undergone a lot of war and finding the right time period is going to be a challenge.

Why don’t I just abandon this setting? Great idea! How much easier would it be to just pick a new setting for my book, Prague, Austria, Hungary—oh wait I did that in Book One and it was also full of political strife, besides would you leave your once shiny new toy truck stuck in the mud? Me neither. I’m a Taurus and that makes me as stubborn as a bull. I would love to take a trip to Transylvania to visit the fifteenth cen-

tury Corvinești Castle that is northwest of the Carpathian Mountain range and situated by the river Zlasti. Wouldn’t that shake something loose? From the pictures, it’s an imposing building, with forty-three rooms, two balconies and two bridges supported by four massive stone pillars. I could do some in-person research on the torture chamber, no, it’s not the red room of Fifty Shades, it’s even worse. Gasp! I could learn about the Hunyadi era when many people were brutally tortured and killed within the castle walls, brutally beaten, hanged and decapitated. The funny thing about research is a lot of the stuff I learn doesn’t even wind up in my story. But it still informs my writing. This is part of the job and it’s the reason you should not shy away from it. So here is my advice for when your virtual truck gets hung up on a rock or you flood that magnificent engine that is your brain?

Rock It Out As soon as you get stuck, you need to come to a complete stop, go in reverse, and get back where you started from—solid ground—so head back to your notes. To do this you need to be organized ahead of time. If you didn’t write an outline before then take the time and do it now. Start with the hook. This is a one-sentence summary of your novel. Something like this: “An architect travels back in time to save his wife.” The sentence will serve you forever as a ten-second selling tool. This is the big picture and can be used in online pitch contests.

Some hints on what makes a good sentence: Shorter is better. No character names. Which character has the most to lose in this story?

What does he/she want to win? Now expand that sentence to a full paragraph describing the story setup, major disasters, and ending of the novel. Ideally, your paragraph will have about five sentences. One sentence for backdrop and story setup, one sentence each for your (3) disasters, then one more sentence to tell the ending. Note: This is not the back-cover copy for your book. This paragraph summarizes the whole story. Your back-cover copy should summarize only about the first quarter of the story.

Add Traction Place dry, solid objects beneath the edge of the tire in the direction you want to go (forward or reverse). Some drivers like floor mats or sticks, I like characters. Characters are an intricate part of any novel. For each of your major characters, write a one-page summary sheet that tells: name, a one-sentence summary of the character’s storyline, what he/she wants (motivation), what does he/she want (goal), what’s preventing him/her from reaching this goal (conflict), what will he/she learn, how will he/she change (epiphany). Once you’ve created characters, take your four-page synopsis and make a list of all the scenes using a spreadsheet that you’ll need to turn the story into a novel.

Winch It If you plan to drive through mud on a regular basis, it is probably wise to outfit your truck with some sort of winch. Even if you don’t have a winch, a friend’s Hi-Lift jack can be used to pull the vehicle free. Likewise a good writers group can come in handy. Sometimes we need a little help from our writer friends. Take your prep work with you and talk it out. I can’t count how many times I’ve been rescued by Yvonne, Susan, Marissa, Lora, Connie and Ann. Last But Not Least—Pull It Out

Oftentimes, the best and quickest way to get your truck unstuck is to have another truck simply pull you out.

Which means get back to writing and worry about the historical accuracy, names of places, people and dates, during the rewrites. The truth is I love to research. I could spend years delving into castle architecture alone just to write a thriller that hinges on one small and obscure architectural fact. I would live in research land forever but at a certain point, you need to just write. That is why I’ve put a rule in place. I allow myself to research during two phases: the idea phase and the rewriting phase. In between, research is a distraction.

Here are some of the great sites offering research advice that I live by. http://www.writersdigest.com/online-editor/mystery-novel-writing-5-faqs-on-how-to-do-excellent-research-foryour-novel http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/there-are-no-rules/how-to-research-your-novel

http://www.advancedfictionwriting.com/articles/snowflake-method/ Curse of the Purple Delhi Sapphire Temple of Indra Series Book Two Rachael Stapleton Genre: Mystery, Adventure, Romance Publisher: Solstice Publishing Date of Publication: February 3rd, 2015 Cover Artist: Rebecca Boyd ASIN: B00SNAF018 Print Length: 215 pages Word Count: 66, 400 Book Description: As a librarian, Sophia Marcil loved reading, especially books about ancient curses and reincarnation, but she never imagined the legend of the Purple Delhi Sapphire was true until she inherited it and was transported back to a past life where she was murdered. Now she knows that not only is reincarnation real, but so is the devil’s magic locked inside the precious gem. Just as she’s about to tell her boyfriend Cullen about it, he proposes with an engagement ring made from a piece of the very sapphire that’s cursed her. Reeling from the shock and surrounded by his family, she allows him to place it on her ring finger. As soon as it touches her skin, she feels herself being wrenched back in time.

Before she knows it, she’s wandering the hallway of an old Victorian house in the body of her great aunt. Unfortunately, her nemesis has also reincarnated in 1920—as one of her family members. Sophia struggles to locate the Purple Delhi Sapphire in time to prevent the deaths of those she loves, but she fails and returns to her present-day life, to the precise moment she left, with a deep understanding that her killer’s soul is also tied to the sapphire and every life she has, he is resurrected as someone close to her.

Her stalker ex-boyfriend Nick seems like a prime candidate this time but she’s convinced she’s a step ahead of him, thanks to a tip from a medium, she knows that if she uses the magic of the stone correctly she can trap

Nick’s soul in the sapphire and save herself. But when Nick is murdered, she finds evidence that has her questioning everything she thought she knew.

Is Cullen husband material or is history doomed to repeat itself?

Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/VCeG9eA09Fg Available at Amazon Excerpt Fog descended, eerily beautiful despite the dingy residue it seemed to be composed of—producing an unwelcome metallic taste in my mouth. I lagged behind, pulling my scarf tight around my shoulders and taking in the outline of the buildings, which now looked even more Gothic and ghostly. They gave me a chill, or maybe it was just the weather. I had snowmobiled and skied on the frostiest of Canadian mornings and hardly ever felt the cold; I even slept with the windows open at times. But this cold was different from anything I had experienced. It cut to the core.

Of course I’d read about the smog of old London, when a million coal fires polluted the atmosphere, but the sound of the fog horn now blaring from the river made it real.

“Maggie,” Emily said with a cough. “We should duck into one of these places. We’ve got a peasouper rolling in.”

Maggie’s soon-to-be mother-in-law gave a gasp. “A tavern is not a suitable place for a group of women and children.”

“Yes, I realize that but it’s bloody—sorry, it’s terribly bad weather out here—” Emily stopped. “It’s going to get worse and—” “Mama, I’m cold,” Gigi whined. I gave her arms and shoulders a little rub to increase the circulation.

“What is this?” Marjorie asked through a muffled hand.

“Pollution from the—” I began and then clamped my hand over my mouth.

“No use chit-chatting. We should be there already. Let’s pick up our feet, shall we?”

Maggie, who was clearly uncomfortable, made a vague gesture with her hands and followed the formidable woman down the sidewalk.

As the ladies turned a corner, a man in a trench coat caught my eye. He’d been right behind us four blocks ago, and earlier in the day he’d loitered outside the dress shop. His fedora rode low over his eyes at all times and he looked to be about 5’11", coincidentally the same build as Eugene. I kept my eye on him for the next several blocks before he slipped behind a great stone church. I looked up and began to feel uneasy as I realized I’d now lost sight of the gang. In the growing fog, the iron fence surrounding it looked like rows of jagged black teeth. Don’t panic, I said to myself. Eventually I would catch up to them or come to a place I recognized and everything would be all right. I knew the name of the hotel we were staying in. The problem was that I was rapidly being swallowed up into the murk, and it was impossible to read the street signs which had now vanished into the fog above my head.

That’s when I noticed the slow, steady rhythm of footsteps behind me—keeping pace with mine. I turned but couldn’t see anyone. Probably just someone else out lost in this godforsaken weather, I told myself. Or the footsteps could only be a strange echo produced by the fog. I started walking again, stopped suddenly, and heard the footsteps continue another couple of beats before they too stopped. I had no choice but to keep going, so I increased my pace. Thankfully I glimpsed Marjorie’s skirt disappearing behind a building and took off on a terror in an effort to catch up, my mind conjuring the sort of thing that happened in the fog in some of Gigi’s old mystery novels. I rounded the corner onto a cobblestone side street and ran smack into something hard.

Palming my forehead, I realized the smog didn’t hang quite as low here, or maybe the cool breeze off the Thames River pushed it away. The bad news was, aside from the offending lamp post, the street lay empty. I looked up and noticed a sign that hung atop an old storefront, advertising rare books. Maggie must have reasoned with her mother-in-law and pulled the gang indoors. No better place than one filled with books.

Wandering into the shop through a brass-studded wooden door, I smiled to myself, taken in by the

familiar smell of grass mixed with a hint of vanilla, my happy place. Books were a constant in my life, and this unmistakable smell always made me feel at home. The bell over the door jingled and a slender man of sixty with large brown eyes, a long nose, and a full gray mustache appeared, climbing down from the rolling ladder behind the counter.

He smiled at me as if he recognized a fellow bibliophile.

“Good afternoon, miss. May I help you?”

I looked around the quaint little shop. A polished table sat empty in the corner, offering up only a delicate brass lamp. Shelves lined the room and were packed with books at every turn but the store was also empty, unless Marjorie and the gang were hiding in an alcove. “Did a group of women come in here?”

“No, dear,” he replied and wrinkled his brow.

Turning to go back out the door, panic slammed into my chest. The man in the navy blue trench coat had followed me. He stood at the corner of the street, leaning against the wall, casually smoking and efficiently blocking my only way out. Half expecting him to turn around and spot me, my mouth went dry.

“Is everything all right, miss?”

Swiping a hand over my forehead, I brushed back a clump of sweaty hair. “I’m fine. I’m waiting for someone, that’s all.”

The shopkeeper stood still, watching me, his face creased with concern. Hastily I retreated, circling the room, studying the shelves and looking for a back door.

He followed me to where I stood browsing an older collection of Shakespeare. He pulled out a nineteenth-century edition of Twelfth Night and handed it to me. I flipped through the pages, to be polite, before handing it back.

“Something specific you fancy?”

“I’ll just take a look around on my own,” I said, then noticed for the first time the book in his possession.

“What’s that?” I asked, squinting; his hand covered the spine.

“Oh, this?”

I followed him and he laid the book open on the counter, turning it sideways so we could both look at it.

The scent of dust and pages that time had long since begun to degrade drifted out of it. It was the smell of the book I’d found in the library in my own time and seen prior to that in the alchemist’s study.

“It’s a collection of spells I acquired at an estate sale in Prague a few years ago.” He flipped the thin pages until he came to a poem printed neatly in the center of the leaf. “It looks to me like a book of magic,” he added, grinning.

A familiar feeling twisted within me.

Could it be?

About the Author: Rachel Stapleton spent her youth cultivating a vivid imagination inside the book lined walls of an old Victorian library where she consumed everything from mystery to biography, creating magical worlds, hidden elevators, and secret spiral staircases. At sixteen, she penned a column for the local newspaper and in 2006, wrote her first book featuring an adventurous librarian.

She lives in a Second Empire Victorian with her husband and two children in Ontario and enjoys writing in the comforts of aged wood and arched dormers. She is the author of The Temple of Indra’s Jewel and is currently working on a third book in the Temple of Indra series.

Visit her website and follow her on social media or sign up at www.rachaelstapleton.com to receive email updates. http://rachaelstapleton.blogspot.ca/ https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Rachael-Stapleton/137831156290570

https://twitter.com/RaquelleJaxson https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7271862.Rachael_Stapleton

She’d heard the whistle before she noticed the man. Without even looking up, Morrie knew Kade approached her on his way home from town, whistling a slow, sad tune as he hiked. She could feel his presence.

As soon as he noticed her, that tune changed, a grin creeping at his lips.

“Told ya the ol’ girl didna like tae be gripped so hard,” Kade smirked, stopping in front of her.

Arms crossed, Morrie expressed her lack of amusement with a dull glare. “That’s not what happened. This rusted bucket of junk lost a wheel.”

“Ack, don’t speak o’ her so,” he chided, pulling his hands free of his coat pocket, frowning with fake concern. He sidled around to the driver side, inspecting the damage. “Tis’ nothing, I can fix her right up.”

Morrie jumped off the back and stood behind him as he crouched down beside the truck. Leaning his shoulder into the side, he lifted the truck up, giving enough space beneath the tire to straighten the wheel. Morrie’s eyes widened with surprise.

“It’s a lot lighter than it looks,” she said, impressed.

With the wheel corrected, Kade stood up and faced her, dusting his hands off. “Looks can often be deceiving, Morrie. And I’ll be takin’ tha ride now, if ye doona mind.”

“Not if you’re driving,” she replied dryly, tossing him the keys.

Once inside and chugging down the road, the truck's cabin seemed much smaller than before. Kade’s body filled it like an occupying force.

Morrie kept her face free of expression as she watched the horizon, but still noted with an occasional glance the way Kade leaned back casually, his strong, tan hand hanging over the wheel while he rested his arm on the window. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him looking at her, watching her more often than the road.

“Are you determined to wreck us?” she asked.

“I know this road better than my own home,” he replied with a deep voice Morrie only then noticed had a way of vibrating her ribcage. “Doona worry yer bonnie head, lass. Ye’re safe wi’ me.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

He chuckled, but she kept her face turned away from him, watching the landscape slowly pass by.

“Ye know, the shore’s a bit past the house on this road. There’s a great restaurant there right on the water. It’s about lunchtime anyway, what do ye say for stopping for a bite?”

“No, thank you.”

“They serve Dr. Pepper.”

She looked at him at that, knowing her face was bright and hopeful despite herself. He had one dark eyebrow quirked, waiting.

Opening her mouth to speak, Morrie struggled a moment longer with her basic urges before saying, “Well, I guess I am hungry.”

“I’m no’ too ashamed tae admit that hurt, Morrie.” Kade had his eyes back on the road, a smile playing at his full, soft lips, though his tone had been serious. “That a soda is more appealing tae ye than me.”

With her stunned gaze on him, a grin crept its way on her lips before she could hold it back, lightening her words.

“Well, it’s been two days since I’ve had any.”

“Ye could’ve had plenty last night had ye stayed in bed,” he quipped, his voice dropping seductively.

“Is everything about sex with you?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Canna help myself,” he muttered, a tone of genuine disbelief entering his voice. “When I’m around ye, I seem tae lose my mind.”

In a way, his admission was a surprising compliment, and Morrie couldn’t help smiling at it.

He frowned. “My god, is that a smile I see?” He made a show of looking at her, inspecting her face, which only

made it harder for her to squelch the silly expression back down. “Doona hide it, Morrie, my dear, that’s the first time I’ve seen ye smile. It's beautiful.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, facing forward but her lips still upturned.

“Quite right, lass,” he adopted a playful serious tone. “Put that thing away, wouldna want the angels above tae cry with jealousy over its beauty.”

Morrie rolled her eyes and glanced at him.

Something odd happened inside of her, a weird sensation like she had been filled with warm, rich chocolate. Every time she looked at him, at that bright smile he flashed and the warmth in his eyes, it seemed to stir that molten feeling.

“Just speakin’ the truth.”

"You speak with too much familiarity." She rested her head in her hand, watching him. He locked eyes with hers and somehow their chocolate depths darkened, his voice husky when he spoke.

"I really canna help it," he answered. "I feel as though I know ye, as though I've known ye my whole life."

She felt it, too, an odd and inexplicable connection that seemed to justify her sudden lust. And though the feeling was brief and fleeting, it sent a shock through her body.

Unable to think straight, Morrie sat up and looked out, hoping if she focused on the storm clouds rolling in, it would help relieve the strange sensations at play within her. Lips parted, she took a breath.

“How much farther?”

Kade cleared his throat. “Not much.”

Thank the gods, Morrie thought. Another half mile and she might end up ordering Kade to pull over and take her there in the cow pastures.

The Morrigan Damaged Deities Book 1 Kennan Reid Genre: Adult Paranormal Romance ISBN: ASIN: Word Count: 106k Cover Artist: Najla Qambar Book Description: Morrie Brandon is the best horse trainer in Oklahoma, able to tame the wildest of beasts. She's also the Celtic goddess of War and Sex, The Morrigan, abandoning her supernatural life for a simpler, more human one.

When Morrie is hired by a secretive Scottish family to capture a killer horse ravaging their Highlands manor, the past she has spent thousands of years running from calls her back.

Will Morrie learn from her past mistakes and embrace the bold goddess she truly is, or is it too late?

About the Author:

Available at Amazon

Kennan Reid is an American writer from the San Francisco Bay Area where she lives with her husband in a house overrun with pets. Because she's always been a lucky little brat, her life has taken her all over the world from the hot, humid streets of Hong Kong and the crowded markets of Cairo, to the cobbles of Vienna and the ruins of Rome from where she has shamelessly stolen ideas and material for her stories.

She self-published her first young adult novel, Always Me, in September 2011.

Other Novels include Return to Arèthane and Prince of Arèthane.

For more information on Kennan who also writes as Kelly Riad visit: http://kellyriad.blogspot.com/

Earth’s Requiem Earth Reclaimed Book 1 Ann Gimpel Dream Shadow Press 107K words Release Date: 3/1/15 Genre: Dystopian Urban Fantasy Resilient, kickass, and determined, Aislinn's walled herself off from anything that might make her feel again.

Until a wolf picks her for a bondmate, and a Celtic god rises out of legend to claim her for his own.

Book Description: Aislinn Lenear lost her anthropologist father high in the Bolivian Andes. Her mother, crazy with grief that muted her magic, was marched into a radioactive vortex by dark creatures and killed. Three years later, stripped of every illusion that ever comforted her, twenty-two year old Aislinn is one resilient, kickass woman with a take no prisoners attitude. In a world turned upside down, where virtually nothing familiar is left, she’s conscripted to fight the dark gods responsible for her father’s death. Battling evil on her own terms, Aislinn walls herself off from anything that might make her feel again in this compelling dystopian urban fantasy.

Fionn MacCumhaill, Celtic god of wisdom, protection, and divination has been laying low since the dark gods stormed Earth. He and his fellow Celts decided to wait them out. After all, three years is nothing compared to their long lives. On a clear winter day, Aislinn walks into his life and suddenly all bets are off. Awed by her courage, he stakes his claim to her and to an Earth he's willing to fight for.

Aislinn’s not so easily convinced. Fionn’s one gorgeous man, but she has a world to save. Emotional

entanglements will only get in her way. Letting a wolf into her life was hard. Letting love in may well prove impossible.

Excerpt Book One:

Available at Amazon

Aislinn tried to stop it, but the vision that had dogged her for over a year played in her head. She squeezed her eyes shut tight. Mental images crowded behind her closed lids, as vivid as if they’d happened yesterday. She raked her hands through her hair and pulled hard, but the movie chronicling the beginning of her own personal hell didn’t even slow down. She whimpered as the humid darkness of a South American night closed about her…

Her mother screamed in Gaelic, “Deifir, Deifir,” and then shoved Aislinn again. She tried to hurry like her mother wanted, but it was all too much to take in. Stumbling down the steep Bolivian mountainside in the dark, she ignored tears and snot streaking her face. Her legs shook. Nausea clenched her gut. Her mother was crying too, in between cursing the gods and herself. Aislinn knew enough Gaelic to understand her mother had tried to talk her father out of going to the ancient Inca prayer site, but Jacob hadn’t listened.

A vision of her father’s twisted body lying dead a thousand feet above them tore at Aislinn. Just a few hours ago, her life had been normal. Now her mother had turned into a grief-crazed harridan. Her beloved father, a gentle giant of a man, was dead. Killed by those horrors that had crawled out of the ground. Perfect, goldenskinned men with long, silky hair and luminous eyes, apparently summoned through the ancient rite linked to the shrine. Thinking about it was like trying to shove her hand into a flame, her pain too unbearable to examine closely.

Aislinn was afraid to turn around. Tara had already slapped her once. Another spate of Gaelic galvanized her tired legs into motion. Her mother was clearly terrified the monsters would come after them, but Aislinn didn’t think they’d bother. At least a hundred adoring half-naked worshipers remained at the shrine high on the mountain. Once Tara had herded her into the shadows, her last glimpse of the crowd revealed one of the lethal exotic creatures turning a woman so he could penetrate her. Even in Aislinn’s near-paralyzed state, the sexual heat was so compelling, it took all her self-discipline not to race to his side and insist he take her instead. After all, she was younger, prettier. It didn’t matter at all that he’d just killed her father. …Aislinn shook her head so hard, it felt like her brains rattled from side to side in her skull. Despite the time that had passed since her father’s murder, she still fell into these damned trance states, where the horror happened all over again. Tears leaked from her eyes. She slammed a fist down on a corner of her desk, glorying in the diversion pain created. Crying was pointless. It wouldn’t change anything. Self-pity was an indulgence she couldn’t afford.

Pull it together. The weak die.

Even though she wasn’t sure why life felt so precious—after all, she’d lost nearly everything—Aislinn wanted to live. Would do anything to hang onto the vital thread that maintained her on Earth.

A bitter laugh bubbled up. What a transition: from Aislinn Lenear, college student, to Aislinn Lenear, fledgling magic wielder. A second race of alien beings, Lemurians, had stormed Earth on the heels of that hideous night in Bolivia, selecting certain humans because they had magical ability and sending everyone else to their deaths.

It was a process. It took time to kill people, but huge sections of Salt Lake City sat empty. Skyscraper towers downtown and rows of vacant buildings mocked a life that was no more. In her travels to nearby places before the gasoline ran out, Aislinn had found them about the same as Salt Lake.

Jacob’s death had been a harbinger of impending chaos—the barest beginning. The world she’d known had imploded shockingly fast. It killed Aislinn to admit it—she kept hoping for a miracle to intercede—but her mother was certifiable. Tara may as well have died right along with her husband. She hadn’t left the house once since they’d returned a year before. Her long, red hair was filthy and matted. She barely ate. When she wasn’t curled into a fetal position, she drew odd runes on the kitchen floor and muttered in Gaelic about Celtic gods and dragons. It was only a matter of time before the Lemurians culled her. Tara had magic, but she was worthless in her current state.

The sound of the kitchen door rattling against its stops startled Aislinn. On her feet in a flash, she took the stairs two at a time and burst into the kitchen. A Lemurian had one of its preternaturally long-fingered hands curved around Tara’s emaciated arm. He crooned to her in his language—an incomprehensible mix of clicks and clacks. Tara’s wild, golden eyes glazed over. She stopped trying to pull away and got to her feet, leaning against

the seven-foot tall creature with long, shiny blond hair, as if she couldn’t stand on her own.

“No!” Aislinn hurled herself at the Lemurian. “Leave her alone.”

“Stop!” His odd alien gaze met hers. “It is time,” the Lemurian said in flawless English, “for both you and her. You must join the fighting and learn about your magic. Your mother is of no use to anyone.”

“But she has magic.” Aislinn hated the pleading in her voice. Hated it.

Be strong. I can’t show him how scared I am.

Something flickered behind the Lemurian’s expression. It might have been disgust—or pity. He turned away and led Tara Lenear out of the house.

Aislinn growled low in her throat and launched herself at the Lemurian’s back. Gathering her clumsy magic into a primitive arc, she focused it on her enemy. Her tongue stuttered over an incantation. Before she could finish it, something smacked her in the chest so hard she flew through the air, hit the kitchen wall, and then slumped to the floor. Wind knocked out of her, spots dancing before her eyes, she struggled to her feet. By the time she stumbled to the kitchen door, both the Lemurian and her mother had vanished.

An unholy shriek split the air, followed by another. Aislinn clapped a hand over her mouth to seal the sound inside and clutched the doorsill. Pain clawed at her belly. Her vision became a red haze. The fucking Lemurian had taken her mother. The last human connection she had. And they expected her to fight for them?

Ha! It would be a cold day in Hell. She let go of the doorframe and balled her hands into fists so hard her nails drew blood.

Standing still was killing her, so she walked into blindingly bright sunlight. She didn’t care what happened next. It didn’t matter anymore. A muted explosion rocked the ground. She staggered. When she turned, she wasn’t surprised to see her house crack in multiple places and settle. Not totally destroyed, but close enough.

Guess they want to make sure I don’t have anywhere to go back to.

Her heart shattered into jagged pieces that poked her from the inside. She bit her lip so hard it ached.

When that didn’t make a dent in her anguish, she pinched herself, dug her nails into her flesh until she bled from dozens of places. Fingers slick with her own blood, she forced herself into a ragged jog. Maybe if she put some distance between herself and the wreckage of her life, the pain sluicing through her would abate.

As she ran, a phrase filled her mind. The same sentence, over and over in time to her heartbeat. I will never care for anyone ever again. I will never care for anyone ever again. After a time, the words etched into her soul…

Earth’s Blood Earth Reclaimed Book 2 Ann Gimpel Dream Shadow Press 105K words

Release Date: 3/1/15 Genre: Dystopian Urban Fantasy Clinging to their courage in a crumbling world, Aislinn and Fionn vow to save Earth, no matter what it takes.

Book Description: In a post-apocalyptic world where most people have been slaughtered, the Celtic gods and a

few humans with magic are all that stand between survival and Earth falling into chaos. The combination of dark sorcery leveraged by the enemy is daunting. Destruction is all but certain if the small enclaves of humans who are left can’t get past their distrust of the Celts.

Captured by the enemy, Aislinn Lenear wonders if she’ll ever see her bond wolf or Fionn, a Celtic god, again. She’s had nothing but her wits to rely on for years. They haven’t failed her yet, but escape from her current predicament seems remote.

An enticing blend of dystopian urban fantasy and romance, this second volume of the Earth Reclaimed Series provides fertile ground for Aislinn and Fionn’s relationship to deepen. Headstrong and independent, the pair run up against each other’s demands time and time again. Fireworks spark. In the end, they learn to savor every moment in a bittersweet world where each day may well be the last.

Excerpt Book Two:

Available at Amazon

…One last quick breath. Aislinn threw her power wide open, diverting some to shield herself. She funneled the rest into a wild sprint away from the gaping maw of a door. Pain lanced up her leg, but she ignored it and urged her muscles to greater speed. She needed to free up at least a three-minute lead so she could jump herself out of there. Portals took time to form, so she was vulnerable at the start of traveling jumps.

Her lungs burned; the ragged sound of her own breathing echoed off the walls. Where were Rune and Fionn? Throwing caution to the winds, she called for Rune. Maybe he could find her. If he can do that, he’ll lead Fionn to me.

A high-pitched shriek filled her ears and built to where it was unbearable. Her leg wasn’t the only thing on fire. Her eardrums ruptured. Hot fluid ran down the sides of her face. A wave of dizziness threatened to flatten her, but she didn’t slow. It had taken the Lemurians a few precious seconds to react to her disobedience. She prayed it would give her enough time to escape.

The air in the corridor shimmered fifty feet ahead. Desperate, she looked for a side tunnel, an open doorway, anything she could duck into. It would be just like the Old Ones to cut off her escape from all sides.

Noooooo, a voice in her head screamed. I do not want to die here.

The brightness intensified. It may not matter what I want, a different inner voice muttered dourly. She snuck a peek over one shoulder. The air looked funny there, too, but it was different somehow. Bleaker.

“Lass, drop your shielding.” Fionn’s voice sounded in her head. “Ye must, or I canna jump us out of this hellhole. Hurry, or they’ll have you from behind.”

She wondered if it was some kind of insidious trap. She tried to sense Fionn, but couldn’t. He’d be warded as well, but still... She risked another glance behind her. The ocher-tinged air was, indeed, closer. It smelled like the reptile exhibit at the zoo her parents used to take her to when she was a child: musty and rank. A few more steps, and the brilliance ahead surrounded her. “Now, lass. Now.” Fionn’s unique energy pulsed against her. Practically sobbing with relief, Aislinn pulled magic from her wards. The second she did so, he closed his arms around her. The gut-wrenching sensation of jumping when someone else controlled the spell pummeled her. Even if it made her puke, she’d never felt anything quite so

welcome.

“Rune?”

“He’s fine. Hush. I need to concentrate. This was a much narrower margin than I’m comfortable with.

We’re not out of the woods yet, leannán.”

Her ears throbbed. Her leg ached. She didn’t mind being quiet. Not when Fionn’s arms were around her. She could stand just about anything so long as they were together. Travis’s sneering face filled her mind, along with an impotent rage.

I’m going to kill that bastard if I ever see him again.

“Only if I doona get to him first,” Fionn snapped.

She considered complaining because he was in her head again—without her permission—but choked on a snort. After today, Fionn MacCumhaill could spend as much time as he wanted in her mind. Hell, he could take up residence there for all she cared.

The familiar walls of Marta’s kitchen rose around her. Snarling and snapping came from the study, followed by Gwydion’s Celtic brogue. “There now. She is back. ’Tis a stubborn creature, ye are. Ye dinna believe me. Go.” Rune galloped into the kitchen, his claws skidding on the wooden floor, and launched himself at Fionn in his eagerness to get at Aislinn. “Put her down,” the wolf demanded.

Bella flew into the room right behind the wolf, quorking, “Yes, put her down.” The bird landed on Fionn’s shoulder.

“Be careful,” Fionn cautioned. “She’s hurt. Doona be too exuberant. Bella, watch your talons.”

“I know how Aislinn feels,” Rune said indignantly. “After all, she is bonded to me.”

“Och aye, I hadna forgotten.” Fionn rolled his eyes and chuckled indulgently, while ruffling Bella’s dark feathers.

Aislinn lowered herself to the floor and closed her arms around Rune. She gloried in the feel of his rough outer coat and the soft fuzz beneath. Fionn and the hard, muscled planes of his body would keep. In spite of everything that had happened, desire forked through her at the thought of his lips on hers, his hands stroking her naked flesh, and his hardness buried deep inside her. a brow.

“Soon, lass.” Fionn winked at her. He added a vision of her mouth locked around his shaft and quirked She laughed and raised her gaze to meet his intensely blue eyes. “No secrets, huh?”

“Never, lass. It may not be a Hunter bond like ye share with the wolf, but our pledge, one to t’other, runs just as deep.”

Bella took flight, landed on Aislinn’s shoulder, and rained love pecks on her head. “Don’t be listening to my bondmate. He always had a honeyed tongue.”

“Really?” Fionn stepped close enough to mock-swat the raven.

“No secrets,” the raven cawed scornfully.

“Point taken. Come here.” Fionn held out an arm, and Bella fluttered to him. The two bent their heads together. Aislinn figured they were probably talking in their private mind speech.

The wolf howled and then whined and licked every inch of skin he could find. “Hurt? Where are you hurt, bondmate?”

“Ankle and ears. It’s nothing. Aw, Rune. I never thought I’d see you again.” Gratitude swelled inside her. Her throat thickened until it was hard to breathe; tears rolled down her face. The wolf licked them up…

Earth’s Hope Earth Reclaimed Book 3 Ann Gimpel

Dream Shadow Press 95K words

Release Date: 3/6/15

Genre: Dystopian Urban Fantasy

Power so old, deep, and chilling it hurts to think about it will overrun Earth if nothing changes.

Targeted, furious, and fighting back, Aislinn runs wide open, gathering allies and putting her life on the line.

Book Description:

Aislinn Lenear has traveled a long road since the dark gods invaded Earth better than three years ago. After seeing her father slaughtered in front of her, and her mother sink into madness, Aislinn built strong walls around her heart. First her bond wolf, and then Fionn MacCumhaill, changed all that, but she and Fionn are far from home free.

Four of the six dark gods are still sowing destruction, and they’ve joined forces with Lemurians, a desperate lot, running just ahead of the tide of their own mortality. In a bold move, they try to coopt a group of young dragons, and very nearly succeed. Dewi, the Celtic dragon god, and Nidhogg, the Norse dragon god, banish their brood to the dragons’ home world, but they refuse to stay put.

In a fast-paced, tension-riddled closure to this dystopian, urban fantasy series, Earth's Hope sweeps from Ireland to the Greek Islands to the Pacific Northwest to borderworlds where the dark gods live. Fionn’s and Aislinn’s relationship is strained to the breaking point as they struggle to work together without tearing one another to bits. Fionn is used to being obeyed without question, but Aislinn won’t dance to his tune. If they can find their way, there may be hope for a ravaged Earth.

Available at Amazon

Excerpt Book Three: …One of the red dragons leaped from the water, wings flapping, and dive-bombed her, showering her with slimy moat water.

“Ewww.” Aislinn sputtered the dank water away from her lips.

“Play with us,” the female dragon demanded.

“It’s almost time for bed.” Aislinn tried to sound stern, but she had the same problem with the younglings that plagued Dewi. They were so damned cute, it wasn’t easy to pull rank.

“Bed?” echoed from six other dragonlings. They vaulted from the water and converged on her, nearly crushing her beneath their bulk.

“Get off me,” Aislinn cried. “You’re heavy.”

“Yes,” the one black dragon announced proudly and nudged Rune with his scaled snout. “Once I rode you. Soon you’ll fit atop my back.”

“Don’t count on it,” Rune snarled.

Aislinn snickered. Flying atop a dragon wasn’t the wolf’s favorite activity. He tolerated it when he had to, but avoided it when he could.

“How’s it going, leannán?” Fionn strode down the greenway separating the moat from his castle.

Aislinn scrambled to her feet and shook water out of her hair. Her beige trousers were thick, boiled wool and fairly resistant to moisture. A cloak woven from the same wool wrapped around her body. She’d found the clothes in one of many trunks in Fionn’s attic. He couldn’t recall who they’d belonged to, but she assumed it was an earlier wife or girlfriend since he’d been born in 1048.

“Good, you’re here.” She squinted through the gloom. When he got close enough for her to see his face, the welcoming smile died on her lips.

“Aye, well at least someone is glad of my presence.”

“Didn’t go well, huh?” She held out her arms. He walked into them and wrapped his around her.

“Nay. Mostly the humans want to wait until we’re attacked. Bran wants to annihilate the Lemurians first.” He tightened his arms around her shoulders. “I want to bash our way through the dark gods until they get fed up enough to retreat, but I canna do it by myself.”

“We’ll help.” The black dragonling tried to wriggle between Fionn’s and Aislinn’s bodies. His scales caught on Aislinn’s pants.

“We will, we will,” other young voices chimed in.

“The dark ones killed our sister,” the black dragon went on, his piping voice serious. “We want revenge.”

“Mother won’t let us fight,” a green dragon spoke up. “She already said so.”

“Father disagreed,” the red dragon who’d invaded Aislinn’s lap said.

She’d gotten better at telling them apart, but it would be a relief once they named themselves. In all, there were two red females, three green males, the black male, and a copper male.

“I fear all of us will get our chance in battle afore this is over.” Gwydion, flanked by Bran, walked into their midst. “Come with me. Time to give Aislinn a break.”

“Will you tell us a story?” the copper dragon demanded.

“Yes,” a red dragon clapped her clawed forelegs together. “You tell the best stories.”

“I’ll be your bard tonight.” Bran made a sweeping bow. “Mayhap you’d care to hear about how dragons came to be.”

“Yes!” the red female shrieked.

“Follow Bran,” Gwydion urged. Once the dragons were in motion, some flying, some walking, he rolled his eyes and brought up the rear.

“Thanks,” Aislinn shouted after him.

“Ye owe me, lass,” he called over one shoulder.

Aislinn leaned her head into the nook between Fionn’s neck and shoulder. “Would you like to walk a bit before we go inside?”

“Aye, lass. Now ye mention it, I’d like that verra much.”

“Do you suppose we could go as far as the sea?”

“I thought we’d remain within my wards—”

Bella flapped out of the darkness and landed on Rune’s back. “We’re coming,” she announced.

“Of course we are,” Rune seconded. “My bonded one would never consider leaving me behind.”

Aislinn stifled a snort. The bond animals had their own network and frequently shared things among themselves that they’d never tell their humans. Apparently Bella had complained about Fionn ditching her, and the wolf was reminding her of that in a less-than-subtle manner.

“Since we’re all going,” Aislinn cut in before Fionn got into another argument with the cantankerous raven, “let’s do this. I sat for so long, I’m cold.” She wriggled out of Fionn’s embrace, reluctant to leave the warmth of his body.

“Would ye like me to find you a warmer wrap?” Fionn asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t want this to be a big production number. Mostly, I want to work the kinks out of my legs before we go to bed. Thank Christ Dewi will be back by the middle of tomorrow.”

Fionn hooked a hand beneath her arm and guided her toward the wall that rose all around his manor.

He’d had the mansion built in the fifteen hundreds to exacting specifications. Flat, gray stones comprised the outer wall; they fit together so precisely it was nearly impossible to detect their edges. The house itself was built from huge wooden beams and river rock. Five stories, with turrets and a tower and leaded glass windows, it looked like something out of a movie set.

Aislinn fell into step beside him, grateful for her long legs that let her keep pace easily. They passed beneath one of four curved gateways set into the outer wall and out onto open moorland. Humans who’d been assigned sentry duty nodded as they passed. The salt tang of the sea deepened, tickling her nostrils. For a moment, she felt homesick for the dry air of the American west where she was from. Rune jumped to one side, jaws snapping, and came up with a small, wriggling creature.

“I shall hunt too,” Bella declared and launched herself off the wolf’s back. The black of her wings melted into the shadows until Aislinn couldn’t see her anymore without magic.

“Why’s she unhappy this time?” Aislinn asked.

“What it comes down to,” Fionn replied, “is she doesn’t enjoy sharing me. Aye, she likes you well enough. Not like your mother, who she detested, but jealousy still gets the better of her.”

“She’s good to have by our side in battle, though.” Aislinn licked her lips and tasted salt from perpetual mists that hung in the air. “Speaking of which, I assume there’s another pow-wow with the humans.”

“Aye, that there is. If nothing else, we must craft a defensive plan should we be attacked.”

“Not if, but when,” she cut in. “I can’t put my finger on it, but time grows short. I feel it here.” She laid a hand over her chest.

“Ye and Bran, both. He says the Lemurians are closing, and I presume the dark gods are masterminding whatever they’re up to.”

Rune growled from around his impromptu meal. “I’m ready.” He shifted to mind speech because his mouth was busy.

Aislinn waited for the raven to jump in, but either Bella was out of earshot, or biding her time. The roar of breakers on sand got louder as they closed the distance to the beach. Fionn stopped walking and spun her in his arms until they faced one another. He murmured a string of Gaelic endearments just before he closed his mouth over hers.

Aislinn wove her arms around Fionn’s muscled torso and opened her mouth to his insistent tongue. Need flared, hot and urgent, but Fionn always had that effect on her. From the moment their bodies had first slammed together, passion drove reason from her mind.

She’d lost her father to Perrikus and D’Chel the night they’d pierced the veil separating Earth from their borderworlds. Lemurians had killed her mother a year later, and Aislinn had vowed to never let another soul get close enough to hurt her if something hideous happened to them. She’d held firm for two years, but first Rune and then Fionn, had walked into her life and changed everything.

Too late. It’s too late to worry about it now. Her breath quickened, and her nipples formed hard peaks where they were squashed against his chest.

Fionn dropped his hands lower and cupped the curves of her ass, pulling her hard against an obvious erection. She tore her mouth from his. “So, do you just want to fall into the wet grass and get it on?”

He made a decidedly male sound deep in his throat. “Not a bad idea, leannán. I can make us a dry place with magic.” He butted his hard-on against her pelvis. “At least we’d have a shred of privacy. No telling who’ll burst into my rooms back in the house.”

“No kidding. Do you suppose the dragons have figured out how to work their way past the deadbolt?”

“Och, lassie. Now ye mention it, I caught the black one using magic to do just that earlier today.” He tugged one of her arms from around him and pushed her hand over his engorged flesh. “We willna be long.

Think of the adventure aspect.” Muted humor ran beneath his words…

About the Author:

Ann Gimpel is a mountaineer at heart. Recently retired from a long career as a psychologist, she remembers many hours at her desk where her body may have been stuck inside four walls, but her soul was planning yet one more trip to the backcountry. Around the turn of the last century (that would be 2000, not 1900!), she managed to finagle moving to the Eastern Sierra, a mecca for those in love with the mountains. It was during long backcountry treks that Ann’s writing evolved. Unlike some who see the backcountry as an excuse to drag friends and relatives along, Ann prefers solitude. Stories always ran around in her head on those journeys, sometimes as a hedge against abject terror when challenging conditions made her fear for her life, sometimes for company. Eventually, she returned from a trip and

sat down at the computer. Three months later, a five hundred page novel emerged. Oh, it wasn’t very good, but it was a beginning. And, she learned a lot between writing that novel and its sequel.

Around that time, a friend of hers suggested she try her hand at short stories. It didn’t take long before that first story found its way into print and they’ve been accepted pretty regularly since then. One of Ann’s passions has always been ecology, so her tales often have a green twist.

In addition to writing, Ann enjoys wilderness photography. She lugs pounds of camera equipment in her backpack to distant locales every year. A standing joke is that over ten percent of her pack weight is camera gear which means someone else has to carry the food! That someone is her husband.

They’ve shared a life together for a very long time. Children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out their family.

www.anngimpel.com

http://anngimpel.blogspot.com

http://www.amazon.com/author/anngimpel

http://www.facebook.com/anngimpel.author

@AnnGimpel

Excerpt 3 – Chapter 6 CHANGING THE strange dreams come again, full of sharp white ice. It slices my skin whenever I move. Those voices, a woman’s and a man’s, echo in my ears. ‘... will be sentenced to time in the cell beneath the Chambers. It’s the only solution.’

‘I don’t like the idea ...’

‘But she’s broken the Edict! She needs to be punished.’

‘We can’t use the –.’

I don’t understand what they’re talking about.

I wake up a zombie. Mum has the day off and she makes me breakfast. It’s a rare treat, usually I’m left to fend for myself. It’s hardly gourmet food, just toast and vegemite, but it doesn’t taste quite right.

I push my plate away. It’s hard to care about food right now. All I can think about is the telescope and what happened last night with Molly. The telescope must have some kind of strange power.

But then … what happened with Baz? I touched his hand before Jake dropped the telescope. And those weird dreams have been happening for ages, ever since I hurt my ankle.

There must be something I’m missing. The best thing to do, the only thing to do, would be to ask Jake.

But I can’t. He’d know I took his telescope if I did that. So once Mum leaves for work, I hobble back to my room feeling as if the telescope is calling to me.

I pick it up and run my fingers over its surface. I examine the imperfect circles of glass in both ends. I put my eye to it and aim it at the walls. I run it over the ceiling. I peer at my desk and the bits of lint on the carpet. I turn to the window.

And I gasp.

I’m looking at the sky above the hedge between our neighbour’s house and ours, and I’m seeing something that’s impossible. There are buildings and towers stretching up like the delicate pale fingers of angels, linked by a cobweb of bridges as fine as lace. I can’t believe it. It’s an entire city hanging in the sky.

I lower the telescope and blink my eyesrapidly.

Nope. It’s definitely gone but … I know it’s still there. And, somehow, it seems perfectly natural for it to be there.

Something inside me tingles. The sensation runs down through my injured leg and pools in my ankle, prickling the skin.

There’s something else ... the buildings … I’ve seen them up-close. I’ve stood beneath them, climbed their stairs, walked through their cavernous rooms. It’s almost like … I can remember what it’s like to be there.

In the city.

The white light from my dreams, it’s not white at all. It’s silver.

Across the Bridge of Ice The Bridges Trilogy Book Two Ruth Fox Genre: Fantasy, YA Publisher: Hague Publishing Date of Publication: 31 January 2015 ISBN: 9780987265296 ASIN: B00Q20I4YQ Number of pages: 175 pages Word Count: 55,000 Cover Artist: Ruth Fox Book Description: In 'The City of Silver Light', Keira Leichman spent the night lost in a wild snowstorm that struck Cassidy Heights. But what really happened that night? Not even Keira can be sure. What she does know is that she's been having strange dreams since the accident, and now she's stuck with a broken ankle and the possibility of never playing soccer again. That is, until she finds Jake's telescope, and is drawn across the Bridge of Ice to Shar.

Now Keira is marooned in the City of Silver Light with Daniel, Jake’s younger brother, with no way to get home. But that is the least of their worries, for the secrets they discover in Shar are more dangerous than Kiera could ever have imagined. And the fate of both their worlds are in their hands.

Amazon Nook

iTunes

Google Play

Kobo HaguePublishing

About the Author: Ruth completed a Bachelor of Arts/Diploma of Arts in Professional Writing and Editing in 2006. Her other published works include “Monster-boy: The Lair of the Grelgoroth”, Book 1 of the Monsterboy Series, and “Sand Dog”, an illustrated picture book for younger readers. Both are available from Amazon.com.

Ruth has been an avid reader her entire life and, inspired by the books that engrossed her as she was growing up, she aims to create stories that can draw readers in and enthral them for days or weeks.

She writes every day and lives in Ballarat, Victoria, with her partner, her cat, and an ever-expanding library of books.

Twitter: @_ruthfox_ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RuthFoxAuthorandArtist Website: http://thewordsandpictures.com/

Bewitching Book Tours offers custom book swag creations that can be added on to tour packages or ordered separately.

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Excerpt: The sand was cool, the shells sharp and prickly, making her toes itch. She strolled to the wet sand where the foam still bubbled into clam holes and the remnants of waves frothed over her feet. Seagulls clustered, pecking at shellfish and welcoming the end of day. Farther out the ocean throbbed, constant and carefree.

Ever faithful, the sea rocked back and forth over the earth as it harbored its creatures, protecting them from the sun’s vicious heat, feeding them, nourishing them and cradling them. Cora should be in its belly, accepting its nurturing. She was the oceans’ charge and yet here she was, walking the land as though she were human. She’d been denying her heritage all this time.

A surge of shame swept over her. Why did she even want to be human? Merpeople were so much kinder to each other, and to the animals they lived among. Why did she ever doubt that she should live as a mermaid?

Cora took the basket off of her back and unfastened the lid. The water inside was so clear she could see the interior weave of kelp even in the fading sunlight. Scooting closer to the surf so that the waves rolled over her, she held the basket above her head.

Pouraka’s water dripped over her hair, onto her shoulders and her face. She lifted her chin and let it run down her neck, her chest, her belly. Cora poured the water over her hips, her legs, and her toes as the sea rumbled and came to her, a white roll of salt water rushing to immerse her. Cora leaned back and let the ocean swallow her human body. The sea wanted her home, grabbing her form and pulling her far away from shore.

She tumbled in the breakers until she was saturated and far from land. Cora came to the surface and viewed the vanishing shoreline one last time. Sunset shined its face on her scales as golden fragments of evening glitter.

She hadn’t felt so alive in a long time. She felt good, and somehow she would bring this freedom to Tas. She had to.

Pouraka Book One Dianne Lynn Gardner Genre: Fantasy romance Publisher: Dianne Lynn Gardner ASIN: B00T0PED40 Number of pages: 242 Word Count: 75369

Cover Artist: Dianne Lynn Gardner Book Description: Pouraka is a magical sea cavern tucked under the rocky cliffs near Barnacle Bay. Cora, a Pouraka mer, is torn between her friends in the seaside town, and her true love Tas, a foreign mer whose people fled when men invaded their waters.

Life becomes difficult for all mers when an arrogant oil rigger's son, Tom, finds the bay and the rich aquatic life it harbors. When Tas attempts to rescue a pod of dolphins from Tom's gill net, he is captured and taken away as a prize to be sold to a theme park. When Cora hears of his capture she changes into human form and travels south to find him, risking her life to free him.

Time away from Pouraka leaves the cavern vulnerable, and a new threat arises when tourists discover its magic.

Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/EkSwqips0D0 Available at Amazon About the Author: Dianne is an author and illustrator of YA adventure fantasy with a dab of historical content thrown in. Building worlds that might resemble the forests of her home in the Pacific Northwest, or the shimmering deserts of Arizona, add to that a pinch of magic dust and a few million stars and you just might find the portal to another Realm.

Happily married to a man that puts up with her celestial wanderings and wonderings, she is the mother of seven lovely adult children and grandmother to sixteen gorgeous boys and girls.

Dianne loves writing, painting in oils and living in other dimensions. She finds life much more colorful that way! Her books are middle grade to young adult adventure fantasies with dragons and wizards and sorcery and battles on the high seas. Her grandchildren are a big inspiration for her stories. There’s a shared camaraderie, something akin to what C.S. Lewis said about someday being old enough to enjoy fairy tales again.

Dianne’s newest series Pouraka dives into the depths to explore life as a mer. She also has a series that is being re released by PDMI publishing called the Ian’s Realm Saga.

Stretching her tent stakes, she is working on an Indie Film production of her V book Cassandra’s Castle.

Website http://gardnersart.com

Blog https://diendrial.wordpress.com/

Darkness Within The Darkness Series Book One Candis Vargo Genre: Paranormal Thriller Publisher: Limitless Publishing Date of Publication: March 10 Book Description: Tragedy strikes the Roseburg family and leaves Mike struggling to help his wife, Mia. After losing their only child in an accident, Mia is far from emotionally distraught… instead, she continues on like their son is still alive.

Four months passed since the accident…

demonic.

Mike begins to work with a psychiatrist to help his wife with her delusions when a darkness begins to haunt them. As this dark presence becomes violent, making itself known, Mike wonders if the illusion of their child that his wife is seeing is something far more

With the dark force looming over them, Mike is left questioning his own sanity as he tries to unravel what is real and what is not.

Soon he realizes…

Something is dreadfully wrong.

About the Author: Growing up on an old dirty road in the middle of nowhere, as a child Candis used her love for books as a way to escape reality (and her brother constantly trying to kill her—literally). She blames her love of all things Horror on being born on Friday the 13th and will always find joy in scaring her friends.

You will find a little piece of her in every book she writes. She loves a good happy ending, but most of the time she prefers one she never saw coming.

When she’s not writing or reading, she can usually be found chasing her children around. She currently lives in Rome, Pennsylvania with her husband and three children. And her fat cat.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CandisVargo Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/candis.vargo Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5625334.Candis_Vargo

Foxglove In Springtime Short stories and Poems Abigail Madison Chase Genre: Poetry Date of Publication: February 28, 201 Number of pages: 30 Cover Artist: Keri Knutson

Book Description: Foxgloves In Springtime, is a collection of beautiful lyrical expressions of love in the springtime.

Lovers of romantic poetry can scarcely go wrong with this collection.

Many of the poems reflect on longing, loss and great passion. Written from the perspective of a lover, there are poems for every mood and occasion.

This thoughtful collection of poems is a treasure for connoisseur of poetry and those who are not big poetry readers.

Care Instructions for Springtime Love

Set out each season carefully planting yourself in your best light.

Don’t dig a hole with lies.

Sow the seeds of love and happiness,

Prepare your heart for love.

Carefully weed through the dirt bags till the best bachelor or bachelorette, begins to shake free of those who are unworthy.

as you watch love hop your way.

Spring Showers of Truelove Truelove showers open hearts in the springtime, the fertile earth gives birth to the gentle beauty of, a blissful season of truelove.

Sweet rays of springtime thaw the freeze heart.

Gone like the first day of winter, Love Springs forth like the hands of time

About the Author: Author Abigail-Madison Chase is a 20 something (ok, 40something) neurotic mother of two. A highly trained professional (ok, only in her mind she's Jane Bond super heroine), along the way she writes terrible poetry and illegible books.

Abigail Madison Chase lives in the beautiful Mountains of the Western United States. Always a dreamer, Abigail has been writing since she was in Mrs. Turners 4th grade Language Arts class. There she won 1st prize in the Creative Writing Fair. Abigail holds a B.F.A and M.F.A in English and Literature.

Abigail's family, and her writing exist in a world of make-believe harmony. Each fighting for their right to become a character she want kill off. Sarcasm, quick wit and lots of laughs are the hallmark of Abigail's Wonderful World. A place were lots of peace and harmony descend upon, she and her two children is where AbigailMadison Chase lives. http://www.amazon.com/Abigail-Madison-Chase/e/B00QER23FI/ https://www.facebook.com/abigailmadisonchase http://chasinggabbieabbie.blogspot.com/ https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8203404.Abigail_Madison_Chase

When Fantasy and Reality Collide Among the Smoke and a Curse is Born Anytime a fantasy/paranormal/sci-fi author develops a new world, she has to create everything from scratch or decide which parts of the real world to incorporate in the story. I’ve spent hours, days, weeks pondering the world of the Mayflower Mages. Some of that world is entirely made up, like the magic system. Some of it is reality; both books are set in a real city. Some of it is a mesh of reality and fantasy, like the origins of the Republic of Mage Territories. Instead of Puritans coming over to the New World on the Mayflower, it was witches fleeing the inquisitions.

Another example of that mesh of reality and fantasy is the mages’ curse words. I wanted their choice words to reflect their culture, so I had to create new twists on our foul language for upset mages to fling about the pages. As the series continues, I keep lists of the curse words and who tends to say which ones so that I can remember them all.

I’m not much of a bad word girl myself. Or at least I don’t say them out loud very often. I keep them in the mental realm. That can be problematic. Sometimes the barrier to the mental realm and the spoken realm thins…and breaks. I’d like a cure for that. A magic cure, in fact, since I’m all about magic and clearly should have been born with psychic powers at the minimum. (What? You too? I totally understand.)

While I wait for my personal magic to come online, I give the people who live in my head plenty of special powers. The heroine in Enchanter’s Echo has enormous amounts of fabulous, beautiful power.

She’s an enchantress, a rare breed in the mage world. She’s very special. But she’s gotten herself into a bit of a mess, and it’s making her quite nervous and anxious. When anxiety grips hers, she tends to lose control of her magic. Sparkly clouds of power surround her…much like the book cover shows, only she’s very embarrassed about this glitter. Blasted sparkly clouds, she calls it. In fact, she says it on one of the first pages of the book.

As I was in the midst of editing this book, I had to take a break to cook supper for the kiddos. I had spent hours going over and over the first pages. Not a smart endeavor since the words eventually merge into a knotted mesh in my mind. So the cooking break was much needed to clear my head. Alas, I lost control of the grilled cheese and blackened that baby. Word to the wise, if you’re distracted, do not attempt a grilled cheese sandwich. Try soup instead.

“Mom, what’s that smell?” asked a child with ten years of scorn so sharp in his voice that it ricocheted around the house.

I burned the blankety blank grilled cheese. That’s what that smell is. The words bounced in my mind, silent and light but very present. I didn’t explain aloud because he came into the kitchen to see for himself.

He peered into the smoking skillet that cradled the black square. “How is that even possible?” His face was tight, his nose pinched. The disgust! The horror!

I looked into the skillet with faux shock, getting my drama on. “Blasted sparkly clouds! I burned the grilled cheese!”

It just came out. It was so appropriate for the moment. You see, this child does not approve of a drama mama. He never has, and the vast majority of the time, I oblige, providing him with the steady, calm, serious mother he prefers me to be. It’s not that out-of-character for me anyway. Er, not totally.

But no cook needs a repulsed critic. After all, accidents and distractions happen to the best of us.

He scrunched up his face at my theatrical response and backed away. He paused in the doorway of the kitchen. “Do we even have more bread?”

Oh. Crap. I was supposed to go to the grocery.

“Blasted sparkly clouds! I forgot to get the bread!”

And poof! A curse is born.

Enchanter’s Echo Mayflower Mages Book Two Anise Rae Genre: Paranormal romance Publisher: Kensington/Lyrical Date of Publication: February 17, 2015 ISBN: 9781616505394 ASIN: B00PP2ZX8M Number of pages: 270 Word Count: 99,685 Book Description: Aurora Firenze lives a quiet life hiding in a junkyard.

Her repair shop is the last hope for gadgets and gizmos before they get tossed onto the trash towers.

Fortunately, Aurora can fix almost anything, including mages, though repairing people with metal enchantments is highly illegal.

Edmund Rallis, heir to the Rallis senate seat, has spent months hunting down his errant enchantress.

He’ll play every game he knows to win her back and entice her to share the secrets she hides. But he’s inadvertently put her on the frontlines of a new game, one with an opponent who’s determined to destroy Rallis Territory and drive the Republic toward war. If the new enemy isn’t stopped in time, Edmund will lose his enchantress again—and this time there won’t be another chance.

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Excerpt: The keep-out spell awoke at her approach. The enchanted mesh of vines and branches that blocked the entrance to Rallis Territory’s forbidden forest vibrated in welcome as its creator returned. Aurora Firenze cast her vibes along the perimeter of her spell, testing and prodding. Its strength resonated back. It was as strong as it had been six months ago when she’d created it and hid her secrets within the forest’s depths. She let go of a relieved breath, but it didn’t cure her tension.

Her nerves were strung tight, as if she’d spent hours placating customers in her repair shop. But the day had been quiet. She’d even made decent progress—fixing a curling iron with a too-hot heating spell and a stapler that had a bad habit of chasing the boss around the conference table. Yet a restlessness itched at her skin with an unpleasant persistence. She’d closed up early and headed out for the short walk to the forest. Within its heart, she’d find the peace to wash away this unease.

She sent another stream of vibes into the keep-out spell. A discreet doorway formed. With a quick glance around the barren field and the junkyard behind her, she stepped beneath her illegal spell.

As she brushed against the branches, a faint thump sounded at her feet—the soft crash of a pinecone or a weak branch falling to the ground. A normal forest noise. She flinched anyway. Her glitter puffed around her in an anxious cloud as her mage energy escaped her control. It was the fifth time today. Enchantresses did not make good criminals. She should probably let the other three in existence know, in case they were considering lives of crime. Those blasted sparkly clouds would blow their covers wide open.

She lifted her foot to continue into the small forest that was tucked inside the territory’s capital city, but stopped. A proper lawbreaker should investigate mysterious noises outside her lair. She turned and scanned the ground for the culprit. A gold coin glinted in the crisp weeds. That wasn’t normal. She reached to pick it up, scanning the field and the junkyard beyond with a twitchy gaze. Empty. She was alone.

Behind her, the forest shuttered closed, nearly catching her in its fortress wall. She jumped forward with a surprised lurch at the swat of vines and twigs. A basic rule of illegal enchantments: get out of the way or risk being incorporated into the spell.

Ignoring the sting of the swat, she stared at the coin. It was tarnished at the edges, a used-up charm. Seeme-not was embossed on its golden surface. She jerked her head up. A man stood ten paces away. He was tall, broad...beyond familiar.

“Edmund,” she whispered. A shiver tiptoed across her shoulders like kisses, soft lips that hid a sharp bite. Her nerves stretched thinner yet, trapped in a battle between memories of lovers’ frolics and the promise of a dark fate that had just materialized from thin air.

Behind her, the forest’s trees rustled with the wind, a warning to retreat, one she dare not heed. Not until she knew why he’d finally come searching for her. She hadn’t thought he’d ever come back.

He prowled forward. “Hello, princess.” Though his words might have held some affection, nothing of the lover she’d once known appeared in his countenance. He lifted his left hand to reveal a glowing ball of mage vibes in his palm. His blue eyes reflected the tiny flashes of energy, and his power snapped in the air like a miniature electrical storm. The heir to the most powerful territory in the Republic had quite a steam of anger built up.

Dark hair waved across his forehead, and little curls peeked out at the edges of his neck. Though the wind buffeted and pushed at Aurora, winter’s boldness didn’t dare touch Edmund, not his hair, nor his dark gray suit or scarlet tie.

The hard slope of his nose matched the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones. When he smiled, he was deadly handsome. At the moment, he was simply deadly.

“Aurora.” He cast her name through the air and a piece of her soul tumbled away, as if it might dash toward him and cling like a forlorn, discarded lover. But he hadn’t discarded her....

“You stand accused of melding earthen metals to human flesh with an enchantment.”

Her heart thumped once, hard and loud, and then took off with a sprint, drenching her veins from head to toe with lightning sharp fright.

Goddess, he’d found out. How?

Even as she thought it, he revealed the answer. The glow faded from his ball of energy to reveal a small metal sphere. Her racing heart shriveled at the sight, pulling the rest of her organs with it, as if they thought to hide, seeking a chance to slip past this disaster unnoticed and, perhaps, survive. She shifted her feet on the ground, unable to resist the fear pumping through her core. Run, her gut whispered. She couldn’t afford to listen... not with the evidence sitting in his hand.

The sphere was heavier than it looked. She knew that. After all, she’d made it...and thought it long gone. He closed his fingers around it, capturing her fate within his fist.

“How’d you get that?” Her fast words shot out, hustling forward before fear, creeping up her legs with tingles and pricks, stole her voice.

“You ought to be down on your knees thanking me for confiscating it.” His voice was sharp and cutting. He sounded like a stranger, his jokes and teasing wit long gone.

“What did you do? Sneak into the junkyard and pluck his eye from his skull? Has it been hiding under your pillow for six months?” Not at all where she’d thought it was. Betrayal jolted through her. “Hardly actions befitting the heir of the mighty Rallis realm.” Her voice wavered.

“You have no idea what I’ve done.”

About the Author: Anise Rae has been reading romance novels since she first discovered her grandmother’s stash of books hidden away in a cabinet. Learning that she wasn’t the only one dreaming about love and magic was a turning point in her life. She started her own stash of books and wrote a few too.

A native of Ohio, Anise long ago moved south, armed with boxes of romance novels and degrees in chemistry and library science. Creating chemistry on the page between two lovers proved to be a lot more fun than working with test tubes in a lab or searching patent databases. She refocused on writing.

Her stories revolve around heroines who dare to stand up to society’s expectations and be true to themselves and heroes with plenty of savvy to fall in love with such brave women.

Anise lives in Atlanta with her two children and a fluffy dog that has an amazing ability to find dirty socks.

For information on future releases and giveaways, sign up for her newsletter at www.aniserae.com Author photo by www.surianiphoto.com

HOW ROMANCE HAS BEEN INFLUENCED BY GOTHIC FAIRY TALES Sleeping Beauty. Beauty and the Wolf. Hansel and Gretel.

These classic fairy tales evoke visions of dark, gothic castles or of creepy shadowed forests. They also bring to mind the fight between good and evil as well as visions of wicked witches and frightening beasts.

Like many of us, I loved fairy tales as a child. I had my mother read them to me over and over again. That’s why their timelessness is ingrained in my brain—having secured a special place in my childhood memory bank.

But what makes them still appeal to modern readers?

There is plenty of evidence that they do. Consider all the current television shows and motion pictures based on fairy tales. From Grimm to Once Upon A Time to Snow White and the Huntsman to Maleficent starring Angelina Jolie, there is still a strong market for retellings.

To answer the question, I believe fairy tales appeal to modern readers thanks to the idea that love conquers all. Look around us.

There is so much stress and tragedy in the world. We all need a little hope and romantic salvation…a little escapism, as it were.

The other day, I turned on the news and watched a horrific story about the violent murder of a college girl. Following the story was an account of a restaurant customer offering to pay his waitress’s college tuition after hearing about her monumental student loans. He was her fairy godfather!! I was so relieved that a positive story followed the tragic one. It actually changed my attitude for the morning.

What could be more positive than a fairy tale? We are able to get lost in the magic of them, cheer for the hero, sympathize with the heroine, and shout with joy when the prince and the princess end up with one another. We know there will be a happily-everafter, but isn’t that why we read them?

I hope readers enjoy all of the stories in my Cursed Princes series. They contain a little mystery, suspense, and action, but you are guaranteed to get your positive ending!

Cinderella and the Ghost The Cursed Princes

Book Four Marina Myles Release Date: February 17, 2015 Genre: Historical/paranormal romance ISBN: 9781601832832 Publisher: Kensington Description: A stroke of paint and a stroke of luck. Will they come together to create magic at the stroke of midnight?

When her demanding stepmother died, Ella Benoit knew just how far their fortunes had fallen, unlike her spoiled stepsisters. So she never expected the bequest from her late father. A chateau in France and the freedom to live her own life, all at once!

The chateau has seen better days, but Ella knows she can put the ruined house to rights. The life-size portrait of its first owner, Jean-Daniel Girard, seems to watch her work with approval, even pleasure. With bright blue eyes, strong features, and an athlete’s body, the viscount is a tempting sight even now, more than three hundred years after his tragic death. But the more she looks at the portrait, the more convinced Ella is that she’s met Jean-Daniel before. In another life, perhaps—or maybe, as the form who haunts the halls at night, invading Ella’s dreams…

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Excerpt – CINDERELLA AND THE GHOST As Ella passed the drawing room, she halted. Eerie goose bumps blanketed her arms. Drawn to the room, she felt as though she’d been in it before.

She crossed the threshold under a sudden trance. Icy stabs of déjà vu assaulted her because the ornate furnishings and draperies seemed extremely familiar. Perhaps, she considered, I’ve seen the room in one of Adelaide’s real estate or decorating magazines.

Taking a few steps forward, she noticed a huge blank spot on the east wall. The area’s wallpaper not only showed a variance in color, it outlined a missing, life-sized painting or tapestry.

How odd. Why had the art work been removed? Where was it now?

An unrelenting force summoned her closer to the blank spot. Her inquisitiveness grew. If the missing object was indeed a life-sized painting, it must have taken forever to complete. She wondered about its subject. A landscape? More likely, a portrait.

Prodded to start a hunt, she went through several rooms on Château de Maincy’s main level. She searched the front parlor, the back parlor, and the music room. Her favorite was the ballroom. As she entered, a spark met her toes. Wide-eyed, she noticed that rays of sunshine cast a sparkling aura over its faded parquet floor. A glittering chandelier hung in the center of the gold-toned room and anchored the enormous space.

When the chandelier caught a beam of sunlight, Ella received another spark. She put her hand to her warm cheeks. She could almost hear strains of a quadrille—and the drone of chatter as if she were at a party.

Not a party. She rephrased the thought. A ball.

Eyes blurred, she slipped into a deeper trance. Suddenly, she was wearing a stunning costume and was stepping into waltz with a debonair nobleman sporting a mask. The nobleman pulled her tightly against him. Other guests wearing masks looked on.

It was a masquerade ball! More scenes flashed before Ella. Warm wind gusted into the room and then— Exiting the trance, she realized that the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Why in heaven had she experienced that?

Her father had written that Ella had been at the château before. Yet she had no conscious memory of the visit. Maybe, she thought as she rubbed her eyes, the atmosphere of this house is too seductive to resist.

Still reeling from the vision, her attention shifted to a long-case clock in the corner. Its shattered face was visible through a hinged glass panel that hung ajar. The top of the clock bore a large, vertical gash.

How odd.

Ella inched closer. The open door revealed that the time-piece had been frozen at twelve o’clock. She touched the immobile hands—and in the bright light of the room, she noticed that the clock’s maker had etched his name and creation date into a groove bordering the clock’s pendulum.

Montbleu ~ 1703.

All at once, Ella remembered standing in front of the long-case clock, precisely like this. But how could that be? She must have repressed memories from her visit here as a child. Yet, she couldn’t explain the vision of herself dancing with the handsome man.

Once she confirmed that a life-sized painting wasn’t hanging in the ballroom, she made her way up the grand staircase. Inexplicably, she felt drawn to where she was going. When she reached the second floor of the house, she studied a wall of faded frescoes depicting late seventeenth century life. When something told her to go on, she padded to the third floor landing.

A palpable hush filled the corridor ahead of her. Then a charged stream of energy rushed through the hall. Since all the curtains were drawn over the arched windows, the hallway sat in darkness and shadow. Ella should be doing so many things. Unpacking. Cleaning. Deciding which bedroom would be hers. But a sense of urgency prompted her feet to continue.

What will I find in this part of the house? Glimpses of the valiant but very dead Jean-Daniel Girard?

Gulping, she opened door after door and peeked in. She finally came to a storage space, with an additional staircase leading up to an attic. Creeping up those stairs, Ella surveyed the articles on the landing. Broken mirrors and articles of furniture draped in white sheets lay strewn about. Tangled strings of cobwebs swathed the wood paneling.

A glowing beam of sunlight angled into the room. Ella’s pulse sped. In the corner, she spotted an item covered with a black cloth. The object reclined against the far wall—and appeared to be larger than she was.

Pushing the curtains open, she allowed more sunlight to bathe the space. Hands quivering, she moved back to the draped item and pulled away the black cloth.

The painting’s gilded frame was stunning. On it, Ella located a nameplate.

Jean-Daniel Girard—Viscount de Maincy 1677-1703 Slowly, as though her life was being altered with every centimeter, her stare ascended to the nobleman’s astonishing face. Instantly, the world fell into a compelling silence.

Jean-Daniel Girard was tall, muscular, and inarguably handsome. In fact, his good looks were so striking that Ella could barely breathe as she gazed upon them. More than that, she knew she’d seen his face somewhere before. While she racked her brain about where she’d seen it, her gaze roamed over Jean-Daniel’s sold body, penetrating aquamarine eyes, and angular features. He could be described as classically handsome. The epitome of male beauty, really. And thankfully, that classic quality helped him transcend the fanciful clothing and wig he wore.

Ella took a step in and studied him some more. True to subjects painted in that era, he wasn’t smiling.

Rather, he seemed a pensive and a bit melancholy. However, she could tell from the laugh lines bracketing his generous mouth that he grinned often.

Incredibly lifelike, Jean-Daniel seemed capable of emerging from the painting right then and there.

Ella’s skin tingled.

Her gaze drifted to the adorable dog sitting at the viscount’s feet. A splendid example of a hound, it possessed a gleaming brown-and-white coated, an open mouth, and a protruding tongue. Oddly, the dog seemed to be smiling.

“I can tell you loved your master,” she murmured.

Mesmerized by the man in the painting, Ella stared at his image for what felt like hours. The more she analyzed it, the more she noticed its “lost soul” quality. She crossed her arms. No, that wasn’t it. Instead, there seemed to be something underlying the viscount’s solemn face. As if he weren’t solemn at all. As if he possessed a sense of unfinished business.

To die so young…

She finally looked at the portrait’s backdrop. A vivid depiction of Château de Maincy surrounded Jean-Daniel. A cluster of servants was working in the fields adjacent to the splendid house. Wide-eyed bluebirds perched on the tree branches over his wigged head.

So that’s the way the estate looked in its heyday.

Stepping closer, she zeroed in on Jean-Daniel’s astounding eyes. They seemed to come alive—and for the briefest moment, he did as well. If only they were on a first-name basis! The thought exhilarated her.

While she and the figure locked stares, a new layer of goose bumps sprang up on Ella’s arms. She retreated. Despite the warmth of the room, a chill barraged her body.

“Jean-Daniel Girard is quite swoon-worthy, non?” whispered an unfamiliar voice.

About the Author: Marina Myles’s love of books began as soon as she read her first fairy tale. During her college days in Dallas, she received degrees in English Literature and Communications—and enjoyed the unique experience of being a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. Now that she lives under the sunny skies of Arizona, she hasn’t left her glamorous life behind completely. After all, she gets to divide her time between her loving family, her loyal Maltese, and worlds filled with fiery—but not easily attained—love affairs.

Visit her at www.marinamyles.com Represented by Louise Fury of The Bent Agency www.facebook.com/marinamylesauthor www.twitter.com/#!/marinaauthor www.amazon.com/author/marinamyles

Conan Crushes Cynical Storytelling Josh Sinason I wrote a story where nothing happens. I knew that going on but I thought it worked anyway. It worked the first time with A Linger In The Echo a story I wrote that takes place entirely inside someone’s head…maybe. But when I turned in the first draft of Remember The Maelstrom I got an immediate email back telling me that nothing happens in this story. I disagreed but I looked at it objectively and made some changes for the better but I fought for my original ending a bit. But as I kept arguing for it I realized I was committing what I always said ws the cardinal sin of science fiction. I was writing a cynical story.

It wasn’t overtly cynical but the undercurrent was there as everything faded to black. So I made some changes for the better. I’ve always been against cynical storytelling, particularly in science fiction and fantasy where we are open to a world of possibilities. So I looked at it objectively and realized what I was really trying to say wasn’t cynical. I speaking to the infinite possibilities of love set against the entire unkown of unexplored space. I just needed a little push in another direction, a small change, it’s really only a paragraph or two in the entire story but it makes it so much better.

Mainstream science fiction has had an inferiority complex. Stemming from a time when people dismissed science fiction as being “just for kids” so you see a lot of writers compensate by being overtly dark and gritty, it’s how we get things like the Game of Thrones, but some of the worst offenders conflate dark and gritty with cynical. Most of the time it’s the one with the bad Frank Frazetta imitation crossed with a bad heavy metal band album cover on the front. You know the one with the girls in the metal pasties and sprays of blood everywhere that just screams “We’re not for kids anymore.”

In an effort to show they’re “mature” they’ve confused dark with cynical and worst of all, they’re being cynical for the sake of being cynical. You can be dark, you can be grim, but if you’re doing it from a place that’s bitter it’s like reading a story written by a jaded teenager in a high school writing class.

To me, the ultimate example of a writer being dark and gritty without being cynical is Robert E. Howard’s Conan stories. Howard created a world with some of the most gruesome barbaric images in all of fiction, a world where enemies are crucified and people bite the heads off of ravens to survive, and our hero makes no apologies as he stands in the middle of it, sometimes even doing the crucifying.

The larger story of Conan is that of an explorer, someone who is too smart and too curious to be content with being just a nomad looking from plunder to pillage. (The movies are way more Kull than Conan) The world Conan inhabits is a world in which good and evil are very real, very black and white, and anybody who wants power has to choose a side but Conan doesn’t see that in a negative.

Conan doesn’t choose a side outright; he rejects authority when thrust upon him either way but will always do the right thing. But to him, since the world has both tangible good and tangible evil it means the world is one-hundred percent equitable. He’s unwavering in his belief that everything should be balanced.

The good people get their reward and the bad guys get what’s coming to them, by his hand or by someone else’s, he really doesn’t care. Whether it's raiding a temple to retrieve a jewel from a demon wizard’s cave only to give that jewel to a beggar when he finds out the princess is lying to him or leaving an enemy to be crucified like he did to Conan earlier in the story, Conan's sense of justice borders on the obsessive but it's never

without merit in the story.

When Conan eventually becomes a king it’s not a upbeat moment. It’s a tragic end to a life as an explorer and adventurer. The man who set out to leave his world is thrust back into it based on his own sense of duty and justice. But it’s still never presented as a cynical end. Conan never lets go of the notion that the world is equitable even if it’s forced him to be the hand that guides it.

One of the later stories involved Conan fighting a gorilla who thinks he’s a wizard. Read that sentence again because yes, it’s that awesome. But the story is more than an un-apologetically silly story about a man fighting a gorilla…in a cape…that thinks it’s a wizard. (c’mon, that’s cool) It’s a story about Conan returning to his roots and finding a balance of justice and meaning of life against something like him. Someone fighting against a world that made him into something he never meant to be and his primal sense of nature which, like Conan, is in the end peaceful.

Lots of fantasy and sci-fi authors have been inspired by Conan. But they also lose sight of what made those stories special. They look at those Frank Frazetta paintings and think that fans want guys with swords covered in blood and hanging out with wenches in metal swimwear. It misses the point, they miss the sense of adventure, the character with an outlook that’s unapologetically simple, and they miss the brazen sense of fun.

Remember The Maelstrom Josh Sinason Genre: Sci-fi Romance Publisher: TWB Press Number of pages: 40 Word Count: 10,000 Book Description: A botched investigation into the past triggers a domino effect, thrusting T.I. Agent Amanda West into a race to get home to the man she loves in a future that may no longer exist.

Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/q7SzyIivKXk Available at Amazon

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TWB Press

Excerpt: “Let’s go, rookie.” I set my blaster on stun. “I want to be home in time for dinner.”

Corporal Winger nodded and drew his gun.

I noticed his hand shake. That should have been my first cue something was wrong. He clutched his gun so tense his knuckles turned white. This was his first op, and it already went way far south way too soon. This was just supposed to be a routine run: bring back a fugitive who had bolted through an unauthorized time portal.

We were the closest ship to it. He was just one guy, but he had a gun. Who would have thought things could’ve gone so wrong?

I kissed the scar on my right hand before we chased him through Central Park in the year 2014. It was a silly ritual, but when I found myself far from home, I started to get superstitious. On cold nights, when time, space, and a universe kept me away, I’d look at that scar and think about Parker.

Winger was a hair faster than me catching up with our time jumper. Maybe if I’d been there a second or two sooner I could have stopped him, but I arrived just in time to watch him aim his gun. I was just within view when our jumper pulled in a hostage, a little girl, something that would’ve made any experienced agent hold his

fire.

Winger was just reacting on instinct. He didn’t pull back in time, and the guy held the kid in front of him. The scene played out in slow motion. Maybe Winger thought he could make a head-shot on the perp, or maybe he just fired in the heat of the moment; we were both tired. All I knew was, as the girl and our jumper fell to the ground, the look of horror on Winger’s face didn’t last long.

I’d never seen a person fade from existence before, not until that moment. The theory, according to Temporal Investigations, was that one dies before actually disappearing completely. Sheer shock and horror was the killer, like falling off a tall building. But Winger looked me in the eyes the entire time, silently pleading for help as he faded right in front of me. I reached out to grab his hand, but it vanished, and that’s when I noticed my scar begin to ghost.

I didn’t know who that little girl was. Maybe she had invented something that made the Galactic Conferences possible, or maybe she was the grandmother of the grandmother of someone who assigned cores in the Academy, and because she no longer existed in the future, Parker and I may have ended up in different course plans. Or maybe she did something at just the right moment, a move in one direction or another, a decade from now, and things just fell into place for us. It was impossible to tell what could happen without her influence, but I feared something was wrong. I could have lost Parker already without even knowing it.

When I saw that scar on my hand ghost, I knew it was a sign that the time stream was starting to realign. We were briefed on ghosting at the Academy. They told us to run; they said always run back to the ship, flat out as fast as we could. But we all knew the truth. We couldn’t outrun a time realignment. It would be like outrunning the hand of the universe.

The moment I saw that scar flicker, I took off in a dead sprint back to the ship and leaped into the captain’s chair. As the controls came on around me I felt the hum of the hyperspace time bubble curling around the ship like a warm blanket. Then, when I tried to catch my breath, I felt a hot sting in my gut. Our jumper had managed to get off a shot, and as luck would have it, his blaster charge went straight through Winger’s ghosting body and hit me in the stomach. I did my best to breathe slowly, but each inhale felt like razor blades slicing through my chest. I winced and put pressure on the singed and bloody wound then throttled up the engines.

“Well today just sucked, didn’t it.” I looked at the picture of Parker I kept on my dashboard. We had our pictures taken when we were assigned to The Bartlett. Knowing this meant I hadn’t forgotten about him...at least not yet. Then I looked to make sure the hyperspace time bubble had restored the scar on my hand. Yes. I gave it another kiss for luck. Just lifting my arm sent shooting pains through my stomach, but I figured I needed a fair amount of luck right about then, so the pain was worth the effort.

“Just make it home for dinner.” I clutched the steering yoke tightly. “Just one more trip.” I forced a breath. “Let me see that everything is all right with Parker. Then let whatever changes I’ve made to the future do what they will to me.”

“Some time cop I turned out to be.”

I slammed on the thrusters hard and gunned the engine boosters through the time jump, but the inertia field didn’t have time to boot up, so I felt my ribs crack as my chest slammed against the crash belt and the back of my head bounced off the top of my chair.

I screamed in pain.

In flight school I had experienced what happened without an inertia field. Senior cadets would watch Parker and I train in the flight deck sim. We’d shoot to hyperspace without any problems. But every once in a while the cadets would program in an inertia field glitch just to see how we’d respond to the stress, at least

that’s what they told the instructors. It was really a rite of passage made worse by the fact that the simulator didn’t have crash belts, so the only way to go was flying backwards. If it wasn’t for the crash helmets, our brains would’ve splattered against the cold metal exit door.

“Stupid prank,” I said, spitting blood. I was bleeding internally. The scar on my hand ghosted again. The time bubble was weakening already, so I started going over my past, wondering just how much of it I would forget.

I decide to listen to my personal logs and make sure everything was just as I remembered. Hopefully that last ghosting wasn’t a sign that I was too late. The computer accessed my files, starting with my first week studying for the Academy mid-terms.

I remembered that day by the lake on the Academy grounds, fresh in my mind no matter what time jump I was in. The lake was clear blue enough that I could see the incoming spaceships reflected in the surface. I had sat there so often over that first month I could tell how low the ships were flying by the ripples their wakes made in the water.

I sat near a tree, hoping to keep my mind on my introductory engineering midterm studies. Sometimes the Academy felt like a monster looking to swallow cadets whole, but out there, under the shuttles flying by and the transport ships jumping to hyperspace like little daylight shooting stars, the Academy grounds felt peaceful.

That day the transports lit up the clouds like purple and red lightning. I listened to the low rumble of the shuttles as I skipped a rock across the water. Then I cracked open a book.

About the Author: Josh Sinason grew up in DeKalb, Illinois, and has been featured in the Two With Water reading series and at DIY-Film.com.

In addition he has won the Creativity in Media award for his work on www.stairwellblog.com His work has been recently featured in Burroughs Publishing Lunchbox Romance Line and Eternal Press’ young adult fiction line. https://twitter.com/JRSinason https://www.goodreads.com/author/ show/8094737.Josh_Sinason/blog

Time Stands Still in the Weird West

By Laura Bickle Ever been to one of those places where time stands still, and it gives you the willies?

The town of Temperance is like that for geologist Petra Dee. She’s come here to escape her own personal demons and to search for her father, missing for ten years. She’s hoping to find peace and closure, but she must confront the supernatural weirdness that’s infested Temperance for more than a hundred years.

Built at the edge of Yellowstone National Park and ranch land, Temperance has changed little over the past century. Founded by an alchemist back in the Gold Rush days, Temperance flourished as long as rocks were transformed into gold. But the alchemist, Lascaris, perished in a suspicious fire, and the town’s economy tanked.

While the town withered, Lascaris left behind many half-finished alchemical experiments. Time stood still for the Hanged Men, the local undead. A product of Lascaris’s botched attempts to unlock the secret of eternal life, the Hanged Men are bound to the land, to the Alchemical Tree of Life that stands on a ruthless cattle baron’s land. The Hanged Men must return to the tree every night to decompose and regenerate, stuck in an incomplete alchemical process.

Gabriel is the oldest of the Hanged Men. He’s always in the company of his raven familiars, his spies on the world, while he masquerades as a ranch hand. Time has been kinder to Gabriel than the others. Later generations of the Hanged Men retained less and less of their humanity and memory as the power of the tree waned.

For over a century, they’ll do anything in their power to preserve the tree, even kill for it.

When Petra unearths a golden compass, dating back to Lascaris’s era, she is forced to suspend her skepticism of the town’s origins. The pretty artifact has the power to locate magic, and it’s fueled by blood. The compass leads her to the door of the Hanged Men and places her in the crosshairs of the local drug lord, himself an heir to Lascaris’s old magic. When twisted and calcinated bodies turn up that Petra can’t explain scientifically, she’ll have to rely on her wits to escape the town that time forgot, or die trying.

Dark Alchemy Laura Bickle On-sale: 3/24 ISBN: 9780062389862

Stephen King’s The Gunslinger meets Breaking Bad in Laura Bickle’s novel Dark Alchemy.

Book Description: Some secrets are better left buried…

Geologist Petra Dee arrives in Wyoming looking for clues to her father’s disappearance years before.

What she finds instead is Temperance, a dying Western town with a gold rush past and a meth-infested present.

But under the town’s dust and quiet, an old power is shifting. When bodies start turning up - desiccated and twisted skeletons that Petra can’t scientifically explain - her investigations land her in the middle of a covert war between the town’s most powerful interests. Petra’s father wasn’t the only one searching for the alchemical secrets of Temperance, and those still looking are now ready to kill.

Armed with nothing but shaky alliances, a pair of antique guns, and a relic she doesn’t understand, the only thing Petra knows for sure is that she and her coyote sidekick are going to have to move fast, or die next.

Available at Amazon Google Books

BN

HarperCollins

About the Author:

Laura Bickle grew up in rural Ohio, reading entirely too many comic books out loud to her favorite Wonder Woman doll. After graduating with an MA in Sociology – Criminology from Ohio State University and an MLIS in Library Science from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, she patrolled the stacks at the public library and worked with data systems in criminal justice. She now dreams up stories about the monsters under the stairs, also writing contemporary fantasy novels under the name Alayna Williams.

Her work has been included in the ALA’s Amelia Bloomer Project 2013 reading list and the State Library of Ohio’s Choose to Read Ohio reading list for 2015-2016. THE HALLOWED ONES and THE OUTSIDE are her latest young adult novels.

www.laurabickle.com

https://twitter.com/Laura_Bickle

https://www.facebook.com/Author.Laura.Bickle

Sample from Chapter 6 “Olivia,” he whispered, and then he too went silent, that one word all he was going to give her.

Except it wasn’t all.

The way he had said her name did things to Olivia that she couldn’t adequately explain. To her ears, he had said it the way a man says a woman’s name as he’s about to make love to her for the first time, full of longing and desire.

It felt like several minutes had passed since he had spoken her name, but in reality it had been less than 15 seconds. Olivia wasn’t worried about him hanging up the phone because she knew he could hear her breathing in response to his voice. Given how furiously she felt her heart beating, she thought he could probably hear it too as it was so terrifyingly loud. She certainly heard the thump, thump, thump of it echoing in her own ears.

“William,” she eventually responded, trying to keep her voice cold and emotionless, hoping that her desire for him wasn’t evident in that one single word. She wouldn’t say more, not yet.

Olivia wanted to make him tell her why he was calling. She wouldn’t ask. She wouldn’t show how much she actually cared what he thought of her; unfortunately her hitched breathing gave her away. If he hadn’t known it before, William certainly knew that his voice – his words – had power over her.

“I had to call you. I don’t know why, I just felt compelled to. I didn’t want to continue conversing with you in one to two sentence fragments over email. While convenient, I find it so impersonal,” he said.

Impersonal? So he was looking for some sort of personal connection with her? No, she wouldn’t read too much into his words.

When he realized that she wasn’t going to say anything back, he went on. “I know you don’t care one way or the other, but you are absolutely intriguing to me. A conundrum really. You see, for as much research as you’ve obviously done on me, I’ve probably done more on you. After all, you’re rather easy to find online.”

Olivia hadn’t seen that one coming.

Go on, she wanted to say, curious to know exactly what he found so intriguing about her, but her voice wouldn’t work.

When she failed to speak for several more seconds, he finally broke the silence, the tone of his voice going from interested to terse and ... rejected?

“I can see you’re not going to speak to me. Perhaps I’m wasting my time. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

Before he could hang up and Olivia would lose the moment with him forever, she took a deep breath and found both her voice and her courage.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a bit shocked that you’ve called is all. I’m trying to figure out what you’re about,” she told him as matter-of-factly as she could. “We’ve hardly been what I would call cordial to one another since we spoke earlier tonight so I’m wondering why you want a more … personal … mode of communication. Hell, I’m wondering why you want any more communication, period. You made it pretty clear that you aren’t interested in what I have to say, so I’m not sure what else there is to say.”

Olivia could hear the hurt in her voice, and in addition to feeling embarrassed over her uncanny physical reaction to him, she also felt ashamed. Unfortunately, he seemed to pick up on both emotions.

“My apologies if I have … hurt … you. It was ridiculous of me to have been so rude. Perhaps if you would allow me to explain myself, you might begin to understand why my initial reaction to you was so discourte-

ous,” he said.

Okay, Olivia thought, start explaining.

She couldn’t have prepared herself for what he said next.

“I know it’s late, but can I see you? I’d like to speak to you in person.”

Oh shit. Oh shit.

Oh ... SHIT. “It is late,” she replied, leaving the statement hanging between them for him to interpret.

She didn’t want him to think that she wasn’t interested in meeting him, but at the same time she also didn’t want him thinking he could call her up at midnight and that she’d be at his beck and call. While Olivia had had her fair share of romantic entanglements throughout the years, she’d never been someone’s booty call.

But damn if her curiosity wasn’t getting the best of her. Olivia internally calculated what it would take to make herself look presentable before meeting him – wherever he was. She figured that she didn’t have time to redo her make-up but she could easily throw her sweater and jeans back on, pull her hair up into a bun, and be in a cab on her way in just under 15 minutes.

And then, as if she couldn’t be any more shocked than she already was, his next words stopped her in her tracks.

“I’m in your hotel lobby, if that changes anything.”

It changed a lot of things.

A Time Apart Macauley Series Book One Rebecca N. Caudill Genre: Paranormal Romance , Vampire Date of Publication: February 8, 2015 ISBN: 978-1508482666 ASIN: B00TDR1O6U Number of pages: 211 (estimated) Word Count: 71,020 Cover Artist: Rebecca N. Caudill Book Description: A love story that traverses the confines of time, life, and death, uniting two passionate souls from different worlds and ages …

Olivia Donnelly has spent her whole life obsessing about how she will die. When tragedy strikes, reality comes crashing down and she’s forced to confront her fears head on. Hoping that a move across the globe will help her to cope with a devastating loss, she arrives in Ireland a broken down shell of a woman looking for a second chance

at life.

Almost immediately Olivia is drawn to places she’s never been, and to a man that she’s never met. When she crosses paths with the mysterious and frustratingly private William Macauley, her life is thrown into turmoil unlike any she has ever known. The two couldn’t be more different – she’s human, he’s a vampire – but Olivia can’t get him out of her mind. Having acknowledged her overwhelming desire for William, now she must come to terms with how her feelings for him will greatly alter her future.

Olivia’s understanding of life – and death – take on new meaning as she examines the truth of the person she once was, the woman she was born to be, and how William is the key to her everlasting happiness.

Available at Amazon About the Author: Rebecca Caudill read her first novel when she was just four years old and has been hooked on books ever since. When she wasn't writing her own stories, she was sneaking copies of her mom's paperbacks to read late into the night.

Fast forward several years later and Rebecca graduated from the University of Pittsburgh with a B.A. in Journalism and a minor in English Lit, which gave her new insight into the written word. Following college, Rebecca embarked on a career in tech PR in the famed Silicon Valley, which eventually led to her leading Global R&D communications for a Fortune 500 company that everyone knows by name. Finally, after more than a decade of writing words ascribed to other people, in December 2014 she quit her job to pursue writing full time.

Today Rebecca lives with her husband and beautiful-but-neurotic cat in Oakland, California. When not creating fictional worlds inhabited by strong women, rakes, rogues, and dashing heroes, she is planning her next vacation, trying out new recipes, or drinking Islay scotch.

Blog – http://www.rebeccancaudill.com Twitter - @rebecca_caudill Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/rebeccancaudill Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/author/ show/13488550.Rebecca_N_Caudill

Pinterest – https://www.pinterest.com/rebeccancaudill/

Angel Codes AngelFire Chronicles Book 3 Ami Blackwelder Genre: Paranormal Romance, Angel suspense Publisher: Eloquent Enraptures Publishing Date of Publication: March 14, 2015 ASIN: B00SU3X9MA Number of pages: 217 Word Count: 78,000 Cover Artist: Ami Blackwelder Book Description: After Kian is taken away from Ali, she and the other Angelfire must defend Manhattan on their own, while learning where Kian is and how to retrieve him.

demons deep within the cell of The Underground.

Meanwhile, Kian is fighting his own internal and external

Will Ali and Kian finally find love or will Dumah destroy it all? Find out in the last book to the AngelFire Chronicles.

Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/G7PJRQ3iFhA Available at Amazon Get it free March 15, 16, and 17

Other Books in the Series:

She Speaks to Angels Dumah's Demons Falling Angels Angel Code

About the Author:

Ami Blackwelder is a Paranormal and SciFi author. Her stories range from Tween & YA to Adult. Growing up in Florida, she graduated UCF and in 1997 received her BA in English and additional teaching credentials. Then she packed her bags and travelled overseas to teach in Thailand, Nepal, Tibet, China and Korea. Thailand is considered her second home now.

She has always loved writing and wrote poems and short stores since childhood; however, her novels began when she was in Thailand.

Having won the Best Fiction Award from the University of Central Florida (Yes, The Blair Witch Project University), her short fiction From Joy We Come, Unto Joy We Return was published in the on campus literary magazine: Cypress Dome and remains to this day in University libraries around the USA. Later, she achieved the semi-finals in a Laurel Hemingway contest and published a few poems in the Thailand’s Expat magazine, and an article in the Thailand’s People newspaper. Additionally, she has published poetry in the Korea’s AIM magazine, the American Poetic Monthly magazine and Twisted Dreams Magazine.

http://amiblackwelder.blogspot.com http://amiblackwelder.blogspot.com https://www.facebook.com/pages/Angel-Fire-Chronicles/262738260422879

Being a Stay-At-Home Mom Made Me An Author Andrea R. Cooper I didn’t grow up wanting to be a stay-at-home mom or even a writer. Not that I didn’t like stories, I loved them. So much so, that I created characters and stories and then ad lib with my friends. Then, friends moved away, I grew up, etc. At fourteen, I still created characters in my head—but my writing was poetry. In my late twenties, I started writing novels, but only let a few people read them. After I finished my first novel and started on my second, my fantasy was to be a full-time writer, but work and life kept it a dream.

Fast-forward to when my second son was born. I was working full-time and had planned to continue.

What I hadn’t planned on was his first week at daycare and only four months old, him getting RSV (Respiratory Syncytial Virus). Then it was ear infections, C diff, and the flu with hospitalization. I liked my job, but my child’s health was at risk. It wasn’t fair to him or my job – so I quit and stayed home.

Now what?

The first six months were fine. But then, depression started to grow. I began resenting my husband, when he would stay at work late. My days spiraled together until I didn’t feel like I was living until the weekend and when my husband was off work. I began talking to absolute strangers – just to have an adult conversation – something that even more awkward for me given my shyness (so you realize how desperate I was).

What was wrong with me? My sister had done (and wanted to) the stay-at-home mom stuff for over a

decade and she didn’t run screaming.

So what was her secret?

Supportive friends and a hobby or two.

Okay. But I had no skills. Arts and Crafts are my least favorite things and I’m terrible at them anyway.

Sewing? No thanks. Knitting? Didn’t see the purpose of it as its hot and humid here 95% of the time.

Cross-stitch? I’d get bored before finishing one. Writing? Now that I could do. I dug up old manuscripts I’d written years ago and begun editing.

Then I read an ad for freelance writers needed to do movie and/or book reviews, so I signed up and received my first ever paid for my writing salary. It wasn’t much, but I already felt a bit of depression leaving.

A few months later, I ran across a friend’s post that Crimson Romance was seeking manuscripts. I thought, why not? So I sent off the Fantasy Romance story I’d been editing. Soon, I had a contract and The Garnet Dagger was published! Now I was a paid, published author.

Here are some ideas, if you are a stay-at-home mom and have done it for years or just starting: Find supportive friends – look for other stay-at-home moms. There are groups that meet and have playdates in your area. Your kids get to meet and play with others, and you can establish new and lifelong friends with common interests.

Develop an interest or hobby outside of your kids – it’s good to have your own identity or at least one small piece that is just for you.

Even if you’re like me and can’t or won’t do Arts & Crafts, you can join a book club or a cooking class.

What is it you like to do?

Or for fun, sign up with a friend for one of the wine & painting classes.

If you’re getting depressed, tired all the time, resenting your situation or kids – get help! Seek counseling.

If you can’t afford it, there are many religious programs that offer free sessions.

How about you? Have you had any issues with being a stay-at-home mom?

Stolen Hearts Andrea R. Cooper Genre: Contemporary Romance Suspense Publisher: SilverTree Publishing Date of Publication: February 14, 2015 ASIN: B00TKW9Y4W Number of pages: 265 Word Count: 65,000 Tagline: She stole a cop’s heart… will this thief pay for her crime?

Book Description: Crystal was raised as a thief, bent on revenge. She uses her talents to target the corporation that destroyed her family and her innocence.

When a handsome undercover cop enters her life, Crystal worries she'll be caught before her mission can be completed - or lose her heart to the one man she can't trust.

Kade lost his partner in Texas and is looking for a fresh start in the NYPD. Catching the thief whose been targeting the Westridge Corp. will help his transfer become permanent.

Will Kade discover the truth, or will he blame Crystal for stealing his heart?

Excerpt:

Available at Amazon

Crystal shimmied down the drainpipe with her trophies tucked inside her backpack and computer files loaded onto her USB, hung around her neck disguised as a locket. This was too easy. Not like the Warren job where the COO kept changing the menu and supervised their catering to ensure they had followed the strict rules of kashrut.

She landed on the concrete with a thump, then removed her mask. Usually she worked at night when the catering gig didn’t provide the necessary cover, but she had a date this evening.

A blind date.

Her sister’s fiancée had called earlier that day to let them know his cousin from Texas would join them for dinner and would Crystal come along? As far as Crystal was concerned, it was the closest thing she’d come to as a real date in a long time. She’d take it.

Thankfully, her catering appointment with Westridge canceled yesterday. While she enjoyed cooking, it was only a cover for her and her sister’s illegal activities. What she excelled at was computers, but having a career in that field, now, would be too suspicious. Her IT skills far exceeded a Level One Help Desk worker.

She despised working for Westridge, the man who had her mother killed and her dad thrown into jail, but catering was the easiest way into her target’s homes without suspicion. And she refused to pose as a cleaning lady and scrub their filth.

Years ago, Dad found what he thought was a series of accounting errors. For his honesty trying to help Westridge correct the problem, he was thrown in jail to rot. Westridge and his company framed her dad for

embezzlement and sharing confidential information with preferred suppliers to obtain favors. Now she and her sister were halfway toward exonerating him and exposing Westridge and his corporate crimes. To see the look on Joshua Westridge’s face when he was convicted would make all her and her sister’s sacrifices worth it.

Thunder boomed as she weaved through alleys, stinking of rotting food and urine. She barely made it to her car before thunder rumbled.

Crystal checked the time on the dashboard, almost seven. No time to waste. Paul and his cousin, Kade, were picking up her and her sister at seven-thirty. Her car hummed to life as she stashed her backpack behind her seat. The stolen cash, including a recently purchased blood diamond necklace, lay inside. Hopefully the money and necklace would throw off Westridge’s Sales Manager to the fact that computer information had been the real prize. And hopefully, they wouldn’t discover the truth until it was too late. For now, another piece of the puzzle to exonerate their dad and lock Westridge away lay on her chest inside her locket.

She whipped into traffic and hit the wipers as fat drops of rain slapped against the windshield. Great.

Ahead, a red light flickered as taxis and cars lined up behind it. She debated taking Ninth, but decided against it. Construction was still ongoing and traffic would be worse than this.

Maybe squeezing in a job before dinner wasn’t such a great idea.

About the Author: Andrea writes fantasy, paranormal, historical, and contemporary romance suspense.

Her favorite childhood memories involve creating vibrant characters for her and her friends, then acting out their adventures. She traded in Nancy Drew books for Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie novels at the age of ten.

The love of her life showed her that true love never gives up and rekindles no matter how many times circumstances or others try to extinguish it. Today, she is happily married with two sons and a daughter.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AndreaRCooper.author Twitter: https://twitter.com/AndreaRCooper Author Website: www.AndreaRCooper.com Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6934877.Andrea_R_Cooper Blog: http://andrearcooperauthorblog.wordpress.com/

Writing Young Adult

By Pembroke Sinclair Writing young adult is different than writing adult because your characters get to be naïve. They haven’t had as much experience with life, so they don’t necessarily have all the skills needed to deal with it, and they’re allowed to make bad decisions.

The hope, of course, is that they will learn from these mistakes and grow into upstanding and functioning adults. Adult characters are allowed to make bad decisions too—after all, it’s these bad decisions that make the story—but there are different expectations.

It’s fun to explore this naiveté and discover ways for my young characters to grow. Having them younger gives them more opportunities to change and become better people. As teens, they are also afforded certain freedoms that adults don’t necessarily get. For example, most of them don’t have jobs or families that need to be taken care of. A teen’s biggest worries are school and friends. The weight of responsibility hasn’t crushed them yet.

Young adults are often considered an in-between group because they aren’t children but they aren’t yet adults, so they are given freedom to explore and figure out who they are as people. And this is why I like to write in this genre. I like to have characters that make mistakes and maybe act outside of expected norms—because they can.

Dealing with Devils The Road to Salvation Series Book 2 Pembroke Sinclair Genre: Young Adult Urban Fantasy Publisher: Booktrope Date of Publication: January 16, 2015 ISBN: 978-1-62015-730-5 ASIN: Number of pages: 170

Cover Artist: Greg Simanson Book Description: Dating a demon has its advantages, like helping deliver souls to Hell. Wait...what?

Katie’s world has been turned upside down. She's fallen for Josh—despite the fact that he’s a demon from Hell.

Wes is finally out of her system and her life.

Convinced she can change Josh, she sets out to make him a better person, only to find out things aren’t as simple as she’d originally thought. For one thing, Josh has Katie help him deliver souls to Hell, and she kind of likes it.

And to top it off, other more powerful demons are battling for her soul, and revelations from the past could change the course of her life forever.

CHAPTER 1 KATIE LEANED AGAINST the railing, staring into the night. A warm breeze touched her face, bringing with it the scent of salt and fish. Every so often, droplets of water touched her skin as the waves lapped against the side of the boat. The bass from the music that played behind her vibrated through her feet and into her chest. Lights flashed at her back, throwing her shadow onto the waves below in spastic fashion. She took a deep breath and squinted her eyes. On the far horizon, just to her right, she could barely make out the lights of Liberty Island. She sighed again and leaned forward farther, resting her elbows on the railing.

She had always wanted to see New York. She and Deb had tentatively planned a trip for the summer after graduation, before going to college. Katie thought maybe it would be a trip to orient herself with the city— attending college in the city was high on her list of things she wanted to do—but she hadn’t decided where to go yet. In fact, it was the last thing on her mind at the moment. She needed to get her life back first before deciding what she was going to do with it. As usual, when Josh had showed up in her room earlier tonight and asked her to come with him, she couldn’t bring herself to say no. She knew the possibility existed that she would be involved in something unpleasant such as witnessing Josh taking a soul, but she told herself she was going to stop it this time. She wouldn’t stand idly by.

Arms wrapped around her waist, and the heat from a body penetrated into her back. She leaned into the familiarity and placed her hands over his. This was also why she hadn’t refused his request. She enjoyed the safety she felt in his arms. The way the world melted away and only the two of them existed.

“What are you doing out here?” Josh whispered in her ear.

She shrugged. “I needed some air. It was hot in there.”

Why was it so comfortable in his arms? Why did it feel safe? It shouldn’t. His nearness should have made her skin crawl and nausea creep into her gut. He was a demon, an unholy creature that thrived on human misery. Yet, that wasn’t how he acted. He cared about her, protected her, kept his promises to her, actually wanted to be with her. He had completely turned the few notions she had of good and evil upside down and instilled curiosity in her. She wanted to know about his world. And that should have been distressing to her. Despite the comfort and safety Josh offered her, she knew he was dangerous. Katie had experienced first-hand how demonic he could be. He had used her to get to Wes. But more distressingly, he’d threatened to kill her mom. How could she stay with him? A part of the reason she did was to keep her mom safe. How had her life gotten so messed up?

“It’s a nice night.” He nuzzled against her neck. “But I really need you to help me inside.”

She nodded. “Sure.”

She took a deep breath and stiffened. This was her moment. She had to stay strong in her resolve to stop the soul gathering from happening.

He loosened his grip on her waist, and she turned to go inside with him. When she faced him, he placed his arms around her shoulders and softly kissed the tip of her nose.

“On second thought, we have a few minutes. Let’s enjoy it.”

She relaxed slightly. A few minutes would be nice. Katie smiled and placed her hands on his hips. She hooked her middle fingers around his belt loops, and he pulled her into his body. His heart beat against her. His arms tightened around her shoulders. Once again, the net of safety dropped around her. Once again, the world melted away. Nothing mattered but being in his arms. She closed her eyes and inhaled the spicy scent of his cologne.

Her pocket vibrated, pulling her out of her reverie. She released Josh and moved to get the phone out.

He stepped back to give her space. It was late, who would be texting her right now? Crap! What if it was her mom? Katie didn’t think her mother had a habit of peeking in on her in the middle of the night, but she wasn’t entirely sure either. No, it couldn’t be her mom. If she discovered Katie missing she wouldn’t text, she would call. She stared at the screen and frowned.

“It’s a text from Deb.” Deb and Katie often talked into the night, but this was late, even for her. It must have been important.

Josh positioned himself against the rail and stared at the distant lights of the city. “What does Deb have to say?” His tone was indifferent, disinterested.

Katie opened the message and read it. She inhaled a sharp breath. Shock settled into her stomach like a rock. She took a few steps backward until she felt the support of the rail against her back. Josh turned and slid closer to her, cocking his head to the side to get a better view of the screen.

“What does it say?”

“Paul’s dead.”

The words barely came out of her mouth. She couldn’t believe she was actually saying them. She hadn’t known the guy well, but the news affected her deeply. Her mind went back to the last time she saw him—at the reservoir. The look on his face as Josh took his soul was clear in her mind. Dizziness swept over her.

“Huh. Well, it’s to be expected.” Josh turned back around and stared into darkness.

Katie turned to him, her mouth agape. She studied the side of his face, trying to read his expression.

Was he really that cold and heartless? His gaze finally met hers.

“You can’t live without a soul, Katie.” The words were matter-of-fact.

Her breath caught in her throat. “You did this to him?”

She reminded herself that he was a demon. He was that evil.

He shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. I just gave him an option. It was up to him if he wanted to take it. He could have made different choices.”

Katie’s head spun faster. She shouldn’t have been surprised at Josh’s reaction. He was a creature from Hell and acting accordingly. But at the same time, it seemed so out of character from the way he acted with her. He showed compassion with her, caring. More often than not, he acted human. This callous side shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. Why? And what about her? Why hadn’t she done anything? She was there, she could have intervened, told Paul to run, but she didn’t. She had just stood there like an idiot and watched the

whole thing happen. In her defense, she didn’t know he would die. Would she have acted differently if she had known? Yes, she would have. Still, did that excuse her inaction?

“What about the guy at the club?” The words croaked out of her mouth. She was fairly certain she already knew the answer to the question.

“Same outcome. Again, Katie, you can’t live without a soul. We all die. Some just choose to go a little sooner than others.”

Her chest felt tight. Breathing became difficult. Guilt coursed through her body. She should have done something. She should have tried harder. She shouldn’t have let them give away their souls.

“Hey, it’s all right.” Josh’s voice was low, comforting. He gently rubbed her arm. “There was nothing you could have done to save them. I would have gotten what I wanted no matter what.”

Katie opened her mouth to speak, but the words never came out. A door to her left slid open, blaring music poured into the air. A boy and a girl not much older than Katie stumbled onto the deck.

“Jossssh!” the girl called. “There you are.”

She wore a powder blue bikini that barely covered her. Katie’s eyes drifted up and down the girl’s body. She was well muscled and well endowed—Katie had no doubts she was an athlete. As tall as she was, she could have been a basketball player. She obviously spent a lot of time in the sun. Her skin glowed golden brown. Her blue eyes seemed hazy, but Katie imagined they normally glowed. She was pretty. Katie glanced down at herself briefly. She definitely wasn’t as tan as the other girl. Katie wasn’t in bad shape—she worked out for volleyball and in the off season—but she didn’t think her muscles were as well defined. She crossed her hands over her chest and shrank back slightly.

The guy wasn’t bad, but definitely not Katie’s type. He was a bit thin. His swim trunks hung from his bony hips. She thought one wrong move would send them to the floor. His ribs were visible, and his cheeks seemed sunken in. He brown hair was slicked back on his head, and his eyes were glassy, like the girl’s.

As the girl stepped toward them, she lurched to the left and almost fell over. The only thing that saved her from hitting the deck was the guy holding her arm. Katie was amazed nothing popped out of the scant material on her body. Her drink splashed out of her cup, and the tang of alcohol hit Katie’s nose. The pair stepped up to them, with the girl sliding along the rail until she was pressed against Katie’s body, which made her even more uncomfortable and afraid to move. She was probably the only reason the girl was upright. What in the world were these two doing? Were they just two drunk kids that wandered onto the deck and had no respect for other people’s boundaries? It didn’t matter. Katie had other things to worry about. She was analyzing what she could have done differently with Paul. Josh stepped closer, sandwiching her between bodies.

guys.”

“Meg, Scott. We were just on our way back in.” Josh smiled and leaned closer to Katie. “This is Katie,

Meg turned her glassy red eyes to Katie and pushed herself upright. She held out her hand, which Katie took. It felt like she was gripping a dead fish.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Meg slurred. “Josh told us a lot about you. Didn’t he, Scott?” She turned to the boy behind her and giggled.

He laughed and averted his gaze to the deck. “He did.”

Katie smiled nervously and glanced from the pair to Josh. Her stomach tingled with anticipation. It was slowly dawning on her that she was expected to help Josh steal another soul. Maybe even two. She shook

herself mentally. She needed to focus. She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t be responsible for another death.

Meg grabbed Katie’s arm and pulled her away from the railing. The action was abrupt, and Meg had more strength than Katie thought possible. Where were they going? Should she say something now? But what?

Nothing came readily to mind. She allowed herself to be pulled slowly across the deck and back inside.

“C’mon,” Meg said. “You have to check out the sauna.”

Katie glanced over her shoulder at Josh and pushed her eyebrows together. “Sauna? Isn’t it hot enough out here for you?”

Josh smiled and raised his eyebrows. “It’s never hot enough here.”

Meg giggled. “Plus, it’s private.”

Katie returned her gaze forward, following the path in which she was being led. They pushed their way through the crowd that was writhing and gyrating to the pulsating music. Sweaty limbs rubbed against Katie’s exposed skin, chests and backs squeezed her as she turned sideways to get by. Lights reflected off tanned skin in a haze of red, blue, and yellow, with the flashing strobe making everyone appear to be moving in slow motion. Or were they actually moving in slow motion? Had Josh slowed time down? Katie wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. She had to stay focused on her task.

Katie contemplated slipping out of Meg’s grasp and disappearing into the crowd, but where would she go? It wasn’t like she had a lot of options on a ship, and she needed Josh to get her home. She couldn’t risk upsetting him and getting trapped so far away. How would she explain that to her mom? Oh, God! Mom! Would Josh threaten her life again if Katie messed up his plans to take these souls? She felt sick to her stomach. What was she going to do?

The crowd thinned, and they stepped into a dimly lit hallway. Meg continued to pull Katie along, while Scott and Josh trailed behind. Scott stared at the two girls through hooded eyelids and licked his lips. Katie could only imagine what ideas were running through his alcohol-soaked brain. The thought didn’t comfort her.

Meg opened a door and skipped into the middle of the dark room. A rectangle of light from the doorway barely illuminated her. She threw her arms into the air.

“Ta da!” she yelled, obviously feeling proud of herself.

Katie couldn’t tell what there was to be excited about; the room was dark. When the door closed behind her, it was cloaked in complete blackness. Katie wrapped her arms around her chest. Someone touched the small of her back as they walked by, causing her to stiffen. A light clicked on and bathed the room in soft orange. It was an impressive bedroom with a king-sized bed to her left flanked with nightstands on either side.

Large windows looked out onto the black ocean, and drawers and shelves lined every wall, except the one to her right, which had a door. Katie assumed that probably led to the sauna. Everything was accented in gold.

Had Katie been in there for a different reason, she would have taken the time to appreciate the rich beauty, but as it was, she didn’t let her gaze wander too far from the people in the room.

Scott walked over to Meg and wrapped his arms around her waist. She tossed her arms around his neck and plastered her lips against his. Their tongues darted in and out of each other’s mouths and filled the room with moist sucking sounds. Katie tightened her arms around her body. After several uncomfortable minutes, the pair broke the kiss and turned toward Katie. Josh stepped up behind her and placed his arm around her shoulders. Meg held her hand out to them.

“Come over here and join us.” Her tone was low and seductive.

Katie’s body tensed once again. She didn’t want to join them. This wasn’t her thing. Her legs itched to run out of the room, but Josh’s arm kept her in place.

“Gladly.” Josh smiled. “But I believe you said you would give me something in return for bringing Katie in here.” Josh gently squeezed Katie’s shoulder.

Now! Katie’s brain screamed. Now is your chance to stop this. Say something! But the words were stuck in her throat. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She looked at Josh in desperation. Was he doing this to her? Why couldn’t she speak?

Meg started giggling, which caused Scott to laugh.

“Right,” Scott said after taking a breath. “Our souls.” He gestured with his hand for Josh to approach.

“So come get them.” He and Meg started laughing again.

Josh stepped forward, a smile of evil satisfaction on his face. Ice entered Katie’s veins as he approached with his arms outstretched.

“No,” she said under her breath, finally finding her voice. “I can’t take part in this.” Unfortunately, it wasn’t loud enough to deter Josh or warn the two teens.

She had to get away. Perhaps a drastic action would be enough to stop the gathering from happening.

Mustering all the strength she could, she turned and ran out of the room. Hopefully it was enough. She heard Josh call her name, but she didn’t stop until she ran into a rail. Glancing down, she saw the dark water gently lapping the side of the boat. She inhaled ragged breaths. Her stomach ached, her knees went weak. Slowly, she sunk to the deck. Why couldn’t she speak? She wanted so desperately to stop him, and she couldn’t. She failed. She allowed two more people to have their souls taken because of inaction. Or did she? Maybe she freaked them out and they changed their minds. She could only hope. But what about Josh? What was he going to say? Was he going to be upset? Was he going to do something drastic? She should go back, but she couldn’t make her body comply with the command to stand up.

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the rail. A groan escaped her lips. She felt like a horrible person. Why did she allow this to keep happening? Why didn’t she have the strength to fight it? Footsteps sounded on the deck, and Katie looked up. Josh approached and sat down next to her. Katie wanted to apologize for running away, ask him not to be mad at her, but the words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. She laid her head on his shoulder.

“It was a lot to take in at the moment,” he said softly. “Too many emotions to process at one time.” He placed his hand under her chin and lifted her head. “But you still did a great job.”

The words did little to comfort Katie. She was still worried about what would happen down the road.

His lips found hers, and Katie lost herself in the kiss. His mouth opened slightly, so Katie opened hers.

His tongue found hers, and Katie pulled herself closer to his body. That helped relieve some of her concerns.

Maybe he wasn’t angry with her. That would be such a relief. Something clanked against her teeth. Confused, she tried to pull away, but Josh held her tight. Whatever was in her mouth found its way down her throat. Panic tightened her chest. What was going on? She tried harder to pull away, digging her nails into his arms and nearly choking on whatever was making its way toward her stomach. Her arms sagged as she was engulfed by warmth, followed by a tingling sensation that started in her stomach and spread out to her extremities. A feeling of peace washed over her.

Josh released her from the kiss but continued to hold her close. Katie was thankful. Her body felt light, airy, like it would float away. A sensation of giddiness passed through her, followed by excitement. It reminded her of feelings she’d felt as a child when she rushed to the tree on Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought her. A sense of hope surged through her. She turned to Josh. His features seemed clearer, his skin glowed with a golden hue. The blue of his eyes seemed brighter, his touch warmer and softer. She gently touched his face, and his lips curled into a smile. The tingling in her body grew more intense. Josh’s gaze and

embrace held the promise of eternity. She didn’t want him to let go. She wanted the feeling to last forever, and she wanted to continuously feel it with him.

“What did you give me?” Her voice came out as a whisper.

“A soul.” He leaned forward and kissed her again.

About the Author: In 2009, eTreasures Publishing published my first novel, a sci fi adventure story. Since then, they have published my two YA zombie novels, my religious zombie novella, two children’s picture books, and two novellas with romantic elements. I have an urban fantasy novel about dragons and a vampire novelette that was published by MuseItUp Publishing. Musa Publishing has published my novelette with romantic elements and a collection of short stories. I have a middle grade urban fantasy novel that was published by Little Devil Books. My nonfiction book about slasher films was published by Scarecrow Press.

Writing is my passion. I enjoy creating fantastic worlds and memorable characters. I’m an active promoter of my works and love to talk to readers at book signings and readings. Doing giveaways on Goodreads has been an exciting experience, and having contests for readers has been fun. I actively promote various authors on my blog and participate in blog tours to promote my own work.

I write under several different pen names. For my children’s titles, I write under J.D. Pooker, and for my YA and adult novels, I write under Pembroke Sinclair. My nonfiction work is done under my real name.

I am a member of the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers and am on a committee to create membership criteria for iPAL, which is a sister group to the Published Authors Liaison group and focuses on independent and self-published authors. I am also a member of the ALA and really enjoy doing library visits.

Blog: http://pembrokesinclair.blogspot.com/ Web: http://pembrokesinclair.com/ Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/Pembroke Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Pembroke-Sinclair/e/B007RFYJ6W/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jessicarobinsonauthor

Letter to the Reader What should I say about Earth’s Imagined Corners? There’s so much to tell.

This is the first book I wrote, and the first novel. I had been writing my whole life, but it wasn’t until 1999 that I claimed “writer” and began writing lots of fiction. I almost immediately tried to write a novel—this novel.

Very quickly, I realized fiction is one long resistance against writing the first thing that comes to mind, against cliché, and that I knew nothing about writing fiction, not really. And so I continued to work on the novel but then I also wrote loads of short stories.

Short stories are so demanding, little diamonds that demand perfection, and that taught me so much about writing. These stories became the collection How to Be a Man. I wrote on and off for years and finally achieved a first draft. Then I got feedback from some very patient writing friends, though the manuscript had a long way to go. They were insightful but very kind, as true writing friends are. Then I tried to get an agent, with minimal interest. When I say minimal, I really do mean minimal. And so I put it away and wrote another novel, which is Deep Down Things. After 11 years, I got my lovely agent, and then we queried publishers with both the novels. In the process, I majorly rewrote them both— again, from scratch, just keeping the plot. Earth’s Imagined Corners almost turned into two novels, but I really felt the parts needed to remain together. Then, after feedback from my agent, Earth’s Imagined Corners was shaped into final form.

The story is based on the lives of my great grandparents, Frank and Ellen Strong. Ellen Noble grew up in Iowa, while Frank grew up in Illinois under the name “Frank Wood” and moved across the country with his mother, Elizabeth Zenana Robinson Maettison Wood Strong Howard Staats. She was born in Virginia, and family legend says she danced at Tom Thumb’s wedding, married five times, and died in Red Willow County, Nebraska. She’s an elusive figure, and I had a heck of a time tracking her down through geneology. I still know very little about her.

Legend also says that Frank worked for an uncle for a year and was not paid, and so that’s why he stole two horses and was sentenced to the Additional Penitentiary in Anamosa.

Family legend turned out to be true. This is from the records of the penitentiary.

A. Henry Zierjacks being sworn testified as follows, am 33 years of age, reside Franklin Twshp. Bremer Co., a farmer, have known Frank Wood 4 or 5 years. I worked for Harper R. Smith know that he Smith lost a horse about Jan. 12th, 1882 saw tracks going north from the stable, followed the tracks towards Henry Adams and found that Frank Wood had eaten supper at Adams that night and had left about 9 o'clock, the day after F. W. was arrested he told me in the Bremer Co. Jail at Waverly that he took the horses asked me to do what I could for him to get him off easy, he said he watched me the night he took the horse until I went to bed. I talked with him today he told me he took the horse.

John Carstensen sworn testified as follows, age 23 years, Residence Waverly, am Deputy Sheriff of Bremer Co., Ia. Know Frank Wood, first saw him about Jan. 14th, 1882 in custody of Sheriff of Floyd Co. in Chas. City I served a warrant on him and took him into my custody, he said it was all right commenced crying and said he had stolen the horses and had sold them to Waller Bros.

Charles City. On my way to Chas. City saw Louis Harper who told me he saw a man with two gray horses he was riding one and leading the other which had a harness on. The description he gave me both of the man and the horses agreed with the description of the horses and Frank Wood when I found them at Chas. City. Met several other men on my way to Chas City who gave me descriptions of a man with two gray horses in his possession going in the direction of Chas. City each description agreed exactly with the

horses and Frank Wood when I arrested him. When I brought the horses back Mr. Stotts claimed one and A. Henry Zierjacks claimed the other for Harper R. Smith. I never heard F. W. deny the stealing of the horses but have heard him on several occasions admit to the stealing and claimed it was poverty that drove him to.

Frank and Ellen met at the town pump while Frank was still incarcerated—not, as I have them, after he gets out. Ellen, of course, knew that he was in prison. They married, changed their name to Strong, and then moved to Kansas City, as Sara and James do.

Here is Frank and Ellen’s wedding portrait, upon which I base the scene in the photography studio.

Frank and Ellen Strong The Strongs had a grocery store, and we still have the advertisement that ran in a KC newspaper on July 16, 1889.

Reproduction of advertisement for the Frank Strong Grocery in a July 16, 1889 newspaper Their daughters, including my Grandma Bessie, were born in Missouri and Kansas. They eventually move west across Nebraska supplying ties for the railroad, and they are in the vicinity of the Wounded Knee Massacre. At one point, Frank chased Ellen with an ax, and at another point Ellen went out to confront an angry mob of Frank’s employees while Frank hid under the bed. Ellen cooked for the crews, and the story goes that she cooked breakfast one day, gave birth to my Grandmother Bessie, and then went back and cooked the evening meal. At least that’s the story. This part of their lives is the subject of the second book in the series, Numberless Infinities.

Finally, they settled in northern Wyoming and started a hotel and livery in what was initially called Strong but is now Lovell. The Mormon community moved in and looked askance at what went on there. I don’t know if it was a brothel, but I don’t think so. The liquor was probably enough to be looked down on. The Strongs went in partners with other townsfolk to start a brick and tile factory, which eventually burned down, and there was much finger pointing. At one point, the whole town was moved two blocks south in one night.

These events are the basis for the third part in the trilogy called This Lowly Ground. After the brick and tile kerfluffle, my family moved 25 miles north to the base of the Pryor Mountains. This is the ranch on which I and my six siblings grew up. Frank passed away in 1914, and Ellen, who was known to everyone as Ma Strong, lived until 1950.

I came across this entry in the book Progressive Men of the State of Wyoming (A.W. Bowen & Co., Chicago, Ill., 1903).

Strongly endowed by nature with clearness of vision, quickness of apprehension and alertness in action, so that the opportunity presented for advancement have neither escaped his knowledge or been neglected in use, Frank S. Strong has made steady progress in the race for supremacy among men and the acquisition of this world's good from time to time, when, at the age of twenty, he lifted the gage of battle in life's contest for himself, until now when, at but little over twice that age, he is comfortably provided with a competence, being well-established in his chosen line of business and secure in the respect and esteem of his fellow men.

Mr. Strong's interesting and adventurous life began in the state of Illinois on February 8, 1861. His parents, John and Elizabeth (Robinson) Strong, were natives of New York and early settlers of Illinois. When he was ten years old they moved to Iowa, and there he completed his minority, lacking one year, and received a common school education. In 1881 he started out in life for himself, coming to Nebraska and locating in Red Willow county, where for a number of years he was actively engaged in farming.

From there he went to Fort Scott, Kan., and was engaged in railroad work for a number of years, and then in Kansas City he opened a merchandising establishment. In 1889 he left the comforts and allurements of city life and went to the wild country of the Black Hills, casting in his lot with its rush of fortune seekers; but, instead of following the almost universal occupation of mining, he engaged in railroad work and found it profitable until 1892, when he came to Wyoming for the purpose of joining the great army of enterprising and hardy men who were engaged in the stock industry. For three years he prospected for a suitable location for his enterprise, working at various useful occupations, and in 1895 took up land on the border of which the town of Lovell has since grown up. He owns 720 acres adjoining the townsite, and in the town itself he owns and conducts a hotel, livery barn and saloon.

He also owns 320 acres of land in Montana and has on it 150 fine cattle and fifty well-bred horses in addition to the stock he owns in this state. He was united in marriage with Miss Ellen J. Noble, a native of Wisconsin, but reared in Iowa, at the time of marriage a resident of Denver, Colo., where the ceremony was performed on October 19, 1885. They have two children, their winsome daughters, Lulie E. and Bessie F. Mr. Strong is not only a prosperous and enterprising man who pushes his own business with vigor and success, but he is a broad- minded, far-seeing and public spirited citizen, whose interest in the welfare of his country and state, and in the town in which he lives, is manifested by continual activity in behalf of all means of advancement and improvement for them and the benefit of his people. He is well-esteemed as a leading and useful citizen, whose services are of high value and whose example is an inspiration to others in the line of every good work.

I wish I could have met Ma Strong. She was a strong and amazing and kind woman, and she was always adopting strays and helping people. We named my daughter Elizabeth after her—Elizabeth’s middle name is “Strong.”

The lives of my great grandparents aren’t the only things that I fictionalized. I did a tremendous amount of research for this book.

After all, it’s much easier to research than to write the damn thing.

The American Memory Site of the National Archives is an amazing resource for researchers, and much of their material is online,

and so I didn’t have to travel to Washington D.C. to access it. Fortunately, there are birds-eye views of downtown Kansas City from 1879 and 1895, perfectly framing my time period. I could have gone so far as to tell you which streets Sara and James walked down.

And I also have the tremendous good fortune—for me, not for the residents of KC West Bottoms—of having a vast photographic evidence to draw from. That’s because the Bottoms flood regularly, and people take lots of photos during these natural disasters.

There are many other things based on fact.

Work began on the “Additional Penitentiary” in Anamosa, Iowa, in 1873. In 1884, the name was changed to the “State Penitentiary.” In 1885, it held 281 inmates. Electric lights were actually at the prison when James would have been there—they were first used in December of 1882 Fictional purposes—sorry. The inmates wore the broad horizontal black and white stripes and built their own prison, first in wood and then in stone.

The cookbook The Compleat Housewife by Eliza Smith is fact. First published in 1727 in London, the cookbook was republished almost verbatim in 1742 by the Virginia printer William Parks. It was the first cookbook published in the Colonies. The description of the book and its title page is real.

“The Patch” was a 4.5-acre area in the West Bottoms north of James Street and west of Ohio Avenue. It lay west of the Armour Packing Factory. If anything, I built it up a bit. The Kansas City Journal reported in 1910: “On this little spot of land fifty -nine houses have been built, of every kind of building material from pieces of driftwood to scraps of asphalt paving. The little shacks are built up against each other, and many front doors in the settlement look out on some neighbor’s cow lot.” Citizens of the Patch were evicted in April of 1910 and the land was sold for $200.

In 1900, The 18th Annual Report of the U.S. Commissioner of Labor reported the following prices in Chicago: a one pound loaf of bread $0.05, a quart of milk $0.06, a pound of flour $0.02, and a one-pound rib roast $0.13. Small, dark, two- to threeroom apartments rented for $4-10 a month, while better housing could cost $100 per month. Men worked an average of 290 days a year and made $553.52, while women worked an average of 295 days a year and made $313.42. I extrapolated backwards to estimate wages and prices.

Inventions such as electricity were making their way across the continent. Electrical infrastructure began reaching Iowa, Missouri, and Kansas in 1882. Kansas City had mule- drawn cable cars in 1881, but by 1885, they were powered by electricity. If you remember, the Transcontinental Railroad was completed in just 1869.

In 1881, an African American man named Levi Harrington, 23, was lynched—hung and shot—from the Bluff Bridge for killing a policeman named Jones, a crime Harrington did not commit. It got little coverage in the papers because it happened the same day that Jesse James was shot in Saint Joseph. The lynching that Moses and Auntie refer to previously is that of Joseph Lawrence, a black man from Girard, Crawford County, Kansas, for the charge of rape.

It happened on July 6, 1885.

I moved the flood from 1881 to 1885. There was a great flood in 1844 that came through the West Bottoms with a deafening roar and filled it bluff to bluff. It was reported that, during the night of the flood, cries were heard but the flood was too overwhelming to attempt rescue. The next day, rescuers found Louis Tromley perched in a tree, his wife in a tree a hundred yards farther on, and his son sitting on the peak of the swaying house. Later that day, onlookers saw Tromley’s house floating with the current, with Tromley’s favorite dog perched on its top. Tromley yelled out the dog’s name, and the dog let out a mournful wail. Tromley almost plunged into the water to save it. And then, in 1881, the spring was cold and wet, and sleighs were seen in the city as late as March 19. The 1881 flood peaked on April 29. There were more large floods in 1903 and 1951.

Little things. President Cleveland did have a mistress. Sara’s paste opal jewel exists, and in 2003, it was for sale by The Three Graces, Houston, Texas, for $1,380. The description of passengers getting cozy during a train wreck that is told by Moses is from Bill Nye’s 1882 Forty Lies and Other Liars. I based the rats at the river on an account given by a man who grew up in Kansas City in the twentieth century—the 1960s, I think. The description of the packing factories owes a lot to Sinclair Lewis’s The Jungle. On September 15, 1885, Jumbo the elephant was crushed by a train in Saint Thomas, Ontario, Canada. Thomas’s Tsististas are the Cheyenne, and the words from the Cheyenne language is from the Dull Knife College web site, but their spelling is my own.

I thought a lot about the story’s dialog. Who knows how people talked in 1885? The past is another country. Just like today, what was written was probably much different than what was said. But I also wanted it to sound to the reader like real people talking. To compromise, I wrote the dialog as I would any other, and then I tweaked it and took out the words that either weren’t contemporary or don’t “feel” historical and then put in words that do feel historical. For me, communication and clarity rank above “truth” (as if there is only one truth).

In a few places, I tip my hat to particular images or turns of phrase from writers I admire. I think of them as grace notes. When James first goes into the bowels of the packing factory, Joseph says hello to Jurgis—Jurgis is the main character in Sinclair Lewis’s The Jungle.

When the moon rises in KC “like a fired pine knot,” it’s a small homage to Jean Toomer and “Blood Burning Moon.” There were many more, but they were taken out in revision.

Imitation as the sincerest form of flattery.

When I wrote the first draft of Earth’s Imagined Corners, I had not visited Kansas City. And so it was a surreal experience to drive through the West Bottoms for the first time after I had so fully imagined it. It was the same but not the same. Today, overpasses lace between buildings that Sara and James would have seen out the cable car window. A wastewater treatment plant and a Fedex warehouse lie next to narrow empty streets crowded with abandoned nineteenth century buildings, their lower windows shattered and their elaborately painted signs still visible behind graffiti. Driving through them, even in broad daylight, feels a little like one of those horror movies where no one’s around and you’re just waiting for something nasty to pop

out from an alley.

To this day, I can’t help thinking of all those people who lived and worked in those giant husks, people who felt itchy in wool and got sunburned and loved that early morning splash of water on the face. People like Sara and James, like Frank and Ellen Strong. I look forward to continuing their journey in the next book.

Earth’s Imagined Corners The Round Earth Series Book 1 Tamara Linse Genre: Historical Fiction Publisher: Willow Words

Date of Publication: January 31, 2015 ISBN: 978-0-9909533-1-9 ASIN: B00T18RRNK Number of pages: 472 Word Count: 130,000 Book Description: In 1885 Iowa, Sara Moore is a dutiful daughter, but when her father tries to force her to marry his younger partner, she must choose between the partner—a man who treats her like property—and James Youngblood—a kind man she hardly knows who has a troubled past.

names.

When she confronts her father, he beats her and turns her out of the house, breaking all ties, so she decides to elope with James to Kansas City with hardly a penny to their

In the tradition of Willa Cather’s O Pioneers! and Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God, Earth’s Imagined Corners is a novel that comprehends the great kindnesses and violences we do to each other.

Available at Amazon

Excerpt: Anamosa, Iowa, 1885 Sara Moore should have nothing to fear this week. She had been meticulous in her entering into the ledger the amounts that Minnie the cook requested she spend on groceries. She had remembered, just, to include her brother Ed’s purchase of materials to mend sister Maisie’s doll house and to subtract the pickling salt that she had purchased for sister Esther but for which Esther’s husband Gerald had reimbursed her. She stood at her father’s shoulder as he went over the weekly household accounts, and even though her father owned Moore Grocer & Sundries from which she ordered the family’s groceries, he still insisted she account for the full price in the ledger. “No daughter of mine,” he often said, though sometimes he would finish the thought and sometimes his neatly trimmed eyebrows would merely bristle.

Despite the buttressing of her corset, Sara hunched forward, somewhat reducing her tall frame. She

intertwined her fingers so that she would not fiddle with the gathers of soft navy wool in her overskirt, and she tried not to breathe too loudly, so as not to bother him, nor to breathe too deeply, in order to take in little of the cigar smoke curling up from his elephant-ivory ashtray on the hulking plantation desk.

As always, the heavy brocade curtains armored Colonel Moore’s study against the Iowa day, so the coal oil lamps flickered in their brackets. Per instructions, Sipsy the maid lit them early every morning, snuffed them when he left for the grocery, lit them again in anticipation of his return at seven, and then snuffed them again after he retired. It was an expense, surely, but one that Sara knew better than to question. The walls of the study were lined with volumes of military history and maps of Virginia and Georgia covered in lines, symbols, and labels carefully inked in Colonel Moore’s hand. In its glass case on the bureau rested Colonel Moore’s 1851, an intricately engraved pistol awarded to him during the War of Northern Aggression. Sipsy dusted daily, under stern directive that not a speck should gather upon any surface in the room.

Sara’s father let out a sound between an outlet of breath and a groan. This was not good. He was not pleased. Sara straightened her shoulders and took a breath and held it but let her shoulders slump forward once more.

“My dear,” he said, his drawl at a minimum, “your figures, once again, are disproportionate top to bottom. And there is too much slant, as always, in their curvatures. I urge you to practice your penmanship.” His tone was one of indulgence.

Inaudibly, Sara let out her breath. If he was criticizing her chirography, then he had found nothing amiss in the numbers. The accounts were sound for another week. Later, when he checked the numbers against the accounts at the grocery, there was less of a chance that she had missed something.

He closed the ledger, turned his chair, and with both hands held the ledger out to her. She received it palms up and said, “I will do better, Father.”

“You would not want to disappoint to your mother.” His drawl was more pronounced.

So he had regretted his indulgence and was not satisfied to let her go unchecked. His wife, Sara’s mother, had been dead these five years, and since then Sara had grown to take her place, running the household, directing the servants, and caring for six year-old Maisie. Ed needed little looking after, as he was older than Sara, though unmarried, and Esther, the oldest, was married with two daughters and farm of her own.

Sara straightened her shoulders again and hugged the ledger to her chest. “Yes, Father,” she said and turned and left the room, trying to keep her pace tranquil and unhurried. She went to the kitchen, where Minnie had a cup of coffee doused with cream and sugar awaiting her. Minnie gave her an encouraging smile, and though Sara did not acknowledge what went unsaid between them—one must shun familiarity with the servants—she lifted her shoulders slightly and said, “Thank you, Minnie.” Minnie, with the round figure and dark eyes of a Bohemian, understood English well, though she still talked with a pronounced accent, and Sara had only heard her speak the round vowels and chipped consonants of her native tongue once, when a delivery man indigenous to her country of origin walked into the kitchen with mud on his boots. Sara tucked the ledger in its place on a high shelf and then allowed herself five minutes of sipping coffee amid the wonderful smells of Minnie’s pompion tart. Then she rose, rinsed her cup, and applied herself to her day.

The driver had Father’s horse and gig waiting, as always, at twenty minutes to nine. As Father stretched his fingers into his gloves, pulling them tight by the wrist leather, he told Sara, “When you come at noon, I have something unusual to show you.”

“Yes, Father,” she said.

It seemed odd that he would concern her with anything to do with business. He left her to the household. He had long tried to coerce Ed into the business, but Ed’s abilities trended more toward the physical. He was a skilled carpenter, though Father kept a close rein on where he took jobs and whom he worked for. All talk of renaming the business Moore & Son had been dropped when Father had recently promoted the young man who was his assistant, Chester O’Hanlin, to partner. Mr. O’Hanlin had droopy red muttonchops and a body so long and thin he looked a hand-span taller than he really was, which was actually a bit shorter than Sara. Mr. O’Hanlin didn’t talk much, either, and he seemed always to be listening. He held himself oddly, cocking his head to one side, first one way and then the other, his small dark eyes focusing off to the left or right of the speaker. His nose, long and wedge-shaped, seemed to take up half his face. “Chester, the Chinaman,” Maisie called him outside of his presence because of the way he stooped and bobbed whenever their father entered the room.

About the Author: Tamara Linse jokes that she was raised in the 1880s, and so it was natural for her to set a book there. She is the author of the short story collection How to Be a Man and the novel Deep Down Things and earned her master’s in English from the University of Wyoming, where she taught writing. Her work appears in the Georgetown Review, South Dakota Review, and Talking River, among others, and she was a finalist for an Arts & Letters and Glimmer Train contests, as well as the Black Lawrence Press Hudson Prize for a book of short stories. She works as an editor for a foundation and a freelancer.

Find her online at www.tamaralinse.com and her blog Writer, Cogitator, Recovering Ranch Girl at www.tamara-linse.blogspot.com Facebook https://www.facebook.com/tlinse Twitter https://twitter.com/TamaraLinse Google+ https://plus.google.com/u/0/+TamaraLinse/posts

All three novels I've written in the Young Adult and New Adult genre are "historical novels." My 2009 novel, Josef Jaeger, was set in 1933-34 Germany, in the early years of the Nazi regime, while my 2013 novel, Tyler Buckspan, was set in a small town in northeast Florida in the mid-1960's. My newest release, Becoming Andy Hunsinger, is set in Tallahassee, Florida in the mid-1970's.

I was a Florida teenager during most of the 1960's, so I had a pretty good recollection of that period, and what Florida was like at the time. Likewise, I attended law school in Tallahassee during the mid-1970's, so I have very vivid recollections of that time period.

Now, admittedly I'm an old guy, but I wasn't around in 1933-34, much less did I live in Germany at that time. So, when I decided to write Josef Jaeger I knew I'd have to do a great deal of research in order to describe what life was like in Munich, Bayreuth and Berlin, the three cities where the Josef Jaeger story takes place.

I had already read The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich by William Shirer, so I knew the history of the Nazi movement pretty well, but I knew that was just a starting point. Readers of historical fiction want to be transported back in time. They want to know everything about the way people lived in whatever period you, as a fiction writer, are describing in your books. And they'll be very upset if you botch things up with a slew of historical inaccuracies when you write for them. So here's what I did while writing Josef Jaeger.

I rented an apartment in Berlin for three months during the summer of 2006, in the Schoenberg district. I had a few friends in Berlin and also in Bavaria, where Munich and Bayreuth are located. Most were former exchange students who'd lived with me or with friends in Florida. And then I got busy.

I walked the streets of Berlin. I made notes on architectural styles of buildings that survived the war. I asked people questions about the types of trees, shrubs and flowers I saw growing in the city. I learned the names of the city's districts. I went to the public library to look at history books with photos in them so I could see how people dressed in the 1930's. I talked to older people about what sort of cuisine they dined on back then, and what sort of music they listened to. How did they transport themselves around the city?

What sort of furniture did people have back then? What sort of movies did they watch? What was the public education system like back then? I even found a few men who'd belonged to Hitler Youth.

Then I traveled with a former exchange student to Bavaria, where we spent considerable time in Bayreuth and Munich. I repeated what I'd done in Berlin because I knew southern Germany had differed so greatly from Berlin, back in the 1930's. I couldn't just use what I'd learned in Berlin when I wrote scenes occurring in Bavaria.

Then, after I'd collected a very large volume of material (All stored on my trusty laptop computer.), I returned to Florida and then I began to write Josef Jaeger.

The book has been very well-received since it debuted. It won "Best Young Adult Novel" in the international Rainbow Awards competition in 2009 and also "Best Young Adult Novel" in the 2010 Rainbow Excellence Awards competition sponsored by the Rainbow Romance Writers association.

I took on quite a project when I wrote Josef Jaeger, didn't I? My new novel, Becoming A ndy Hunsinger, didn't pose such a challenge, but I still had to be sure I got things right. When we listened to music in 1976 we listened to LP records; CDs, MP3 players and even cassette tapes didn't exist. Neither did cell phones. Tallahassee was a very conservative town back then; gay people led their private lives in shadow for fear they might lose their job if their sexuality became public knowledge. And of course I needed do research on the fashions of the day, as my memory was a

bit hazy on that subject.

Like I said, readers of historical fiction expect an author to "get it right." They'll know if you don't, and I for one feel an obligation to be as historically accurate as I can be. I'm very pleased with the final version of Becoming Andy Hunsinger; it will transport readers back in time, to the days of bell-bottom jeans, black light posters, and handlebar moustaches. I hope your readers will consider giving it a try.

Becoming Andy Hunsinger Jere' M. Fishback Genre: Historical romance, GLBT, Historical,Edgy Young Adult Publisher: Prizm Books Date of Publication: December 30, 2014

ISBN: 978-1-61040-858-5 ASIN: B00RN6L8HS Number of pages: 208 Word Count: 65,800 Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde Book Description: It's 1976, and Anita Bryant's homophobic "Save Our Children" crusade rages through Florida. When Andy Hunsinger, a closeted gay college student, joins in a demonstration protesting Bryant's appearance in Tallahassee, his straight boy image is shattered when he's "outed" by a TV news reporter.

In the months following, Andy discovers just what it means to be openly gay in a society that condemns love between two men.

Can Andy's friendship with Travis, a devout Christian who's fighting his own sexual urges, develop into something deeper?

Available at Amazon

Prizm Books

Excerpt On my seventh birthday, my parents gave me a Dr. Seuss book, The Cat in the Hat. I still have it; the book rests on the shelf above my desk, along with other Seuss works I've collected.

Inside The Cat in the Hat's cover, my mother wrote an inscription, using her English teacher's precise penmanship.

"Happy Birthday, Andy. As you grow older, you'll realize many truths dwell within these pages. Much love, Mom and Dad." Mom was right, of course. She most always is.

My favorite line in The Cat in the Hat is this one:

"Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." *** Loretta McPhail was a notorious Tallahassee slumlord. On a steamy afternoon, in August 1976, she spoke to me in her North Florida drawl: part magnolia, part crosscut saw.

"The rent's one-twenty-five. I'll need first, last, and a security deposit, no exceptions."

McPhail wore a short-sleeved shirtwaist dress, spectator pumps, and a straw hat with a green plastic windowpane sewn into the brim. Her skin was as pale as cake flour. A gray moustache grew on her winkled upper lip, and age spots peppered the backs of her hands. Her eyeglasses had lenses so thick her gaze looked buggy.

I'd heard McPhail held title to more than fifty properties in town, all of them cited multiple times for violation of local building codes. She owned rooming houses, single family homes, and small apartment buildings, mostly in neighborhoods surrounding Florida State University's campus. Like me, her tenants sought cheap rent; they didn't care if the roof leaked or the furnace didn't work.

The Franklin Street apartment I viewed with McPhail wasn't much: a living room and kitchen, divided by a three-quarter wall; a bedroom with windows looking into the rear and side yards; a bathroom with a wall -mounted sink, a shower stall and a toilet with a broken seat. In each room, the plaster ceilings bore water marks. The carpet was a leopard skin of suspicious-looking stains, and the whole place stank of mildew and cat pee.

McPhail's building was a two-storied, red brick four-plex with casement windows that opened like book covers, a Panhandle style of architecture popular in the 1950s. Shingles on the pitched roof curled at their edges. Live oaks and longleaf pines shaded the crabgrass lawn, and skeletal azaleas clung to the building's exterior.

In the kitchen, I peeked inside a rust-pitted Frigidaire. The previous tenant had left gifts: a half-empty ketchup bottle, another of pickle relish. A carton of orange juice with an expiration date three months past sat beside a tub of margarine.

Out in the stairwell, piano music tinkled -- a jazzy number I didn't recognize.

McPhail clucked her tongue and shook her head.

"I've told Fergal -- and I mean several times -- to close his door when he plays, but he never does. I'm not sure why I put up with that boy."

McPhail pulled a pack of Marlboros from a pocket in the skirt of her dress. After tapping out two cigarettes, she jammed both between her lips. She lit the Marlboros with a brushed-chrome Zippo, and then she gave me one cigarette.

I puffed and tapped a toe, letting my gaze travel about the kitchen. I studied the chipped porcelain sink, scratched Formica countertops, and drippy faucet. Blackened food caked the range's burner pans. The linoleum floor's confetti motif had long ago disappeared in high-traffic areas. Okay, the place was a dump.

But the rent was cheap, and campus was less than a mile away. I could ride my bike to classes, and to my part -time job as caddy at the Capital City Country Club.

Still, I hesitated.

The past two years, I'd lived in my fraternity house with forty brothers. I took my meals there, too. If I rented McPhail's apartment, I'd have to cook for myself. What would I eat? Where would I shop for food?

Other questions flooded my brain. Where would I wash my clothes? And how did a guy open a utilities account? The apartment wasn't furnished. Where would I purchase a bed? What about a dinette and living room furniture? And how much did such things cost? It all seemed so complicated.

Still . . .

Lack of privacy at the fraternity house would pose a problem for me this year. Over summer break -back home in Pensacola -- I'd experienced my first sexual encounter with another male, a lanky serviceman named Jeff Dellinger, age twenty-four. Jeff was a Second Lieutenant from Eglin Air Force Base. I met him at a sand volleyball game behind a Pensacola Beach hotel, and he seemed friendly. I liked his dark hair, slim physique, and ready smile, but wasn't expecting anything personal to happen between us.

After all, I was a "straight boy", right?

We bought each other beers at the Tiki bar, and then Jeff invited me up to his hotel room. Once we reached the room, Jeff prepared two vodka/tonics. My drink struck like snake venom, and then my brain fuzzed. Jeff opened a bureau drawer; he produced a lethal-looking pistol fashioned from black metal. The pistol had a matte finish and a checked grip.

"Ever seen one of these?"

I shook my head.

"It's an M1911 -- official Air Force issue. I've fired it dozens of times."

Jeff raised the gun to shoulder height. He closed one eye, focused his other on the pistol's barrel sight.

"Shooting's almost... sensual," he said. Then he looked at me. "It's like sex, if you know what I mean."

I shrugged, not knowing what to say.

Jeff handed the pistol to me. It weighed more than I'd expected, between two and three pounds. I turned the pistol here and there, admiring its sleek contours. The grip felt cold against my palm and a shiver ran through me. I'd never fired a handgun, never thought to.

"Is it loaded?" I asked.

Jeff bobbed his chin. "One bullet's in the firing chamber, seven more in the magazine; it's a semiautomatic."

After I handed Jeff the gun, he returned it to his bureau's drawer while I sipped from my drink, feeling woozier by the minute. Jeff sat next to me, on the room's double bed. His knee nudged mine, our shoulders touched, and I smelled his coconut-scented sunscreen.

Jeff laid a hand on my thigh. Then he squeezed. "You don't mind, do you?"

About the Author:

Jere' M. Fishback is a former news editor and trial lawyer. He writes Young Adult novels, short fiction, and memoirs. A Florida native, he lives on a barrier island on the Gulf of Mexico, west of Tampa/St. Petersburg.

When he's not writing, Jere' enjoys cycling, surfing, lap-swimming, and watching sunsets with a glass of wine in hand. http://www.jeremfishback.com/blog1/ https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2920032.Jere_M_Fishback http://www.amazon.com/Jere-M.-Fishback/e/B00DDXM806/

Dewdrops and Decadence A Collection of Erotic Poetry Roxanne Rhoads Print Length: 55 pages Publisher: Bewitching Books Release date: March 3, 2015 ASIN: B00SQ87E9S This arousing collection of erotic poetry will delight your senses and stimulate your mind.

Ranging from soft and sensual to explicitly erotic, lovers of erotica are sure to find something to tempt and titillate.

Flip through the pages with a lover or enjoy them alone as naughty bedtime reading.

Available at Amazon A few poems from the collection: In the Clearing Chasing butterflies I found you in the clearing bathed in sunlight soft and sweet Willow wisp and grass lithe

your body was the rock that grounded me

Butterflies fluttered by as I tasted your desire wild on the air, thick as honey I kissed your lips to ease your need Nature stood sentinel around us testament to beauty, love, creation Keeper of primordial secrets Guard of our private playground Butterfly kisses and tongue tickling caresses love made blissful in sunlight glow More than just a roll in the hay a union of souls in dewy morning grass You touched my soul as I held your heart Butterfly whimsy and childish delight, laughter and love sounds broke the silence of the wood Bare sweat and dew drenched limbs lay tangled in sun glow Breathless bodies eventually parted Full of joy and love soaked energy Drunk off passion play Not quite ready to face a busy day Never wanting to leave but there was work to do I followed the butterflies but they always led me back to you Rain Soaked Rainbow droplets formed prism puddles while sunlight peeked through rainmist clouds We slipped into our backyard garden Bare feet on slippery grass Giggling like children as we chased each other in the rain Hide and seek behind the trees Losing clothing and inhibitions among the lush leaves and dripping flowers Rain soaked skin sleek and slippery touching in the steamy air Hungry kisses tasting of salt and rain Thighs and petal lips parted open wide to let him in Passion plunging and penetrating Drenched bodies joined in desire The scent of sex mingled with damp earth and rain Seed spilled on wet soil In a rain soaked garden Pleasure bloomed