TABLE
OF
CONTENTS
THEWRITINGPROCESS
47+2
K.N. Lee
M ich ael W . H ol m an
WITHATWIST M . Str atton
THEW ALK
THEGALLOW AYLAKE
M oon Ch yl de
K.N. Lee
PEANUT BUTTERKISSES Ken ya M oss-Dym e
ANINTERVIEWWITHANGELAJ. FORD
ACROSS THESANDS Nefr etiti M or an t
ANINTERVIEWWITHMELISSASTORM& INTRODUCINGHUGONEGRON
THEWRITING PR O C ESS byK.N. Lee In t his art icl e I wil l describe t he writ ing process, what I do when I get st uck, whet her I pref er t o kil l a charact er, and how I det ermine if a book is YA, NA, Romance, or Paranormal .
Writing has always been my greatest pleasure in life. I have been doing it since childhood and plan on continuing until I am too old to type or wield a pen. There is a process when it comes to writing, and it is quite magical. For me, it all begins with a dream. My eyes close and I drift into a parallel universe of my subconscious. There
characters are crafted and fantastical stories are viewed like a film in a theater. When I wake up it is my job to translate what I witnessed in my dream, so that I may share the wonder with others. Rarely am I ever in my dreams. Characters take center stage, and so they are the ones truly in control. I start the first sentence, and let them lead the way. I am always amazed by the way the characters flesh themselves out with their own unique personalities and desires. I create characters that were formed by my mind. It is
this fact that makes me realize that each character has a very special piece of my own true self. Koa in The Chronicles of Koa series is this tiny girl that no one would ever think could have any power, but she surprises those that doubt her with her strong resolve and ambition. I believe she is a nod toward who I want to
be. Lilae, from my Rise of the Flame series is timid and withdrawn from others, too afraid to even look into someone?s eyes for fear that she will be judged. She is my most cherished character, for she depicts my struggles with shyness and insecurities as a child. Since it is the characters that lead the way through
through a novel, I let them help me when I hit a snag. Whenever there is a chapter or scene that I continuously stumble on, or it keeps me from reaching the finish line, I consult with my muses. A walk through nature seems to help, music, or picking up another book I enjoy, and read for awhile. My greatest aid is the moments before I drift to sleep. I will focus on the scene that troubles me, fall asleep, watch these issues become resolved, and wake up with a smile.
When it comes to determining which genre my book is in, I simply analyze the overall theme, and determine which audience it will appeal to most. Join K.N. Lee's Newsl et t er For:
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To kil l or not t o kil l a charact er? I tend to go with the latter. However, death is one of the most primal of fears. Killing a character's loved one can make a dramatic shift in their character arc. Seeing them persevere makes them real to the reader.
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K.N. Lee is an award-winning author that resides in Charlotte, North Carolina. When she is not writing twisted tales, fantasy novels, and dark poetry, she does a great deal of traveling and promotes other authors. She is a winner of the Elevate Lifestyle Top 30 Under 30 "Future Leaders of Charlotte" award for her success as a writer, business owner, and for community service.
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47+2 BY, MICHAEL W. HOLMAN Stephen Archerbold proved that expression "white men can't jump" false when he launched himself in an impressive vertical leap. Unfortunately, his athletic feat didn't happen on a basketball court. He was in his driveway. The only one to see the spontaneous exhibition was Imogene Lansing, his neighbor for ten years, who had startled him. "Could you repeat that, Genie? I sort of missed what you said when my pulse accelerated." "I asked if you've gone moon-bat crazy! It's 3:00
AM and Arctic freezing out here! I'm wearing the thickest robe I have over my warmest pajamas but I'm shivering enough to make my dentures rattle." She looked at his light weight running apparel and shook her head. "I've got Mister Bleeps to thank for this wee-hours adventure. He had to have his way." Stephen chuckled. His neighbor had doted upon her calico cat for years, not fooling anyone with her frequent threats about selling her feline housemate. When Mister Bleeps wanted out, the
salty old woman let him out, as if on sheer reflex. "I told you about what happened last month up in Portland, right? The memory I had to pull myself out of that marathon before I reached milepost seventeen is what drove me moon-bat crazy." He gestured at their quiet northeast Salem neighborhood with a sweep of his right arm. "I can't sleep anyway, thanks to this stupid indigestion of mine, and see, there's no traffic. This is a golden training opportunity, so I'll put my
Nikes to good use and run to prepare for my shot at next year's Portland Marathon. I've got a score to settle." "Whoa, hold on," Imogene ordered. "You've got indigestion again? Lately you've mention that a lot, hombre. You should see a doctor." "Yeah, I suppose you're right. Well, keep Mister Bleeps out of mischief." His neighbor snorted. "Ha--as if that's even possible. Be careful, Stephen." He waved in acknowledgement and ran
into the still early morning. Lampposts kept total darkness at bay, but the sky was overcast. He headed west via Center Street instead of Silverton Road. Within minutes, the remodeled Oregon State Hospital loomed, set far back from the sidewalk opposite from the one he ran on. Then he saw something odd. A pretty brunette dressed in a blouse and skirt that didn't match any fashions worn by a single woman he knew walked around the
building, agitated. There was a faint blue aura around her he attributed to the institution's halogen bulb lights. He considered going across Center Street to warn her about finding her key quickly to get inside, as the hour and location didn't lend itself well to any female traipsing around alone. But he continued on his way; security was on patrol, he told himself. She was so preoccupied she never saw him at all. Later that day, when Stephen came home from work, he spotted Imogene
as she fumbled to unlock her front door while she shifted two sacks. He hustled up to her porch and caught one just as she lost her grip. "Oh, thank you," she gushed. "Come on in, I've made brownies. It seems to me you're qualified to handle quality assurance on my latest baking masterpiece."
"Excellent!" "Have a seat," she offered as they walked into her living room. "Take a load off as I get my kitchen sorted." "Okay." He noticed the thick book on her coffee table as he sat in a wing-back chair. "You didn't have this Sears and Roebuck catalog out before." He picked it up.
5
"'Fall and Winter, 1942.' Wow." Imogene returned with a tray heaped with dark fudge brownies sprinkled with peanut butter chips speckled all over them. "Sometimes I find things while I rummage around and get nostalgic," she said with a shrug. Stephen took a brownie. He put the catalog in his lap and used his left fingers to flip through its pages. "Holy crap!" he shouted suddenly. "That's her! Well, this looks just like her." He pointed down at the catalog. Imogene just stared at him with a blank expression. "Early morning after we talked I ran past the state hospital," he explained. "A gorgeous woman was walking around it, dressed in this same sort of blouse and skirt." "Oh, my, you saw her
too."
Stephen only nodded.
"Huh?"
That night he set his alarm and ran to the hospital. An intense pain pierced his chest as he got to a maple tree on the state property. He leaned on its trunk and wheezed. Then all went black for him.
"In mid-November of 1942, a terrible tragedy happened at that hospital. A cook sent a patient down to the cellar for dry powdered milk to make scrambled eggs with. What he brought up was six pounds of white crystal cockroach poison. More than 450 people got dreadfully sick and 47 died. It made national headlines. I was eight at the time, but I remember anyway." Imogene shuddered as she put her brownie back on the tray and turned to Stephen. "This woman you saw, walking around the hospital, did she have dark hair?"
"Can you stand?" the pretty brunette asked gently as he opened his eyes and smiled. "Sure. Hey, let's go in that white light." He saw his own prone form, and knew what it meant. "But I must attend to my patients." that white light." He saw his own prone form, and knew what it meant. "But I must attend to my patients."
"Yes."
Stephen shook his head.
"Oh, my," she repeated softly. "I never told anyone I saw her when I was a young teenager, because I was afraid I'd get heckled."
"They're all gone. They're free. Maybe you'll find them when we get inside the light." She grinned and took his offered hand.
Stephen Archerbold's body was found under the same tree registered nurse Penelope Daskin had struck with her car (which had not been manufactured with seat belts) where she had died from blunt force trauma in the early morning of November 19, 1942. Archerbold suffered a fatal chest aneurysm, according to the Marion County medical examiner's report. When told of her neighbor's demise, Imogene whispered, "Oh, no. Poor man. That makes a total of 47 plus two deaths on that state hospital's property." (THE END)
Connect w ith M ichael Holman on Tw itter @nwrunningwriter
between her and the customers, pour drinks, make good Wit h a Twist money, and go home. by M. St rat t on A place where she didn?t have to worry about her mama?s Amazon: boyfriends thinking http:/ / amzn.to/ 1NKnyE9 she was fair game. A place where she could Blurb: simply be.
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Bryant Harrison was The rules at The Club new to Karim, Texas. were simple: After years of moving Keep your mouth shut. around and buying one company after Keep your mouth shut. another, he threw a Keep your mouth shut. dart on a map and decided to move his home base from New This was a rule Starr York City to where it Fields could follow. landed. Now he had After searching for every failing business years, she finally man in town trying to found what she get him to take their thought was home. A problems away. place where she could One glance was all it go in, keep a bar
took for these two to know this was going to be more than a casual meeting. Their feelings were growing quickly as the air became crisp and the leaves changed color. As Halloween approaches, it would seem the unknown monster that hunted Starr wasn?t going to just watch from the shadows for much longer. Can Bryant be her Knight in Shining Armor and save her in time, or will she slip away as quickly as they fell in love?
THE W ALK
In sync we started taking steps With hands afraid to touch Moving slowly just in case Someone did or said too much Our legs began to flow With every new moment we shared Telling stories in our lives In hopes the other would care I could feel us walking up the mountain And I knew it would be a long walk But you reached out and took my hand And we drank and laughed and talked We played along the lake And kissed within the rain We loved under the moon Time and time again And my heart became excited And my legs began to run Skipping around the flowers
MoonChyl de
And breathing in the sun I started running up the hillside With a smile without a care Until I took the time to notice That you were no longer there Did your feet grow weary Or did I walk too fast When did I lose your hand So I ran back to ask Breathing hard in panic I saw you struggling with the wind
THE W ALK
So I came to pick you up In hopes that you would walk again I could tell your legs were tired Like walking through the snow So I tried pulling you up With words you needed to know Please know that I am here I love you in the deepest of my heart I never knew I would feel this way At the beginning of our walk And here I stood boldly shaking
MoonChyl de
At the shock of what I had just done and said As you pulled away from me And walked away instead This part you must walk alone As you released my hand There are others waiting to join you And I must understand While we had fun in this journey It was never more than a walk You never wanted to walk all the way And my emotions somehow got lost So here I tumble down this mountain My tears won't stop the fall Just know that I do love you
8
And I thank you for the walk
THEGALLOW AY LAKE FromtheCol l ection, Thicker ThanBl ood byK.N. Lee
Par t On e
Tanya?s body crashed into the icy lake. It was a violent awakening. Like a slap to the face, her mind was jolted by the impact. Dark brown eyes popped open to the rush of the murky water. Her body tightened at the chill of it. It felt like a thousand knives pricking her exposed flesh. Without light to see her surroundings, she panicked and kicked. She tried to keep her head above the water, to see a shred of hope, but the handcuffs that bound her hands behind her back made every movement difficult. Death was not an option.
8
Tanya wouldn?t allow it. Even after days of torture, she never gave up her will to live. Her body and mind would be forever
bruised by the abuse she suffered. Water filled every orifice as her head sunk again. The darkness terrified her. Her fear of drowning and what lurked deep in the lake was being realized. The handcuffs were her only obstacle. She was an avid swimmer and had won countless medals and awards for her skill. She might survive if she could get free. Little did her kidnapper know, but Tanya was double jointed. She squeezed her hands very tight and mashed her fingers together until the bone in her thumb tucked inward. Tanya pursed her lips together and tried to clear her thoughts. Her lungs burned and yet she had to concentrate. After a
moment of suffocating agony, her right hand slipped out of the metal handcuffs. Tanya sprang into action and swam to the surface as quickly as her fatigued body would take her. Her lungs swelled with the air that entered when her head broke the surface. Tanya choked and coughed in ragged fits. Her throat burned from the water she had swallowed. All was quiet around her. Tanya sucked in a breath and felt her fear rise. She looked around in desperation. She pulled her black hair out of her eyes. Everything was calm and still. She could see her breath puff into the air before her. Tiny lanterns hung from the bridge. Tanya knew where she was. This was the bridge that led to the Galloway
Plantation. The lanterns lit the way to the shore. dent:. She had to reach dry land. The fact that she was naked in the frosty air of made it dire for her to get out of the water. Tanya swam as hard as she could. She reached the shore and collapsed onto the rocky ground. Pebbles and rocks embedded into her arms and legs. She cried out in both joy and pain. Her head crashed into the mud and she didn?t care. Her eyes closed and she nearly passed out again from days of malnutrition and exhaustion. She wondered if he knew she was still alive when he tossed her over the bridge. Tanya had to be strong. She had to stay focused. Tanya was an athlete. Her training was all that she had left. Pain was weakness. Tanya refused to be weak.
The forest was a mass of black shadows that reached towards the lakes shore, the branches of the trees hung over the water like a canopy. Tanya looked to the forest and felt her body tense. There was nothing but a silent darkness all around her, and the forest went deeper and deeper, making her dizzy as she tried to make out what shadows lingered. It reminded her of the days when she would stare into the woods in her parents back yard and imagine she?d seen goblins watching her from the trees. Tanya swallowed hard and rubbed the gooseflesh in her arms. She winced. The gashes were still bleeding. Tanya glanced down at the blood on her hands and felt her lips quiver. She could still remember the sting of the ropes that had cut into her flesh. She had hung like a pig ready to be butchered for so long that the ropes had dug deep, and all of the blood in her body had traveled down to her head. Tanya squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the memories. She blew into her hands to warm them. It was useless. Her hands had lost all feeling already. Tanya fought her weariness and shivered as she crawled to her feet. ?Tanya, you can do this.? She tried to motivate herself, but the sound of her voice, so fragile and cracked made her weep. She couldn't believe she had let such a thing happen to her. She had always been careful. Her mother had always warned her. The day Tanya had left for college, her mother had told her to be aware of her surroundings. ?Always look around to make sure no one followed you when you?re alone. Never get in your car without checking the back seat first. Never go alone to a party or club. Always watch your drink. Call mommy if you need a ride home. Just be aware, Tanya.? But I was aware! Tanya screamed in her head. She missed her mother?s voice more than anything. For days she had gone over and over what had went wrong. Tanya always checked her surroundings. She was cognizant of who was around and watching her. Still, Tanya couldn?t have prepared for what had happened. He bragged to her about how meticulous he was. He had watched her for years. He knew every detail of her schedule. This had been planned for a while now. So, one night, he finally came for her. The man in the black mask stole her from the comfort of her own bed. Tanya shook her head, as though trying to purge herself of the memories. She didn't
want to remember anything now. All she could think was that she was so cold, hungry, and so tired. The forest seemed to reach out to her as she ran from it. Her heart beat faster. She heard rustling in the trees and nearly cried out in terror. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw nothing in the bushes and trees that hung with gray Spanish moss. Tanya couldn?t think straight. Every thought was of horrible possibilities. Maybe someone was practicing voodoo back there in those woods. Maybe the man in the black mask was watching her. Perhaps this was a game, and he was ready to capture her again. It wasn?t too far-fetched. Tanya cringed. He did love his games. He certainly enjoyed watching her suffer. Tanya heard something crunch behind her, and despite a sore ankle, she ran as fast as she could to the bridge. The fear ignited such an adrenaline rush that she was able to climb the side of the hill that led to the street. The mud and dirt smeared onto her pale hands as she fought her way to the
pavement. It was a two lane street, one that not many people drove down because it led to the old Galloway Plantation. She figured that was the closest place for her to seek help. Tanya felt somewhat safer once her feet touched the cold, wet, asphalt. Her stomach churned and her face was still sore. Tanya couldn't wait for warmth. Her skin was tight. She couldn't slow her pace. She wasn't sure where she obtained such vitality, but she suspected it was the fear that something still watched her from the forest that sat on either side of the road. Tanya gulped. She couldn't stifle the tears. She could have easily curled into a ball and fallen into a hypothermic slumber, but she was not a quitter. ?Treat this like a race Tanya, you can do it,? she told herself. Her eyes widened with hope when she finally saw lights in the distance. They were dim. Only the pale gold lanterns lit the gate to the estate. She was praying that someone was home. Then, she realized that the large, shiny black gate was
closed and locked. She banged every number on the call box. She shivered. Tanya didn?t have much time. She was frantic. She beat the silver box with her numb hand, until she was dizzy. Par t Tw o ?Daddy?? Ava sat up from her place on the floor. She put the jumbo crayon she had been using down on the yellow construction paper and stood. ?Yeah?? her father asked, not looking up from the book he read. ?What's that noise? Is someone trying to get in?? Ava listened to the loud beeping that came from a system of equipment that sat on the desk. ?Oh. That again.? He closed his book and sat up in his chair. He looked at the security monitor, and turned the call box off. The loud beeping ceased. Ava's eyes widened and she tilted her head to listen. She heard faint wailing. She suddenly wished she was at home with his mother, safe in her warm bed. She didn't like the security room her father worked in. She didn't like that big plantation house either.
It frightened her. ?Come here. Sit with daddy for a second. ?Her father motioned for her to sit on his lap. Ava did so quickly. Someone was still crying. ?Daddy!? She jumped into her father?s lap, clutching her father?s neck. ?Oh, Ava, I'm sorry. I should have just got a babysitter tonight.? He smoothed the girl?s hair, trying to calm her. ?What is that Daddy? Why don't you go help that girl?? Ava pulled back to look into his eyes. ?She's not real Ava. There's nothing I can do.? Ava brows furrowed. ?What do you mean, she's not real?? He sighed. ?You see Ava, look at this screen.? Ava turned, looking at the assortment of screens above the desk. He pointed to the screen that monitored the front gate. Ava nodded. ?Yes I see.? ?OK, good. Daddy watches over this house every night. And every night this happens... but no one is there." Ava tilted her head. She didn?t take her eyes off of that screen. She turned back to face her father. ?What do you mean? Why don't you help her daddy?? He was taken aback by his daughter?s exasperation. He ran his fingers through his graying hair. ?Help who?? He looked at the screen and shook his head. ?Ava,? he pointed again, at the large gate. ?See? No one is there. Something is wrong with the equipment here. I used to go check, but no one is ever outside at the gate.? Ava stared at the screen. The wind howled outside, but it didn't drown out the naked girls screams. ?See? Nothing.? Ava frowned at him. ?Why are you joking daddy? Help her!? His shoulders slumped and he sighed. The girl just didn't understand. ?Ava, go draw me another picture or something.? He was done trying to explain such things to a child. ?There's no one there, and that's all there is to it. Ava didn't budge. She little finger pressed the screen. ?But I see her daddy! I see her!? Her father didn't say anything. He stared at Ava, then at the screen, and gulped. He felt cold, and very exposed, as if someone was watching him.
He'd never feared that job before, but something about Ava?s exclamation made his stomach churn with dread. He stared at the screen. The black gate stood in a cloud of fog. The soft lights cast a glow around it and all he saw were the vines that wrapped around the bars. He scratched his chin and peered closer. He couldn?t shake the feeling that something was wrong. There were always stories of ghosts lingering near the plantation, but he?d never put much credit to the rumors. Now? he wasn?t so sure. For years he had dealt with strange sounds and electrical malfunctions. ?Foolishness Ava, it's time for you to go to bed.? He spoke those words, but couldn?t take his eyes off of the screen. He motioned behind him as he studied the image and for just a second, he thought he saw a shadow, being swept away by the wind. His heart thumped. ?Get in your sleeping bag and go to sleep.? Ava frowned at him, but didn't argue. She felt bad for that girl. Ava went to bed that night with the girl with the black hair's face embedded into her mind. ~~~ Tanya body crashed into the icy lake. It was a violent awakening. Like a slap to the face, her mind was jolted by the impact. Her eyes popped open to the rush of the murky water?
Thicker than Blood is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Scribd, and Kobo.
PEANUT BUTTER KISSES byKenyaMoss- Dyme "Evan! Are you ready for school?" "Evan!" Evan approached from the top of the stairs cautiously, listening to the change of tone in his mother's voice, estimating how close she was to boiling over. That helped him determine how much time he should take to descend the stairs and head past her out the front door. It was important to time it just right. A minute too slow and she'd catch him and force him into an awkward conversation and an even more uncomfortable physical display of affection. "Don't make me call you again or I'm coming up there to get you myself!" Evan looked at the dial of his Transformers watch; the second hand glided slowly toward the hour and he told himself to wait, just wait, until the exact moment...now! He sprinted down the stairs and past the counter; the rubber soles of his shoes slap slap slapping against the kitchen tile echoing the beat of his heart as his hand reached out for the doorknob to freedom. "Wait!" He froze on the threshold, inhaling the sweet clean air that blew into the kitchen. Just one more step and he would have been free! Tomorrow, he'd have to move faster. Maybe if he'd worn his other shoes - the limited edition Ant-Man low tops with the lights in the heel - he might have made it. Those shoes seriously helped him run faster. He knew that they were magical and made him lighter on his feet, but now, he knew for sure they were faster than these plain sneakers that had no name. He was caught. His heart sank as he spun around slowly to face his enemy. "You forgot something," his mother, Monica, stood behind him - a little too close for comfort - holding a brown paper lunch bag in her hand. The bottom of the bag was dark and soaked through with grease. "Take it, Evan! I'm tired of your games. Take this lunch and EAT IT this time. I mean it!" Her arm drooped from the weight of the bag but her eyes held locked and steady with his. "Is it peanut butter?" He asked, touching the bag to his nose. "We don't have peanut butter! How many times do I have to tell you that?" Angry now, she reached out and gripped the side of the door as if her anger caused her to lose her balance. Evan sighed and reluctantly accepted the bag. He shrugged his backpack down to the floor and while keeping his mother's shoes in sight, he bent over to unzip the bag and deposit the oily lunch inside. Her slippered-foot moved forward ever so slightly until Evan gripped his backpack and swung around sharply, propelling himself onto the wooden porch and down the front
"
HESMILEDAS HIS FEET HIT THEW ALKW AYANDCARRIED HIMAW AYFROMTHEHOUSE - AW AYFROMDANGER. AW AY FROMHER.
"
steps. He smiled as his feet hit the walkway and carried him away from the house - away from danger. Away from HER. The bottom of the bag disintegrated as he pulled it from the bottom of his backpack. Pork chops. Two greasy fried pork chops tumbled through the torn brown paper and landed at Evan's feet. His stomach roiled as he studied them first, then took his shoe and kicked at the bone. The meat glistened with a sickly yellowish tinge and lumpy coating that Evan assumed was the breading, except that nagging dread in the pit of his stomach told him that was something far more sinister than just breading. By contrast, the pork chops were better than the moldy-looking bologna sandwiches, or
the thermos of thin gray liquid that may have been soup, or the rubber container of undercooked spaghetti with no meat or sauce. It was no secret that his mother could not cook to save her life, but Evan only ate peanut butter. For breakfast, lunch and dinner, only peanut butter. So why did she insist on giving him everything but? He picked up the pieces of meat and wrapped them in the soggy paper, dropping it in the trashcan as the class headed for the lunchroom. Some of the kids got in line for hot meals while others found seats at the tables to eat the lunch they'd brought from home. Evan chose an empty table by the window where he could be alone in his thoughts. Moments later, Miss Preston, his teacher, stepped into his view and dropped a greasy ball of
brown paper on the table in front of him. "Are we gonna do this again, Evan?" She asked, clearly irritated. Evan cringed at the sight of his resurrected lunch. "I can't eat that, Miss Preston!" "Why not?" "It's....it's poison!" She sighed and unrolled the bag with the tips of her fingers, exposing the discolored meat. Wrapping paper around one of the chops, she raised it to her nose. "Smells fine to me, Evan. You can't keep doing this. You find something wrong with everything your mother sends. If you keep this up, I'm going to have to get the principal involved and I know you don't want that." Despite the threat, Miss Preston was hesitant to escalate the matter. She
had overheard gossip in the teacher's lounge about Evan's home life, and she figured that this was his way of dealing with the still fresh loss. She wanted to be patient but the dark circles under his eyes signaled that he might need professional intervention. Evan leaned forward as if he wanted to share a secret. "Who sends pork chops for a kid's lunch, Miss Preston? She knows I only eat peanut butter. She knows!" He whispered, his eyes wide with fear. She tapped the corner of the paper bag with her fingernail. "I'll admit, it's not a very common lunch, but at least your mother cared enough to send you something. A lot of kids don't even get that." "Well, they can have this," Evan scoffed, sliding the food down the table. Miss Preston sighed.
"Whether you eat it or not, make sure you clean up the mess when you leave," she said, turning on her heels and walking away, shaking her head. It all began the night his father disappeared. Peter Tepes worked long hours in town, leaving home while Evan was in school and returning during the wee hours of the morning when most of the town was asleep. Evan would often set the alarm on his watch to beep at 3:00 a.m., waking him in time to hear his father's truck pull into the driveway and listen to his boots walk back and forth through the house before he would retire to the bedroom and rest. It was comforting for Evan, the sound of his father moving through the house, opening and closing the kitchen cabinets then jiggling the doors and windows as he locked up for the night. Evan would peek through a crack in his bedroom door until his father came up the stairs, and then he would jump out and surprise the big man as he passed Evan's room. Feigning surprise, Peter would scoop Evan into his muscular arms and hoist him so far into the air that the boy's head would nearly brush the ceiling. "Ahhhh, you got me again, you little devil, you almost gave me a heart attack that time!" His father would tease, until he lowered Evan against his chest, hugged him tightly and carried him back to his bed where he would tuck him beneath his Batman sheet and pull the matching comforter up to his chin, planting a single, tender kiss on Evan's forehead. The last night Evan saw his father, he was peering through his bedroom door, waiting to see the top of his father's head when he began to climb the stairs. He giggled softly and rocked on his heels in anticipation of their game. A blur of gauzy lace startled Evan and he caught sight of his mother angrily descending the stairs to greet her husband. Tension hung in the breeze that trailed her steps, and he instinctively took a step back to hide in the darkness of his bedroom. "WHERE WERE YOU?" His mother's screams cut through the night and sent chills through Evan's young body. "Keep your voice down! You're acting like a crazy woman!" "You KNOW what's wrong with me! Where were you? You KNOW I can't wait like this!" She lowered her voice to an urgent whisper. Evan pressed his forehead to the opening but he could see only his father's face turned upward as his mother's hands flailed wildly in the air in symphony with her anger. For the first time, Evan noticed how much his father had aged, how tired and worn his face had turned with lines so deep that his skin resembled a mask. "I told you, it's getting harder and harder to get what you need," Evan heard his father say with a shaky voice. "It's not hard - you have to go to the right places! You're not trying hard enough!" Peter ran a hand through his graying hair and looked down at the floor. "Sweetheart, I am trying. It's so much harder now that word has gotten out. People aren't around as much at night anymore, they know. Everyone is afraid out there!" "Then go somewhere else! You promised me you would take care of us! It's been TWO days already and I'm starting to run out! What will I do with the boy?" Evan jumped, rattling the doorknob and drawing his parent's attention. He ran across the room and scrambled beneath the covers, turning his back to the door and feigning sleep. Footsteps climbed the stairs and opened his bedroom door, casting light from the hallway across his blankets, but he held as still as he could, afraid to even breathe, until the door slowly closed and left him in darkness. The screaming resumed. Monica made her demands which were quickly followed by Peter's calm, measured responses. "I didn't know what kind of sacrifices I would have to make to bring you home with me," moaned Peter, before he raised his voice and roared. "I should have left you in the woods where I found you!" With his head buried beneath his pillow, Evan hummed a tune to drown out their argument, and he soon drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, Evan woke in a panic, remembering the events of the night before. He jumped out of bed and rushed to his parent's room but their bed had not been slept in. Confused, he dressed for school and headed to the kitchen where he found his mother at the counter preparing his peanut butter sandwiches: one to eat on the way to school, another for lunch. "Where's daddy?" He asked, holding out his hand for the sandwiches. "Gone, now hurry to school so you won't be late," she replied, turning her back again. His father never returned. According to his mother, he just stopped coming home. Sometimes people just leave, was how she explained it. She was not open to much discussion beyond that, nor did she find it necessary to comfort him at night while he lay crying in his room. That was that, she had said. Men leave and no one asks why. But it?s not so easy to get rid of kids. People ask questions and they don't stop until the truth is revealed. Evan supposed that was why his mother chose poison as her strategy, it was neat and clean and almost undetectable. But Evan wouldn't eat, even if it killed him. Monica buttoned her thin wool coat and leaned against the light pole on shaky legs. She didn't have the strength to be out in the night weather; the cool autumn air felt like the chill of winter to her frail bones. Her body couldn't withstand the elements the way she used to in her former life. She was thin and frail now, and vulnerable. The streets were dangerous at night for any woman out alone, but especially one like her. The phone call from Evan's teacher made it all clear. If she didn't act fast, she might lose the only thing she had left in this world. She suspected that Evan was not eating, especially since she could not get his peanut butter, the only thing he could eat. But she had no idea that he was literally starving himself. Her eyes filled with tears with the realization that her child was in so much pain. She knew exactly when it began, three months earlier, when Peter disappeared. Three months since Evan had taken a bite of food. It's a wonder he was still alive. He was weak, and to outsiders, he looked deathly ill, but he wouldn't die. He was, after all, her child. A figure ambled slowly toward her in the dark and Monica forced herself to stand up straight and stick out a bare leg for display under the soft glow of the street light. Her temper sometimes caused her to act before thinking, after all, self-awareness was never her strong suit, neither were most human traits. Being married to Peter was a blessing, but it was also a curse. She'd gotten lazy and lost her survival skills - having food brought to her for so many years made her forget how to hunt, and living in a warm cozy cottage had weakened her ability to survive in extreme temperatures. But now, Peter was gone and she had to choose between continuing to play the game in this world or return to her previous life with a half human/ half beast child in tow. Making matters worse, a child that didn't know he was anything other than human. "How are you tonight, sir? Are you looking for a friend?" She asked the man as he drew closer, showing her sweetest smile. He stopped, stared and nodded, and she knew he would be an easy kill. Peanut butter! The smell of fresh, roasted peanuts wafted through the air and Evan raced excitedly to the kitchen where his mother stood at the counter preparing his lunch. It seemed like forever since Evan had smelled actual edible food in the house, and his head was filled with questions but the roar in his stomach begged him to eat first and ask questions later. But could he trust it? Monica turned and smiled as she offered him the lunch bag. Without hesitation, he took the bag and peeked inside, squealing with delight at the sight of two peanut butter sandwiches, their plastic wrapping smeared with dabs of
peanut butter from his mother's fingertips. She tousled his curls and slid her hand down to caress the back of his neck. Evan softened, his shoulders drooped with exhaustion. He was tired of the cold war between them and all he wanted was to once again feel the love from his mother, to have her hold him in her arms the way she used to. "I'm sorry that I let this go on for so long, my little Muppet. I've been so self-absorbed in my own sadness," She cupped his chin and raised his face to look into his eyes. "Please forgive me. You are the only thing on this earth that I love." Evan could only nod, his heart was so full of joy that his eyes filled with tears. "Everything is going to be
just fine, my sweet boy," she said, pulling him into her arms and kissing him on the forehead. "Now, get on to school and make sure you eat, you need your strength!" She watched from the front door as Evan cleared the steps and bounded up the street, humming and nibbling on one of the peanut butter sandwiches for his breakfast. When he was out of her sight, she returned to the kitchen and removed a mason jar from the top shelf of the cabinet, placing it on the counter next to a small jar of peanut butter. After removing both lids, she tilted the mason jar over the peanut butter and watched as the spongy bone marrow she'd collected from her night's work slid into the beige-colored butter. She used a wooden spatula to
mix it into a thick, dark brown butter that she would use to make more sandwiches for her and Evan to nourish themselves, and she would hunt again to replenish as necessary. Peter gasped in horror as he witnessed his wife turn into the very thing she had warned him about on the night they met. Her eyes turned a fiery red and sharpened white fangs slid between her lips, curling gently at her chin. She reached out and grabbed him by the throat as her shoulders shook and a coat of thick black fur sprouted from beneath her skin, covering her body from head to toe. She moved in closer and clicked her teeth together, spraying him with the same acid that she used to liquefy her prey to make them easier to digest. He screamed and
covered his face against the agony of his skin melting away. "Yes, you rescued me from an uncertain fate that night," she hissed. "But you promised me that you could provide me what I needed to live, as long as I gave you a son. I gave you that son - now I must have MY food to live! If you can no longer get it for me, I'll have to do it myself starting with YOU!" She opened her mouth wide and Pete became transfixed by the many rows of tiny sharp teeth inside; as she locked her jaws into his throat and began sucking his life away, his last thought as he died was how did he miss this curious feature about his wife in all of their years together?
KENYA MOSS- DYME
Biography
Author Kenya Moss?Dyme originally hails from Chicago but now resides in Michigan ? land of the subzero winters and nuclear summers. She began writing short?form horror in her teens and won several scholastic writing awards for her creative work. In addition, she has penned the wildly popular dark romantic thrillers, Prey for Me, A Good Wife as well as works of horror such as Daymares and Devil Inside. Projects in development for late 2015 include Dead Zoned, a novel about an urban zombie apocalypse, and Sick: XOXO, a collection of dark erotic horror. Kenya works as an eLearning Developer in her day job, designing web-based training courses for various industries. She also holds undergrad and graduate degrees in Business, Web Development, Marketing and Instructional Design.
ANINTERVIEWWITH ANGELAJ. FORD Where are you f rom?
I was born in Ann Arbor, Michigan but right before I turned 3, my family relocated to Alabama one the first birthday of one of my sisters. I grew up just outside of Birmingham in a small town called Alabaster. When I was 17, I moved to Nashville to attend Belmont University and haven?t moved away yet! What inspired you t o writ e your f irst book?
My family is largely responsive for my love affair with words. My parents love reading and naturally passed that passion along to myself and my four sisters. We?re read aloud and make up stories with our toys and as I grew older I began to journal daily. Eventually those journals turned into tales and stories out of my imagination, and from there those tales birthed a book. I was 12 when I finished the first draft of ?The Five
Warriors? and since then writing become intoxicating. Do you writ e f ul l -t ime or part -t ime? How do you bal ance your writ ing l if e wit h your f amil y/ work l if e?
I should have a t-shirt that says ?I?d rather be writing? ? I quit my
full-time job in April of 2015 to focus on living a life I love and doing the things I enjoy most. Writing and helping others turn their dreams into reality. Now I do work full-time as a marketing strategist, but since I?m not self-employed my schedule has morphed into a ?get things done?
mindset instead of an ?8-5pm? mindset. It allows plenty of time in my schedule to work on projects for clients and write for myself and others. Generally, I reserve weekends for myself and spend time at one of the local libraries, writing and drinking coffee.
where the title came from, right?? Yes, and no. The Five Warriors in no way resemble myself or my sisters, but 5 is such a perfect number. When I first thought up the book I knew I wanted there to be warriors, they are the heroes of old in their own world.
How did you come up wit h t he t it l e?
Is t here a message in your novel t hat you want readers t o grasp?
Honestly, it just happened. Most of the time people say ?Oh, you have 4 sister, there are 5 of you, that?s
Any thing is possible if you set you mind to it. Are experiences based on someone you know,
or event s in your own l if e? No, I purposefully did not want the book to reflect my life events. What books have most inf l uenced your l if e most ?
all). The most recent is ?Ink and Bone? by Rachel Caine. So far, I?m curious! Are t here any new aut hors t hat have grasped your int erest ?
The Bible
I?m currently reading ?1929? by M. L. Gardner
What book are you reading now?
What are your current project s?
I have about 10 or so books on my ?am reading? list on Goodreads, a good combination of fiction and non-fiction. (And yes, I am reading them
?The Five Warriors? is only Book 1 of The Four Worlds Series, I?m well into Book 2 and Book 4 is mostly written already. I must admit, the original drafts of all the books are
are completely written, but they are from my high school days and I?m undertaking a massive re-writing. I also have some adventure tales, some that are finished, some that aren?t and more ideas keep floating around in my head. I?m pretty excited about Book 2! Name one ent it y t hat you f eel support ed you out side of f amil y members. Shayla Lee of Curiouser Editing was a huge support during my book launch. I met her in a Facebook Group and will certainly be working with her in the future. If you had t o do it al l over again, woul d you change anyt hing in your l at est book? I?m always thinking of things to change, there comes a time when I
just had to put down my book and call it a day. Can you share a l it t l e of your current work wit h us? I?m working on the first draft, so no promises this paragraph will be in the final
Cuthan the Cron stood in front of the Dezzi Queen, arrogantly holding his blond head high. Heavy iron shackles bound his wrists in front of him, while the linked chains reached down to connect to the iron circlets around his bare feet. The sharp features of his tanned face were marred under streaks of mud and dirt, but his green eyes gazed out almost lazily, as if he were board with his sentencing. His tunic was ripped from the scuffle and his pants were too short, cropped off mid-calf. Generally,
he liked his appearance to be impeccable but this time it couldn?t be helped. He made a mental note to acquire new clothes as soon as the ordeal was over. The butt of a whip punched into his shoulder blades, forcing him to move forward. He shrugged and moved two steps forward. He was slim and fast, standing at just over five and a half feet tall, but his movements weren?t his strength. As the Queen gave him a chilling glance he cocked his head, and smiled at her. Is t here anyt hing you f ind part icul arl y chal l enging in your writ ing?
I like to distract myself from writing, I can think of a million things to do before starting to write. My main challenge is to stop distracting myself and start writing. Who is your f avorit e aut hor and what is it t hat real l y st rikes you about t heir work? Sarah Addison Allen is one of my favorite authors, she has the ability to combine reality and magic in a thrilling way that makes you believe anything is possible. Who designed t he covers? Rashina Bhula of One of One Design Co. She?s exactly the kind of
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person I enjoy working with, she?s passionate, creative, and full of ideas. We?ve already talked through the next few books and our ideas for them! What was t he hardest part of writ ing your book? The rounds of editing were the hardest part, when I finished the book it was about 90,000 words. By the time I got done with my rounds of editing it ended up being closer to 120,000 words. Funny, how it got longer, even when I deleted chapters! Did you l earn anyt hing f rom writ ing your book and what was it ? You really can achieve anything you put your mind to ? but it does take hard work and determination. I also realized the importance of small steps, like writing every single day. If you write 100 words every day for 365 days, well then, you?ll have your book and then some. Do you have any advice f or ot her writ ers? Don?t give up! The reason most people fail
is because they gave up, and it?s important to remember that practice makes perfect. The more you write the better you become.
Ireland. I want to see the ice palaces of Canada and enjoy the beauty of the desert. Basically, I want the world to be my home.
Do you have anyt hing specif ic t hat you want t o say t o your readers?
Did you l earn anyt hing f rom writ ing your book and what was it ?
Don?t ever stop reading and expanding your perspective by reading.
You really can achieve anything you put your mind to ? but it does take hard work and determination. I also realized the importance of small steps, like writing every single day. If you write 100 words every day for 365 days, well then, you?ll have your book and then some.
What do you t hink about e-publ ishing versus t echnical publ ishing? At the end of the day, the readers voice speaks louder and its very telling what readers enjoy. Traditional publishing does have the exposure advantage. If you coul d l ive anywhere, where woul d it be? I have a strong hankering to cross the oceans and dwell in the mountains of New Zealand for a time. From there travel to the beaches of Australia before crossing into Asia. I?d like to walk the Great Wall of China and enjoy Japanese cuisine. I?d like to wonder the streets of London and once again enjoy the rich green goodness of
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Do you have any advice f or ot her writ ers? Don?t give up! The reason most people fail is because they gave up, and it?s important to remember that practice makes perfect. The more you write the better you become. Do you have anyt hing specif ic t hat you want t o say t o your readers? Don?t ever stop reading and expanding your perspective by reading. What do you t hink about e-publ ishing versus t echnical publ ishing?
At the end of the day, the readers voice speaks louder and its very telling what readers enjoy. Traditional publishing does have the exposure advantage.
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If you coul d l ive anywhere, where woul d it be? I have a strong hankering to cross the oceans and dwell in the mountains of New Zealand for a time. From there travel to the beaches of Australia before crossing into Asia. I?d like to walk the Great Wall of China and enjoy Japanese cuisine. I?d like to wonder the streets of London and once again enjoy the rich green goodness of Ireland. I want to see the ice palaces of Canada and enjoy the beauty of the desert. Basically, I want the world to be my home. If you coul d have any super power, what woul d it be? Time travel. In a blue box.
Angela J. Ford is an imaginative and entertaining writer who creates stories of fanciful worlds that enable young adults to confidently believe in possibilities and overcome differences to be stronger together. Born in Ann Arbor, MI, and raised in Alabaster, AL, she moved to Nashville, TN, where she currently resides, to pursue a degree in Music Business at Belmont University. Although her career has not been largely focused on creative writing, it has been an integral part of her lifestyle. Brought up as a bookworm and musician, she began writing The Four Worlds, a fantasy action, adventure series at the age of 12. The storyline of those books was largely based off of creative games she played with her sisters. Originally finished when she was 16, after college, Angela began to re-write the Four Worlds Series, bringing it from a child?s daydream to an adventure young and old alike can enjoy. Inspired by fairy tales, high magic and epic fantasy, you ll enjoy your adventures within the Four Worlds. If you happen to be in Nashville, you ll mostly likely find her at a local coffee shop, enjoying a white chocolate mocha and furiously working on her next book. Make sure you say hello!
Facebook: www.facebook.com/ thefourworldsseries Twitter: www.twitter.com/ aford21 Instagram:www.instagram.com/ aford21 Google Plus: www.google.com/ +Angela-Ford Pinterest: https:/ / www.pinterest.com/ aford21/ the-four-worlds-series/ Sales page: Www.thefivewarriors.com Amazon http:/ / www.amazon.com/ Five-Warriors-Angela-J-Ford/ dp/ 1512163619
ACROSS THESANDS by, Nefretiti Morant The year is 1332 and Mali; known in the mid-evil world, as the pearl of Africa; is a bustling metropolis, renowned for its wealth, culture and extensive trade. As a young girl Awa?s mother tells her that her forward thinking and just heart are the very traits that will one day make her a natural leader. Her mother?s words validate what Awa?s knows in her heart to be true. One day she will travel across the Sahara leading a Caravan. Determined to fill her life with exploration and adventure seventeen year old Awa Camara; eldest daughter of Mali?s wealthiest salt Julla (trader/ merchant) is determined to follow in her father?s footsteps. Unfortunately for Awa these desires are un-conventional and become dismissed when her ambitious father is able to secure her marriage to the King?s son. Through this advantageous marriage Awa?s father stands to gain military protection for all of his trade routes. As Princess of Mali Awa?s chances of sailing across the desert, appear to sink beneath the sands as nothing more than figments of childhood fantasy. Unable to have any say in the matter the un-pretentious Awa is unsure of which path to take. Certain that her destiny should lay in her own hands Awa decides to run away. This coming of age novel reveals the voyage of a strong willed and determined girl who discovers her purpose along an uncharted path. Journey with Awa as she encounters experiences that will give her the constitution to be the woman that she is destined to be. Amazon
ANINTERVIEWWITH MELISSASTORM
byKenyaMoore
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Fol l ow your passion. If you write stories you love, your readers will love them too.
Why do you writ e? As Melissa Storm, I write sweet romance and stories for women who come from all walks of life. In addition to romance, I write about angels, mother-daughter relationships, and even a bit of suspense in my upcoming Book Cellar Mystery series.
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Name t wo ment ors who inf l uenced your writ ing. I?ve been very positively influenced by my friend Bella Andre who is a romance icon and is so, so supportive of my writing. Also my editor Stevie Mikayne who has become one of my best friends over the years and has been the # 2
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supporter of my writing? right behind my wonderful husband, Falcon. Name 5 writ ers you recommend. There are so many authors I love! If I had to stick to just 5, I?d say Barbara Freethy for Romantic Suspense; Sara Shepard for addictive candy-like reads; Liane Moriarty who is my favorite all-around writer; Falcon Storm, because my husband rocks; and also KM Hodge, my new co-author for the Book Cellar Mystery series and a great Thriller author in her own right.
What do you l ike t o do when you?re not writ ing? I have a 2-year-old daughter, 5 parrots, and 3 dogs, so when I?m not writing, I?m often cuddling!
fast.
Which charact er is most l ike you? Deborah Walker-Rockwell for sure! There?s a reason I made her the star of Describe your writ ing the Cupid?s Bow process. Do you use series, after all. I love out l ines? that she is a strong woman doing her best I am a total outliner. to me that my to be true to herself Usually when I first workspace is neat and against the backdrop get the idea for a new clutter-free. I do have of the 1950s, which book, I write a several little didn?t have the same two-paragraph Fluttershy figurines opportunities women summary and get the tucked neatly into cover designed by the have available to them corners? gifts from today. She?s also a awesome Mallory my toddler who is little bit naughty and Rock: obsessed with My www.MalloryRock.com. not-so-secretly writes Little Pony and knows I wait a couple weeks, erotic poetry ;-) Mama likes this then write an outline Are you working on a particular pony best. I for all the main plot new book? What is it ? also have a poker points usually leaving Yes, I?m working on display rack that I use a little wiggle room continuing the Cupid?s to keep track of my for the ending to Bow series with writing goals for the develop organically. stories set in the week. Each 1,000 After my editor 1980?s. Research for words earns me 1 reviews the outline, I them has been super chip. My goal is to put the story aside for fun! I?m also working have 10 before the a few weeks, work on on a new mystery week is through! something else, and series with my Best advice f or then come back to co-author KM Hodge. writ ers? Here?s my write it once the More about that at original story has had www.MelStorm.com/ secre! best advice for writers: (1) Fol l ow a good month or more Describe your writ ing your passion. If you to gel in my brain. space . write stories you love, Because I write and I have Obsessive your readers will love plan in stages like this, Compulsive Disorder, them too. Never force I can often finish my yourself to fit a mold first drafts ridiculously so it?s very important
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GENRE- HOPPINGIS NEVERAGOODGAME PLAN. I LEARNED THAT THEHARDW AY.
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that wasn?t made for you! (2) Know your brand. Make sure you know what you offer readers and that you give them a consistent body of work. Genre-hopping is never a good game plan. I learned that the hard way. (3) Engage your readers. Readers are the everyday superheroes who allow us to do what we love. Never, ever forget that. If a reader reaches out to you, take the time to get to know them. I promise you won?t regret it. In fact, some of my very best friends? and my husband!? all started out first as my readers.
About Mel issa Storm Melissa Storm is a mother first, and everything else second. She used to write under a pseudonym, but finally had the confidence to come out as herself to the world. Her fiction is highly personal and often based on true stories. Writing is Melissa's way of showing her
daughter just how beautiful life can be, when you pay attention to the everyday wonders that surround us.
awe-inspiring stories to share. Melissa and Falcon also run the business Novel Publicity together, where she works Melissa loves as publisher, books so much, she marketer, editor, married fellow and all-around author Falcon business mogul. Storm. Between When she's not the two of them, reading, writing, or there are always child-rearing, plenty of Melissa spends imaginative, time relaxing at
home in the company of her three dogs and five parrots. She never misses an episode of The Bachelor or her nightly lavender-infused soak in the tub. Ahh, the simple luxuries that make life worth living. Learn more at www.MelStorm.com
www.website.com
INTRODUCING HUGO NEGRON
Hugo Valentin Negron is an avid fan of myths, legends, and folktales. He holds master?s degrees in Clinical Psychology from Roosevelt University and in Industrial/ Organizational Psychology from the Chicago School of Professional Psychology. Hugo grew up in Illinois, where he still resides, along with his wife and son. In his spare time, Hugo enjoys reading, biking, and walking winding trails through darksome forests, searching out the mystical beings that reside therein.
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TheBook Nymph w w w .t h ebook n y m p h .com