tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36314324732394407732024-03-15T15:24:38.786-04:00ParanormalistsRoxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.comBlogger1620125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-34692168537446108822024-03-12T04:00:00.001-04:002024-03-12T04:00:00.148-04:00Storm's Convergence by Valerie Storm #YAFantasy<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ThH0Ol1m5At03zQkcot8fSxEkdZuCjLFTeem7c8VmoY6H93F9gzZ6kJuKhimEKxD0syEEbcnQIJbeKv2tU41B78Ecsj9OXoMr5yFyDC6ao4bDtSKMr5WoW6pCTNwKnv0wdV1TBq02KEjZoSoOMtCkRX8Ata2BxuVRMrfdL11R69lxyoqPFc2RlTtjotD/s820/Sroem%20Convergence%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ThH0Ol1m5At03zQkcot8fSxEkdZuCjLFTeem7c8VmoY6H93F9gzZ6kJuKhimEKxD0syEEbcnQIJbeKv2tU41B78Ecsj9OXoMr5yFyDC6ao4bDtSKMr5WoW6pCTNwKnv0wdV1TBq02KEjZoSoOMtCkRX8Ata2BxuVRMrfdL11R69lxyoqPFc2RlTtjotD/w400-h153/Sroem%20Convergence%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutUoDQFSvIwrhyphenhyphen1sJm4efv2mbfdvBVGwWQ_LxcnuzSMsgsnqmNWH49UcX_NAyZ4waz8dBiBY9nhKiDSrJB38nXZKHC87ByGtSROGGy20NGrXuaFAbxRuPkCyzC1RGPQNAKrPOCTWY0RdHRx4YGCATZAMXnIooX8vK-DyPNoFVIs0qUNOpaoVMANv2OCKj/s2560/Convergence%20eBook.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutUoDQFSvIwrhyphenhyphen1sJm4efv2mbfdvBVGwWQ_LxcnuzSMsgsnqmNWH49UcX_NAyZ4waz8dBiBY9nhKiDSrJB38nXZKHC87ByGtSROGGy20NGrXuaFAbxRuPkCyzC1RGPQNAKrPOCTWY0RdHRx4YGCATZAMXnIooX8vK-DyPNoFVIs0qUNOpaoVMANv2OCKj/s320/Convergence%20eBook.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Storm's Convergence</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Demon Storm </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Book 5</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Valerie Storm</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Young Adult Fantasy</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: 2/13/24</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: @Ginkahederling</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div>ASIN: B0CRYQJRN1</div><div>Number of pages: 313</div><div>Word Count: 78962</div><div><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: <i>The Fire Witch ruined Kari's life once before</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i> Now she's back</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i> And she's not alone</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">The calm can only last so long.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Now a member of Freehaven's Council, Kari tries to put her past behind her and settle down in her new home with her ever-present Lord and love, Ari.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cracks in her mind, parting gifts from the heart eater, make planning the upcoming Spring Festival a struggle, but Kari is determined to do her best, even after Guine departs the town.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">When a mysterious child appears at the festival and marks Kari, all semblance of normalcy is banished.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">A triple threat from her past awaits beyond the walls of Freehaven and options are thin. Not willing to spill any more blood, Kari takes it upon herself to stop them—with Ari by her side.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CRYQJRN1">Amazon</a></span></b></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span><span style="font-family: times;">
</span><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: times;"></span></b></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: times;">Excerpt:</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The girl grabbed the neckline of her shirt and jerked her closer with
too much ease. Kari stiffened as the girl’s cheek touched hers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Funny wolf demon, hiding in this wretched town.” Her voice was low and
cruelly amused. Kari tensed, prepared to jerk free and throw a fist, but the
girl hissed, “Ah, no, don’t move. There are many innocents here, though I would
not call demons innocent. I know you would not want them hurt.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She suddenly realized the closeness of so many villagers, as if she’d
been ripped out of reality and dropped harshly back into it again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Kari bit back a growl. “Who are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She knew, though, before the small girl laughed. The boastful yet
righteous arrogance of someone who believed truly and wholly in her cause—it
could be no one else.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I feel your defeat. You’ve answered your own question.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Kari’s throat was dry. “Ri…Riniko. What are you doing here? Why—”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Since you’ve yet to heed our warning, I’m here to play a little game.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Kari!” Ari called.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Riniko’s small hands tightened. “Tell him to leave. We’re busy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She hesitated. Ari yelled for her again, and now she envisioned him
pushing through the crowds, looking for where she’d gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“It’s fine,” she yelled back. “I…I’m helping someone. I’ll catch up!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Riniko’s grip didn’t loosen. “Your boy is insistent.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Kari turned her head with some difficulty, given Riniko’s grip. The
little witch traded, wrapping her arms around Kari’s neck with a giggle that
cracked against her eardrums.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Visible between passersby, Ari made his way to them. His brows raised
at the sight of the girl around her neck.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Who is…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Kari smiled, big and wide, and prayed he didn’t notice her trembling
lips. “She’s lost. I’m part of the Council, so she came to me. Go back to Rathik
and Essie, I’ll catch up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ari saw something in her face; his eyes constricted, his jaw pulsing,
uncertain of what to do.<br />
Please walk away, Ari. It’ll be okay this time. I promise.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">When she did not say anything more, he relented. “Alright. Meet us over
there, okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Kari nodded, jostling Riniko. Ari glanced between them, then jogged
off.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Riniko giggled again, quieter this time. “Good.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Kari grabbed her around the waist and yanked her off. There was
something insanely surreal about holding a small child in her hands, a child
whose eyes burned with unmatched cruelty and fire. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What do you want?” she snarled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Riniko wrapped too-small fingers around Kari’s wrists and met her eye
with a cool, even gaze.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You know what we want. I’m only here to set the fire of action a
little higher for you.”<br />
Her palms, pressed against Kari’s skin, warmed. Kari’s eyes widened, and she
struggled with the instinct to fling the small child away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“We do not want to burn this entire village to the ground. Despite the
way these villagers associate with demons, they are still good, innocent
people. The demons can be excused as long as they remain thusly. But you
cannot. You must come and face your fate.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Her arms were burning; Kari bit back a scream. “I keep telling you, I
don’t want to hurt anyone! Why can’t you just leave me alone?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Tell that to those poor people in the east. They probably thought you
didn’t want to kill them. But now they’re very, very dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Kari staggered back. There were fewer villagers out now, less to see
this odd pair, but Kari dreaded what Riniko would do if even one was drawn to
them. She inched away from the square, edging toward an alley between two
buildings.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Isn’t it enough that I died once? What more can you want?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Riniko laughed. “Oh, yes, but Zina got cold feet. Superstition, I
guess. She couldn’t let it die with you. No, she believed it would go on,
despite having no body. So here you are, her little pet wolf demon, but she
won’t be here to save you a second time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Cold feet? Let it die with her?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The burning on her arms increased, snapping her attention back to
Riniko’s young-girl face.<br />
“I’ll come to you,” Kari croaked. “Does that make you happy? I’ll leave and
find you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Riniko’s eyes lit up, though she did not remove her hands. The heat
continued to rise until Kari thought she could smell her flesh cooking.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Oh, do you promise?” Riniko asked, her voice girlish, sickeningly
sweet. “Pretty please?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Please stop,” Kari whispered between her teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Little hands lifted, releasing her from the agony of fire. Kari
trembled, then froze as those hands touched her cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“It was easy to infiltrate this place, Kari. It would be even easier,
now, to set it all ablaze. You remember my previous work.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Kari’s hands around Riniko’s waist shook with the effort to not squeeze
her into pieces. “You’re the monster, witch,” she snarled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“It takes a monster to slay one,” Riniko responded. “Remember that if
you decide to hesitate any longer. I’m tired of waiting for this final show. My
sisters have both seen that I was right and now it’s time to end this.” Riniko
raised her hands. “Put me down.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Shaking profusely, Kari set Riniko on the ground, where the little
witch-girl brushed off her plain, brown dress. She fluffed her hair, then
raised a finger to her lips.</span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Remember your promise,” she said, then spun and skipped away into the
darkness.</span></p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">
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<!--[endif]--></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5C1RZIq7G7Uth5kizh6q_k1Njb4VGqh3puqrD46MoxUn_DdeVqVf1kj0zou7mW9pMO9AylRdNBLymhxPZQiVV_5fGlANCccXjmpI7EJDMI_-6jzxI6j1-awcqby6Rwsv4X7mHnGDO0HfvK3kZP_NfstIkWcYHsb4QIsTQcq6Qwv4lXFl-CQaiftV4cBp0/s1050/Jen+Author+Photo.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="750" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5C1RZIq7G7Uth5kizh6q_k1Njb4VGqh3puqrD46MoxUn_DdeVqVf1kj0zou7mW9pMO9AylRdNBLymhxPZQiVV_5fGlANCccXjmpI7EJDMI_-6jzxI6j1-awcqby6Rwsv4X7mHnGDO0HfvK3kZP_NfstIkWcYHsb4QIsTQcq6Qwv4lXFl-CQaiftV4cBp0/w143-h200/Jen+Author+Photo.png" width="143" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Valerie Storm was raised in Tucson, Arizona. Growing up, she fell in love with everything fantasy. When she wasn’t playing video games, she was writing. By age ten, she began to write her own stories as a way to escape reality. When these stories became a full-length series, she considered the path to sharing with other children & children-at/heart looking for a place to call home.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Blog <a href="https://rantsofawriter.home.blog/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://rantsofawriter.home.blog/ </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/valerie_storm">https://twitter.com/valerie_storm</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tumblr <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/valeriestorm">https://www.tumblr.com/valeriestorm</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Pinterest <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/valeriestorm3135/">https://www.pinterest.com/valeriestorm3135/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram <a href="https://www.instagram.com/valeriestorm_author/">https://www.instagram.com/valeriestorm_author/</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Newsletter Sign-Up <a href="https://mailchi.mp/038f1013a6c2/valerie-storm">https://mailchi.mp/038f1013a6c2/valerie-storm</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100082414584775">https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100082414584775</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIM3ocNF0AKh0ANsslU9P1xz3U5cxyKuK6GoFch9KIjvdDgOYGcI2BAKQCuKPczOX74AC9tmuwvp_E2tU7ny0bF3OTAxohFk3LEJrlnwJbl8R7PW57RTohxjb3MH_HYEKNUxHWTimfUwxtMxmCC3pxKtyZjwK9tlOSP9GFfyNdCHHwIqDLr84uTPjpyEm7/s1080/Storms%20Convergence%20Instagram%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIM3ocNF0AKh0ANsslU9P1xz3U5cxyKuK6GoFch9KIjvdDgOYGcI2BAKQCuKPczOX74AC9tmuwvp_E2tU7ny0bF3OTAxohFk3LEJrlnwJbl8R7PW57RTohxjb3MH_HYEKNUxHWTimfUwxtMxmCC3pxKtyZjwK9tlOSP9GFfyNdCHHwIqDLr84uTPjpyEm7/s320/Storms%20Convergence%20Instagram%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2216" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2216/" id="rcwidget_067jg09g" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-47722045674639997552024-02-22T03:30:00.001-05:002024-02-22T03:30:00.249-05:00Aestrangel the Fallen by Maria DeVivo #DarkUrbanFantasy<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_gCfJ1oGeeKD8e1QYIvzkw8nANJYPOkUHNCZrDskIHG5Ug7xAo0A7mXcQqP9JJJFZ2A6V36lKkG4B0lgzukD7W_AO_RGcI3hrYz28WPhZbZsS1Ww6UfwghVKsIYBU8zGe8P_rp7tDTgcdGp5IMq51HnCMgqCis6gRUjqAeS3I4hl2yHMMXsSnfNKEETa1/s820/_Aestrangel%20%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_gCfJ1oGeeKD8e1QYIvzkw8nANJYPOkUHNCZrDskIHG5Ug7xAo0A7mXcQqP9JJJFZ2A6V36lKkG4B0lgzukD7W_AO_RGcI3hrYz28WPhZbZsS1Ww6UfwghVKsIYBU8zGe8P_rp7tDTgcdGp5IMq51HnCMgqCis6gRUjqAeS3I4hl2yHMMXsSnfNKEETa1/w400-h153/_Aestrangel%20%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7UACRwXQ6clOhxbbyYLXcoAVRnOxaSw6FcOn31FkWSyptUlsPxhq6RvNV5z8KLEFMMJ2Ltuhc91U5-xjZ0QYufUMM7wYk_KyaPVp-m3jC4r4cP0mUl7RhNj7Tybz0vzZE3QHsP1XuSWJrD5QvfnQv1sAYgxWjVKHPd5YMuqc3AC910TNSBi7ENUXrZX9g/s2400/1.%20Aestrangel%20the%20Fallen.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7UACRwXQ6clOhxbbyYLXcoAVRnOxaSw6FcOn31FkWSyptUlsPxhq6RvNV5z8KLEFMMJ2Ltuhc91U5-xjZ0QYufUMM7wYk_KyaPVp-m3jC4r4cP0mUl7RhNj7Tybz0vzZE3QHsP1XuSWJrD5QvfnQv1sAYgxWjVKHPd5YMuqc3AC910TNSBi7ENUXrZX9g/s320/1.%20Aestrangel%20the%20Fallen.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Aestrangel the Fallen </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>The Aestrangel Trinity </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Part 1</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Maria DeVivo</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Dark Urban Fantasy</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: 4 Horsemen Publications</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: September 2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 1644509261</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 240</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 63K</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Hell hath no fury like an angel scorned!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Aestra, favorite teenaged angel of The Lord, has been sent to Earth to ensure that high school senior, Jake Parker, pursues the correct path. He is teetering between two options that may seem innocuous, but only one will lead him to positively impact the lives of millions of humans.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">But what happens when the heart chooses love over responsibility? For Aestra, one fateful night will set into motion a chain of events unforeseen by even her infallible Creator.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>
<b><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://amzn.to/4blfIyA">Amazon</a> <a href="https://books2read.com/aestrangel01">Books2Read</a></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div></b></div><div><span><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"><span style="font-family: times;"><b></b></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Excerpt</b><br />
<b><i><br />
From Chapter One: Learning the Ways</i></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">They tell me I should be dreaming by now, that the images and scenarios
should be well-embedded into my brand-new subconsciousness, but for me, all
there has been is color. No. That’s not right. When I close my brand-new eyes,
all that consumes me are the shifting shades of grays and blacks, and I’m not
sure if this is something I should be worried about or not. I’ve been in this
human simulation environment for quite some time now, and I’m guessing that
part of my “humanness” hasn’t kicked in yet. But I’ve heard the others talking
and describing their dreams, and I’m getting anxious for my first one. Revalia,
the closest thing I have to what humans call a “best friend,” has told me the
fabulous tales of her dreams. She says sometimes she doesn’t even want to wake
up. She says the images and sounds and smells are so overpowering, so
overwhelming, that when she wakes up, she desperately longs to go back to that
dreamy, lazy place between the conscious and unconscious mind. I wish I knew
what she was talking about. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">I know my lack of dreams worries Camael. He has told me many times the
human experience is multi-pronged and multi-faceted, and in order for me to
complete my calling, I must be immersed in the most basic of human functions.
There’s no other way for me to complete my mission because there’s no other way
for me to be a “believable” Guardian to the human I am assigned. And if I don’t
complete my mission successfully, I will never move up the ranks and become a
Guardian Angel. Camael is in a higher order of angels than I am—the Dominions.
He’s my mentor, and it’s his job to prepare me for the journey that I’m about
to embark upon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Yes, I’m an angel—we all are: Camael, Revalia, the others, and me. But,
my rank right now is that of angel—the lowest rung on the ladder. My goal is to
move up to Guardian, and hopefully beyond. It’s the natural progression for my
kind, and I’m excited to serve the Creator (or God, as the humans refer to Him)
and all of His glorious wonders.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">There is no time—not the way humans divide time up at least. I’ve
always existed, yet there are others and elders who were here in Ilarium before
I was created, and since I’ve been given the ability to communicate in human
language, it seems hard for me to put into words all the thoughts and feelings
that I had before. Before, there was just love and peace and a willingness to
serve and please, but now there is an actual lexicon, a vocabulary of tens of
thousands of words, that I’m still trying to figure out how to effectively
communicate and verbalize what’s in my heart. Never having had a heart before,
it takes some getting used to.</span></p></blockquote><blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">We angels who are preparing for our callings have been thrust into a human-like
world in order to become accustomed to the actual life of a human. The Powers
That Be have replicated the physical world and have created buildings and
structures for us, given us languages, infused us with feelings, and given us
body shapes all in preparation for our descent to Earth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">While angels are neither male nor female, I have the body of a woman
now, and I will be assigned female attributes from here forward. I rather do
like the contour of the female form, I always have, and perhaps my partiality
towards women is what prompted the Creator to put me in a woman’s body. My
wings are more defined too; they are heavy on my shoulders with the feathered
tips almost irritating the backs of my arms and legs. As the human notion of
time becomes more ingrained into our routine, the weight of my wings becomes
more and more cumbersome. Camael has said that the awareness of our wings was
important so when we lose them on our descent, the shock wouldn’t be so bad. I
don’t know; I’m still trying to understand all my teachings. Like how we’re
going to be given a set of human memories specific to us and our assignment,
yet have all the knowledge of our angelic lives. The thought of blending the
two perplexes me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">This
leads me to right now. This time. This place. The unfamiliarity of it all.
Camael says this is a school, and the human I am assigned to help goes to one.
I know this. I’ve seen them, the humans. I’ve watched them from up high, but
actually being in a school—the four white walls and chairs called desks filed
in rows with children sitting at them—is quite an adjustment. I sit in the
front of a single aisle. We’re in alphabetical order, and I’m Aestra, so that
means I’m first in the row. Revalia is a few desks behind me. I turn my head to
try to catch her attention, but she’s staring out the window, deep in what
Camael calls a “daydream.” I look at her a few seconds longer hoping my gaze
can break her trance, but she’s too far gone, mesmerized in her human thoughts.
The one disadvantage to being in this human shape is we angels can no longer
feel the thoughts and emotions of others without speaking them. If I had been
free from this woman body, I would have been able to read Revalia’s mind, but
then again, if we weren’t in these human forms, Revalia wouldn’t be having such
thoughts as hypnotizing daydreams…</span></p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">
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<!--[endif]--></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5BfIoTYZiZfbWU0aGrTKS3mZh_DRwzma6lmHRrMX35hh4Mmqj8DaSVnGRuHclKyn_IB8CHlXlUFbJbcf639Besso9pAkRi0LH_hf7EB81b0qqcR7BJt_zAtES9ddjci1pW3AvLp9yw_gKW_B5RNGzZViduelFJKExzZW6-J1wU5R29okPmpTwF75_HQxg/s3688/new2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3688" data-original-width="2500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5BfIoTYZiZfbWU0aGrTKS3mZh_DRwzma6lmHRrMX35hh4Mmqj8DaSVnGRuHclKyn_IB8CHlXlUFbJbcf639Besso9pAkRi0LH_hf7EB81b0qqcR7BJt_zAtES9ddjci1pW3AvLp9yw_gKW_B5RNGzZViduelFJKExzZW6-J1wU5R29okPmpTwF75_HQxg/w136-h200/new2.jpg" width="136" /></a></div>About the Author: </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Maria is the Author of the Amazon bestselling and award-winning series The Coal Elf Chronicles, the YA psychological horror series The Altered Experience, and the NA Urban Fantasy series The Aestrangel Trinity. When not writing about dark fantasy and horror, she teaches Language Arts and Journalism to middle school students in Florida. A lover of all things dark and demented, she takes pleasure in warping the comfort factor in her readers’ minds. Just when you think you’ve reached a safe space in her stories, she snaps you back into her twisted reality.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Link Tree: <a href="https://linktr.ee/mariadevivo">https://linktr.ee/mariadevivo</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Newsletter: <a href="https://bit.ly/3OrcyPT " rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://bit.ly/3OrcyPT </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website: <a href="https://www.mariadevivo.com">https://www.mariadevivo.com</a>/ </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">TikTok: <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@authormariadevivo">https://www.tiktok.com/@authormariadevivo</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/authordevivo">https://www.instagram.com/authordevivo</a>/</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/mariadevivoauthor">https://www.facebook.com/mariadevivoauthor</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Youtube: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/c/MariaDeVivo">https://www.youtube.com/c/MariaDeVivo</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Maria-DeVivo/e/B00CIAYHKY">https://www.amazon.com/Maria-DeVivo/e/B00CIAYHKY</a>/</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3127SkvnVdmzIecGN5l3fj9vRAdPAJyO5yADqEAihzgCn9xZNHYs_BUDUK9swAvIQX2gcBT9Ypr5DTUYzw2a_tSnhQjOFvKuVG5_b4c8xZDtE3Mn55ePX0L_CjVlNoSyRS5bQ7XQgPhsOxUu-uRQEgaQXQ0E8uSaNydfEBjBqkhMmoEP6O3fjQO-GgvLh/s1080/_Aestrangel%20%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3127SkvnVdmzIecGN5l3fj9vRAdPAJyO5yADqEAihzgCn9xZNHYs_BUDUK9swAvIQX2gcBT9Ypr5DTUYzw2a_tSnhQjOFvKuVG5_b4c8xZDtE3Mn55ePX0L_CjVlNoSyRS5bQ7XQgPhsOxUu-uRQEgaQXQ0E8uSaNydfEBjBqkhMmoEP6O3fjQO-GgvLh/s320/_Aestrangel%20%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-50032679888258762762024-02-22T01:30:00.014-05:002024-02-22T01:30:00.140-05:00The World of Gnomes- Guest Blog with Jessica Ash #DarkFantasyRomance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOMoDygtWg_TMwTB7B9iObaeJYkDx_-CPqtORqFYRB_kdsBWrdJ1IxAukHWwh4uhvJA2PhZ7eGpjzcAInUdUwpAmOdAoovXi9WIxHW_MAUE32m599Fv36tBs5W0mHcabBoHfNnhkf-EzgWZlE2u37xDtSWS5pYmQRt0WYqKp7a_EiRMXHeKQlVyUgmEKm/s820/Blood%20and%20Roses%20Banner%20%20(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOMoDygtWg_TMwTB7B9iObaeJYkDx_-CPqtORqFYRB_kdsBWrdJ1IxAukHWwh4uhvJA2PhZ7eGpjzcAInUdUwpAmOdAoovXi9WIxHW_MAUE32m599Fv36tBs5W0mHcabBoHfNnhkf-EzgWZlE2u37xDtSWS5pYmQRt0WYqKp7a_EiRMXHeKQlVyUgmEKm/w400-h153/Blood%20and%20Roses%20Banner%20%20(1).png" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I’m Jessica Ash, fantasy romance author and expert on all things faerie. I want to thank Paranormalists for having me as your tour guide today as we explore the fabulous world of gnomes. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">There are four different types of gnomes in my fantasy romance world of Underhill: Galentian, Scalian, the common cave gnome, and the garden gnome. Each of them requires careful consideration when approaching. Today we’ll discuss garden gnomes, as they are the most likely kind of gnome you’ll encounter.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Garden gnomes are small, but surprisingly fierce. They’ve been known to attack for little or no provocation and are very protective of their homes. The good news? If you are lucky enough to have a dedicated garden gnome at your house, you have an excellent guard for your front door. They’ll keep a careful eye out for strangers and make sure your belongings, especially lawn decorations, are left alone. However, if you are ever lost in the fae world of Underhill, be wary of the garden gnomes. They will see you as an outsider and can be dangerous.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In my fantasy romance, A SWORD OF BLOOD AND ROSES, my fae hero, Logan, has no fear of gnomes. As what we humans call an elf, Logan is tall, strong, and possesses a very powerful magical Gift. To an upper fae like Logan, a garden gnome is nothing but a nuisance, but the wild fae have long memories. Luckily, Logan and Trina are off on their own adventure solving the mystery of why the Black Queen wants all of Trina’s family dead, and they leave the garden gnome far behind.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As you read the rest of my fairy tale fantasy romance series you’ll encounter more than grumpy garden gnomes and arrogant alpha elves. There are evil queens, trolls, and of course, my cheeky puca, Solanum—a mischief making shape-shifter who is chaos incarnate. If you love a deep, well-developed fantasy world, fairy tale romance, and alpha heros who steal lovers away to faerie, then you’ll love the HUNTED BY THE FAERIE QUEEN series. Come to the Dark Forest, there’s no cookies but there’s definitely magic!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipuoO9QJLHCQnPwACFBLSxCYFAV5aBp9gqY7U5GTag_-eeStjorhvKv5E-TbKo8DHVCN04eCR02k6wMXEF_y77ruuhhsZ8ROFSKEUx6ehMYAbyDFIRRhalejyzrxH_BAbECSRs0Zi0gexfeUgyo5gvsM-I-WTBH-EjULQEpCHgetHgZz-dJ08Jx1HIsMVV/s600/cover_md.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><br /></b></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipuoO9QJLHCQnPwACFBLSxCYFAV5aBp9gqY7U5GTag_-eeStjorhvKv5E-TbKo8DHVCN04eCR02k6wMXEF_y77ruuhhsZ8ROFSKEUx6ehMYAbyDFIRRhalejyzrxH_BAbECSRs0Zi0gexfeUgyo5gvsM-I-WTBH-EjULQEpCHgetHgZz-dJ08Jx1HIsMVV/s600/cover_md.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipuoO9QJLHCQnPwACFBLSxCYFAV5aBp9gqY7U5GTag_-eeStjorhvKv5E-TbKo8DHVCN04eCR02k6wMXEF_y77ruuhhsZ8ROFSKEUx6ehMYAbyDFIRRhalejyzrxH_BAbECSRs0Zi0gexfeUgyo5gvsM-I-WTBH-EjULQEpCHgetHgZz-dJ08Jx1HIsMVV/s600/cover_md.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipuoO9QJLHCQnPwACFBLSxCYFAV5aBp9gqY7U5GTag_-eeStjorhvKv5E-TbKo8DHVCN04eCR02k6wMXEF_y77ruuhhsZ8ROFSKEUx6ehMYAbyDFIRRhalejyzrxH_BAbECSRs0Zi0gexfeUgyo5gvsM-I-WTBH-EjULQEpCHgetHgZz-dJ08Jx1HIsMVV/w213-h320/cover_md.jpg" width="213" /></a><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>A Sword of Blood and Roses</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Hunted by the Faerie Queen </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Book One</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Jessica Ash</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Dark Fantasy Romance</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: June 30, 2022</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 9798201496227 </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: B0B1XQTX28 </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 322</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 85,000</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Firda Graphic</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: When the Queen of the Fae is after you, sometimes your best bet is falling in love with the enemy.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Enemies to Lovers Dark Fantasy Romance...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">He was supposed to kill me...Now I'm his prisoner.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">I was supposed to hate him...Now I'm falling in love.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">But neither love nor magic can save me. And Now time is running out.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">When the Queen of the Fae is after you sometimes your best bet is falling in love with the enemy, even when he's your kidnapper…</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Read all five books in Kindle Unlimited. Discover enemies to lovers romance like you've never read before.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://geni.us/roses"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Amazon</span></a></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span><blockquote>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Excerpt</b>:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Riding into the dry-as-bones mountains on the back of the
puca, Logan’s anger seared bitter in his chest. It rolled off him in waves,
pulling thunder down from the sky. He toyed idly with the storm letting his
anger draw the danger of the lightning to him as he seethed.<br />
Fifteen years away from his hounds. Fifteen years of Solanum’s running wild,
the puca causing havoc wherever he went. Fifteen years of Logan’s life eaten
away in the hole of the queen’s dungeons.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">And now he was to kill witches for the queen—a fact that
rubbed him raw.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Humans were amusing companions, why create trouble?
Irritated with the brief flare of morality, he smothered it with brutal force.
It didn’t fucking matter what he wanted. It never had.<br />
Lightning cracked. The eerily silent hounds of the Dark Hunt tightened around
him, their tense glances and snapping teeth reflections of his flaring
emotions.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He had no room for second thoughts tonight. The Black Queen
had given him no reason why she needed these witches killed, but if he
satisfied her it might give him his freedom. At the very least it would give
him some space. Maybe some time to figure out a way to stay out of the
dungeons. And time to figure out how to truly extricate himself from her bloody
dominion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Because no matter what she had promised him, he knew, there
was no way she would simply let him go. Not after the way he had betrayed her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Solanum tossed his head and bucked. “Quit squeezing my
ribs.” Lurid green faery flames leapt from his hooves, igniting short-lived
cold fires in the dry Wyoming brush.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Cease, horse,” Logan said, squeezing his legs a little
more. Punching Solanum’s buttons felt good, really good. Just like his wrath at
the queen felt good. Justified.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The puca tossed his long mane into Logan’s eyes. “Lay off,
or you’ll be eating dirt,” he snarled, nostrils flaring red in the dimming
light.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Solanum’s irritation put a hard smile on Logan’s lips. He
tightened his legs and drove the puca harder down the hill through the brewing
storm.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">A hound pushed in too close. Solanum’s hoof lashed out,
connecting with a solid thud. The hound’s yipe sounded inside Logan’s head as
he regained his balance, cursing the hound’s behavior and the puca’s
intolerance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He was back. The hounds would get used to him again. And
Solanum too.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Thunder crashed in the sky, following him down into the
shadowed hills as he approached the witches’ lair. Nostrils burning from the
ozone, nerves tingling, he distracted himself with the dark moist wind,
manipulating it to blow through the dry autumn brush like a child's tantrum.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He laughed, the spiteful wind stealing away the dark sound
as cracks of thunder echoed off the mountains. He let the anger simmer and the
lightning moved further away. He wasn’t free yet, and he wasn’t suicidal. What
he was, was trapped. And it pissed him off, the frustration riding him like a
hag.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">What could he do when the queen changed her mind and refused
to release him from her service? What if the bitch thought she could use him
then put him back into her dungeons Underhill, calling him to her side like a
lapdog? He needed a way to show her there would be repercussions. He needed
leverage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">In the distance, thunder rumbled. They tipped over the edge
of the valley in search of the witch. A wavering glow of candles shone above
the last few rocks.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Almost there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The telltale traces of a spell raised the hair on the back
of his neck. He extended his Gift to perceive what he couldn’t yet see. A
labyrinth set by a single inexperienced witch. His lips twitched. As protection
it might have worked, had the Faery Queen sent her regular henchman. Unluckily
for the witch, the queen had unleashed him. The Dark Huntsman.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He would kill the wench, and be done with this thing between
himself and the queen of the Tuatha De Danann. And when the queen refused to
release him? He’d deal with that when the time came.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The wind carried the hot dry smell of sage mixed with the
smell of fear and musky female. He inhaled the raw flavor of the witch, the
taste of her fear and anger and power, slid down his throat, easing his rage.<br />
The anxious hounds shifted around him, sensing the proximity of their prey.
Solanum rounded the rock.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">And there she was.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The sight of her rocked him back like a blow, almost
knocking him to the ground. And he realized—despite the stasis, fifteen years
had been too long a time to be without a woman.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Glimmers of power limned her naked body and the silver blade
of the athame that gleamed between her breasts. Her legs were spread slightly
apart, tensed for battle. Long black hair crackled and lifted with static. Her
expressive face was poised on the edge of dilemma, her body caught between the
need to hold the spell and the need for action.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He paused to let the feel of power and woman roll through
him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Beautiful.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Unexpected.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Green, almond-shaped eyes widened. Her stance firmed, her
shoulders pulled back, and her full breasts rose, nipples tightened with cold
or fear. Something wild and raw he hadn’t felt in a hundred years stabbed low
in his gut.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">His agenda changed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The queen wanted to kill the witch. Why? His plan of
placating the queen suddenly seemed weak. She’d never let him go without
leverage, and here was leverage standing naked and lovely before him. He had a
new plan.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Screw the queen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">***<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Thunder boomed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Trina glanced up the valley. The dying light made it
impossible for her to see much more than the silhouette of a horse and rider
barreling through the boulders and uneven terrain, tearing down the rocky
hillside at an impossible speed. But no barrel racer would endanger their mount
careening down the mountain in a thunderstorm. Or ride a horse the color of the
absence of light with freakish red eyes. Only something truly inhuman would
light up her inner sight with that particular eerie blue glow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The acid in her stomach rose into her throat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">An elven lord.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Oh fuck! I’m screwed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She swallowed the fear down. Her trap, her best effort, all
her hard work. Dumb. Stupid.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Pathetic. None of it would hold an elven lord—a full adult
fae whose power would make her trap look like an art project. She wished she
could hide the evidence, like a small child wiping up the crumbs of stolen
cookies.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Horse and rider skidded and slowed in a shower of
ricocheting rocks. The enormous red hounds flowed out, surrounding the
labyrinth as the cloaked rider and his dark mount advanced.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She held still, athame at the ready in sweaty hands,
prepared to bolt if she had the chance. Her eyes flicked from the approaching
rider, distracted by the lesser threat of the huge, sharp-toothed,
yellow-eyed hounds encircling the labyrinth like silent sharks waiting
for the command to take their prey.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Damn shame to kill you, witch.” His voice was smooth,
well-aged whiskey with a hint of brogue.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"> “Then don’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What will you give me instead? A life requires a powerful
exchange. And I was sent for your death.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Trina tried to keep her face even and not reveal her panic.
She had nothing he could want.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Anything of true power that a fae like this one might
consider valuable, was safely out of reach and driving down the road in the
van. Gone. Along with any reinforcements.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“How about honesty?” She offered in desperation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Funny girl.” The dark presence leaned forward, his
impatient mount’s feet shifting on the gravel.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The nervous sweat on her back grew cold.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Although I would enjoy taking the time,” his voice carried
easily over the wind and thunder, “we shouldn't stand here bargaining. The
queen awaits my report.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The lord’s level tone distracted her and she was unprepared
when the horse moved. The pair crashed effortlessly into the labyrinth, cutting
a destroying swath across the short, brushy sage and heading for her at the
center. Spectacular violent explosions burst into cascades of colored lights,
as if her carefully constructed wards were merely firecrackers, instead of huge
magical grenades.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The overwhelming smell of crushed sage rose, and she swore
the evil-eyed horse laughed. She reached inside for what was left of her power,
losing her grip on it when he leaned over and grabbed her arm. With no apparent
effort, he hoisted her up.<br />
She scrabbled for a handhold in an effort to not fly over the horse into the
waiting sea of teeth and dogs. She tangled one hand in the long black mane and
held tight to her slippery knife with the other.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Strong arms wrapped in leather tightened around her, forcing
her upright, her toes dangling sidesaddle. Everything happening too fast. She
barely had a grip in the long black mane when the creature flexed under her and
they flew over the candles.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The flames blew out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">They landed on the other side of the labyrinth in a hard
jolt. She slipped.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">If I fall, I could run.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Before the thought had been and gone, her grip on the mane
loosened. She slid to the side. Hot breath and the scrape of teeth on her ankle
warned her, just in time. She yanked her foot out of range of the snapping
jaws, and lost her balance. Making an instinctive grab for the mane with her right
hand—she dropped the knife.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Her kidnapper growled and tightened his grip on her stomach.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She gasped for her voice. “Put me down!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I’m afraid it’s too late for that. I either kill you or
take you with me.” The sparkling black blade of his laughter cut deep into her
soul.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Accelerating faster and faster, they wove in and out of the
treacherous rocks in a mad, blurring rush up the side of the valley. If she
fell off now and hit a rock, she’d be roadkill. She anchored both hands firmly
in the mane and leaned back into the solid chest of her attacker.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">They raced on, licks of green fire lighting up the hill
behind them. A deep maw of black within purple mist formed ahead, transforming
the familiar landscape into a horror. The knowledge of where they headed
slammed inside her brain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Trina’s heart sped into a sharp staccato.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Words of denial formed in her constricted throat, gone long
before she had a chance to know what they were.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Don’t make me go.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">They rocketed to the top of the valley, the piranha hounds
schooling tightly around them as they raced to the looming mouth of the portal.
Steely muscles bunched and flexed under her.</span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Launching into the air, they flew into the mix of fog
and darkness encased in the sound of her scream.</span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: georgia; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><b style="font-family: georgia;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcTHUpRtdfu748ztBM4t3mY1v49uZNvdGY31B-ciCnWuhfCp4b862hoxwzLx_BopStFpEn6neeofWVGY2aNhTIpZoyyetI2YK-jEnhpqU7r_Ymrw6MS7kP72-aAmwBMx0LMrpmGjn-Aup_yIjiOxYmplXVYe3zRlHTngv7_Joxa4OPofufgTrlMU_2zDAw/s1600/Logo%20square%20no%205_Jessica%20Ash.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcTHUpRtdfu748ztBM4t3mY1v49uZNvdGY31B-ciCnWuhfCp4b862hoxwzLx_BopStFpEn6neeofWVGY2aNhTIpZoyyetI2YK-jEnhpqU7r_Ymrw6MS7kP72-aAmwBMx0LMrpmGjn-Aup_yIjiOxYmplXVYe3zRlHTngv7_Joxa4OPofufgTrlMU_2zDAw/w200-h200/Logo%20square%20no%205_Jessica%20Ash.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Jessica Ash loves dragons, magic, and romance, and is lucky enough to write about all three while consuming boatloads of chocolate. Her favorite fantasy is taking a luxury cruise up the Rhine where she could stare at the castles along the water and dream of faery. She writes dark fae fantasy romance where evil queens are on the hunt and strong heroes and heroines fall in love.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website: <a href="https://jessicaashbooks.com">https://jessicaashbooks.com</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tik-tok: <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@authorjash">https://www.tiktok.com/@authorjash</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bookbub: <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/jessica-ash " rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.bookbub.com/profile/jessica-ash </a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/jessicaashromance">https://www.facebook.com/jessicaashromance</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/151835998-jessica-ash">https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/151835998-jessica-ash</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Jessica-Ash/author/B0B2BHJ7R9">https://www.amazon.com/stores/Jessica-Ash/author/B0B2BHJ7R9</a> </span></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGP5MuSYmyyY4I47cx6_DhPmC4Rs_gHRltGqadZu_9w0N2YqIwFqdShaWCCuVV3L9chSNkRmExRwUQHWM1Die3sD4Ql-FaRYPgt_HxygINxFPswYGWGVsw7GtAoyyZMMqMF5n5gP4Ytrjy5iC0YXCQfbNSjeMcQ225M2rhPiJAj7NLvd-7ICDZB-evZRP8/s1080/Blood%20and%20Roses%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGP5MuSYmyyY4I47cx6_DhPmC4Rs_gHRltGqadZu_9w0N2YqIwFqdShaWCCuVV3L9chSNkRmExRwUQHWM1Die3sD4Ql-FaRYPgt_HxygINxFPswYGWGVsw7GtAoyyZMMqMF5n5gP4Ytrjy5iC0YXCQfbNSjeMcQ225M2rhPiJAj7NLvd-7ICDZB-evZRP8/s320/Blood%20and%20Roses%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2215" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2215/" id="rcwidget_5qw4s13w" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-48502687997591370982024-02-16T06:00:00.011-05:002024-02-16T06:00:00.147-05:00Rebecca Rook's Top Ten Favorite Horror Novels #YAHorror<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8DatwD3KJE_lMLbglGxrhQ21ytjuZekfUCjOoY8gUYtpkDn6Bq6WAVBK3VbXNXYZLxiP2xw9LiwL22mTUjxhB2DL0WO9luKO1WQdMabAoZ41YADS5unVQv82pZPzyVK-LYvG3a1U8Lg3yQKAQIQ-2i9p-4Zy6WW07VYBVD2CZzp0SSJsqYJlt3vsEs4Dj/s820/False%20Haven%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8DatwD3KJE_lMLbglGxrhQ21ytjuZekfUCjOoY8gUYtpkDn6Bq6WAVBK3VbXNXYZLxiP2xw9LiwL22mTUjxhB2DL0WO9luKO1WQdMabAoZ41YADS5unVQv82pZPzyVK-LYvG3a1U8Lg3yQKAQIQ-2i9p-4Zy6WW07VYBVD2CZzp0SSJsqYJlt3vsEs4Dj/w400-h153/False%20Haven%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>False Haven</i> is a young adult paranormal horror novel that’s a
cross between <i>Holes</i> and <i>The Haunting of Hill House</i>. In this
novel, Vivienne Barston’s life has fallen apart. With her mother recently
passed, her father disappears into his grief – leaving Viv to deal with her
sadness and anger alone. Viv turns to destructive behaviors like petty
vandalism, but after a disturbing stint in a juvenile detention center
frightens her, Viv agrees to a court mandated service opportunity designed to
expunge her record. The deal: work for six weeks with a trail conservation crew
in the rural woods of southern Oregon, and she’ll be free with a clean slate.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She
knows it’s her last chance to fix her life.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As Viv
arrives at the small town of Hard Luck, Oregon, she meets her crewmates, all
with troubles of their own. The unusual group travels to Grafton Stake, a
remote and derelict former asylum with a haunted history–and now Viv must face
the ghosts of the past while fighting for her future.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In
celebration of the publication of <i>False Haven</i>, here is a list of my top
ten favorite horror novels. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7lTZ20cJC551Hx2pCCkFW4LhdhLuobuBiKGrQRuwqSbD3ssfRv6H0Bi5oQ_LALZxDddHgK5cmNqOjQzkXwP0sJ2wHnOr00a_5Ouz7Zf09zf-seHZff_pgFO30X1EtqzgSzPSw4WaT8wuFz9kU-OS5e44Ss9mepVogYof5NAL4L6XluQYBrVhOMmDiln36/s1080/False%20Haven%20Tropes%20and%20Themes.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7lTZ20cJC551Hx2pCCkFW4LhdhLuobuBiKGrQRuwqSbD3ssfRv6H0Bi5oQ_LALZxDddHgK5cmNqOjQzkXwP0sJ2wHnOr00a_5Ouz7Zf09zf-seHZff_pgFO30X1EtqzgSzPSw4WaT8wuFz9kU-OS5e44Ss9mepVogYof5NAL4L6XluQYBrVhOMmDiln36/s320/False%20Haven%20Tropes%20and%20Themes.png" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>T. Kingfisher, <i>What Moves the
Dead</i>.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This incredible and imaginative
retelling of <i>The Fall of the House of Usher</i> is simply remarkable. By commenting
on how the natural world that surrounds this storied family has clearly
transformed into something unnatural, Kingfisher expertly sets the stage for an
eerie experience.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Paul Tremblay, <i>Head Full of
Ghosts</i>.</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">With obvious nods to <i>The
Exorcist</i> and contemporary reality television, this novel is a chilling exploration
of how impossible it is to obtain the truth.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Grady Hendrix, <i>Final Girl
Support Group</i>.</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Grady Hendrix is a must read for
me. He writes female characters particularly well, and I love the nuance and
complexity he’s able to evoke in the interpersonal dynamics between characters
in the story.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Joe Hill, <i>Heart-Shaped Box</i>.
</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Metal music meets horror. This
one kept me up all night and kept the lights on until dawn. Absolutely
fantastic.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>P. Jeli Clark, <i>Ring Shout</i>.
</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">One of the most original novellas
I’ve ever read. A fantastic examination of how the horrors of white nationalism
were hellish and demonic.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Silvia Moreno-Garcia, <i>Mexican
Gothic</i>.</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Rebecca</i> but in 1920s
Mexico. This novel was lush, eerie, and nuanced, especially when examining
class, gender, and race dynamics during this era.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Han Kang, <i>The Vegetarian</i>.</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A body horror tale of subverting
cultural norms in a collectivist society in pursuit of individual freedom, and
the consequences that follow. Eerie and unforgettable.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Shaun Hamill, <i>A Cosmology of
Monsters</i>.</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The most tender Eldritch horror
novel I’ve ever read. It’s hard to describe but a joy to read. Don’t miss this
one.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Kendare Blake, <i>Anna Dressed in
Blood</i>.</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Absolute fun to read. This young
adult horror romance has big <i>Supernatural</i> energy and is a fast paced
read.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Caitlin Starling, <i>The Luminous
Dead</i>.</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A space opera paranormal horror
story set within a cave system on another planet and narrated by an exploratory
technician who oversold her skills to get a plum job. When things go wrong,
they go <i>really</i> wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></b></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFo0wb9woHNeKoY0VWB8_0oW97IrgUVn5z8rZcPHNk3vK6foQabUHSUpHFZ4Z5UFrPffP1Di-gdaam92U7_YGXqi0KCRYsx8pczF98sUX5Ybhkz5B_XAqSQCNbikQhW4oYhMiCq7hzDETTLQZRTpZYiyC96WqFcAQ6PsMK3gCPT1d3mrK8CIzzZnO4AxAX/s1500/FH%20Cover.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="970" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFo0wb9woHNeKoY0VWB8_0oW97IrgUVn5z8rZcPHNk3vK6foQabUHSUpHFZ4Z5UFrPffP1Di-gdaam92U7_YGXqi0KCRYsx8pczF98sUX5Ybhkz5B_XAqSQCNbikQhW4oYhMiCq7hzDETTLQZRTpZYiyC96WqFcAQ6PsMK3gCPT1d3mrK8CIzzZnO4AxAX/s320/FH%20Cover.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>False Haven</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Rebecca Rook</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Young Adult Horror</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Hellebore House</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: February 13, 2024</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: Print: 979-8-9894253-2-7 </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: e-book: 979-8-9894253-3-4</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: B0CNDX3SBY</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 250</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 60,000</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Paper & Sage Designs</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Her last chance may end her life.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Seventeen-year-old Vivienne Barston’s life has fallen apart.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">With her mother recently dead, her father disappears into his grief – leaving Viv to deal with her sadness and anger alone. To cope, Viv turns to destructive behaviors like petty vandalism, and after a disturbing stint in a juvenile detention center frightens her, Viv agrees to a court mandated service opportunity designed to expunge her record. The deal: work for six weeks with a trail conservation crew in the rural woods of southern Oregon, and she’ll be free with a clean slate.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">She knows it’s her last chance to fix her life.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">When Viv arrives at the small town of Hard Luck, Oregon, she meets her motley crewmates, all with troubles of their own. The unusual group travels to Grafton Stake, a remote and derelict former asylum with a haunted history–and now Viv must face the ghosts of the past while fighting for her future.</span></div><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><a href="https://amzn.to/3UitADA">Amazon</a></b><o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b></b></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Excerpt:</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Five
faces looked up at her entrance: two girls and three guys. They sat around a
conference table in office chairs that were sleek, professional, and out of
place in the rustic lodge. An open box of cheap pastries rested at the center of
the table, surrounded by water bottles, sodas, and napkins. A pile of hiker’s
backpacks rested in the corner of the room. Viv cast the others a quick glance,
then placed her pack next to the pile. She picked a chair at the end of the
table, closest to the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Viv
found five pairs of eyes studying her. She felt grubby after a long day on
public transportation and tried not to squirm under the scrutiny.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What’s
your name?” one of the girls demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Viv.”
She didn’t inquire about their names. None of them were there to make friends. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
girl who had demanded Viv’s name opened her mouth to say more but was
interrupted by the arrival of a woman in her thirties with thin black hair
pulled into a low ponytail, nut-brown skin, and a stocky, muscular build. The
woman walked with authority and purpose, her shoulders back and her head
upright, and when she came to a stop at the head of the conference table, she
cast an assessing gaze over Viv. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You
must be Vivienne.” It wasn’t a question. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Viv
nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Welcome.”
The woman didn’t smile. “I’m Helen Whiteaker, and I run this program. You will
report to me for the duration of your time here.” Helen’s dark eyes held a
steel promise of order.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Viv
found herself sitting up a bit straighter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Helen
swept a glance around the room. “We’re all here, so let’s start.” She then eyed
the pastries in the center of the table. “I’d eat those if I were you. Our
meals over the next six weeks won’t be spectacular.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">One
of the boys reached for a Danish. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">This
seemed to satisfy Helen. “Welcome to the Conservation Corps for Teens. Let’s
discuss what you’re here to work on for the next six weeks. At the direction of
the Bureau of Land Management and the local county council, we’ll be providing
the grunt labor for the demolition and cleanup of Grafton Stake, a local
institution with several old buildings. We will also build a trail system,
campsites, and recreational day sites around the area. The goal of our work is
to help create a park-like setting for a future campground and visitor’s center.”<br />
Helen paused. “Does anyone have questions?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">No
one responded. The boy with the Danish ate loudly, without closing his mouth.
Viv winced at the sight, then looked away. The squelching noise turned her
stomach.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Helen
eyed Danish Boy with a flicker of amusement in her eyes before continuing. “We
have a tight schedule and will need to work fast. We work eight hours a day,
every Monday through Friday, with lunches and breaks. Weekends will be spent at
the campsite, or in town for short durations.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Helen
paused again and looked around the conference room with her eyebrows raised.
When no one said anything, she sighed. “I’m going to be blunt: none of you are
here because you want to be here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Viv
felt the impact of the words like a dash of cold water across the face. She saw
the others react, too, shifting uncomfortably in their seats or staring at the
floor or the ceiling.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Helen
stared at the table. “For various legal and privacy reasons, I do not know the
specifics of why you are here, but I will not tolerate any insubordination or
disruption on my team. If you misbehave, I will ship you home without a second
chance. This is a job. You will be paid a stipend at the end of the six
weeks—or a prorated amount for the time you’ve spent in this program. I expect professional
behavior from each of you, towards me and towards each other.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">That
means no sex, no drugs, no shit talking, and no fights.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
conference room was still. Viv’s stomach roiled with anxiety. She almost
admired how efficiently Helen had asserted control over the group.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Really?” Helen cast a skeptical glance around the
room. “No questions at all?”</span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></p><b style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6j1wvHMWGJMVNZAHm5gHCXfl-s_dSRYQ85_7y7FExT65LHNZyBAt1LoeF0EvYs0bJkmO7yuiuGnVWCdAQWmxxiK5r4p6ocFCHqa-PHiILRa08HiY_YSPcA1fnz5xY-bXZjmlmh_xaZjaKZX5gBtCBhIVP2Vzlnh7paowWW5VE-sq5isBtQJ0-EpgM5CFt/s400/Writer%20Headshot.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6j1wvHMWGJMVNZAHm5gHCXfl-s_dSRYQ85_7y7FExT65LHNZyBAt1LoeF0EvYs0bJkmO7yuiuGnVWCdAQWmxxiK5r4p6ocFCHqa-PHiILRa08HiY_YSPcA1fnz5xY-bXZjmlmh_xaZjaKZX5gBtCBhIVP2Vzlnh7paowWW5VE-sq5isBtQJ0-EpgM5CFt/w200-h200/Writer%20Headshot.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Rebecca Rook is a hard of hearing person who designs tabletop games, manages a little free library dedicated to sequential art and comics, and lives in the Pacific Northwest with two wonderful dogs. A 2021-2022 Hugo House Fellow in Seattle, WA, she also attended the 2021 Tin House YA Fiction Workshop in Portland, OR. Prior to this, she completed the wonderful Yearlong Workshop for Young Adult and Middle Grade Fiction at Hugo House. She writes young adult fiction in the fantasy, thriller, and horror genres.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website: <a href="https://www.byrebeccarook.com/">https://www.byrebeccarook.com/</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/byrebeccarook">https://www.instagram.com/byrebeccarook</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0CM1GVVY2">https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0CM1GVVY2</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/45848659.Rebecca_Rook">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/45848659.Rebecca_Rook</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6x1Zgf4lUpCquJknJMnxTVkemC3Tq4-V8wOjpXcKC8LPjAiQr-2X3fv6XJzDwIThsMoAAQIBm1_7CkNNpVzEaA1MckhF7etoTL06G0wPyCY9ZA67VAZpJvXHOC_nJ7VdC6llJlK3ctChBF6BxBupRHzVocBkwXWVRqo7diBTWd48fqG9Eq5dN_5p0SuQG/s1080/False%20Haven%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6x1Zgf4lUpCquJknJMnxTVkemC3Tq4-V8wOjpXcKC8LPjAiQr-2X3fv6XJzDwIThsMoAAQIBm1_7CkNNpVzEaA1MckhF7etoTL06G0wPyCY9ZA67VAZpJvXHOC_nJ7VdC6llJlK3ctChBF6BxBupRHzVocBkwXWVRqo7diBTWd48fqG9Eq5dN_5p0SuQG/s320/False%20Haven%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b></span></div><div><br /></div></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2217" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2217/" id="rcwidget_k2vkiqx5" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-55907153956310727442024-02-13T01:00:00.009-05:002024-02-13T01:00:00.271-05:00Five Tips for Dating a Soul Master with K.R. Gastreich #PNR<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM6WTNoGZq7qm-JfxXs4K0T_UBcRnZy2eKX_m3auVlPIMrJEhmIyeVuQ-b_ul_Cy630vUt3GcxETG2w76-YyvePA3byCRv4vvyljJhRk1sOUGXMuJkIilwc3dg5cM4hy4pdghUn6rHQQ6lFCQ6auGqngwxhs0sYd7jr4xvWwUGhjJKX-0qIvYQMougioMG/s820/soul%20masters%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM6WTNoGZq7qm-JfxXs4K0T_UBcRnZy2eKX_m3auVlPIMrJEhmIyeVuQ-b_ul_Cy630vUt3GcxETG2w76-YyvePA3byCRv4vvyljJhRk1sOUGXMuJkIilwc3dg5cM4hy4pdghUn6rHQQ6lFCQ6auGqngwxhs0sYd7jr4xvWwUGhjJKX-0qIvYQMougioMG/w400-h153/soul%20masters%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just be you! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If he can’t love you for the amazing mortal you are, there’s no point going past the first date. Show him your truth, not the truth you think he wants to see.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Beware of his age. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Young and inexperienced Soul Masters may not have what it takes to defend their realm against vile elements. (And vile elements will come after you, if you start messing with a Soul Master.) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On the other hand, old Soul Masters are…Well, old. Even Soul Masters can get stuck in their ways. Anyone born before the Renaissance might be positively medieval - or worse.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Those in the know say the sweet spot for partnering up with a Soul Master is when they’re between 300 and 500 years old. No matter what the age, be on the lookout for bad habits from previous centuries!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Don’t worry about your age.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Fact is, the older you are when you start dating a Soul Master, the better. More than youth or physical beauty, Soul Masters appreciate the wisdom and experience gained from living a full life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And yes, being an “old soul” counts as old in a Soul Master’s eyes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Details matter.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If he’s not treating you to dinner or getting you flowers or calling when he says he’s going to, just get out. Do not accept lame excuses like interdimensional travel and battles with demons. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You are a queen. You should be treated like one. And if anyone knows how to treat a queen, it’s someone who was born three centuries ago when queens were still a thing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you aren’t number one in his life, he doesn’t deserve you.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Make sure there’s an option for you to be turned. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Honestly, if you can’t become an immortal too, what’s the point?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But don’t let him turn you without thinking it through carefully. After all, forever is a long time to be stuck with the same Soul Master. </div><div><br /></div></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaAdupnn8JJNkuQv33LsqjL-w01XEtUpwVMZmEfphE_EDoxFK8tUKTQqzmfa5QBtR0e_MWq6hiy5gknBikXrYaGds02xVonHmhuC1DoQnGfHfUgN-mwzk0U0rpDgSj7KBWWHoVfGrkbZzEwTHDy3lsoYA6ZiEde4bTArnTycpUTfivsE1pF1lqTchzP456/s2252/SoulMastersTheHuntingGrounds_w17960_ib.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2252" data-original-width="1400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaAdupnn8JJNkuQv33LsqjL-w01XEtUpwVMZmEfphE_EDoxFK8tUKTQqzmfa5QBtR0e_MWq6hiy5gknBikXrYaGds02xVonHmhuC1DoQnGfHfUgN-mwzk0U0rpDgSj7KBWWHoVfGrkbZzEwTHDy3lsoYA6ZiEde4bTArnTycpUTfivsE1pF1lqTchzP456/s320/SoulMastersTheHuntingGrounds_w17960_ib.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>Soul Masters: The Hunting Grounds</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Soul Masters</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Book One</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>K.R. Gastreich</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Paranormal Romance</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: The Wild Rose Press</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: February 7, 2024</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 978-1509253302</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: B0CP6GMWRK</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 320</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 90k</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Kristian Norris</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: He wants to claim her soul. But can she capture his heart?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">On a hike through the forest, Mayela stumbles into a terrifying world where immortals hunt souls. To survive she secures protection from a Soul Master. When he demands payment, Mayela fights back. But how can she fight the desire consuming her heart?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Every soul Nathan claims expands the power of his realm. In Mayela, he finds a rare gift that could guarantee his place among the Soul Masters. All he must do is secure her allegiance without losing his heart. And Nathan has no heart to lose. Or does he? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">With eternity at stake, Mayela and Nathan ignite a transcendent passion that breaks all the rules. Among the Soul Masters, a malevolent force awakens. The final hunt is on…</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://amzn.to/48n624N">Amazon</a> <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/soul-masters-kr-gastreich/1144418170">BN</a> <a href="https://bookshop.org/p/books/soul-masters-the-hunting-grounds-k-r-gastreich/20925562?ean=9781509253302">Bookshop</a></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div><span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></b></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Excerpt:</span></b><b> </b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">Then
everything froze. Joni, the customers, the cars outside. All movement simply
stopped. The chime on the front door sounded. My throat went dry. Somehow, I
knew what was happening. I knew who had arrived, though I didn’t understand how
or why.<br />
Twisting around, I peered over the rim of the booth. Standing in the doorway
was the man from my hallucinations, a creature of the dark plains. Tall and
slim, broad-shouldered, dark in aspect. That same man had beheaded a snake in
my kitchen. Not my kitchen, I reminded myself. The illusion of my kitchen, part
of the same hallucination of an impossible world. The Hunting Grounds, he’d
called it. Where we go to hunt souls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">My
mind spun with the impossibility of what I was seeing. He couldn’t be real.
Yet here he was, in Joni’s shop. Except, he looked different. His hair
was peppered gray instead of black. His skin seemed a shade darker. Or maybe
lighter? It was like wrapping my head around a mirage, trying to remember what
he looked like in my nightmares. But the simple force of his presence, the
quiet luminescence of his spirit, was unmistakable. That was him.<br />
Without so much as a glance in my direction, the man stepped into the shop and
started toward the counter. Everything stirred at once. Several people looked
his way. Joni let go a long, low whistle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">“Well,
I’ll be!” she exclaimed. "We haven’t had anyone that drop-dead gorgeous walk
in here since…Well, ever!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">She
kept staring, mouth agape, as he ordered coffee. Then her face lit up, and she
jumped into action, wiping down the table next to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">“I’ve
got an idea,” she said. “I think you should go for him.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">“What?”
I croaked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">“He’s
totally your style.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">“I
don’t date men in suits.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">“What
are you talking about?” She laughed. “Look at him! It’s fate. I can feel it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">“Joni
–”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">“Sir!”
She called. “Sir, we’ve got an empty table right over here. Next to the
windows.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">Holy
crap! I sank deeper into my seat. “I’m serious, Joni! Send him somewhere else.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">“Straighten
up, beautiful.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Give it a shot. What’ve you got
to lose?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">Then
she was gone. I cast about frantically for an escape, but there was no back
exit from the booth. Unless I wanted to crash through the window. Could I do that?
Crash through the window?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">Yeah,
I could do that. But I’d have to leave my insects behind, and –<br />
And there he was, taking the table next to me. His chair scraped against the
floor. His clothes rustled as he settled in. Minutes passed while my heart
pounded inside my chest. I kept my face turned, pretended to stare out the
window, wondered whether it would hurt to feel the glass shatter against my
skin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">Idle
talk filled the coffee shop. Customers came and went, orders were taken, steam
forced through frothing milk.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;">Still
the man said nothing.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">I snuck a glance in his direction. Damn, he was
handsome. Heart stoppingly so. Desire tugged at my gut, a strangely familiar
sense of attraction, as if we’d known each other before this moment. As if I’d
been bound to him in a time before memory.</span></span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></span></p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9F_96SYhjeuQH3tG76IgL7Q1ZL6aX82lUVcsx-Q9pFU8a9KwPAEPijZlJeEgwIJ8KuYU0myM24KjmIioTkr0_jIDAhL03SCKB99katBe_voFCg8TinBhYFiBKeV5gjRQeHjxK7W9Gsgr-MTKVX4siHSLBydT6JvoTdvIdRWmo5HFQXm29lA_1na2Qfvaj/s2100/5x7_300dpi_Karin_244A0694.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2100" data-original-width="1500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9F_96SYhjeuQH3tG76IgL7Q1ZL6aX82lUVcsx-Q9pFU8a9KwPAEPijZlJeEgwIJ8KuYU0myM24KjmIioTkr0_jIDAhL03SCKB99katBe_voFCg8TinBhYFiBKeV5gjRQeHjxK7W9Gsgr-MTKVX4siHSLBydT6JvoTdvIdRWmo5HFQXm29lA_1na2Qfvaj/w143-h200/5x7_300dpi_Karin_244A0694.jpg" width="143" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">K.R. Gastreich is a recipient of the OZMA Award for fantasy fiction and the Andrews Forest Writer’s Residency, as well as a winner of the Women on Writing Flash Fiction Contest. Her fantasy novels feature high-stakes romance, gripping battles, and darkly lyrical prose. In addition to Soul Masters and The Silver Web trilogy, she has published short stories in Zahir, Adventures for the Average Woman, 69 Flavors of Paranoia, and World Jumping.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">A proud native of the American Midwest, K.R. Gastreich lived for many years in Texas and then in Latin America before returning to the Kansas City Metro where she grew up. When not writing she enjoys hiking, camping, studying dance, and spending time with her family.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">To learn about new releases and other events, visit K.R. Gastreich’s website at krgastreich.com, or follow her on Instagram @EolynChronicles.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website: <a href="https://www.krgastreich.com">https://www.krgastreich.com</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Linktree: <a href="https://linktr.ee/EolynChronicles">https://linktr.ee/EolynChronicles</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100063135194840">https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100063135194840</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4431702.K_R_Gastreich">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4431702.K_R_Gastreich</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjneKRhoLUUYFdqwOjkfAf1Ixk2_oDnvrcX3afyFwLgfdKen9-jXj5eK20hKTJq10gmYO-Xums4aRQrLo3jSuWbXrS5oN6Oeq8KgajjVC8Lf6i7Cq302nF7V5biIcYn76PwTpbTI1Fvvmi3XGQSCTKKr5ggqh_TqAM4Yfi3nL6zLt0cGCqDUK7APPItcMcZ/s1080/soul%20masters%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjneKRhoLUUYFdqwOjkfAf1Ixk2_oDnvrcX3afyFwLgfdKen9-jXj5eK20hKTJq10gmYO-Xums4aRQrLo3jSuWbXrS5oN6Oeq8KgajjVC8Lf6i7Cq302nF7V5biIcYn76PwTpbTI1Fvvmi3XGQSCTKKr5ggqh_TqAM4Yfi3nL6zLt0cGCqDUK7APPItcMcZ/s320/soul%20masters%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-29023158459623193742024-02-09T06:00:00.009-05:002024-02-09T06:00:00.148-05:00Author Advice with Connor Coyne #AuthorAdvice <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWzLsPnto_wjcqhfI5hPEGhRvtjnaBAglMGeIMSu844Fv2GUG22De3tjjqRWsKQHLzYttKWWATV23tVCqFiQCtexXy_yf3XISVNe9Y6CLaymBvjtsyaoeh-BMEB4XtPfsJ8BbTn6XxGsSKxPOo5msyckVmeKcrBSfgOncOMpoyipkBFw70fHm-z1C5jpF/s820/Hollywood%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWzLsPnto_wjcqhfI5hPEGhRvtjnaBAglMGeIMSu844Fv2GUG22De3tjjqRWsKQHLzYttKWWATV23tVCqFiQCtexXy_yf3XISVNe9Y6CLaymBvjtsyaoeh-BMEB4XtPfsJ8BbTn6XxGsSKxPOo5msyckVmeKcrBSfgOncOMpoyipkBFw70fHm-z1C5jpF/w400-h153/Hollywood%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>A QUÆSTIO ON
SELF-PUBLISHING VS. TRADITIONAL PUBLISHING</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><u>ARTICULUS</u></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">How
many times have I been at a party when someone has asked me what I <i>do</i>,
and when I answer, “I am a writer,” they don’t respond with a question – “what
do you write?” “how long have you been writing?” – but by saying something
along the lines of “someday I’m going to write a book too.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Imagine
if you were to answer the same question with “I’m a neurosurgeon,” and the
reply was “someday I’m going to cut open someone’s brain.” What if you were to
say I’m a civil engineer only to hear “I’m planning a bridge and I’m going to
build it.” As if these were straightforward and easy undertakings that someone
could simply attempt on a whim.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">They
are not: these are professions that require decades of education, training, and
practice. And so is writing. Yet there is somehow the widespread perception –
and particularly at parties where alcoholic lubrication is on the table – that
writing is something that anyone – especially the person speaking – can do and
does do well.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">While
figures vary widely, there is broad consensus that in the 2020s, <a href="https://wordsrated.com/number-of-books-published-per-year-2021/">up to <i>four million</i></a> books are
published per year, with anywhere from 75-85% of these being self-published. As recently as 2010, when self-publishing was
still a new endeavor, that overall number was as low as 300,000, and you could rewind
a hundred years to 1907 when only <a href="https://stuffnobodycaresabout.com/2012/01/31/how-many-books-were-published-100-years-ago-as-compared-to-today/">9,260 books were published</a>. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Over
the last 117 years, <a href="https://www.worldometers.info/world-population/world-population-by-year/">the global population has grown by a factor of eight</a>, and the number of books published per year has grown by a factor of 400.
A reader today has roughly 50 times as many books to choose from as a reader in
1907. That might sound like a good thing, but have all of those books been
proofread? Have they all been edited? Have they all been selected for
publication on the basis of their quality, relevance, usefulness, depth? The
answers to all of these questions are obviously “no.” And how many readers,
having to sift through an additional 49 books simply to locate the book they
actually want to read are going to understandably give up and reach for their
phones?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">At
least on TikTok you’ll know whether you’ll enjoy the content within a matter of
seconds. Many books require hours of
time to reach the same conclusion.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Historically,
traditional publishers have served many functions, one of which has been to act
as gatekeepers: poorly written, poorly conceived, irrelevant concepts were
stopped at the door. Knowing that some minimum standards of quality, however biased
or contradictory, were applied to every work of literature resulted in better
bookshelves and <a href="https://bookriot.com/how-americans-reading-habits-changed-from-childhood/">more dedicated readers</a>.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Widespread
self-publishing, made broadly available through print-on-demand technology,
e-publishing options, and user-friendly platforms like by monopolies like
Amazon have succeeded in flinging the doors wide for any partygoer to “write a book”
as they want. But far from enabling a broader readership able to access an
infinitely vast field of options, reading is down worldwide. Self-publishing
did blow the lid off the industry, but what it really opened was a Pandora’s
box of mediocre writing!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <u>SED CONTRA</u></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">How
many brilliant minds, how many potentially luminous literary talents have had
their ambitions snuffed by impatient and judgmental voices sneering them down
when they dare to say, “someday I’m going to write a book?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It is
true that writing, like neurosurgery or engineering, is a delicate craft that
takes natural gifts, careful observation, and years of practice to fully hone.
But writing is also a form of storytelling via the written word. Unlike
neurosurgery or engineering, some capacity for storytelling is embedded in
every human who tells their parents about a fight they witnessed at recess or
the frustrations of a conflict at work. Given this innate storytelling ability,
why should we be so dismissive of someone who has declared their intent to
write a book?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Much
has been made of the value of <a href="https://www.forbes.com/sites/forbesbusinesscouncil/2021/05/17/dont-self-publish-a-book-before-answering-these-crucial-questions/?sh=1f226109237f">publishers as gatekeepers of quality</a>. These
arguments tend to conveniently forget that mainstream publishers brought us <a href="https://bookriot.com/the-worst-books-written-by-celebrities/">Lance Armstrong’s memoir and Hillary Duff’s young adult trilogy</a>. The seeming illogic of barely-proofread junk you can find at any
Meijer’s at a time when most publishers have <a href="https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/columns-and-blogs/soapbox/article/91886-writers-can-handle-the-truth-from-editors.html">given up responding to well-crafted queries</a> has an almost offensively obvious answer: publishers aren’t that
interested in quality, except when it can affect sales. That is because, as Nicholas
Sparks once confessed: “Publishing is a business. Writing may be art, but
publishing, when all is said and done, comes down to dollars.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Once
you accept the truth that writers are artists working in a relentlessly
for-profit industry, the liabilities of “traditional publishing” come into
sharp relief. When the industry is so
oriented, it is also not surprising that while “<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/12/11/opinion/culture/diversity-publishing-industry.html">Non-Hispanic white
people account for 60 percent of the U.S. population; in 2018, they wrote 89
percent of the books.</a>” Arguments in favor of gatekeepers might imply
that non-privileged groups are simply writing less or inferior work, but the more
accurate assessment is that they are simply less-represented by a for-profit
industry seeking to sell books to a more affluent majority.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In the long, long history of
publishing, writers of unconventional work of merit, as well as racial, gender,
social, and other minority groups would simply be out-of-luck if they couldn’t
contrive a way for their writing to be seen as profitable by a profit-driven
industry.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In the last twenty years, this
has substantially changed. Widespread self-publishing, made broadly available
through print-on-demand technology, e-publishing options, and user-friendly
platforms (including KDP) have indeed flung the doors wide for many new authors
to write and publish their work. And the result, as we have earlier seen, is
the proliferation of millions of stories, many of which would have gone unshared
and unheard in the past.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-family: georgia;">RESPONSIO</span></u><u><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sometimes, when I am at a party, and someone says
that “someday I’m going to write a book,” they follow up with sincere and
thoughtful questions about how it is going to work. I usually start with both a
validation of the craft (“writing and storytelling is noble and essential
work”) and some real talk about the challenges involved (“you are likely to
spend far more time writing and querying and promoting than you are to be
hearing from readers what they think of your stories”).</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But usually, the conversation turns at some point
to the mechanics of publishing, and especially what is better: publishing or
self-publishing?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My answer is almost invariably, “it depends.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My first several books were self-published and I am
sure I will self-publish again in the future. On the creative end of the
spectrum, self-publishing empowers writers to develop their storytelling
without privileging profit or the desires of a mainstream readership. It allows
authors to take control of the entire project, resulting in fewer creative
compromises. It allows them to take chances that a risk-averse industry would
shy away from (I self-published a four-part serial novel; no mainstream
publisher would have touched such a project from an unestablished writer)! You will also, certainly, receive a higher
profit share than you would under any traditional publishing contract.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As for the critiques of self-publishing, most of
them have solutions: <u>do</u> hire an editor and proofreader to offer insights
and corrections you might miss on their own. <u>Do</u> hire a designer to craft
your all-important book cover. <u>Accept</u>
that you are going to pay a price by going it alone, and that many contests,
institutions, and other readers will take you less seriously as your
traditionally published peers; that just means that you will need to think creatively
and flexibly about marketing and promotions.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I have also benefited from the opportunity to have
my work published in more traditional venues, and the advantages should not be lightly
written off. On the creative end of the
spectrum, you will be working with editors and designers who you likely do not
know personally and who will be unsparing in their recommendations. Sometimes,
hearing “no” from an emotionally detached reader <i>does</i> result in a better story. It is also far easier for your book to reach
readers you do not know personally, since you will be leveraging both your
network and the publishers’. And if your
share in the profits is proportionally less, you are likely to make a greater
overall profit, either in the form of advances or in reaching a larger
community of readers.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As for the critiques of traditional publishing, many
of them are not as dire as they have been in the past. The number of small
presses, far from languishing in the digital era <a href="https://wordsrated.com/independent-book-publishers-statistics/">has proliferated wildly</a>. This
means that you don’t have to settle for a vanilla, bland mass-market publisher;
you have opportunities to reach niches less accessible or visible as in the
past. Creative differences diminish when you are working with a publisher (and
their editors and designers) who have passion and understanding and who believe
in the writing you are doing.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In short, there is no cut-and-dry answer as to
“which is better,” self-publishing or traditional publishing. Both have
liabilities and advantages. Sussing out what is a better fit at a certain time
and for a certain project is an effort that takes creativity, dedication, and
discipline.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Fortunately, those are not qualities uncommon in
the best writers today.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOIi266AjLpvSp8VAXmcTkT5H_OxMMsN49aci8xYt8psy1qOjKJokksSK1bKvi42j88lV8Wz5ctM90J6E1vZxe6DyvuHyjoj6NkB3TJCpE_85BtZpgjNPM0KdNm57HyYa4rxZAuYnO3znFEDOZnyjzZYdCd-n1JV-fuywtRlp-PRPaQ5_EnyYifhsBjUzS/s2136/hollywood.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2136" data-original-width="1454" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOIi266AjLpvSp8VAXmcTkT5H_OxMMsN49aci8xYt8psy1qOjKJokksSK1bKvi42j88lV8Wz5ctM90J6E1vZxe6DyvuHyjoj6NkB3TJCpE_85BtZpgjNPM0KdNm57HyYa4rxZAuYnO3znFEDOZnyjzZYdCd-n1JV-fuywtRlp-PRPaQ5_EnyYifhsBjUzS/s320/hollywood.jpg" width="218" /></a></div>Hollywood</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Connor Coyne</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: LGBTQ+, Literary, Magical Realism</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Lethe Press</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: Feb. 3, 2024</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 9781590215944</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: B0CP6PG3J1</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 97</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: About 24,000</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Inkspiral</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: A new American myth for readers who enjoy a bit of madness in their weird fiction.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Anxious Ophelia steps off the elevated train in the big city, hoping to start a new life with her summer hookup, far from her dissolving family and all of the traumas of industrial Rockville. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Over the course of the next few hours Ophelia will lose her roommate, her money, and eventually, her sense of sanity when she sees a mile-long shark out on the lake, unwitnessed by anyone else, but obviously there, because if it wasn't how did she get so soaked? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Ophelia cannot go back to who she was before sighting the beast, and the friends and opportunities she discovers all proceed from what and how she acts on that first, fierce, drunken night.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://amzn.to/3TRFqV5">Amazon</a> <a href="https://www.lethepressbooks.com/store/p699/hollywood.html">Lethe Press</a></b></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><b>
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<!--[endif]--></b></span></span></div><div><span><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b></b></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Excerpt:</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">One August afternoon, in the midst of the hottest years ever recorded,
with the nation crashing through wars, the stock market climbing like Icarus
toward the sun, and the City funneling its poor people inland as it closed and
demolished the last of the projects, Ophelia got off the Red Line elevated
train at the Thorndale stop, squinted in the sunlight, and kicked her foot
against the platform to free a stone from her sandal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Home at last?” she asked herself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She certainly hoped so. There was so much here, and all of it
everywhere: dozens of dark smears from murdered bubble-gum on each sidewalk
square, hundreds of quartz-bright sidewalk squares lassoing each block, and
thousands of glowing, sweltering blocks throughout the City with its millions
of people.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">To the west, between the tracks and Broadway, Ophelia made out a video
store, a laundromat, and an internet café, all noisy with activity at four in
the afternoon. To the east, between the tracks and the lake, she saw a canyon
of tenement apartments—mostly brick, fronted with stoic windows, several
stories high—going out for three blocks before the real high rises rose from
the beach, blue and white and glass and concrete, almost unimaginably tall.
Their heights arrowed sunlight back toward Ophelia, hitting her from all sides.
And here, too, she saw people coming and going in the glow of late summer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Please,” she said. “Let this be my home.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">But who was going to answer her? Not the smartly dressed Black men
talking in low voices, laughing softly, leaning out over the tracks to look for
the next train. Not the old Polish woman in the headscarf murmuring her rosary
to herself. Not the train attendant patrolling the platform. Or the sun, the
steel high-rises, the brick tenements, the video store, or the laundromat.<br />
Since nobody would answer Ophelia, she descended the stairs, passed through the
station, and went out into the City.<br />
<br />
* * * * *<br />
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<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Five minutes later, Ophelia stood in the lobby of her new apartment
building, buzzing for the super to come down and give her the keys. The
building stood near the corner of Kenmore and Ardmore, just one block from
Sheridan Road and the lake. At eight stories high, it was the tallest of its
neighbors, though still dwarfed by the towers just a block away. A white stucco
lobby. Moll carpet. Plastic plants standing in shell-shaped alcoves cut into
the wall. Nothing fancy, but with a breeze coursing down the hall from an open
fire escape, Ophelia’s new home felt luxurious.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The super arrived and eyed her new tenant suspiciously. Ophelia wasn’t
tall, but she was so skinny, especially about her face, that it created an
illusion of height. When she looked in the mirror, her prominent cheekbones
reminded her sometimes of a skull and sometimes of a praying mantis. Ophelia
was white, pale even, with fine brown hair that wisped gently about her
shoulders. She generally considered herself a fairly okay-looking person,
whatever her other defects might be. Still, she knew wrinkles and exhaustion
were about the corners of her eyes. Anyone could see this. Everyone noticed.
She was only in her early 20s but seldom got carded for alcohol.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The super frowned but must have decided Ophelia was harmless because
the woman hit the button in the wall, and the elevator dinged in reply. The
super pulled open the accordion gate, and as they rose through the building,
Ophelia watched each floor sinking out of view. She tried to ignore the stench
of stale piss. They got off at the seventh door. The woman fumbled with the
keys, swearing under her breath in some Slavic language, and opened the door to
Ophelia’s apartment.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She’d seen Tasia’s pictures, but they didn’t do justice to the place.
The hallway opened into a long white living room with a white carpet and a bay
window looking out to the east. Slivers of blue water peeked in from between
the lakeside towers. An arch to the left led into a slender kitchen, all
Formica and old appliances, while another hall exited the back of the living
room, passing the first bedroom and the bathroom and ending at a second bedroom
with plenty of closets and built-in shelves along the way. Ophelia spotted a
cockroach crawling across the stovetop and another in the back bedroom. Still,
there was something so happy and fierce about the light and the skylike
linearity of the lake that hope welled up in her chest anyway. This was fine.
No, glorious! She’d deal with the roaches later. Maybe after Tasia arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">As Ophelia carried out her inspection, the super stood in the living
room with her hands on her hips, waiting, but there wasn’t much else for
Ophelia to do: everything had already been settled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Several months ago, she had told Tasia that she was going to off
herself before the end of summer if she didn’t get out of Rockville. “Let’s
move to the City,” Tasia had said. “Get jobs. Get a cheap apartment. Hit the
beach. Hit the good stuff.” The joke came up several times before the friends
realized that they took the idea seriously. Even though Tasia’d gotten her
Associates from the community college, she seemed stuck in dead-end cashier’s
jobs and was dying of boredom. Rockville was killing her slowly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">And killing me quickly, Ophelia thought. She’d only been half kidding
about surviving the summer. So, before she knew it, the two were creating
profiles on Monster.com, Googling neighborhoods, and emailing old friends from
high school who had moved to the City. Tasia drove out one weekend, picked up
some job applications, toured the apartment on Kenmore, and signed the lease.
She’d gotten in on a special promo: no security deposit required. Ophelia had
faxed her signature. They were in.<br />
But if Tasia had set the whole thing up, she also needed another week to tie up
the last loose ends at Spencer’s Gifts. “My manager got caught stealing
inventory,” she’d said. “They want to promote me. I haven’t broken the news to
them yet.” So, Tasia stayed behind while Ophelia went ahead with her sleeping
bag and a backpack full of cleaning supplies. To get the new place ready. To
make it homey.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ophelia thought back to the 4th of July weekend when she’d lain in
Tasia’s bed with Tasia on top of her and Rockville’s fireworks bursting out the
windows. The taste of shandy on Tasia’s lips and her sturdy weight pressed
down. How all the wretchedness and sorrow of all those years had collapsed that
one drunken night. So ... were they friends now? Roommates? Lovers?
Friends-with-benefits? With all the planning for their big move, this was one
thing they hadn’t discussed. Ophelia wasn’t sure if it complicated things or
simplified them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Okay?” asked the super.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Thanks,” said Ophelia. “It’s wonderful.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">As if on cue, a dull thudding sound—four-to-the-floor with the bass
bass bass—started thrumming down from the apartment overhead. The eighth-floor
penthouse.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Uhhhhh,” groaned the super. “They never stop.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She let herself out, leaving Ophelia with the music.<br />
<br />
* * * * *</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">It took Ophelia only a short time to unpack. She chose the second bedroom,
near the back. It didn’t have a view of the lake, but it got more sun, and she
could see the long sweep of high-rises following the shore and rising toward
their downtown crescendo. Since she didn’t have a dresser or bed, Ophelia
stacked her clothes in neat piles along the wall, unrolled her sleeping bag in
the middle of the floor, and crushed a cockroach with her shoe before it could
scurry for cover. Then, with the music still thudding overhead, she shouldered
her backpack and left the building.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ophelia found a supermarket just past the Thorndale stop on the other
side of the tracks and spent the next half-hour in a reverie, pushing a
shopping cart up and down each aisle and wondering what the next month held in
store. I could apply to be a cashier here, she thought. I could apply to be a
teller at that bank across the street. I wonder if I could apply to work for
the El trains. I’ll need to make money somewhere! She didn’t worry a whole lot
about what she did or didn’t need to buy. She had a crisp hundred in her
wallet—a parting gift from her grandpa and some keychain pepper spray—but this
was just the first of many shopping trips. Right now, she just needed to make
it through the next week. She bought some Bisquick, some eggs, and milk.
Instant coffee. Bananas and apples. Bread and peanut butter. A dollar box of
cookies. A six-pack of cheap beer. Paper plates and plastic forks. A tall can
of Raid. A small pillow. It ate up half of her money, but it was enough. She
was halfway home before realizing she had nothing to cook the pancakes in or
boil water for coffee. I can go back tomorrow, she thought. The peanut butter
and beer will keep me going for tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">When Ophelia made it back, the sun was lower in the sky, and shadows
covered the streets below. The thudding upstairs continued. She set her keys
and phone on the counter, massaged her sore arms, and noticed that she’d missed
a call from Tasia.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Tasia?” she said when her friend answered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Tasia gasped. “I didn’t think you’d call back so quick!” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Why wouldn’t I call back quick? I was carrying groceries. What’s up?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I’m bursting! I’m bursting! I can’t lie! I can’t come to the City with
you!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I was going to turn down the manager job, O, but that was before they
made the offer. I didn’t know it came with such a huge raise. They’re gonna pay
me twelve an hour. That’s, like, twice what I make now! No way I will get a job
in the City that pays that much. And you know how expensive it is there ...
have you seen the gas prices yet?! We didn’t think this through, O. I can’t
move now. It would be crazy. I mean, it would be fucking stupid. I mean, I’m gonna
get fucking health care!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Slow down, Taze. We have been planning this for months!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I know, I know, I’m so sorry, it was my mistake too. It was just a
dream, you know? It was a silly dream. A summer thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“But our names are on the lease!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“No security deposit, remember? So, we’re out that first month, but
I’ll make that up in like a month. Maybe two. Point is, I’ll make it up quick!
You could get out. It was my fuckup. I signed the lease. We just walk away.
Hey, I’m the manager here now. I can hire you. Think how fun that’ll be. We can
work at the mall together. Lunch at the food court. You know you love them
burritos!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ophelia’s heart was sinking. It was already in the basement laundry
room, and maybe it wouldn’t settle until it reached the bottom of the lake.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I don’t know, Taze,” she said. “I was ... I was really excited about
this. For us. I ... went shopping.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Oh, shit. How much money do you spend on us, O? It’s okay, I can pay
you back. Now I’m, like, rolling in money! Compared to what I have been. You’ll
come back to Rockville, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ophelia looked helplessly out the window. A seagull sailed down the
street, caught between cool breezes from the lake and the warmer currents
wafting off the brick buildings.<br />
“I don’t know, Taze. I don’t know anything right now. You shocked me. I mean,
you surprised me.” She took another long pause. “I have to think about it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I understand. I’m sooo sorry to just drop this. But I’d be crazy not
to, you know?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I know. I get it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Call me when you make up your mind. I’d love to hook you up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Would you love to hook up?! Ophelia cried out in her brain. What does
this mean? What did that mean? What does anything mean?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I will,” she said. “I’ll call you soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Hey, nothing else, we’re paid up through the end of September. Take a
vacation in the City before you come back!”<br />
<br />
* * * * *<br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">It wasn’t anything, Ophelia thought. It couldn’t have been much. She
was drunk, and I guess I was desperate.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Am desperate.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ophelia went into the kitchen and took another look at the food she had
bought. She probably had enough money left over for a pot and a pan, but she
wasn’t sure that would leave enough for public transit, and if she wanted to
get a job, she’d need some train fare. She decided that she could boil water
for coffee in a pan, leaving her enough to take the train downtown for a week.
That’s ridiculous, she thought. Who lives like this? If I go back home, I’ve
got a sure thing at the mall. I can go back to Grandpa and Grandma’s. Maybe
save up. Maybe try again in a year. Or two. Maybe Tasia and I get a thing going
... if she wasn’t just drunk. If she really meant it. A car on the street below
started honking. The honking continued, and Ophelia realized the driver was
waiting for someone to come out of another apartment. She was drunk. She didn’t
mean it. There’s no way I can stay here, and there’s nothing for me to go back
to there, either.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Between the thudding bass and the car honking, Ophelia was starting to
get a headache.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She wanted to bang against the ceiling with a broom but didn’t have
one. She opened a beer with the bathroom towel bar, using the trick her brother
had taught her. She shotgunned the beer, then had a second and a third, and
then she was halfway done, so she went to the bathroom for a pee and drank the
rest of the beers on the toilet. By then, she was getting dizzy, but at least
drunkenness was a temporary relief. The honking had finally stopped, but the bass
thudded on.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ophelia went into her bedroom and shut the door, thinking it might
muffle the sound, but it didn’t. An elevated train of alcohol slammed into her
skull. She giggled sadly and reeled. Ophelia knew she was just as drunk as
she’d been when she’d tumbled into bed with Tasia, but she was all alone this
time. The walls and windows swirled around her, the bile danced in her stomach,
and her ears popped like fireworks.</span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Shut up!” Ophelia said and fell asleep.</span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">
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<!--[endif]--></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhib8mahqI__jajICtyBbYSvuMIOS_Y8S3cr1NhYmQKwy6nZahfJKNjnio1-97QmrQsZKSXaHuc769UTwSBmXFULmxZlQtUaSF63aJXHsKFG6nn9ciKVZE6fSc9dq18ihQ2_8Yuo0oWMuG-6IErQG6mdHrpcsaufT4mcj_0azMsOGqbsPxd5IA6ePS3Agw1/s1200/ccoyne%20authorphoto.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1200" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhib8mahqI__jajICtyBbYSvuMIOS_Y8S3cr1NhYmQKwy6nZahfJKNjnio1-97QmrQsZKSXaHuc769UTwSBmXFULmxZlQtUaSF63aJXHsKFG6nn9ciKVZE6fSc9dq18ihQ2_8Yuo0oWMuG-6IErQG6mdHrpcsaufT4mcj_0azMsOGqbsPxd5IA6ePS3Agw1/w200-h160/ccoyne%20authorphoto.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Connor Coyne (he/him) is a writer living and working in Flint, Michigan.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Connor has published several novels and a short story collection, and his work has been featured in Vox.com, Belt Magazine, and elsewhere. He is the director of the Flint-based Gothic Funk Press and is facilitator for the Gloria Coles Flint Public Library‘s writing workshops.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Connor is a graduate of the University of Chicago and holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the New School. Today, he lives with his wife and two daughters in Flint’s College Cultural Neighborhood (aka the East Village), less than a mile from the house where he grew up.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Web: <a href="http://connorcoyne.com">http://connorcoyne.com</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Blog: <a href="http://connorcoyne.com/blog">http://connorcoyne.com/blog</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Newsletter: <a href="https://connorcoyne.substack.com/">https://connorcoyne.substack.com/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/connorcoyne">https://www.facebook.com/connorcoyne</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">TikTok: <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@blueskiesfalling">https://www.tiktok.com/@blueskiesfalling</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/connorryancoyne/">https://www.instagram.com/connorryancoyne/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4218298.Connor_Coyne">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4218298.Connor_Coyne</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeAXmosUj7afsexSgw7xvFv62DPa_SSO9ZL6FdPdPkpNBI9Q15_yObWiCk-MPPyOQ7lpZQfcR7mnM5WQIvtoD1uKpye8TnjC8OgMjxyUzFOskEGrqZTiZzz35sFBeapUqELXcyL2hZfmC5vVUi9B35h5aKy_X7OPOnwpYiY_P_6Clk29hBybiF0DFhV-Jv/s1080/Hollywood%20Banner%20%20(Instagram%20Post).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeAXmosUj7afsexSgw7xvFv62DPa_SSO9ZL6FdPdPkpNBI9Q15_yObWiCk-MPPyOQ7lpZQfcR7mnM5WQIvtoD1uKpye8TnjC8OgMjxyUzFOskEGrqZTiZzz35sFBeapUqELXcyL2hZfmC5vVUi9B35h5aKy_X7OPOnwpYiY_P_6Clk29hBybiF0DFhV-Jv/s320/Hollywood%20Banner%20%20(Instagram%20Post).png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-41011574759873674442024-02-01T06:00:00.007-05:002024-02-01T06:00:00.242-05:00Guest Blog by Stanislava Buevich #MiddleGradeHorror #MiddleGradeMystery<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgit1BzSmVQRNKDirucmbA1CZfjxO1H_Y3nOVH0dzAm-iTjg5mpzPoLjRLuXULzIjH4loScnB3XwrNFsqw2o3HLd2fB_uk7inq87wGMs9zlI3q2045T5WT0IdHyFkQ3P4srUJtw2bMZPX5vlmI5hY4nW_nhsjB0Jv24IdYT34ND1YKoQ5NRh5iIMXFGAXn7/s820/Clearlake%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgit1BzSmVQRNKDirucmbA1CZfjxO1H_Y3nOVH0dzAm-iTjg5mpzPoLjRLuXULzIjH4loScnB3XwrNFsqw2o3HLd2fB_uk7inq87wGMs9zlI3q2045T5WT0IdHyFkQ3P4srUJtw2bMZPX5vlmI5hY4nW_nhsjB0Jv24IdYT34ND1YKoQ5NRh5iIMXFGAXn7/w400-h153/Clearlake%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">On a recent trip to Australia, I came across a magical little witching shop in the heart of Melbourne. Jostling through the ground of curiosity seekers, Christmas shoppers, and lovers of the occult, I spotted a large wheel at the back of the room. “Spin me...” It read, “And I shall reveal the perfect spell for the year ahead”. Needless to say, I could not resist. With a firm push on the handle, I waited, holding my breath. The wheel slowed, the golden pointer ticking sharply as it hit the pegs. Finally, it came to a stop. Kit number 7, it said, Breakthrough. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I rushed to the apothecary cabinet with tiny wooden drawers, housing the spells, my eyes hungrily seeking out the number 7. Bingo! I opened the drawer and pulled out a scroll. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Oracle of Breakthrough. </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>To your inner self, you have been true. </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Control and fine character guide victory through. </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>A triumphant time, spending and new, </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Breaks free of all woes and brings honour to you. </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>The Spell. </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Carve your name onto the candle, using a needle or pin. Light the candle and ignite the incense (it smells wonderfully cinnamony, though I can’t attest to what’s inside). Move the Cristal through the incense smoke 7 times. Place the crystal in the herbal charm pouch (Sage) and carry it with you for 7 days. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Even if you didn’t purchase the spell kit from that shop, it is easy to recreate it at home. All you need is a candle, incense stick, ground sage, and Tiger Eye crystal. Tiger Eye is said to bring wealth and prosperity and protect its wearer from the evil eye. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My daughter had gotten a spell of her own, and we need to set the date soon to test out our crystals. Wish us luck! </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5mfjyZcVC7TV_G58Q1EoqZ7VRqB-o4994Ed_Hvts3P4Q5xuE4bhM2tRD-QmPW20jHTlUOpx4lOWbdHymCHoDiA5au4O_er-0Ch3uK9l-oo56yJ-3H7aXL0b2bus3bs3cimddLRTJgnOpur-6J6zVZtNOIWffdSK7cVd_4Cfajqj2KxH2ghA7vi5yiUi7k/s2560/Clearlake_ebook.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5mfjyZcVC7TV_G58Q1EoqZ7VRqB-o4994Ed_Hvts3P4Q5xuE4bhM2tRD-QmPW20jHTlUOpx4lOWbdHymCHoDiA5au4O_er-0Ch3uK9l-oo56yJ-3H7aXL0b2bus3bs3cimddLRTJgnOpur-6J6zVZtNOIWffdSK7cVd_4Cfajqj2KxH2ghA7vi5yiUi7k/s320/Clearlake_ebook.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Clearlake </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Stanislava Buevich</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Upper Middle Grade/Teen Mystery Horror</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: December 1, 2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: B0CMQHGC24</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: B0CMP432S1</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 245</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 73K</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Sabina Kencana </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Don’t go into Room 214 </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Hi, I'm Moon and this is my story. It all started with a terrible cold. When the lady in purple promised my mother that Clearlake Institute would be able to cure me without the use of modern medicine, my mom was hooked.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">There was nothing I could do, or say, that could’ve changed her mind. She was determined from the moment we set foot on a remote island far, far away from everyone else, until the moment we were separated, and I was trapped in a creepy, gothic hospital."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Clearlake Institute was hiding something!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Deep beneath the shadows, something sinister was brewing - darkened halls, strange doctors, ghastly nurses that watch your every move, and children who are sent into Room 217 never to return.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Aided by the other children she meets at the institute, Moon Rains embarks on a perilous, suspenseful adventure to uncover the secrets of the Clearlake Institute.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Now, the race against time begins. Will Moon and her friends make it out before it’s too late? Or will Clearlake claim them as its next set of victims?</span></div><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br />
<b><a href="https://amzn.to/47sgDKl">Amazon</a> <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Clearlake-Stanislava-Buevich-ebook/dp/B0CMP432S1">AmazonUK</a><br /></b></span></p></div><div><span>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b></b></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Excerpt</b> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">There will come a time when you wonder, how did a girl like me end up
in a place like Clearlake and mortal danger? Well, it all started with a
terrible cold. At first, it was just a blocked nose. Then a sore throat,
nothing major. About a week later, I got a temperature. And the blocked nose
got worse. Much worse. I lost all sense of smell and the ability to breathe.
Snot kept trickling down from my nostril to my top lip, and I had to
persistently wipe it off with my sleeve or taste the said snot. I had a
headache. A constant, nagging, relentless headache as if a woodpecker was
incessantly pecking above the bridge of my nose. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">I was thirteen at the time and missed so many days of school that my
mother got fined by the government. Now, I know what you’re thinking - any
responsible parent would have taken their offspring to a GP if the wretched
illness hadn’t gone away within a week. Well, not my mother. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">My mother didn’t trust Western Medicine, you see, particularly vaccines
and antibiotics. As far as she was concerned, those two were the source of all
evil. I count myself incredibly lucky that, so far, I have managed to avoid
catching something particularly nasty like Rubella, Mumps, or Measles. I’ve never
had anything more severe than a cold, in fact. And while most colds went away
without intervention, other than a honey, lemon and gin concoction (which was
surprisingly effective, never mind that I was far too young to take it), this
cold proved to be something else entirely. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">About a week in, my mother marched into my room early in the morning.
Loud, insistent stomps woke me up from a hazy, feverish dream. She touched my
forehead with the tips of her fingers and raised her eyebrow, nodding as if
everything was going according to plan. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Well, I think I know what will finally do the trick,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">I rolled my eyes. Well, not actually. Not on the outside. The outside
she could see. I rolled my eyes on the inside, imagining them going so far
inside their sockets that all that was left were the white bits. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Beetroot!” she exclaimed, her voice chiming like a Christmas bell. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Beetroot?” I yawned, and a few tears seeped out of the corners of my
eyes. I wasn’t sure if the yawn caused it or the ever-escalating feeling of
utter desperation. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“A few drops of beetroot juice inside your nose three times a day, and
you will be good as new. I promise.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She made similar promises a lot. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“If you stick a clove of garlic in each nostril overnight, in the
morning… Poof. Cured. Gone. I promise.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Breathing over a pot with hot potatoes and a duvet over your head will
open up the sinuses and unleash the phlegm. All of the gunk will stream out.
You’ll see. I promise.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“If you do a wee in a little pot and then take some of that wee with a
little pipette that I’ve got here for you and…” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“NO!”</span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">I drew the line at urotherapy, as it was apparently called, and it did
take quite a bit of courage to stand up to my mother. She fussed and fretted
but couldn’t get me to administer urine into my nose.</span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: georgia; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKq7bG_Yck0O9unq2i3slbRIR7HThywo7UH1gRO_qaLZPbO3qzpvc9MHi-FUtR1w3n1p12PbLuq-U1JmEWxVANaNFQRfJksTgxEAFNqPiLh9NzTrFXCTTsI5kUlgapYUYuStLvBaxdgxPJIfBc0JPd4MUe3-q3bzpTgVEseGavoq6vWhvEtpikDAt_lxqy/s628/1157714_10100269934163600_1541197981_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="554" data-original-width="628" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKq7bG_Yck0O9unq2i3slbRIR7HThywo7UH1gRO_qaLZPbO3qzpvc9MHi-FUtR1w3n1p12PbLuq-U1JmEWxVANaNFQRfJksTgxEAFNqPiLh9NzTrFXCTTsI5kUlgapYUYuStLvBaxdgxPJIfBc0JPd4MUe3-q3bzpTgVEseGavoq6vWhvEtpikDAt_lxqy/w200-h176/1157714_10100269934163600_1541197981_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Stacy Buevich is a British writer and a film director with many award winning short films. She started writing novels during lockdown (wait did that really happen?), beginning with a magical mystery Maya Fairy, that she wrote for her daughter. Since then she has written several more and not planning to stop</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.stacywritesbooks.com/">https://www.stacywritesbooks.com/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0BN5WHQRZ/about">https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0BN5WHQRZ/about</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/201587543-clearlake">https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/201587543-clearlake</a></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXlcIG_7w3MXiifrjrwNWzMQzGnrod-VwyXGdjYDX1-kRUJjiWIXAFVfYMKak1GOhE9QCbzM36lLSOJalP6MBTIgnWRMKZcwYU2CXDfUF3NWgCoV4owJTvmo6SfMwrynrOxs_YykXq3w05QZ0ypgysCNiW_YU0ueAfKxLhSyUJsxqLQK_zLw98SvEhQthd/s1080/Clearlake%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXlcIG_7w3MXiifrjrwNWzMQzGnrod-VwyXGdjYDX1-kRUJjiWIXAFVfYMKak1GOhE9QCbzM36lLSOJalP6MBTIgnWRMKZcwYU2CXDfUF3NWgCoV4owJTvmo6SfMwrynrOxs_YykXq3w05QZ0ypgysCNiW_YU0ueAfKxLhSyUJsxqLQK_zLw98SvEhQthd/s320/Clearlake%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><b>Book Trailer:</b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://youtu.be/VQxsysbOnPA?si=7iX3EWXdG13LHrdz"><b>https://youtu.be/VQxsysbOnPA?si=7iX3EWXdG13LHrdz</b></a></p></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/VQxsysbOnPA?si=eUABU8QADCYouo_p" title="YouTube video player" width="450"></iframe></div>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-49436884249626382592024-01-24T03:30:00.001-05:002024-01-24T03:30:00.135-05:00“Huzza!” Toasting a New Nation, 1760-1815 by Timothy Symington #History #RevolutionaryWar #AmericanRevolution<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQw5PaPLZ1mqcvcTCmzx5tGd4qRk1-bhpJ2iUZ8Xt2O0BHAWWsHLHEHyc7V6o83EJgx7AsoLQmcNkuvmBYse6LbsoDjZn594o4pkxKP1VorRXLpM9zuBJEZUF9B0D_SQpdN3yvDjQxOioS2aDDeUbDhzQWWUXXb7wH9TC16D1eR7HYAQfIcFCcIwN7kzfl/s820/Huzza%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQw5PaPLZ1mqcvcTCmzx5tGd4qRk1-bhpJ2iUZ8Xt2O0BHAWWsHLHEHyc7V6o83EJgx7AsoLQmcNkuvmBYse6LbsoDjZn594o4pkxKP1VorRXLpM9zuBJEZUF9B0D_SQpdN3yvDjQxOioS2aDDeUbDhzQWWUXXb7wH9TC16D1eR7HYAQfIcFCcIwN7kzfl/w400-h153/Huzza%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><div><br /><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSbZ6gvMbBdt5B8VTFGE8g87Jf6gk7vn_me0_OMZDymSUUMPCy5gMvwyII85j9NFs4HXibwGerr4y1bPfZ8zm-YJwRAz6HB85AThNQQa2faSgMvtYHmRiL15n7RipqckWwqXRgumFXErYiUlLOBfVqO0AxvxsoNKQHDrMUgKm6mxfV414DBCHv-LhGls5K/s2700/Symington_978-1-4766-9315-6%20Cover.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSbZ6gvMbBdt5B8VTFGE8g87Jf6gk7vn_me0_OMZDymSUUMPCy5gMvwyII85j9NFs4HXibwGerr4y1bPfZ8zm-YJwRAz6HB85AThNQQa2faSgMvtYHmRiL15n7RipqckWwqXRgumFXErYiUlLOBfVqO0AxvxsoNKQHDrMUgKm6mxfV414DBCHv-LhGls5K/s320/Symington_978-1-4766-9315-6%20Cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>“Huzza!” Toasting a New Nation, 1760-1815</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Timothy Symington</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Nonfiction/History</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: McFarland Books</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: September 29, 2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 978-1-4766-9315-6 Print</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 978-1-4766-5056-2 ebook</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: BOCK62JP5L</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 273</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 125,000. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Drinking toasts to the American Revolution and beyond!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">During the early years of the United States, toasts captured popular sentiments regarding people and events. Sometimes they were used to spread national ideology and partisan political views. They could even be “weaponized” against political opponents, such as during the bitter election between John Adams and Thomas Jefferson in 1800. “Huzza!” Toasting a New Nation, 1760-1815 is a retelling of the familiar historical narrative, but toasts are used to tell the story of the events and people between the American Revolution and the War of 1812.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><a href="https://amzn.to/48lxI9G">Amazon</a> <a href="https://mcfarlandbooks.com/product/huzza/">Mcfarland Books</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b></b></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Excerpt:</b><br />
Israel Putnam of Connecticut, who led the rebels at Bunker
Hill in June, was one of the first to be singled out for honors when the war
began. The Connecticut Gazette printed toasts from a July 25 dinner in London
attended by the Freeholders of Middlesex. General Putnam was toasted “and all
those American Heroes, who, like men, nobly prefer death to slavery and
chains.” Sons of Liberty leader Dr. Joseph Warren, who was killed on the
battlefield, received the following toast from the Field Officers of the Sixth
Brigade in Cambridge: “Immortal Honor to that Patriot and Hero Doctor Joseph
Warren, and the Brave American troops, who fought the Battle of Charlestown on
the 17th of June 1775.” This list of toasts, appearing in the August 21, 1775,
issue of the Boston Gazette, or Country Journal started with a toast to the
Continental Congress instead of to the British monarch. The officers raised
their glasses instead to all the colonies, the Stamp Act riots, Lexington and
Concord, and an end to the “present unhappy Disputes.” Dr. Warren would be a
consistently toasted figure into the early 1800s. <br />
George Washington replaced George III as the main recipient
of toasts, becoming the most toasted individual in the new nation. The King was
now the enemy. Even English supporters of colonial rights, such as John Wilkes
and Edmund Burke, were replaced by American military heroes. English support
for the rights of the colonists, however, had not disappeared. The Virginia
Gazette printed toasts the London Association made in October 1775. Association
members wished for “axes and halters, at public expence, to all those who
attempt to trample on the liberties of their fellow subjects, either in Great
Britain or America,” and that “kings remember that they were made for their
subjects, and not their subjects for them.” <br />
The former British corset-maker Thomas Paine brilliantly
explained why the colonists should no longer rely on the King to protect their
liberties. His pamphlet, Common Sense, demanded that Americans free themselves
of Britain’s control. Paine wrote that “One of the strongest natural proofs of
the folly of hereditary right in Kings, is that nature disapproves it, otherwise
she would not so frequently turn it into ridicule, by giving mankind an Ass for
a Lion.” His words reached everyone in the colonies, and so he and his work
were toasted: “May the INDEPENDENT principles of COMMON SENSE be confirmed
throughout the United Colonies.” <br />
Most colonies had already taken Paine’s advice to heart and
declared themselves to be independent states. Members of the Virginia
convention calling for a resolution for national independence gave toasts in
May: “The American independent states” and “The Grand Congress of the United
States, and their respected legislatures.” Washington attended a feast at the
Queen’s Head Tavern in New York City, where toasts were given to the
Continental Congress and the American army, and to the memory of General
Richard Montgomery, killed in the disastrous invasion of Quebec in December
1775. The final toast was “to ‘Civil and religious liberty to all
mankind’—mankind, that is, except Tories.” Tories, the conservative supporters
of the Crown, received extra abuse in the Patriots’ toasts: “Sore Eyes to all
Tories, and a Chestnut Burr for an Eye Stone.”</span></blockquote><br />
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<!--[endif]--><b style="font-family: georgia;"><o:p></o:p></b><p></p></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlz5SpTq2Q__lTiFTMzymDfuaGEkcikJMdoO8lFLoDnP06e2n35vrq-2W6Liby_fjhr0vp5i5GYEOMyhfqHnCykfH1Z4yiAGp0DlNWgu-TMbnc2A_8SMVRTY73Fka1hjhpoXeVL4L3MC7t9b2CAhfZVGSKL8dMhfNf7baiPkvE5OKld_jKTiCnRMhV72zW/s2370/IMG_0139.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2370" data-original-width="2113" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlz5SpTq2Q__lTiFTMzymDfuaGEkcikJMdoO8lFLoDnP06e2n35vrq-2W6Liby_fjhr0vp5i5GYEOMyhfqHnCykfH1Z4yiAGp0DlNWgu-TMbnc2A_8SMVRTY73Fka1hjhpoXeVL4L3MC7t9b2CAhfZVGSKL8dMhfNf7baiPkvE5OKld_jKTiCnRMhV72zW/w178-h200/IMG_0139.jpg" width="178" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Timothy Symington received his Bachelor of Arts degree in History from Saint Anselm College and his Master of Arts degree in American History from Adams State University. A former educator, he now contributes to the Journal of the American Revolution. “Huzza!” Toasting a New Nation, 1760-1815 is his first book.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/ToastFab4">https://twitter.com/ToastFab4</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/tim.symington/">https://www.instagram.com/tim.symington/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">YouTube: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@Toastmaster-yu9eq">https://www.youtube.com/@Toastmaster-yu9eq</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1iKE5bz-QmzcIn_dZF9bu1Ll61J5ybPB96eIshXGzrRVFYh5iw666ufm_FnDGJcUii_mOd93Lc79iM0rIaeB4RRC16J96AyuCvOOthb3Vm_YSuTmHwFN6iJB7O_fvkki7kk13mrdthIRje46dz7AaB3GXtwHBg6tg_QJTMjaq6x1oPGq4jMw6Jve0dy0V/s1080/Huzza%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1iKE5bz-QmzcIn_dZF9bu1Ll61J5ybPB96eIshXGzrRVFYh5iw666ufm_FnDGJcUii_mOd93Lc79iM0rIaeB4RRC16J96AyuCvOOthb3Vm_YSuTmHwFN6iJB7O_fvkki7kk13mrdthIRje46dz7AaB3GXtwHBg6tg_QJTMjaq6x1oPGq4jMw6Jve0dy0V/s320/Huzza%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-17938952110006840392024-01-15T01:30:00.007-05:002024-01-15T01:30:00.132-05:00Character Confessions- Walk-Ins Welcome by Sue C Dugan<div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwL7LYy_EYPDc7flLPTmONZda_yRYzbGaLou2qKBpp_L8EuCCPfq4J7u3yjCfjCibWOZ1OJ4nyhgVhOHjoJoHr7o8fHmvqN8UBwso7yQkqa-DkLLHwrLeI5phFUM9UVfrM3HCUbxPcpf2vMVIC7Q3omJ8DJQ_B7Qjf3iriUOv8HWZkO43Y8DYzbwWDXBC5/s820/Walk%20Ins%20Welcome%20%20%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwL7LYy_EYPDc7flLPTmONZda_yRYzbGaLou2qKBpp_L8EuCCPfq4J7u3yjCfjCibWOZ1OJ4nyhgVhOHjoJoHr7o8fHmvqN8UBwso7yQkqa-DkLLHwrLeI5phFUM9UVfrM3HCUbxPcpf2vMVIC7Q3omJ8DJQ_B7Qjf3iriUOv8HWZkO43Y8DYzbwWDXBC5/w400-h153/Walk%20Ins%20Welcome%20%20%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b>Character Confessions about the Author, Sue C Dugan </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Yo there, this is HB Comstock, and I'm about to spill the beans on author Sue Dugan. Now, I didn't like her when I was 'before HB'. You ask what that means, well I'll tell you. (It's not like I got a head transplant or anything—that's another book she wrote—SUPPRESSED). Sue Dugan used to be a high school principal. The ‘before HB’ hated the principal. I was into more creative, mind-enhancing experiences like doing drugs and cutting school. Nope, she and I wouldn't have worked. But that was the 'before HB'. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I changed when a dude named Robert Larkin's soul took over my sorry-ass body after an accident. In one instance, I went from being in trouble to having the soul of a doctor. Do you know how difficult that is? I suddenly liked author Sue Dugan. She told my story about how I reconnected with my wife, Alison Larkin. Sue told our love story, and I appreciated her doing that. I guess I admire her for writing about weird things. She's sort of like the principal in her first book, A SLOW CLIMB UP THE MOUNTAIN. That principal was a pain in the ass too at first, but she wasn't so bad by the end and that's what I think of Sue—not too shabby!” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq67lQIqms2XvdW3hRRXqgG-Fv0Q39iZKsJYMM2kykQhXHpUh4UtMvj0tnlB85JsvmyFNfuOUkKAPCB8ObVR77fctWS35AC5f_UfSHA_-oVPMBEzSvVDhGCyPrMAXUzMOM1Y6LaO-BALhF7usi6jQhtwgCxICFk8HG4tn89mvmlsy170z8fTzAwGEuocjn/s322/JPEG%20image.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="322" data-original-width="206" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq67lQIqms2XvdW3hRRXqgG-Fv0Q39iZKsJYMM2kykQhXHpUh4UtMvj0tnlB85JsvmyFNfuOUkKAPCB8ObVR77fctWS35AC5f_UfSHA_-oVPMBEzSvVDhGCyPrMAXUzMOM1Y6LaO-BALhF7usi6jQhtwgCxICFk8HG4tn89mvmlsy170z8fTzAwGEuocjn/s320/JPEG%20image.jpeg" width="205" /></a></div>Walk-Ins Welcome</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Sue C Dugan</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Paranormal Romance</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: The Wild Rose Press</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: May 24, 2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN:978-1-5092-4908-4</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages:336</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 73,299</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Kim Mendoza</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: True love repeats itself in unexpected ways</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Adult education teacher, Alison Larkin has a second chance at love after her husband is killed in a car accident. Her new love interest comes in the form of a 20-year old student called HB, whose reputation as a bad boy and poor student has everyone questioning her attraction to him. Alison finds him to be nothing like his reputation as a drug-dealer and trouble maker. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Although HB has few high school credits to his name, he is flying through the coursework in adult education. Alison learns she and HB share a memory of a dramatic rescue at a local amusement park. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">HB has a secret he has yet to discover, but when he does, he must convince Alison to give him another chance at love.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://amzn.to/4173ghd"><b>Amazon</b></a><b> </b><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/Sue%20c%20dugan"><b>BN</b></a><b> </b><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/122796175"><b>Goodreads</b></a></span></div></div><div><span><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b></b></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Excerpt </b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She put the flowers
on the coffee table and moved her hand toward the sofa. He sat, and she did
too. “Didn’t you have something you want to talk to me about?”<br />
Momentarily, he couldn’t remember what it was.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Did you forget?” She
gave him an encouraging smile. “So much has happened. It seems like ages ago.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Then it came rushing
back to him—Dr. Sims—the things he remembered and the yearbook pictures. He sat
with his hands clasped and his head down, thinking. Was now the time to tell
her? He jerked his head up. “I’m not sure this is a good time to tell you what
I know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She frowned. “That
sounds serious.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“It is and a bit
weird too.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She leaned forward
and clasped her hands together. “Why don’t you tell me, and I’ll decide how
serious it is.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">HB shifted on the
couch, trying to find a comfortable position. Finding none, he straightened and
looked at her. “You know I felt like a different person when I came out of my
coma?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Alison nodded but
remained quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“And I wrote about
the rescue at Cedar Springs?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She remained stock
still.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I started adding one
plus one, and I came up with something bizarre out there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Clearing her throat,
Alison finally said, “You’re scaring me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He noisily let out
his breath. “I’ve been seeing a counselor, and he told me about one of his
patients, Ashton.” HB paused and rearranged his thoughts. “I talked to Ashton,
who told me he had tried to kill himself but failed.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Oh, no!” Alison
cried. “Please don’t tell me you want to kill yourself!” She leaned forward and
tried to grasp his hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“No, I want to live
again!” He let her touch his fingers before pulling back. Although
contemplating suicide might be easier than telling Alison he was her dead
husband—Robert.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Anyway,” HB
swallowed, “Ashton told me about soul walk-ins.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What did you say?”
Alison asked, alarm creasing her brow. “Wait!” She jumped up and hurried down
the hallway while he waited. He moved his forefinger over his thumb, wondering
what would make her leave like that.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She returned with a
small book, sat, and clutched it to her chest as if protecting it. Then,
slowly, she eased the book onto her lap and opened it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He murmured the
title. “Communicating with the Dead… So you believe in that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I don’t know what I
believe. But this book mentions walk-in souls and—”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I think I have
Robert’s soul in my body,” he exclaimed before he could change his mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">HB didn’t mean to
interrupt her, but it just happened. He couldn’t help it. He watched as<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Alison’s eyes rolled
back, and she slumped over.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: times;">“Alison?” He patted her hand and then her cheeks until
her eyes fluttered open. <br />
“How…” She looked confused. “Why?
What?” She fell back on the couch. “I don’t believe it,” she said with a shake
of her head, and her features turned stony. “I think you should leave.”<br />
“What?” HB cried. “No! No. I’m
sorry!” Tears immediately filled his eyes. “I knew it was a bad time.” <br />
“What a cruel and mean joke to play
on me after what I’ve gone through!” Her eyes flashed with anger, something he
couldn’t pinpoint.<br />
“I’ll let myself out.” He jumped up.
He’d blown it with Alison, and she didn’t want to believe him. And he might not
have a chance to convince her.</span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span><br />
<br /></p></span></div><div><span><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">About the Author </span></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sue writes five-star LitPick novels that keep readers of all ages turning pages long into the night. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, attending author events, or walking her dogs. She’s has two children and five grandchildren. Snack wise, Sue is a salty-type gal, but wouldn’t say no to an occasional chocolate kiss or two! She isn’t sure she’s a reincarnated novelist, but if she was, she’d want to be Jane Austen, Mary Shelley, or Emily Brontë. When her novels are run through author comparison sites, she gets Anne Rice through Mark Twain—quite a wide spread which makes for interesting reading (Tom Sawyer was a Vampire?). </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/dugan_sue/ " rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://twitter.com/dugan_sue/ </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website: <a href="https://www.duganthewriteway.com/">https://www.duganthewriteway.com/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/suecdugan">https://www.facebook.com/suecdugan</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">LinkedIn: <a href="http://linkedin.com/in/sue-dugan-b59253123">http://linkedin.com/in/sue-dugan-b59253123</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram: <a href="ttps://www.instagram.com/scduganauthor/ " rel="nofollow">https://www.instagram.com/scduganauthor/ </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">TikTok: <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@user5606276508505 " rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.tiktok.com/@user5606276508505 </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRShxDwBtS7kHq6flfWUO96MWmvBVGIquzlUONroDnJCVmu4VyYiZ6mD_tvl9MIO4PqDuUlNVsf2yS5qsp4dmh4dmEs0yfvmBviPP2-_2vFkH2TSs30-Rx4t9Fof2MoGA9C5l86K1AW_E2A8pH6Quj8RwkjYduNQA7U5VT0i_8ZDNlDDy1f2bXIa3bUXU/s1080/Walk%20Ins%20Welcome%20%20%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRShxDwBtS7kHq6flfWUO96MWmvBVGIquzlUONroDnJCVmu4VyYiZ6mD_tvl9MIO4PqDuUlNVsf2yS5qsp4dmh4dmEs0yfvmBviPP2-_2vFkH2TSs30-Rx4t9Fof2MoGA9C5l86K1AW_E2A8pH6Quj8RwkjYduNQA7U5VT0i_8ZDNlDDy1f2bXIa3bUXU/s320/Walk%20Ins%20Welcome%20%20%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2213" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2213/" id="rcwidget_ssj1mjjd" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
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Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-53531347520499577192024-01-08T06:00:00.005-05:002024-01-08T06:00:00.145-05:00Her Name Was Lola by Karen Janowsky<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5BpF41mErENhHv53NZ7heIPV8HdtWcnv-2Kt7IC9FdM9W5mFx9jBKc0SUsFAeXNNTnmR-yPvdDVZPTLr7MK83PBCQ06soumDHHU94GLPRMVa_clx9nWTOc_UwpnM8pLPlcwulCFPHFY-SlQCTy5jBMKc87PoGTW8kgv6k9jXiRsmmxAp738pzjwU8gpRJ/s820/Lola%20%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5BpF41mErENhHv53NZ7heIPV8HdtWcnv-2Kt7IC9FdM9W5mFx9jBKc0SUsFAeXNNTnmR-yPvdDVZPTLr7MK83PBCQ06soumDHHU94GLPRMVa_clx9nWTOc_UwpnM8pLPlcwulCFPHFY-SlQCTy5jBMKc87PoGTW8kgv6k9jXiRsmmxAp738pzjwU8gpRJ/w400-h153/Lola%20%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">Eight Ways to prepare for your date with a
superhero:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Every so often, a regular guy with a nine-to-five job will find himself
foolishly reading a summoning aloud, licked by a radioactive puppy, find a
magic Stetson hat and try it on, and wind up...different. As Peter Parker says,
with great power comes great responsibility, and their lives are changed
forever as they take on the challenge of saving the world. But, superheroes
also just want someone to love, like the rest of us. Comics don’t have Happily
Ever After’s, but that doesn’t mean your superguy doesn’t long for one. If you
make a connection and want to get to know each other more personally, there are
some precautions and considerations you need to take into account to make the
date go as smoothly as possible.</span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>1.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><i>Agreeing to the date:</i>
Whether he asks you out or you him, grab some recent copies of his comic books.
Get an idea of what he’s into so you have a few conversation starters. He’s
probably bored of reciting his heroic feats, anyway. But, if you read a few
issues of his latest comic and find out he loves bedazzling everything in his
off-time, and you share that hobby, it’s a win! Get him to talk about himself.
Just in case though, find out the best ways to interrupt him and get out if he
veers into a monologue. It’s usually bad guys who monologue. You could be with
a villain in disguise<b>.</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;">2.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><i>Choose Your Outfit Wisely.</i> Sure, you want to find that balance between hot and cute. But, choose
clothing with strong fiber (no gauze or fishnet!) when possible. Superheroes
are strong. If he tugs your sleeve to get your attention, you’ll end up with a potentially
embarrassing wardrobe malfunction. If he seems to have dated other heroines in
the past, decide whether you’re cool with wearing leather and spandex, and
whether you can pull off the look. Play to your strengths.</span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;">3.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->If you’re planning to try
and coax him back home with you, wear underwear that you don’t mind getting
torn off you, burned by laser beams, frozen until they crack away from you, vanish
into thin air, or vaporize. But try to keep it pretty/sexy/cute (whatever
you’re comfortable with, except for the slightly overstretched ones you wear
under your clothes while doing yard work).</span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;">4.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><i>Insist on using a car to get wherever you’re going</i>. Flying or running at the speed of light will
ruin whatever you’ve done with your hair and makeup and cause a
next-level-from-cataclysmic wardrobe malfunction. No limos or Batmobiles to
draw attention when you want to make this an intimate event. More importantly, see
advice #7. You don’t want to be left stranded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">On the other hand, if he offers to take you for a slow, romantic flight
as you take a moonlit stroll, accept. D’uh.</span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;">5.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><i>Order dessert</i>. Take a look at this
guy’s caloric intake. Seriously, he’s not judging you.</span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;">6.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><i>Be prepared and bring a credit card and phone.</i> He’s a do-gooder. If he senses something
happen, like a fender bender or mugging across the street, or sirens go by, or
he sees his arch-nemesis, who’s on a romantic date with his evil girlfriend, he’s
gonna be off, saving the evening before the check comes. You may end up stuck
with the bill and having to pay for a Lyft (see #4). Try not to take it
personally. With luck, he’ll come back, or at least apologize.</span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;">7.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><i>Coming home</i>: You’re probably going
to have to make the suggestion to go back to your place, as well as make the
first move. Nice guy superheroes, at least, will be worried about taking
advantage. Tell him what you want. Once you’re inside, let him know whether you
want your clothes/lingerie lasered off, frozen off, melted off, blasted off,
crumbled into small rocks, etc. He’ll appreciate your forthcomingness.</span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;">8.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><i>After that</i>: No clue here. Is there
such thing as superhero-strength condoms? Is superhero sperm faster than the
speed of light, more powerful than the strongest birth control available, and
able to leap IUDs in a single bound? Ask him about it. He’s a good guy. He’ll
be careful.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Most of all, have fun, you crazy kids!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></b></p></div><div><br /><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBw2cpm47DmTThKXi1PYSnXXFYGsOhEYtHPUARehcUbYq-2A5l_sllYETYWT4oF_RK9FUGakA1y72Il3kxNn8yRlVRc5wIHv-RquVcH7QuFWOZDzEmExsqrQkYgrCl1luSYxqk7g_8F2iww9nE0kwcmI8dczHTIvJD35HK99HdPeCHxwuTyXid2OukbZSE/s900/HERNAMEWASLOLA.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBw2cpm47DmTThKXi1PYSnXXFYGsOhEYtHPUARehcUbYq-2A5l_sllYETYWT4oF_RK9FUGakA1y72Il3kxNn8yRlVRc5wIHv-RquVcH7QuFWOZDzEmExsqrQkYgrCl1luSYxqk7g_8F2iww9nE0kwcmI8dczHTIvJD35HK99HdPeCHxwuTyXid2OukbZSE/s320/HERNAMEWASLOLA.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Her Name Was Lola</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Karen Janowsky</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Contemporary Romance</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: eXtasy Books</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: 12/22/23</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 978-1-4874-4027-5</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 300 </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 8,859</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Martine Jardin</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Sometimes you have to lose your heart to gain your dream.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Lover of fairy tales Lola Nelsson learned at an early age that darker truths lay behind their bright facades. At twenty-two, she still hopes for her fairy tale to come true before she graduates college. But she hasn’t met her prince yet and she doesn’t know how to navigate the real world. Then a handsome man at a conference catches her eye. She’s sure he’s out of her league, but tries to get his attention anyway. And she’s successful… until she isn’t.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Only one thing matters to Professor Vance Anderson—gaining tenure. Known as Dr. Casanova on campus, he’s a true love ‘em and leave ’em kind of guy. For now though, he’s sworn off the distraction of women. When he spots a beauty of a different sort at a conference, he can’t stop thinking about her. But when she accepts his invitation to his room, his insecurities kick in. Everything goes well… until it doesn’t.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">The night ends disastrously, and it’s all over. Until Lola and Vance wind up in a working relationship, making it impossible to avoid one another. The situation can only end in one of two ways. They’ll either end up madly in love or they’ll want to kill each other. Before they can discover their real feelings, they need to learn to trust themselves. Only time will tell if their fairy tale is sweet or dark.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3v7sccE">Amazon</a> <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/books/her-name-was-lola-by-karen-janowsky">Google
Books </a> <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/books/her-name-was-lola-by-karen-janowsky">Bookbub</a> <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/203868179-her-name-was-lola">Goodreads</a> </span></b></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">
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<!--[endif]--></span></b></span></div><div><span><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b><span style="font-family: times;"></span></b></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b><span style="font-family: times;">Excerpt:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">From behind Lola, a pleasant, male alto
voice said, “Hi, I’m Vance.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She turned around and found her
five-foot-four self face-to-solid-chest with GQ. Taking a step backward and
sure she’d turned pale, she looked up at him. The peeling name badge on his
lapel said, M. Vance, but his last name was hidden by a shadow. “Oh, hi. I’m
Lola.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Vance held a shot glass in each hand.
He was smiling, lips pulled back a little too much, as if he was unsure of
himself. “Your friend told me I was being very obvious about staring at you and
to go introduce myself. She said to give you this.” He handed her a whiskey. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">His eyes were the color of freshly mown
grass with silver flecks of dew at sunrise. When they locked on hers, her hands
began to sweat, making the glass slip through her palm when she took it from
him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She grabbed it with the other hand at
the last second. “Oh. Okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He clinked his glass against hers,
downed the shot, then smiled at her again. His upper lip had a minutely askew
cherub’s bow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Knocking hers back as well, Lola did
her best not to react to the five-alarm fire scorching through her esophagus.
She was reasonably sure smoke was about to billow from her nose and ears. Then
that warm, melty feeling crept in.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Okay, Naomi. Here goes. “To be honest,
I was watching you too.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Were you now?” He arched his eyebrows.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Silently thanking Naomi, Lola asked,
“So, are you a visiting speaker?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I’m attending. I teach at Jewett
College. You?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I’m at Jewett also. Library science
department.” Hopefully he wouldn’t ask what she did there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She’d tell him the rest later…if they
hit it off.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">His fingers lingered over hers as he
took the drink glass from her hand. “Another?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">One was her usual limit, and balancing
on heels after two was inadvisable. “Yes, please.” She let him guide her
through the crowd surrounding the bar. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He offered her an empty barstool and
stood next to it as he waved at the bartender. “How long have you been at the
college? I don’t recognize you.” He lowered his eyes and raised them to her
again, offering an uncertain smile as he smoothed his hand over his thigh.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Looking down, she noticed her
topped-off glass. “I’m going into my fourth year.” Lola swirled her fresh drink
and watched the amber liquid make slow, wavy circles. She saw a chip in her
pale pink nail polish and fought the urge to tuck it into her palm. “What about
you? Where do you work?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“In the English Department.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">GQ—or probably Dr. GQ—Vance—shivered a
little when he slid his hand toward hers until their fingertips were
millimeters apart. A tiny static spark jumped between them and they both
chuckled. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Lola drank half of the shot. “What do
you teach?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Comparative and European literature.
My specialty is fairy tales.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I’ve been obsessed with fairy
tales—the real ones, not the kids’ ones—for as long as I can remember.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Vance leaned against the bar. “Same.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">A new song began, and they listened as
he played with his tie for a few moments. “After watching you in action, I’m
not sure I can keep up, but feel like a dance?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Lola blinked then nodded. The rest of
the room bobbed slightly with her head. She slid off the stool, and he rested
his hand on the small of her back as they wound through the crowd. Heat
radiated through the thin fabric of her dress.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He took her hand in his. They were
about five paces from the dance floor when a man caught her shoulder, causing
her and Vance to stumble backward. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You’re not gonna pass by without a
hello, are you?” The tall, thin man had brown roots and blond tips. His hand was
sweaty and his words slurred.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Vance looked at her. “Do you know him?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Sobering, she shook her head, grateful that
the world didn’t move with it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The man sidled closer and squeezed her
shoulder more tightly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Letting go of her hand, Vance took a
step toward him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Lola tugged her shoulder away and
pulled a hair stick from her updo. Stepping closer, she waved the tapered end
at the stranger. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He gasped and stepped backward, letting
go of her shoulder. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Leave me alone.” She kept her voice as
quiet and stern as she could. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The man muttered, “Slut,” as he
retreated.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Lola replaced the stick through what
was left of her updo.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Vance licked along his teeth. “You’re already
full of surprises.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The night’s cool dampness draped around
the crowded dance floor, covering them like an airy shawl as they found their
way to an open space. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Remind me never, ever to upset you.”
He spread his fingers over her mid-back and held her hand to his chest. His
heart beat against her palm as he held it there, his hand cool and dry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">They looked at each other and smiled.
He said “ever.” As in future tense. As in "long term." I should
probably let him know I’m a student now. That could wait a few minutes more. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She inhaled a mix of tangerines,
leather, and something else—ginger, maybe—that she could almost taste as his
scent hovered between them. She moved closer, and their hips touched.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">There was an unmistakable twitch
against her. She was sure it was a trick of the lights that made him appear to
blush.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">This might happen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He took a half-step back, face pink
against the white lights that outlined him. She imagined using her finger
as a silver gel pen around his jaw, under his cheekbones, and across his
forehead, illuminating his face. He brought his hand farther down her back.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She raised her voice over the music.
“So, what’s your favorite fairy tale?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He lowered his head closer to hers.
Their mouths were centimeters from each other. “What?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She asked again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He said something.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She tilted her head up. “Didn’t catch
that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Chuckling, he leaned in until his mouth
was close to her ear. Cupping it, he repeated,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“It’s hard to talk here. Do you want to
go somewhere quieter?” The whiskey on his breath had mellowed to spiced
caramel, and his voice melted through her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The imaginary talking mice scampering
under her skin morphed into butterflies. “Okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Holding her hand, Vance led her into
the lobby. Her heart thumped like a scared rabbit’s as he threaded his fingers
between hers. She glanced toward the quieter, emptier bar, but he kept going
straight toward the elevator bank.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Grimm, Andersen, or Perrault?” Vance
winked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Lola bit her lip and released it. “Why do
you ask?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Vance seemed to stare at her mouth.
Narrowing his eyes, he stopped and gave her a closed-mouthed smile. “Good to
know whether you’re into physical pain, mental torture, or happy endings.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What?” Lola froze as her jaw dropped.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Vance tilted his head back and laughed.
“I’m kidding.” He headed toward the elevators again, but Lola couldn’t move. He
stumbled back. “I’m harmless. I promise.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She glanced around the vast lobby, checking
for security officers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I didn’t mean to upset or scare you.”
Leaning in, he lifted the back of her hand to his lips, then smiled that same
smile that had dissolved her into a puddle the first time she’d laid eyes on
him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“All right.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He led her into an empty elevator.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">This is happening.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Inside, he let go of her hand and took
a step back. “Is it okay to go up to my room? I should’ve asked first.” He gave
that earlier, uncertain smile, revealing a tiny dimple in his right cheek and
lighter green bands surrounding his irises.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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</w:wrap></span></v:imagedata></v:shape><span style="font-family: times;">“That sounds perfect, Vance.” Lola’s mouth and
throat went dry as he hit the button for the eleventh floor. For the first time
in her life, she was going to say, “Yes.”<br />
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<!--[endif]--></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb26tpHAhN2gobPcqbuHdzw05WB4eUa4DXfu9u6I33y1h3pycu4m0FqYVUMAoKnHf11-PW7Jq2EPF4ieXfEmvrqzvudQu0OmQW3oOQOC2scHQdVfkl0b6USwOUYT1hOej6ltKR6UyDdM_zbGXVysgT1yD3n9Q8E_hrqAldOcRavCLZFXkE223KAmGalUGO/s900/Headshot%20Karen%202%20reduced%20size.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb26tpHAhN2gobPcqbuHdzw05WB4eUa4DXfu9u6I33y1h3pycu4m0FqYVUMAoKnHf11-PW7Jq2EPF4ieXfEmvrqzvudQu0OmQW3oOQOC2scHQdVfkl0b6USwOUYT1hOej6ltKR6UyDdM_zbGXVysgT1yD3n9Q8E_hrqAldOcRavCLZFXkE223KAmGalUGO/w133-h200/Headshot%20Karen%202%20reduced%20size.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Karen wanted to be an author and/or Wonder Woman when she grew up. One of those jobs was already taken, though. She lives with her husband, son, and six cats in Maryland, where she works as an English professor. Karen received her MA in literature and creative writing from Florida State University. When she isn't writing, she can often be found sitting at a friend's dining room table drinking wine and playing RPGs, hanging out at the local Indian restaurant with her bestie, or curled up in bed with a few cats, listening to the rain and either reading a book or watching a BBC mystery.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website and blog: <a href="https://karenjanowsky.com">https://karenjanowsky.com</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Newsletter Signup: <a href="https://subscribepage.io/GhxCTK">https://subscribepage.io/GhxCTK</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B07QTB7FHS">https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B07QTB7FHS</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bookbub: <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/karen-janowsky">https://www.bookbub.com/authors/karen-janowsky</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/authorkarenjanowsky/">https://www.instagram.com/authorkarenjanowsky/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100063337293596">https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100063337293596</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17253893.Karen_Janowsky">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17253893.Karen_Janowsky</a></span></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3pTiOR8Fzqs9dlV-Z1wYgB_dJhFfQ1O0x-BVol-7yHghQoxYtkYvohsnZEbSFn2GqUIm9wbBtFg8M8L0bew4pERd7HwCF1mXT3M_kB_XcCXyPij5tVBQzHQBjXXqqnBfWK7dAfK7HJn2crCFj8PPqaf-Jmfe-nMjGMTdXaiA333o1IKbwGuizv9lkrkfO/s1080/Lola%20%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3pTiOR8Fzqs9dlV-Z1wYgB_dJhFfQ1O0x-BVol-7yHghQoxYtkYvohsnZEbSFn2GqUIm9wbBtFg8M8L0bew4pERd7HwCF1mXT3M_kB_XcCXyPij5tVBQzHQBjXXqqnBfWK7dAfK7HJn2crCFj8PPqaf-Jmfe-nMjGMTdXaiA333o1IKbwGuizv9lkrkfO/s320/Lola%20%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2214" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2214/" id="rcwidget_88lvsifc" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-3832536630323437502023-12-20T06:00:00.001-05:002023-12-20T06:00:00.132-05:00The Bridge to Magic by Alex Thornbury - Deck the Halls with Books Holiday Extravaganza <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-aRjTcQD4VMj6MHtQNzFxHoZzQt07B2ZVL34cPXiErl64w6lhKE-ayM8jHusmU1yhY9cAAJVz9mnzjFGr_w4EQzsgCOIeAc94SRRJ7kui0oivpTUx4OR1fsSAASVEkps-MZmuTRpcB491U-eRQ6bbuAvW4NqJ4p_ZnJpnoxqhfU8KuT7FLIPp8qSmZhA/s820/The%20Bridge%20to%20Magic%20Deck%20the%20Halls%20Banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-aRjTcQD4VMj6MHtQNzFxHoZzQt07B2ZVL34cPXiErl64w6lhKE-ayM8jHusmU1yhY9cAAJVz9mnzjFGr_w4EQzsgCOIeAc94SRRJ7kui0oivpTUx4OR1fsSAASVEkps-MZmuTRpcB491U-eRQ6bbuAvW4NqJ4p_ZnJpnoxqhfU8KuT7FLIPp8qSmZhA/w400-h153/The%20Bridge%20to%20Magic%20Deck%20the%20Halls%20Banner.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg419J9wa8Tzp2DozbqHvnrtpq_fWUJrZPLUa-bLX3WjwArMFx-wUsgI1fcbw9f5nK-aVJLxiqGuVJhxs7pEfziZ1v26zJ4OFUBQbu9l-wd9oudseIJ48PRGMuI9H6rdo5-zH1NUSvpVQTzAsiQfD0GePpTwP3LAEGIKs2EFTav4jdHaqO17f7OMQ/s2480/Holiday%20Flash%20Fiction.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="2480" height="84" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg419J9wa8Tzp2DozbqHvnrtpq_fWUJrZPLUa-bLX3WjwArMFx-wUsgI1fcbw9f5nK-aVJLxiqGuVJhxs7pEfziZ1v26zJ4OFUBQbu9l-wd9oudseIJ48PRGMuI9H6rdo5-zH1NUSvpVQTzAsiQfD0GePpTwP3LAEGIKs2EFTav4jdHaqO17f7OMQ/w400-h84/Holiday%20Flash%20Fiction.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span><h1 style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: windowtext;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: small;"></span></span></b></h1><blockquote><h1 style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: windowtext;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: small;">The Frost of Winter Solstice – by Alex Thornbury</span></span></b></h1>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Our village was the last to
stand against the invasion of the godly folk from the southern kingdoms. With
their strange magic of the cross and prayer, they had pushed back the Spirit’s
Veil to our border and cleansed the lands of beings that visited humanity
through ages past. And it fell to our warriors to hold back the godly folk from
destroying the last of that which was sacred. The Veil was the only way our
long-dead ancestors could return and bring their stories to our fireside. And
it was through these stories that we kept the history of our lands alive.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Winter Solstice of my
twelfth year started like any other. Come sunset, the Veil would once again
part, and would not close again until sunrise. It was to be a long night and
the favourite with our family. We spent the day readying the cottage for
visitors; sweeping, stocking the fire and keeping it bright and hot, as the
visitors were prone to chills. Though they did not eat the food we offered, we
still prepared a feast as much as we could in our poverty. Mother decorated
everything to hide the meagre affair. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">After sunset, my sister and I,
scrubbed clean and dressed in our finest dresses, joined our parents by the
fireplace. They stood side by side in front of Grandma’s favourite chair,
holding hands and smiling. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">‘Come children, look who is
here,’ Mother exclaimed, forgetting in her excitement that we had not the adult
eyes to see the beings from beyond the Veil. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">‘It’s grandma,’ Father
clarified. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">So we went to stand beside our
parents, looking down at the empty chair, feeling both chilled and yet secretly
foolish. Only a handful of nights each year did the invisible visitors arrive.
As I grew older, it was hard not to imagine this must be some game the adults
played with their children, each solstice, Spring’s Rise and Eve of Souls.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">‘Aye, they have grown since you
saw them last summer,’ Mother said to the empty chair. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And we were made to sit on the
floor by the fire, as mother and father took their seats at the feat-laden
table. Grandma then told us stories, which our parents repeated, for we had not
the adult ears to hear the voices of the beings from beyond the Veil. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As the night deepened, the fire
flickered suddenly and turned icy blue and cold. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Our parents fell abruptly silent
and stared at each other with a flash of fright. Then, with strained faces,
they turned to me, and I knew what it meant. Only, I had never truly believed
that this night would come for me. Surely this was just a game the adults
played. We were meant to smile and eat the cakes and listen to the wise tales.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">‘Frost has come,’ Father said
gravely, looking at me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I shook my head in denial. No, I
never believed in Frost. That was his name, the changer who opened the eyes of
children when they reached the cusp of adulthood. Except, not everyone survived
the change. Else, some returned with Frost’s bite upon their toes and fingers.
Like Ordur, the baker’s son, who now had only eight fingers left. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Both mother and father rose, for
Frost was outside, waiting for me. They led me to the door, dressed as I was
for the warm fireplace and not the snow-covered landscape beyond warm walls. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The cold hit me instantly,
cutting and laced with threat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">‘Walk to the white tree where
Frost is waiting,’ said Mother with a treble to her voice, and closed the door
behind me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Barefooted, I began the walk to
the edge of the forest. It was dark, save for the moonlit snow, and the chill
in the air was fierce. As I drew closer to the white tree, the air grew colder
and colder, until my blood threatened to turn to ice. No one was around. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">At the tree, I stopped. A part
of me still denied that any of this was real. Surely, I just needed to turn
around and return home, for I could no longer feel my legs or arms, and every
breath I drew was shards of glass. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sharp pain exploded in my eyes,
and I cried out, closing them tight. Something warm trickled down my cheeks. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Another jarring pain hit my
ears, and I fell to my knees. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I forced myself to open my eyes
and saw drops of dark blood in the sparkling snow, and … large, furry paws. I
followed the furry legs up and I saw him, beneath the tree, looming high above
me. The creature was made of ice, with horns and fur and sharp, black teeth. In
his thick hands, he clasped two needle-like icicles. Blood dripped from the
tips. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He looked at me and I at him.
Then he turned around and walked away into the forest. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I returned home, weeping tears
and blood. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Mother wrapped me in a blanket
and comforted me with kind words. But it was Grandma’s voice I recognised from
long ago that soothed me. ‘Bring the wee lass to the fire and give her the hot
apple wine with extra sugar. She’ll be right in no time.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In the chair sat Grandma, her
form faint and glowing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">‘Come over here, lass, and sit
next to your sister where I can see you better. Now, where was I? Oh aye, I
remember. I was a wee bit younger than you when Frost came for me. It was the
winter after the great fire that swept through the forest when the old fool
Baerran the Wise offended the Firelord …’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And the rest of the night I
listened to my grandma’s old stories, whilst my parents repeated them for my
younger sister. And I hoped our warriors would keep the godly folk away from
our lands. </span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBPRRmhSvo-WUWtF2cVulBX3EaHLJrpIjBG2DoEjAhg8SBgLhxmuA3taLLaDmOS7zJ5rnYDbZtS8zpYAQ5kGdYN9LDmm14CB5VfwlGuMeIHslxTTCxP8mhf22-oRTYGxuEv6ZH2I5jqwcOpiuXR1RdNgLTQit2MnwdbA-P64bg_MgpePR1_ZzeJoeLHNk/s2992/The_Bridge_to_Magic_BOOK_COVER_AT.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2992" data-original-width="2043" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBPRRmhSvo-WUWtF2cVulBX3EaHLJrpIjBG2DoEjAhg8SBgLhxmuA3taLLaDmOS7zJ5rnYDbZtS8zpYAQ5kGdYN9LDmm14CB5VfwlGuMeIHslxTTCxP8mhf22-oRTYGxuEv6ZH2I5jqwcOpiuXR1RdNgLTQit2MnwdbA-P64bg_MgpePR1_ZzeJoeLHNk/s320/The_Bridge_to_Magic_BOOK_COVER_AT.JPG" width="219" /></a></div>The Bridge to Magic</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b>The Sundered Web </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b>Book One</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b>Alex Thornbury</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Genre: Fantasy</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Publisher: Shadow Lore Publishing</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Date of Publication: 21st February 2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">ISBN: 978-0-6454970-0-7</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">ASIN: B0B9GCXY5K</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Number of pages: 369</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Word Count: 105,000</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Cover Artist: Alejandro Colucci</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Tagline: When only the wrong paths remain, do you walk or get left behind? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">An award-winning debut for lovers of traditional fantasy and the readers who crave the dark, disturbing and original.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Men thought they had won the war against magic, when a demi-god had sundered their realm and banished magic and its keepers to the deadlands. But then another terror was born. Nothing can survive the approaching Blight. Terren, the last refuge of mankind, now stands alone in its path. Only the bridge across the great chasm offers any hope of escape... for some.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Elika has long feared the bridge to the Deadlands. It had taken her parents, and the lives of more poor fools than she could count. What's there for them anyway on the other side but more suffering and death? Though the gods had abandoned them, the king and his priests will stop the Blight. They just need to destroy every echo of magic, the source of the Blight. Then she discovers that the biggest echo of magic is hiding inside her, and through her it seeks to enact the will of its own.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Accused of being a mage, she is hunted and hated. Many doubt her loyalties. Her gang turns against her. The one man she thought she could trust and love, abandons her. Everything she knew about her past shatters, as long-buried secrets about her true birth emerge. Worse still, she may not even be human. She must race to find a way to purge herself from magic's hold. But as time runs out for the city and her magic only grows in power, can she sacrifice herself to save the last of humanity and all that she loves?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center;"><b><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B9GCXY5K">Amazon</a> <a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/id6445461662">Apple</a> <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-bridge-to-magic">Kobo</a> <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-bridge-to-magic-alex-thornbury/1142013986?ean=2940185577028">BN</a></span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p></div><div><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOhEkh_w5upuv_j28ySKl3lReF_xovKHMAFJ2gvMeBpevBQ8w8eoYvbPV4qVYyikFvcLJXVRPPpNig5yRpuGtWfR_ibfpXWv8j9AIirD4i-vOxRBeoX2doAxE4mapmCIojTsS5LCZs8iN_IIRaFXW6LlQ2jQSsC_tbRP9DMj3br2PwmEI4eIREwr_9nWQ/s2480/Holiday%20banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div></span></div><blockquote><div><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOhEkh_w5upuv_j28ySKl3lReF_xovKHMAFJ2gvMeBpevBQ8w8eoYvbPV4qVYyikFvcLJXVRPPpNig5yRpuGtWfR_ibfpXWv8j9AIirD4i-vOxRBeoX2doAxE4mapmCIojTsS5LCZs8iN_IIRaFXW6LlQ2jQSsC_tbRP9DMj3br2PwmEI4eIREwr_9nWQ/s2480/Holiday%20banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="2480" height="84" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOhEkh_w5upuv_j28ySKl3lReF_xovKHMAFJ2gvMeBpevBQ8w8eoYvbPV4qVYyikFvcLJXVRPPpNig5yRpuGtWfR_ibfpXWv8j9AIirD4i-vOxRBeoX2doAxE4mapmCIojTsS5LCZs8iN_IIRaFXW6LlQ2jQSsC_tbRP9DMj3br2PwmEI4eIREwr_9nWQ/w400-h84/Holiday%20banner.png" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style=";">There
was a time before the bridge was forged, but those stories had been mostly
forgotten. The dark history of that bygone age was now buried in the archives
of the priests. Only the echoes of it remained on the tongues of minstrels and
drunks. Elika had heard them all and each tale seemed more terrible and
unimaginable than the other.</span><span style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style=";">Those
were dismal times of endless wars—men against magic, magic against men. The
time when even the storms and rains were at the mercy of magic and its fickle
moods. It might snow in the summer, or the hot winds might carry sand upon
them, burying entire cities. Honest travelers feared to ride through the
forest, lest the trees attacked them. A farmer might wake up to find his river
flowing the wrong way or dried up altogether. Those days were gone and might
have been forgotten, but for this stark reminder before Elika’s eyes.</span><span style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style=";">And
who had not stood before the dark bridge in their last moments, facing that
choice they all must one day make?</span><span style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style=";">Like
that hoary, old codger in the ale-stained uniform of the city’s Blue Guard who
had stood before the bridge for nigh on an hour; unsteady on his legs, his sour
breath steaming in the crisp, winter night, drinking deeply of the cheap gin,
which was as likely to kill him by morning as what he now faced. He took a long
swig out of his bottle as he braced himself for the unknown fate ahead.</span><span style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style=";">Elika
sat huddled in the doorway of an abandoned house, watching him, needing to know
whether he would reach the other side or die crossing. Her ears filled with the
howling winds rising from the great chasm, and she did not need to imagine what
he was thinking, staring as he did at the monstrous bridge and the lifeless
bank beyond, for she was thinking the same—surely it is better than what
remains at our back. Better than what approaches.</span><span style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";"><span style="font-family: times;">She
clutched the cloak tighter around herself against the biting gust of wind
trying to rip it from her. She had scavenged the woolen cloak some days ago
from a dead beggar, and it still smelled of his mustiness. She pulled up her
knees to her chest and clamped her icy hands under her arms.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";"><span style="font-family: times;">The
stone wall was cold at her back. Her breath steamed. She waited and watched the
old guard take another wobbly step toward the bridge, seeking courage in his
gin-dulled mind. He took another gulp, stared at the empty bottle in surprise,
then threw it aside with a foul curse. The bottle hit the frozen ground and
rolled off the edge of their world into the chasm, to fall for eternity in that
endless darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p></span></div><div><span><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5oPkx6Q1ccaBctAue2IX-kh69e_nejq3b8f9imapqMfn1ZCPGmw2Amm0KlBcQC6W6aF9rlFp4_sH3Psjd6ySSCe0g4KGoQsEaRxZ5UnIpyMQr3mu3P7MOABMNgJhBO4NHebWrCE9IEvfcxp-6d8q6qB6EVYEepTDOPwiq9c9nDwTkhb6IeXRSOvwvNqhR/s4739/AlexThornbury.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div></b></span></div></blockquote><div><span><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5oPkx6Q1ccaBctAue2IX-kh69e_nejq3b8f9imapqMfn1ZCPGmw2Amm0KlBcQC6W6aF9rlFp4_sH3Psjd6ySSCe0g4KGoQsEaRxZ5UnIpyMQr3mu3P7MOABMNgJhBO4NHebWrCE9IEvfcxp-6d8q6qB6EVYEepTDOPwiq9c9nDwTkhb6IeXRSOvwvNqhR/s4739/AlexThornbury.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3164" data-original-width="4739" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5oPkx6Q1ccaBctAue2IX-kh69e_nejq3b8f9imapqMfn1ZCPGmw2Amm0KlBcQC6W6aF9rlFp4_sH3Psjd6ySSCe0g4KGoQsEaRxZ5UnIpyMQr3mu3P7MOABMNgJhBO4NHebWrCE9IEvfcxp-6d8q6qB6EVYEepTDOPwiq9c9nDwTkhb6IeXRSOvwvNqhR/w200-h134/AlexThornbury.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">About the Author: </span></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Alex Thornbury is an award-winning author. She grew up in Cheshire UK, and developed deep love of history and fantasy thanks to the many castles she visited as a child. Though she grew up to be an Alchemist by trade, she never stopped fantasising about other worlds, dragons and epic battles.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Website or Blog: <a href="https://alexthornbury.com/">https://alexthornbury.com/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Bookbub: <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/alex-thornbury">https://www.bookbub.com/profile/alex-thornbury</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/author.alexthornbury">https://www.facebook.com/author.alexthornbury</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/alexthornbury.author/">https://www.instagram.com/alexthornbury.author/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Newsletter: <a href="https://alexthornbury.com/subscribe-to-my-newsletter/">https://alexthornbury.com/subscribe-to-my-newsletter/</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22845843.Alex_Thornbury">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22845843.Alex_Thornbury</a> </span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4wgVhXHn5nTsgIbX8yoaRM_OaphlL9N8OkwZB3fwvVqTbBNOrmCs2zuK5CBrrstf6sks642iZ1i0-_eFtHJjTG1Ip9D9TAZRHD-r3rgeiXwOQeGj6F-uL9GIzcuWedLdrCA_BLgWLQtfZikukllfusE92FEEcCSt3nYUraIeHZgv-9OVnApICNS_DYltv/s1080/Deck%20the%20Halls%20Insta%20%20(3).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4wgVhXHn5nTsgIbX8yoaRM_OaphlL9N8OkwZB3fwvVqTbBNOrmCs2zuK5CBrrstf6sks642iZ1i0-_eFtHJjTG1Ip9D9TAZRHD-r3rgeiXwOQeGj6F-uL9GIzcuWedLdrCA_BLgWLQtfZikukllfusE92FEEcCSt3nYUraIeHZgv-9OVnApICNS_DYltv/s320/Deck%20the%20Halls%20Insta%20%20(3).png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgON0s0QvL_NCZHLLDmRgGEY1MX-PAr5OdfZjdyiFfty2vzbbfKGNWcyqJL2BzCa1ocGbFp-FtYkMetSCjDC1-6dX3uiGlMQztTLjXojrN3V5P_-Nd2YQ3JRAwKDjpvYnAiFX5LEifm1rR59C5i3CowM__ndzyRiyuYDO6NFljaUodXtDB-F1UgBTK0PuYG/s2304/Giveaway.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="1728" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgON0s0QvL_NCZHLLDmRgGEY1MX-PAr5OdfZjdyiFfty2vzbbfKGNWcyqJL2BzCa1ocGbFp-FtYkMetSCjDC1-6dX3uiGlMQztTLjXojrN3V5P_-Nd2YQ3JRAwKDjpvYnAiFX5LEifm1rR59C5i3CowM__ndzyRiyuYDO6NFljaUodXtDB-F1UgBTK0PuYG/w300-h400/Giveaway.png" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div><div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2207" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2207/" id="rcwidget_1mtrdrw7" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
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Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-89265826967508356702023-12-18T03:30:00.001-05:002023-12-18T03:30:00.142-05:00Bah Humbug Mate by Delta James - Deck the Halls with Books Holiday Extravaganza <div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipUfT3DWRkPOsBu-bcQQenHlyXHLb_YwTR_jN8LYNL-CwVLNmQDCPZCYPUPZ1ARndTONHObjuL_PNiudwcvqzL2Poh7SCE2b_xtyen8qLWEjNl7uIHVniKQ81awxv9Kr7_cZ2Ukd6jrcK3KkxgQNkQmq-n0Y9FtpFPBeSZpbVtga6mNScynMqy-RQ3-BjU/s820/Bah%20Humbug%20Deck%20the%20Halls%20Banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipUfT3DWRkPOsBu-bcQQenHlyXHLb_YwTR_jN8LYNL-CwVLNmQDCPZCYPUPZ1ARndTONHObjuL_PNiudwcvqzL2Poh7SCE2b_xtyen8qLWEjNl7uIHVniKQ81awxv9Kr7_cZ2Ukd6jrcK3KkxgQNkQmq-n0Y9FtpFPBeSZpbVtga6mNScynMqy-RQ3-BjU/w400-h153/Bah%20Humbug%20Deck%20the%20Halls%20Banner.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg03nBUdl3zLhus7ZHOpOvAZ3rz2aR691T4qBvMa2L4XHL3HMpa-_K2ez8EO-pM486dAn3dHyBAOvyx_C0F_gOto07RMzkN8wq6qDWxwAZyntxh4_ITdH0AJH4kbWN_m7UuwJaSRn70uf_JEX8zwqHn-4jrDlOQJFglhZvwh813EzhtjN3BpxVAnppQT9c/s2480/Holiday%20Flash%20Fiction.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="2480" height="84" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg03nBUdl3zLhus7ZHOpOvAZ3rz2aR691T4qBvMa2L4XHL3HMpa-_K2ez8EO-pM486dAn3dHyBAOvyx_C0F_gOto07RMzkN8wq6qDWxwAZyntxh4_ITdH0AJH4kbWN_m7UuwJaSRn70uf_JEX8zwqHn-4jrDlOQJFglhZvwh813EzhtjN3BpxVAnppQT9c/w400-h84/Holiday%20Flash%20Fiction.png" width="400" /></a></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>A Mate
to Remember<o:p></o:p></i></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>A
Mystic River Shifters </i></b><b><i>Flash
Fiction</i></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>By</i></b><b><i> </i></b><b><i>USA Today Bestselling Author </i></b><b><i>DELTA
JAMES</i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></span></i></b></p></div><blockquote><div><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><b><i><span style="font-family: times;">Christmas Day<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><b><i><span style="font-family: times;">Seattle, Washington</span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">There were times being the leader of the Shadow
Sisters, righting wrongs, protecting
innocents and just generally being a badass for good wasn’t all it was cracked
up to be. Today was one of those times. The man she knew to be her fated mate
slept in the large Victorian brass bed, completely sated, supremely confident,
and about to be utterly destroyed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">That she was the architect of
that destruction was something she had accepted a long time ago. It wasn’t that
she had set out to destroy him; it was just that she couldn’t indulge her
deepest romantic fantasies until her work was done—and she was a long way from
being done. Colby would survive, but he was not going to be happy to find her
gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">In a world where humans reigned
supreme, it was tough enough being a female Canadian lynx shifter. The
rejuvenation of the Shadow League, a group of assassins controlled by the
Ruling Council and used for their own nefarious purposes, meant that their
counterpart, the Shadow Sisters, had been restored as well. Aubry Hawthorne, or
Brie as she was known to those closest to her, had been chosen to lead the
group of female shifters who were often referred to as ‘rogue.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Right now, Brie’s most vexing
problem was her belief—which grew stronger each day—that the League had a far
darker purpose than anyone imagined and answered to a master no one even knew
existed for sure. That wasn’t true. There were those who knew; they just
couldn’t prove it yet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">One of those people was Colby
Reynolds, the alpha of the Windsong clowder, her fated mate, and the man that
she would never see again.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><b><span style="font-family: times;">***</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><b><i><span style="font-family: times;">Christmas Eve<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><b><i><span style="font-family: times;">Seattle,
Washington</span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Brie stood at the edge of the
Olympic National Park where the tree line met the sea. Her home, if one could
call it that, was a primitive cave deep within the Olympic Mountains
themselves. Right now, she doubted anyone could make out that she was there watching.
The spotted pattern of her coat ensured she was well-camouflaged in this
environment. She still wasn’t convinced this was a good idea, but she was
certain it needed to be done. Meeting in person with the enigmatic alpha of the
Windsong Clowder might be necessary in order to have his continued support, but
she had long ago decided a meeting would be problematic to say the least.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Brie turned away from the
stunning view and began to make her way through the forest to the place she’d
hidden her clothes so she could shift into her human form, board the ferry to
Seattle, and meet this evening with Colby. Somehow, he had managed to secure an
entire boutique hotel for their clandestine meeting. The hotel would be closed,
and they would be alone. Anyone trying to secretly observe them or overhear
their conversation would have a degree of difficulty that would prove
insurmountable.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Reaching her hidden stash of
clothes, Brie bade her lynx to retreat as the whirling mist of color,
lightning, and thunder swirled all around her until the only thing left was
Brie, standing naked in the cold Pacific Northwest winter, pulling on her
clothing and boots in order to take the ferry to Seattle.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Sunset and the following
darkness came early in the Pacific Northwest. By the time she reached the
small, elegant hotel in the heart of the city, it would be full-on dark. How
Colby had arranged for them to meet there was beyond her knowing, but she
didn’t doubt his ability to do anything he wanted to do past him. The tentacles
of his power seemed to have an endless and infinite reach.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Brie knew that many people, if
not most, preferred daylight to darkness. She was not among them. She had
always found the night to be the most comforting of shrouds. There were things
she could accomplish between dusk and dawn that would have been far more
difficult if not downright impossible.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">As she reached her destination,
a liveried doorman rushed down the steps to open the door to the limo that had
been waiting for her at the dock. The man had style; she had to give him that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Ms. Hawthorne, the alpha is
waiting for you in the dining room. Dinner has been laid out and no one will
disturb you. We have a small, but more than adequate security team to ensure
your safety and privacy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Brie shook her head. “You do
know this is a bit much, right? We could easily have met somewhere close to the
dock or even at the Space Needle.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“The alpha wanted to ensure you
had the privacy and safety he felt a lady of your importance to the cause
deserved.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Brie snorted a very unladylike
laugh. “No. Your boss is trying to impress me with his wealth and power. I
could care less about either. What I do care about are his intentions and that
he understands the Shadow Sisters will not become one more asset in his
criminal and espionage circles.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I can assure you the alpha…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Save it. I’m going to go in,
meet with the man and leave. Any deviation or hindrance to my plan will be met
with deadly force. Got it? You might want to let the rest of your team know
that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Brie pushed past him and entered
the lobby of the beautiful and sophisticated hotel. The overwhelming bout of
dizziness and nausea felt like a blow to the gut and made her falter. She might
actually have been driven to her knees had it not been for the strong, steadying
hand of the man into whose eyes she looked up and found herself mesmerized.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I wondered if that might not be
the case,” Colby Reynolds purred. “I’ve felt your presence off and on since you
left the ferry. You should know you’ll never be able to completely shut down
the link.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You don’t know that for a
fact,” she said, withdrawing her hand from his.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I do, but I sense a strong
streak of willfulness in you. Not to worry. I like a good challenge.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Choosing to ignore what they
both knew to be true; Brie chose to get their discussion steered back to the
reason for this meeting. “I rarely worry about things that don’t matter to me.
What does matter to me is your increasing presence in the work of the Shadow
Sisters.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Colby smiled and gestured to a
darkened dining room lit only by candles, stepping back so she could precede
him. Brie had to hand it to him; he was smooth, polished, had impeccable
manners, and was sexy as hell. She’d never been as instantly and wildly
attracted to a man as she was to Colby Reynolds.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">But she guessed that’s what
happened with fated mates.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">They spent the next several
hours discussing the Shadow League and their mutual belief that neither the
Council nor the League itself was the ultimate power behind what was happening
within the shifter community at large. Well, at least that was what Brie was
discussing. What Colby was discussing was on a whole other level, and Brie did
her best to avoid it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">When she felt she’d gotten out
of him all that she could, Brie stood, looking down for the brief moment before
he too got to his feet. “This has been enlightening. It’s good to know we have
your support—financial and otherwise—if we need it. But for now, the Shadow
Sisters will continue as we are.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Colby shook his head. “That
makes no sense, Brie. Your network has grown large and unwieldy. You need a
centralized headquarters where you can set up an intelligence gathering and
analyzing group. You need far better weapons, computers, and networking than
you currently have. All of that exists at Windsong and your operatives, as well
as those women needing sanctuary until you can find them a permanent place,
could have a safe home from where they could come and go as they please.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Here’s the thing, Reynolds, the
one question you never answered regardless of how many times or ways I asked
it. What’s in it for you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“We have the same goals. We want
the same things. We both hide in different ways, but I am not the enemy of the
Shadow Sisters. It’s time we banded together to bring down the Shadow League
and whoever is truly behind them.” He reached up to tuck a stray lock of her
copper-colored hair behind her ear. “I am not your enemy, either. In fact, we
both know we are so much more to each other.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I know no such thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Colby chuckled. All evening,
he’d made it clear that he knew why she’d stumbled. He purred to her, found
ways to touch her, and she’d been unwilling to put him off. The arousal that
had started swirling in her nether region from the moment she had entered the
hotel had been steadily increasing. It now surged through her blood like a
wildfire out of control—heat, passion, and need churning together into an
intoxicating cocktail.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“But you do. It may not be what
you think you want, but we both know need is riding you hard. The scent of your
arousal calls to me as does everything about you. Would it be so wrong for you
to find peace and some kind of solace in this world while you fight the good
fight? Would not we both be stronger if we had the other to lean on?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Brie thought about going for her
knife. She told herself she didn’t as it would mean fighting her way out of the
hotel, but she knew that wasn’t the real reason she didn’t jerk her hand away
or offer him any resistance as he led her toward the vintage, two-person
elevator and drew her inside, inserting a special key card that would take them
to the top floor. She’d seen similar security features in other exclusive
hotels.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Colby,” she said as the doors
opened into a gorgeous room that seemed to take up the entire top floor. A top
floor that had a commanding view of the Seattle skyline and the water below.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She gasped as she walked toward
the windows. “It’s beautiful. It almost feels like we’re hanging in the air
with the stars.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I agree. I bought this hotel,
refurbished it and created this sanctuary for myself for when I need to be in
Seattle. Mystic River is a quiet place of refuge, but my work often requires me
to be here. If I cannot persuade you to return to Windsong at my side, perhaps
we could find a way to use this hotel to suit our needs.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She turned, leaning back against
the window, and smiled at him. She hadn’t realized he’d followed so closely
behind her, but she found his stealth oddly comforting. “Look, Colby, I’m going
to be honest with you. I accepted a long time ago that I was destined to live
my life alone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“We both know that destiny has
brought you to your fated mate.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Brie nodded. “That might be
true, but I chose a different path early on. There will be no happily ever
after for me. I will not rest until I see my sisters free.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What makes you think I would
try and keep you from your goal, as it is the same one I seek?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Brie snorted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“How can you doubt me? Until
recently my second-in-command was a female snow leopard-shifter. Time and
again, I have lent my support to the Shadow Sisters, asking nothing in return.
I don’t doubt your strength, courage, or tenacity, but I sense the part of you
that you keep hidden from the world, maybe even from yourself. You need a mate
who can offer you his loving support and passion.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“And what do you need, Colby?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“In a word, you. I need to be
needed—not by my clowder or the world at large, but by one woman who wants me
for myself and not for the wealth and power I bring to the table. I long for
someone with whom I can share all my secrets.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She got the feeling that there
was so much more to what he was saying than just the words themselves. She knew
it couldn’t work, but would it be so wrong just to indulge herself in his
passionate embrace? To know for once and all time what it felt to be loved by
her fated mate?</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEasy5f5IM0JNeU0PY7eqSuN5W-XQ-MWk-_Kzoh_cdCRyIVJdW18skfwdzxfzTl7KR5_u_2D-OTQTDPTOgkW3PWvSK2CLaqEvd5fSz-FMmOq38dc3l9K7iLt497ftbIfVMebSmg8T2ow5b23zqXjr4uqW0A8PB3s1mxuSfpCGlNR-KGte-Wxz2GZcWnGeX/s2700/bah%20humbug%20mate%20high%20res.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div></b></span></div></blockquote><div><span><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEasy5f5IM0JNeU0PY7eqSuN5W-XQ-MWk-_Kzoh_cdCRyIVJdW18skfwdzxfzTl7KR5_u_2D-OTQTDPTOgkW3PWvSK2CLaqEvd5fSz-FMmOq38dc3l9K7iLt497ftbIfVMebSmg8T2ow5b23zqXjr4uqW0A8PB3s1mxuSfpCGlNR-KGte-Wxz2GZcWnGeX/s2700/bah%20humbug%20mate%20high%20res.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEasy5f5IM0JNeU0PY7eqSuN5W-XQ-MWk-_Kzoh_cdCRyIVJdW18skfwdzxfzTl7KR5_u_2D-OTQTDPTOgkW3PWvSK2CLaqEvd5fSz-FMmOq38dc3l9K7iLt497ftbIfVMebSmg8T2ow5b23zqXjr4uqW0A8PB3s1mxuSfpCGlNR-KGte-Wxz2GZcWnGeX/s320/bah%20humbug%20mate%20high%20res.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bah Humbug Mate</span></b></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Mystic River Shifters </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Book Seven</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Delta James</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Paranormal Romance</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: 11/22/23:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: B0CGY63Z4K</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Wicked Smart Designs</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Will a charade under the mistletoe lead to a real love story?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Dash Samuels, a grumpy reindeer shifter, is faced with an ultimatum: marry by Christmas Day or lose his cherished family inheritance. The holidays are his least favorite time of the year and now he needs to find a mate? Panicked, he devises a plan to hire a woman to play his fake fiancée, until the inheritance is secured. But what he never anticipated was the whirlwind of emotions that would follow.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Noel Brooks, a spirited dreamer struggling to make ends meet, agrees to Dash's unconventional proposition out of necessity. The holidays are her favorite time of the year. As they embark on a charade filled with misunderstandings, holiday traditions, and undeniable chemistry, their carefully constructed façade begins to crumble, revealing the cracks in their hearts.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Dash needs to get from a grumpy humbug to a believer if he is going to catch his fated mate before it is too late.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bah Humbug Mate is an enchanting story that reminds us that sometimes, the greatest gifts come wrapped in unexpected packages – and that true love is the ultimate holiday miracle.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CGY63Z4K"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Amazon</span></a></b></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">
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<!--[endif]--></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJGlKIVf8eawUC1RH-LGOn1TX-gS-48BevJ7BthIFrUCehvtVoZcmHT4CzB2dP1TYOouL2bU6WowugABoN5dJ0SAUZBjqd8G_7VXDRt-CqD-GlKj2jjpOkiQ362Hr4MaOvyKFrABCr3aFF6iNFvS43miC5retGpTWDPnkptMcPowEIbERSs260X-LuZ8/s2480/Holiday%20banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="2480" height="84" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJGlKIVf8eawUC1RH-LGOn1TX-gS-48BevJ7BthIFrUCehvtVoZcmHT4CzB2dP1TYOouL2bU6WowugABoN5dJ0SAUZBjqd8G_7VXDRt-CqD-GlKj2jjpOkiQ362Hr4MaOvyKFrABCr3aFF6iNFvS43miC5retGpTWDPnkptMcPowEIbERSs260X-LuZ8/w400-h84/Holiday%20banner.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></div><blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: times;">Bah Humbug Mate Excerpt</span></b></div><span style="font-family: times;"><b><div style="text-align: left;"><b>A Mystic River Shifters Holiday Novella</b></div></b><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What
do you mean I need to be mated by the winter holiday? Are you kidding me?” Dash
said as he paced back and forth in the attorney’s office.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Look,
Dash, I didn’t write the damn will. Well, I guess technically I did, but your
grandmother was very particular. She was very angry you left the herd. So, if
you want to inherit what I agree is rightfully yours, you need to be married by
the holiday deadline.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Which
is?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“December
24.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You
aren’t serious.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I’m
afraid I am. Your grandmother took these kinds of things seriously.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“For
heaven’s sake, Blitz, where the hell am I supposed to find a comely, female
reindeer-shifter in the next…” he glanced at the calendar on the wall
“twenty-three days?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Honestly,
I don’t know, and there are provisions that will have you tied to this girl for
at least ten years.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dash
plopped down in the chair. “A decade? I have to spend a decade with some girl I
don’t even know?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You
know lots of girls,” said Blitzen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“And
none of them I’d want to marry.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Dude,
for that kind of fortune, I’d marry Godzilla.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Do
you have her number?”</span></span></div><p></p></div></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></span></div>
<br /><p></p></div></div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvTUOD_94lSaCf11NOwdAXD7lpRmvAtU259p7ZJWXT4ZZS6-qfd3fqo0YwesCXAzS5_qGJBc2g2ToJekwMycMcD1C7WNUpr1YE2y-0s29jjSu5MRzrUZGzdoZ8Kqkb_n9o6qMjCeGaioVinq140it-zN5PIssQrzfHA6FCmQ9ZEf_U37F6i0XFqy65qeTT/s1310/delta%20head%20shot.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1310" data-original-width="1310" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvTUOD_94lSaCf11NOwdAXD7lpRmvAtU259p7ZJWXT4ZZS6-qfd3fqo0YwesCXAzS5_qGJBc2g2ToJekwMycMcD1C7WNUpr1YE2y-0s29jjSu5MRzrUZGzdoZ8Kqkb_n9o6qMjCeGaioVinq140it-zN5PIssQrzfHA6FCmQ9ZEf_U37F6i0XFqy65qeTT/w200-h200/delta%20head%20shot.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>About the Author:</span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Delta James is a USA Today bestselling paranormal and contemporary romantic suspense author, whose goal is to captivate readers with stories about complex, curvy heroines and the dominant alpha males who adore them. For Delta, romance is more than just a love story; it’s a journey with challenges and thrills along the way. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">After creating a second chapter for herself that was dramatically different than the first, Delta now resides in Florida where she relaxes on warm summer evenings with her loveable pack of basset hounds as they watch the birds, squirrels and lizards. When not crafting fast-paced tales, she enjoys horseback riding, walks on the beach, and white-water rafting. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Her readers mean the world to her, and Delta tries to interact personally to as many messages as she can. If you’d like to chat or discuss books, you can find Delta on Instagram, Facebook, and in her private reader group </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website - <a href="https://www.deltajames.com/">https://www.deltajames.com/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">TikTok - <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@authordeltajames">https://www.tiktok.com/@authordeltajames</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/DeltaJamesAuthor/">https://www.facebook.com/DeltaJamesAuthor/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bookbub - <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/delta-james">https://www.bookbub.com/authors/delta-james</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram - <a href="https://www.instagram.com/deltajamesauthor/ " rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.instagram.com/deltajamesauthor/ </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Newsletter <a href="https://www.subscribepage.com/welcometothepack">https://www.subscribepage.com/welcometothepack</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook group - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/348982795738444/">https://www.facebook.com/groups/348982795738444/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Goodreads - <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18197022.Delta_James">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18197022.Delta_James</a></span><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"> </span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>
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Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-74354583893736578042023-12-14T01:00:00.017-05:002023-12-14T01:00:00.133-05:00Release Day Blitz & Author Interview Slither by Nikki Rae #ReleaseDay #BookBirthday #AuthorInterview<div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPN-53Jq930PoqGdYMz44IHtEnUcA0DeMlVaL0oJRLXy98g1X8NjpIISfs4oYa5_Zqw48yAFaMzavHN8j_suFSOWOe8y2mQ6C1GvPMp0nctC8qPgBLiHsZVlXYNTeFHVAULMGp1-GQQ0LGHjdFIZYIXdSMA9bnSzv62yY2LOXXzMIQWTU1VSkPyFCrpQz/s820/Slither%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPN-53Jq930PoqGdYMz44IHtEnUcA0DeMlVaL0oJRLXy98g1X8NjpIISfs4oYa5_Zqw48yAFaMzavHN8j_suFSOWOe8y2mQ6C1GvPMp0nctC8qPgBLiHsZVlXYNTeFHVAULMGp1-GQQ0LGHjdFIZYIXdSMA9bnSzv62yY2LOXXzMIQWTU1VSkPyFCrpQz/w400-h153/Slither%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- What is your “day” job if you are not a full-time author?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My day job is editing other authors’ books! I love the revision process, and I love helping other writers who don’t have a ton of money to spend on editing. :)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- If you wrote a book about your life what would the title be?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Probably something like, “Imposter Syndrome Personified” with a tagline of, “how I kind of sort of survive and make art at the same time while also kind of thinking I don’t deserve any of the good things that happen to me. “</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But that’s probably why I’ve never written non-fiction ;)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- What is the hardest thing about being an author?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It can get lonely and overwhelming sometimes. I’m a person who enjoys solitude, and I’m pretty much a hermit, so it takes a conscious effort for me to make sure I’m not isolating too much when I’m “in the writing zone”. As an indie author, the amount of work that goes into release always seems insurmountable when I start the process, but I somehow always make it through with a book I’m proud of by the end, so it all works out. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- What is the best thing about being an author?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">People relating to my words. It’s one of the most indescribable feelings, and it never gets old. When my characters create emotions in people, when readers reach out and tell me what they love about a certain book or series. Extra points if someone says they cried. ;)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- Have you ever been star-struck by meeting one of your favorite authors? If so who was it? </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I think I’m easily intimidated by other creative people. I love so many artists and authors, but I’m almost scared to meet them! However, I do think if I ever saw Neil Gaiman in person I would immediately faint.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- What book changed your life?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I think for an author, any book you read changes your life just a tiny bit. Even the ones I didn’t enjoy taught me something along the way, whether I was aware of it or not. However, I do think some authors like Anne Rice and Edgar Allan Poe influenced my descriptions of scenes and how to approach dark subject matter. Kafka’s Metamorphosis also had a large impact on me in high school, so I’m sure he has some part in my love of surrealism and symbolism. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- What were some of your favorite books growing up?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I made it my mission to collect the entire Goosebumps series when I was younger, and I think I got pretty close before I moved on to books like Dracula and Interview with The Vampire (around middle school). I also read a lot of Poe as a goth teen, but I also read every paranormal YA I could get my hands on. I’ve always liked reading across genres and changing what book I picked up based on my mood or the time of year.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- What books are currently in your to-be-read pile?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">-The Deepest Well by Nadine Burke Harris (it’s like The Body Keeps The Score but better IMO)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">- The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldrich by Phillip K. Dick (A re-read because it’s one of my favorites of his)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">-The Unseelie Prince by Kathryn Ann Kingsley (a long-time reader recommended it to me!)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- Which do you prefer ebooks, print, or audiobooks?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It just depends on my mood! If I want to be completely absorbed, I go for a paperback, light a candle, and have a whole experience with that book smell. Sometimes, it’s more convenient to read an ebook, and if I want to listen to something while I’m drawing or doing chores, I’ll choose an audiobook. :)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- If you could live inside the world of a book or series which world would it be and why?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Probably Howl’s Moving Castle, but only if I get to live in the house and maybe have a throuple situation with Howl & Sophie. ;)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDlXzlqv6DHQi01jofJL71ay3KKCG58p18Fr0F-dLvNaf5_I5kRIwLTfcw42AkBktzNMIFJwH8Dkg9NF154d1N_DgHw9dukN5Kra2RIzE69KwDZRSr_rxcmXYQmr3PBhqsJRmwyX-gmCL5P_H1fNEoLpk-Ieis_cMhFznv37Xm6NvGtZFzWnB131svLoj_/s2560/Slither%20ecover.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDlXzlqv6DHQi01jofJL71ay3KKCG58p18Fr0F-dLvNaf5_I5kRIwLTfcw42AkBktzNMIFJwH8Dkg9NF154d1N_DgHw9dukN5Kra2RIzE69KwDZRSr_rxcmXYQmr3PBhqsJRmwyX-gmCL5P_H1fNEoLpk-Ieis_cMhFznv37Xm6NvGtZFzWnB131svLoj_/s320/Slither%20ecover.png" width="200" /></a></div>Slither</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>The Shadow and Ink Series </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Book Two</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Nikki Rae</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Dark Paranormal Monster Romance</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Nikki Rae</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: December 14, 2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: B0CNSFBY1V</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 340</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 98,921</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Nikki Rae</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Some cycles repeat for a reason, but is this one worth fulfilling?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Plunged into darkness after an eerie ritual, Corbin finds herself torn between the reality of her life with her mother and the nights she spends with Six. Even though she wakes alone every morning, the nights they spend together are worth it. Suspicion and unease surround her, drawing Jordan closer and closer while Six disappears deeper into the shadows.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Obsessed, Corbin sketches only him. As his monstrous image becomes clearer, etched in ink and gold, the pair and Jordan are enticed into a sensual world meant to feed him.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Six is reluctantly forthcoming with information about his origins and the mystical connection between the three of them. He has no control and little concern for the human world he affects with his mere presence—even when no one can stop the consequences.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0CNSFBY1V"><b>Amazon</b></a><b><br />
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<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></b></span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b></b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: times;">Excerpt <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You’re here.” I wasn’t sure whether it
was for my comfort or his, but I was relieved nonetheless.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Yesss. I heard it directly in my ear. I
smelled fire on him. Leaves, earth, and flames. Alwaysss.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">A breeze wafted through my hair,
tickling my shoulder. His presence calmed me, and I felt like for the first
time all day, I wasn’t holding my breath. I wasn’t waiting to hear or see him.
I wasn’t constantly anticipating when and in what way Six would appear because
he didn’t need to. He was with me as much as any other vital organ.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">In the span of one summer, I had gone
from hearing his disembodied voice and believing I had lost my mind to
accepting that all of it was true. Now when I thought of us together, it made
no sense how we had ever been apart. Why I would try to push him away, defy
some ancient law of nature?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Can you come closer?” I whispered,
staring straight ahead, out the window. “I won’t look.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">I sat on the edge of my bed and it
wasn’t long before I felt the mattress sink in on either side of me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">A soft breeze moved the curtain. A car
drove down the street. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">I kept my promise and didn’t direct my
gaze anywhere but the sky outside my window. I could feel him parting my hair,
strands swaying on their own until I felt his mouth against the back of my neck
again. From the corner of my eye, I watched the shadows grow into lengths of
multiple arms that pulled me toward him, completely supporting my weight. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">I am right here, my love. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Bands of scales wrapped around my
middle, draped themselves over each thigh. Little by little, my head inched
upward so all I could see was the pink canopy above my bed. I felt the trace of
claw marks just beneath my chin, the strong hand around my throat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Are you pleased with your gifts, little
one?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">I nodded against him, surprised even
now at how solid he felt behind me. “Thank you, Six.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">I have so much more to give you, he
cooed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Before I could stop anything, I fell
backwards, into a stain shaped like him. Legs splayed open, my arms were also
restrained above my head, but he surrounded me at the same time. The darkness
was weighted, warm. I wasn’t afraid to let it creep across my field of vision and
obscure everything in sight.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">So many ways I could please you, my
flower. My lace of light.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Warmth traveled up my back, throughout
my chest and down into my belly. His tone left no question as to what he might
mean, so I decided to feed into it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Show me, then.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">It came out more of a challenge than
I’d intended, but I liked how it sounded. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">An echo of whispers met me and I
realized it was laughter. Always demanding your proof.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><br />
<b>About the Author:</b></p></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA36FzzJyracIEd3exxye6JXvb8Ni0gRokcEm7qPOqx1TAUXF6bOmUDEsFixs7fUz6ZzWJdCQhdrPNgPy4w6_JfMFHbCLIe5zRxvv5uescKnl-QrPCc5NWgz2pVPaNf_J9KsERU4zQoi8lrFcHVQxrUb6FVEKgchnCWyGDvRowDyKbtC2GYds2O6U1zqA4/s1080/Nikki%20Rae%20Author%20Photo.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="854" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA36FzzJyracIEd3exxye6JXvb8Ni0gRokcEm7qPOqx1TAUXF6bOmUDEsFixs7fUz6ZzWJdCQhdrPNgPy4w6_JfMFHbCLIe5zRxvv5uescKnl-QrPCc5NWgz2pVPaNf_J9KsERU4zQoi8lrFcHVQxrUb6FVEKgchnCWyGDvRowDyKbtC2GYds2O6U1zqA4/w158-h200/Nikki%20Rae%20Author%20Photo.jpg" width="158" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Nikki Rae is the head editor of Metamorphosis Editing Services and a writer who lives in New Jersey. She is an independent author and has appeared numerously on Amazon Best Seller lists. She is the author of The Sunshine Series and concentrates on making her imaginary characters as real as possible. She writes mainly dark, scary, romantic tales, but she'll try anything once. When she is not writing, reading, or thinking, you can find her spending time with animals, drawing in a quiet corner, or studying people. Closely.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Newsletter: <a href="https://bit.ly/3uAW40A" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://bit.ly/3uAW40A </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Patreon: <a href="https://www.patreon.com/Nikkirae">https://www.patreon.com/Nikkirae</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tiktok: <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@nikkiraeauthor">https://www.tiktok.com/@nikkiraeauthor</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/nikkiraeauthor/">https://www.instagram.com/nikkiraeauthor/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Nikki Rae Readers: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/1608190742758480">https://www.facebook.com/groups/1608190742758480</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/1608190742758480/user/100063628450351">https://www.facebook.com/groups/1608190742758480/user/100063628450351</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjbt4htVlUg_ifntV_Uw1jN7LY_BtvCqW1t0iFf3pvVV31xz8XZUfURH3Ofu8Mg2b0Cl4onbEHVP4rt4R3_o04hBbR8VLkygtvsRH7hDZi-D5zcuB2FbH2TbfulVrcp_MokQnNyvYcXb4mm6NGsO2rYx73LOyXg-nQC2YdzeKiBmYoNhZIks9g9kImNPA/s1080/Slither%20Instagram%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjbt4htVlUg_ifntV_Uw1jN7LY_BtvCqW1t0iFf3pvVV31xz8XZUfURH3Ofu8Mg2b0Cl4onbEHVP4rt4R3_o04hBbR8VLkygtvsRH7hDZi-D5zcuB2FbH2TbfulVrcp_MokQnNyvYcXb4mm6NGsO2rYx73LOyXg-nQC2YdzeKiBmYoNhZIks9g9kImNPA/s320/Slither%20Instagram%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2212" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2212/" id="rcwidget_bvdx5e5n" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-37946487251682944332023-12-13T03:30:00.001-05:002023-12-13T03:30:00.129-05:00Cover Reveal Abandon Station by V. G. Harrison #ScienceFiction <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpqfY7oKlpxrhFSMqaHW8dYfwpGw26WnV1QnaiJuLIhYtQDz020OsXu78Www57mwMLDVeV_Vm6E9us00cUajt7BPqe0DllG9XCATQ7mb2BLBjNHTg8R-jF7f66fPCyxK-ysJsskdPTvoZF_y5ONQEtJ-J-8Llh4XjLNJddhz9pvDIiU5mH3N8OCuRDkTjc/s820/Cover%20Reveal%20%20abandon%20station.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpqfY7oKlpxrhFSMqaHW8dYfwpGw26WnV1QnaiJuLIhYtQDz020OsXu78Www57mwMLDVeV_Vm6E9us00cUajt7BPqe0DllG9XCATQ7mb2BLBjNHTg8R-jF7f66fPCyxK-ysJsskdPTvoZF_y5ONQEtJ-J-8Llh4XjLNJddhz9pvDIiU5mH3N8OCuRDkTjc/w400-h153/Cover%20Reveal%20%20abandon%20station.png" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYjOQmhFI9cBP1F87gdoAOZV3_P6GDFdUtSu3bOJaXIQw3MVE_AVGCK7pcwonjN2_BmtpgQEWRlz6i3BukijGk9_sGCUPlE21UhjQPD3Dg590S5XaQLZzDeHarQ-4RyvRivQjE5fHsxXvNsRjBr8EIQtLJY-gL4QZX1W-d52EAp1YJIXd6MPqsDqSB0Qi/s2399/abandon%20station%20bc.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2399" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYjOQmhFI9cBP1F87gdoAOZV3_P6GDFdUtSu3bOJaXIQw3MVE_AVGCK7pcwonjN2_BmtpgQEWRlz6i3BukijGk9_sGCUPlE21UhjQPD3Dg590S5XaQLZzDeHarQ-4RyvRivQjE5fHsxXvNsRjBr8EIQtLJY-gL4QZX1W-d52EAp1YJIXd6MPqsDqSB0Qi/s320/abandon%20station%20bc.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Abandon Station</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b>The Dyson Bridge Series, </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b>Book One</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b>V. G. Harrison</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Genre: Science Fiction</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Publisher: Mocha Memoirs Press</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Date of Publication: 1/31/2024</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Number of pages: 84</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Word Count: 22,000</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Cover Artist: Maya Preisler</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Tagline: Some planets just aren't worth saving.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">An explosion rocks the Bridgeway Space Station. Mechanical Engineer Meridia Vail and her crew wake to find themselves on an alternate Earth where the technology is decades behind theirs, and so are the politics. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">When she realizes their space station survived the interdimensional transport to an alternate space and time, she and her crew have only one mission. Get back to the Bridgeway so they can return to their real home.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Time is running out. If the metabolic changes that come with their teleported space station don’t kill them, the politics and secret agendas will. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Returning home makes sense, but that’s assuming there’s a home to return to. When Meridia learns the Bridgeway’s decaying orbit threatens to annihilate the planet, the Earthers will be more than happy to take their chances by destroying the greatest technological marvel of all time.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">With members of Meridia’s international crew scattered across the planet and being detained, she must escape her “caretakers”, if she and her people ever have a chance at saving the one thing that might be able to save everyone.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><a href="https://mochamemoirspress.com/">https://mochamemoirspress.com/</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><p class="normalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: times;"></span></b></p><blockquote><p class="normalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: times;">Excerpt<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The door opened. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">I sat up and reached for the light.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Don’t,” a familiar voice said. “They don’t know I’m here
and I want to keep it that way.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Who doesn’t know you’re here?” I asked as panic swept
across me. “Who are you and what do you want?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“It’s me, Meridia. It’s Julio.” The older man appeared in
the light reflecting from the TV. He looked every gray-hair of his age, but
there was something about his eyes that weren’t right. His entire visage seemed
worn and weathered beyond his fifty-nine years. He continued toward my bed with
sweat dripping from his short, gray curls. “We have to get out of here. They
want to use us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Use us for what?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Don’t you hear them talking? They want to suck the
information out of our brains. They’re going to attach us to machines that will
take the wormhole knowledge out of us, then use that information to build
bigger weapons. They won’t rest until they’ve brought the rest of the world to
their knees.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i>Oh boy.</i> I jumped out of bed and hurried toward him to grab his
arms. “Calm down, Julio. These people don’t want to hurt us. They want our
knowledge, so it would hurt them to hurt us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“No,” he said, shaking his head. His gaze pleading. “You’re
wrong. I’ve seen the machines. They do it round after round after round. You
had your first tests today, didn’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Julio it was just—”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He tore away from me. “Don’t you get it? The wormhole is <i>ours</i>. We created it. It belongs to us.
Not them.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">This wasn’t the same Julio Ferrera I knew. A fusion
physicist who was already on his way to greatness even before he joined the
astronaut program, he was our Chief of Scientific Research and an accomplished
Air Force Major. This guy in front of me was a lunatic who needed more care
than they could ever hope to give him here. Seeing my friend and colleague like
this wrenched my heart. I wanted to hug the fear out of him but knew it
wouldn’t make any difference. He needed more help than I could give him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Relax, okay?” I started toward the small desk where there
was a phone. “I’m going to call someone to help you. Maybe they can give you
something to help you sleep.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Julio tackled me to the floor. “You have to listen to me,
damn it! Listen! They’ve hidden away more Americans than just us, so they can
experiment on them more. Some of them are still up there on the Bridgeway just
waiting at the beck and call. Leave them frozen until they’re needed.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">I squirmed away from him enough to grab the leg of a small
side table. I smashed it across his upper back and head. Dazed, his grip
loosened. I wiggled my legs out from underneath him, but he charged again, grabbing
the back of my nightshirt. Threads tore as he dragged me down again. This time,
he clawed his way on top of me and got his hands around my throat. He squeezed
hard like he wanted to snap my neck in half, yelling for me to listen to him. I
punched and clawed at his arms, fighting and kicking. Anything to free myself
as a burning sensation heated up my lungs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You’re one of them!” He shouted, his eyes crazed. “They got
to you. You can’t tell them anything—I won’t let you!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">My bedroom door slammed open. Several people ran into my
bedroom and wrestled him off me. I rolled onto my side and grabbed my neck,
struggling to suck air into my writhing lungs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="normalCxSpLast" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The orderlies threw Julio on my bed where a man wearing a
pair of black slacks sedated him. Dr. Tommen knelt on the floor next to me, but
I waved him away. I didn’t want anyone touching me. For all I knew, they did
this to him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</blockquote><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br />
<!--[endif]--></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Amazon best-selling author, V.G. Harrison, enjoys creating smart heroines who are more comfortable dealing with things like Fine-structure constant and quantum entanglement than the fallout from their conflict. She loves to write stories that leave her audience so engaged they can't sleep at night, thinking about the possibilities. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">V.G. holds a Bachelors in Biomedical Engineering and a Masters in Information Technology. When she's not writing, she's an IT manager for a healthcare information systems company. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Her ever-growing list of hobbies include astronomy, attending comic cons, keeping an eye on the cryptocurrency and stock markets, hydroponics gardening, hiking, and connecting with her daughter, A.J., on a cool level. Building Lego sets at night with milk and cookies on the side come in handy for that. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.vgharrison.com" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">www.vgharrison.com </a></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><a href="https://www.vgharrison.com/blog-1">https://www.vgharrison.com/blog-1</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsyxPEstBdzoitEdN2TnbxZ7Xf2uNpd3Iu0se4LL-SpalyG0CpgWYvSt1QFjZCBD-h8jmLsBPYH4FPMy9zLo6PjvnnXtxQPCwO8KMTk7XRFzrcsv91PElasKQjSZBNlPbUegRyGrfpVMW0cW0zFDZRK6rWvay3JjE0rYnGy1-rEMCV8tseA2Dsgj6a11P_/s1080/Cover%20Reveal%20%20abandon%20station%20Instagram%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsyxPEstBdzoitEdN2TnbxZ7Xf2uNpd3Iu0se4LL-SpalyG0CpgWYvSt1QFjZCBD-h8jmLsBPYH4FPMy9zLo6PjvnnXtxQPCwO8KMTk7XRFzrcsv91PElasKQjSZBNlPbUegRyGrfpVMW0cW0zFDZRK6rWvay3JjE0rYnGy1-rEMCV8tseA2Dsgj6a11P_/s320/Cover%20Reveal%20%20abandon%20station%20Instagram%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2211" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2211/" id="rcwidget_rb22x7km" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-18819658235055880652023-12-12T03:30:00.013-05:002023-12-12T03:30:00.252-05:00Author Interview - Dreamscape by J.N. Sheats<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCS5kfzyAcAp1mJRGpqnGAhT29L0rHg6K0Xi0xtsSEKyZ6SGJoAXcDim6EYT7428814r9XAaeAMepgnDMPev-9zXASU-07ufzojZ2aEwodhtj0SY3undKWK1FFiIMfR8H-I9GsozxxNWgFnwdNs2iKmxIC1MVf3fXxy4mvmgsHqw_MUrz-OmUZpjIcmYJB/s820/Dreamscape%20Tour%20Banner%20(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCS5kfzyAcAp1mJRGpqnGAhT29L0rHg6K0Xi0xtsSEKyZ6SGJoAXcDim6EYT7428814r9XAaeAMepgnDMPev-9zXASU-07ufzojZ2aEwodhtj0SY3undKWK1FFiIMfR8H-I9GsozxxNWgFnwdNs2iKmxIC1MVf3fXxy4mvmgsHqw_MUrz-OmUZpjIcmYJB/w400-h153/Dreamscape%20Tour%20Banner%20(1).png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- What is your “day” job if you are not a full-time author?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am a bank teller, excuse me. A universal banker (per my boss).</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- If you wrote a book about your life what would the title be?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Chaos Core</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- What is the hardest thing about being an author?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Getting started, starting is the hardest part next to editing.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- What is the best thing about being an author?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Being able to create worlds from the ground up. Building something from nothing is very rewarding.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- Have you ever been star-struck by meeting one of your favorite authors? If so who was it? </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sadly, no.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- What book changed your life?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- What were some of your favorite books growing up?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Picture books, I wasn't much of a reader growing up. I discovered my love for reading later in life.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- What books are currently in your to-be-read pile?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I have a stack of about ten Lori Foster books waiting to be read.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- Which do you prefer ebooks, print, or audiobooks?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I really like print books because I like being able to hold something, and see my progress as I read. I simply feel more accomplished after finishing a print book.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia;"><b>- If you could live inside the world of a book or series which world would it be and why?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cassandra Lawson's Spells that Bind series. I love the world she created in the books. Everything from the demon realm to the witch and vampire neighborhoods is wonderful.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMcHAMPt5MHmU4GVVUPtqpggrodO0dv5TUSwq23CJLi_pofR9zRnkwCZ9AjhtItE-KLAvIJDR4KxdIIgaJytW3evWGblgmGl1MlSjCf-9mHfOHIJPZJSLx9q0DR8RnNNttYw7J35z1lLGpp9ymbkqjkgRgPr1hSHbIOJcp4e9qBzpm3H3TXUXChcbj4Sur/s2625/Dreamscape_ebookcover.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2625" data-original-width="1622" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMcHAMPt5MHmU4GVVUPtqpggrodO0dv5TUSwq23CJLi_pofR9zRnkwCZ9AjhtItE-KLAvIJDR4KxdIIgaJytW3evWGblgmGl1MlSjCf-9mHfOHIJPZJSLx9q0DR8RnNNttYw7J35z1lLGpp9ymbkqjkgRgPr1hSHbIOJcp4e9qBzpm3H3TXUXChcbj4Sur/s320/Dreamscape_ebookcover.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>Dreamscape</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>JJ Morris Series </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Book 2</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>J.N. Sheats</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Mystery/Horror/Paranormal Romance</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: J.N. Sheats</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: 12/05/2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: B0CKB8Q4HZ </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: J Edward Neill </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Supernatural meets Witches of East End in a twisted dream.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Now a college student, Joey is finding college life comfortable. But studies prove to be more difficult than facing down a horde of black dogs. Struggling with her average life now that the supernatural world has been opened before her, Joey is constantly distracted. Pulled between wanting the standard life of a college student, and the allure of the paranormal. Unfortunately, Portstown has been quiet since the “Great Hunt” of last year, that is until a random fire on campus occurs, and people start going missing.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Disregarded as a student prank, Joey brushes the incident off until she catches Gwen looking into it. Why would one of the guardians from the mysterious Warner family be looking into a silly student prank?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">More questions arise when fires start popping up all over campus, and Joey’s dreams turn violent under the control of the Dream Conductor with their twisted intentions. Gathering the group back together Joey must figure out what is happening to the missing people, who is starting the mysterious fires on campus, and what does the Dream Conductor want all while conquering finals. Will Joey pass this semester or will she fall into her deepest fantasies?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CKB8Q4HZ"><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Amazon</span></b></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6jqLCBonY7eB-h2gKDjyoi6yxGroGQaRt5VwYQsaRBlx0AubcBklt_MPWkhhp5jsoGTBBRF6k5rcWLF2lp8CFeqOjTfBwrtLn2JOFNR_C3PFxUTwGScbgUoZYMr7Gl9lIjxqmvQYNvB43UDTJZKVWDW7wxU83buG5ga2UmqCD-Hn32SAfDpbSgLK-CQ/s851/DreamscapeBanner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="851" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6jqLCBonY7eB-h2gKDjyoi6yxGroGQaRt5VwYQsaRBlx0AubcBklt_MPWkhhp5jsoGTBBRF6k5rcWLF2lp8CFeqOjTfBwrtLn2JOFNR_C3PFxUTwGScbgUoZYMr7Gl9lIjxqmvQYNvB43UDTJZKVWDW7wxU83buG5ga2UmqCD-Hn32SAfDpbSgLK-CQ/w400-h148/DreamscapeBanner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></div><blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">Excerpt:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">In the history of insane ideas, this was high on the list as I stood at the edge of the cemetery looking out over a sea of headstones. This was the last thing I wanted to face down, but I had to know if I was right about the fire. If I was then someone was in trouble. I heard it in the dream, someone calling out for help. Then again I heard a lot of people calling for help the other night in my dreams, still I had an anxious feeling about this fire.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">I tried calling the police and the firehouse, but I couldn’t get a word out. I didn’t want to send them to the chapel if there was no fire. What if the fire wasn’t going to be for awhile? Like the other night. It took hours for the fire to happen after I woke from my nightmare. The time before that it was within moments. Which was it going to be this time? They could come, find nothing and leave. Then the fire starts and they respond too late. Too late for what, Joey?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">It was a building, an old building. So what if it burned down, there would be no harm done and there were no houses in danger around it. Who cared if the crappy little chapel disappeared, but that cry for help nagged at me.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">The idea of calling Gwen crossed my mind, I even stood there with my finger hovering over her number, but what was I going to say? “There is going to be fire because I said so”? I couldn’t explain how I knew where the fire was going to happen, I simply knew. Deep in my subconscious somewhere I knew without a doubt the chapel was going to burn, and the longer I waited the stronger the feeling grew. Instead of making the call I settled on checking out the chapel for myself first. If I found nothing then fine, I would go back home and call it a bad dream. If I did find something, well I had my phone with me. I could call Gwen right there. I simply had to make it through the graveyard. At night.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">Daring a step forward I took a deep breath and shored up what courage I had. Inside I prayed I didn’t run into any black dogs, or fire demons, if those were a thing. Taking another step I let out the breath and ventured another step. One right after another I made my way across the graveyard toward the chapel half a mile away. I could have avoided the graveyard and walked up to the sidewalk parallel to the cemetery, but this was the fastest way to the chapel. In the back of my mind it felt like time was running out, so through the graveyard it was.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">Shadows danced off of the gravestones as I walked, making me flinch from time to time. Once or twice I let out a little yelp as the breeze picked up and shifted the long grass that needed to be mowed. It didn’t help that it felt like someone was watching me. The little hairs on the back of my neck were standing up, and the smolder of eyes on me chilled my blood. Coming to a stop short of the chapel I stood near one of the mausoleums and looked at the chapel more carefully. I mean, running in when it could burst into flames at any moment wasn’t the best idea. So I took time to study the outside.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">The windows were dark, no light came from within. Outside it was quiet, dead quiet aside from the winter wind blowing. Dry and arctic, but refreshing against my heated skin. I stood there studying the lines of the old chapel and the curling paint chips that were flapping against the wind. Everything looked normal and fine, quiet and still.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Meow!” Jinx yelled next to my ear on the mausoleum. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What the hell, in heaven.” I gasped, jumping away and feeling my heart in my throat.</span></div></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaaNwLHtZuiH9rO7j1pdti4eneXUVtNgMD13B_-CFmxarjuB-Ac_SDaoAuMaHshsg2G3SQsb1AhNBbaESB6_wddR2I_-OJbEfiyK-AEgOdEpBQdgtCpj6xu-Tg9f5Q9UuGDWju5EaCGq4oq60VWlcD4HRmCrTfkCbXLYKdxEnXzHKGtu5dgOghyphenhyphenHj4e9CB/s1194/author_pic.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1194" data-original-width="922" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaaNwLHtZuiH9rO7j1pdti4eneXUVtNgMD13B_-CFmxarjuB-Ac_SDaoAuMaHshsg2G3SQsb1AhNBbaESB6_wddR2I_-OJbEfiyK-AEgOdEpBQdgtCpj6xu-Tg9f5Q9UuGDWju5EaCGq4oq60VWlcD4HRmCrTfkCbXLYKdxEnXzHKGtu5dgOghyphenhyphenHj4e9CB/w154-h200/author_pic.jpg" width="154" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">J.N. Sheats is an artist turned author. Living in Maryland with six wild cats, and her husband, J.N. spends her days designing book covers and teasers for other authors. At night she is at the mercy of her demanding characters, and their wild fantasies.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Dark Paranormal Fantasy is her preferred genre of writing, but anything is game. Maybe even a lovely romance novel or two in the near future.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">When not writing, designing, or drawing, J.N. spends her time doing a host of other activities. Including: gardening, jewelry making, cooking, and watching far too much television.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Author Website: <a href="http://www.authorjnsheats.wordpress.com">www.authorjnsheats.wordpress.com</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Blog: <a href="http://insidetheinsanitycm.blogspot.com/">http://insidetheinsanitycm.blogspot.com/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/jsheatsart">www.facebook.com/jsheatsart</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/author/jnsheats">www.amazon.com/author/jnsheats</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/jnsheats">https://twitter.com/jnsheats</a></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvzTr9WMpRLEhKRC6vx4z_5079TYKRc9N1RGZZzIxiTHvGE1vwg4b4CAmevQmgJZL1rFkB9s0gzShiBZ13rrXZnLg6oeLYTz5MjGbp0ekK0Y7eRp7dv6asqEq4u6act3v8QRP2KgqX8qeIk2kr9hL4GFwQjGAQxdfPzpA4b9ydgI-xB0dCgynKSzfuYIF/s1080/Dreamscape%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvzTr9WMpRLEhKRC6vx4z_5079TYKRc9N1RGZZzIxiTHvGE1vwg4b4CAmevQmgJZL1rFkB9s0gzShiBZ13rrXZnLg6oeLYTz5MjGbp0ekK0Y7eRp7dv6asqEq4u6act3v8QRP2KgqX8qeIk2kr9hL4GFwQjGAQxdfPzpA4b9ydgI-xB0dCgynKSzfuYIF/s320/Dreamscape%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2209" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2209/" id="rcwidget_c4vv2qkm" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-39114524858136996942023-12-12T01:00:00.001-05:002023-12-12T01:00:00.254-05:00Spooky Writer’s Planner by Loren Rhoads and Emerian Rich - Deck the Halls with Books Holiday Extravaganza <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirN-jFYPRoWJTFGY99OkZNt-EU-w_v-0ru9UJb3PctyUDsBZMMTc-Z8PtkdEd3MixJgrTa1PMoJ5IZFDjubmXCTcuH_mj8mL8DVUwtkIqdu__thrW7enj7gibvuxcEs8E_SfPYQ6d3RFkJ8Pmkc-tfgKTynNfcsqbYnYkcafQsPdPm0LshGHM9Eqhmf1yq/s820/Spooky%20Planner%20Deck%20the%20Halls%20Banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirN-jFYPRoWJTFGY99OkZNt-EU-w_v-0ru9UJb3PctyUDsBZMMTc-Z8PtkdEd3MixJgrTa1PMoJ5IZFDjubmXCTcuH_mj8mL8DVUwtkIqdu__thrW7enj7gibvuxcEs8E_SfPYQ6d3RFkJ8Pmkc-tfgKTynNfcsqbYnYkcafQsPdPm0LshGHM9Eqhmf1yq/w400-h153/Spooky%20Planner%20Deck%20the%20Halls%20Banner.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCVD7v5OK5tF1SkVJeLkLKdO1-IxLGroUptSehwl5opyL2EjB9m-Zk8p779c5Hn6gSsqrFJ83gZQZ2Tihi9oJOO_Adp44VPycF_bqeVOTEq8l18g1mBaIEHUtSnaaPIWUlkjP6xu1-VpGyTV4mY2qU_SAvX9FfXm0XSXrcoqZzPl0m5DuLiZ2IapsW2fY/s2480/Holiday%20Feature.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="2480" height="84" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCVD7v5OK5tF1SkVJeLkLKdO1-IxLGroUptSehwl5opyL2EjB9m-Zk8p779c5Hn6gSsqrFJ83gZQZ2Tihi9oJOO_Adp44VPycF_bqeVOTEq8l18g1mBaIEHUtSnaaPIWUlkjP6xu1-VpGyTV4mY2qU_SAvX9FfXm0XSXrcoqZzPl0m5DuLiZ2IapsW2fY/w400-h84/Holiday%20Feature.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>10 Tricks for Writing During the Holidays</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>by Loren Rhoads</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes, especially around the holidays, it’s hard to find time to do the creative work you want to do. I’ve used a bunch of tricks to carve out time to write. I hope these will inspire you.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>1. Make a list. </b>Whether it’s topics you want to explore or scenes that need to be written, it’s easier to begin writing when you have a prompt.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>2. Set an alarm.</b> Promise yourself that you will settle down to write as soon as the alarm goes off. Giving yourself the anticipation of writing time can be inspirational.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>3. Set a timer. </b>Anyone can write for 15 minutes. There’s something about the tiniest amount of time pressure that tricks your brain into thinking it’s on a deadline. Start a timer on your computer, phone, or in the kitchen. You might find yourself pounding out the words to beat the bell. If the words are really flowing, you can always add a second 15-minute sprint.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>4. Make a date with a friend.</b> Whether you sit down together in a cafe or meet online for a video chat, it really helps to know that someone else is working alongside you. The key is to find someone who will write, rather than chat.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>5. Put your headphones on. </b>Many writers make a playlist that they listen to only when they work on a particular project. Listening to the same music every time you write can train your brain to provide inspiration on command.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>6. Write somewhere else.</b> If you normally write at a desk, try moving to the sofa or the kitchen table or sitting in bed. The simple act of shifting to new surroundings can shake loose the words.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>7. Try a different writing tool. </b>Do you usually write on a laptop? Try writing by hand in a notebook or attach a keyboard to your phone. Some writers swear by word processing keyboards like AlphaSmart or FreeWrite, which only allow you to see a small amount of the text you’re working on. That way you're forced to move forward, rather than editing what you've already done.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>8. Write first thing in the morning. </b>It’s tempting to start the day by checking email or scrolling social media, but what might you come up with if you listened to your own thoughts first thing in the morning?</div><div><br /></div><div><b>9. Write last thing at night. </b>Take a notebook to bed and draft one more scene before you turn out the light. Do the words feel different as you’re settling in for the night? Maybe your subconscious can solve a writing problem for you in your dreams.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>10. Chart your progress. </b>Whether you put a check on the calendar, color in a box on a habit-tracking chart, or note your word count in your planner, record the days you write. It’s addictive to see your progress.</div><div><br /></div><div>What other tricks have you found for getting the work done? Make your own list, so you'll have some tools to use next time you feel at a loss for words.</div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></div></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ430Prg0b_X04bzp014Vs3D4CzpMhcmkiyAPse7A4PAj6xdrz9Urt1xB17vx1P40Bwz-n14RVRTD-M4pK3kdchgQRYCgrEEOAWNIgpjd_p_vc0oPRHtPLKq9_Wm8r_NmJVL-Q7LwCuCEAZfCcLEgP7n4Mj9yynBDGQBC38PJjoqf-5q46v15x6kViHAm6/s1084/Rhoads%20Spooky%20Planner%20cover.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1084" data-original-width="872" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ430Prg0b_X04bzp014Vs3D4CzpMhcmkiyAPse7A4PAj6xdrz9Urt1xB17vx1P40Bwz-n14RVRTD-M4pK3kdchgQRYCgrEEOAWNIgpjd_p_vc0oPRHtPLKq9_Wm8r_NmJVL-Q7LwCuCEAZfCcLEgP7n4Mj9yynBDGQBC38PJjoqf-5q46v15x6kViHAm6/s320/Rhoads%20Spooky%20Planner%20cover.png" width="257" /></a></div>Spooky Writer’s Planner</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">Loren Rhoads and Emerian Rich</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: nonfiction planner</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: HorrorAddicts.net</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: November 2020</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 9798560168698</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 361</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Emerian Rich</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Get organized this year!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Are you a horror author who wants to take your career to the next level? Do you write dark fantasy, paranormal romance, spooky poetry, or morbid nonfiction? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Would you like to advance farther in the direction of your dreams?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Spooky Writer's Planner includes:</span></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia;">13 months of monthly and weekly calendars</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia;">Monthly goal and recap sheets</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia;">Weekly check-ins and note pages</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia;">Writing challenges, prompts, and brainstorming pages</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia;">Trackers for submissions, pitches, and contacts </span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia;">Marketing, newsletter, and blog planners</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia;">Check-off sheets for website maintenance, social media updates, and expenses</span></li></ul></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">Available in Digital and Print</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Trailer: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkAATjLixjE">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkAATjLixjE</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">See An Excerpt Here: <a href="https://dl.bookfunnel.com/noi4i2rset">https://dl.bookfunnel.com/noi4i2rset</a></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAh_FJqJCoKO0Z3uza0x7c2w9USIB3wJEfFxn9vMQhjrIO4sWPq1CehhlQRXfHvdEbur-E6nq27b5fUj73hmegArmX2K32rVnUoUIs9tuC8rvqExdifnft5NQtCRvpG9KTSc2IPLO0OD7Ur5iwZklarzA74AcAbhZMPdnOfO1t2b-U6mu97ZdHwcDeUMw/s1280/Rhoads%20SWP%20sample%20pages%201.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAh_FJqJCoKO0Z3uza0x7c2w9USIB3wJEfFxn9vMQhjrIO4sWPq1CehhlQRXfHvdEbur-E6nq27b5fUj73hmegArmX2K32rVnUoUIs9tuC8rvqExdifnft5NQtCRvpG9KTSc2IPLO0OD7Ur5iwZklarzA74AcAbhZMPdnOfO1t2b-U6mu97ZdHwcDeUMw/w400-h225/Rhoads%20SWP%20sample%20pages%201.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The quick-download
version gives you a digital copy so you can print the pages you need and print
multiples of those you'll use the most. Create your own Frankenstein's Monster
of a planner! These black & white pages are designed to be printed on 8.5 x
11-inch paper. Put them in a three-ring binder or bind them with disks or a
spiral, your choice. Use it year after year after one purchase! <br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/920797923/spooky-writers-planner">Available
from Etsy</a><br /></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Spooky Writer's
Planner is perfect-bound with a glossy cover, printed on high-quality 8.5 x
11-inch paper. Everything you need is included in one handy book that you can
grab and go!</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><a href="https://amzn.to/3S36qQs">Available
from Amazon</a></b><br />
<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5D4NISla-3mzA0bUZ8DLY3TkquHR7s4W38OQq0fU-_-InSzRqezA1vodACU0j8KQBCi5HQNgYehGO5gUY_x-XFrCrCg9Z9HuFWAD3xAQ6M30fW-LGw-LajRB-2-uO1yW9VI7zEJZHBB2XPyG0yjkyNLt-pxMaUySyWDfRHxdTPugki2nYiHb2cyGBg90Y/s1280/Rhoads%20Headshot.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="852" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5D4NISla-3mzA0bUZ8DLY3TkquHR7s4W38OQq0fU-_-InSzRqezA1vodACU0j8KQBCi5HQNgYehGO5gUY_x-XFrCrCg9Z9HuFWAD3xAQ6M30fW-LGw-LajRB-2-uO1yW9VI7zEJZHBB2XPyG0yjkyNLt-pxMaUySyWDfRHxdTPugki2nYiHb2cyGBg90Y/s320/Rhoads%20Headshot.jpeg" width="213" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Loren Rhoads writes dark fantasy, horror, and science fiction, sometimes all at once. She’s the author or editor of 18 books, including 199 Cemeteries to See Before You Die and Unsafe Words. She serves as a writing mentor for the Horror Writers Association. She has taught workshops on reading your work in public and submitting proposals and pitches to publishers. Find out more about her work at LorenRhoads.com </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Blog: </span><a href="https://lorenrhoads.com/blog/" style="font-family: georgia;">https://lorenrhoads.com/blog/</a></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/morbidloren">https://twitter.com/morbidloren</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/morbidloren">https://www.instagram.com/morbidloren</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Newsletter: <a href="https://mailchi.mp/aa9545b2ccf4/lorenrhoads">https://mailchi.mp/aa9545b2ccf4/lorenrhoads</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/LorenRhoadsAuthor/ " rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.facebook.com/LorenRhoadsAuthor/ </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bluesky: <a href="https://bsky.app/profile/morbidloren.bsky.social">https://bsky.app/profile/morbidloren.bsky.social</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Loren-Rhoads/e/B002P905PE/">https://www.amazon.com/Loren-Rhoads/e/B002P905PE/</a> </span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RNHTIoFKk2FiJqadD1VlNO1HBz89x8mShghfl2Dd3wHAOXOfaeA9dDwZJYui34a4rR77r7-1dBLGdhpUKo9cUgtQ-GwpzqdnibRqDMiwIlW-JXUp7s8S8eyzEwTHc_RaGLncEAVY4NPm0mei6M0EBtsIeGp-O6wIqn1jmtrO5tcE0HpE4OsHFjXOA2zI/s1080/Deck%20the%20Halls%20Insta%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RNHTIoFKk2FiJqadD1VlNO1HBz89x8mShghfl2Dd3wHAOXOfaeA9dDwZJYui34a4rR77r7-1dBLGdhpUKo9cUgtQ-GwpzqdnibRqDMiwIlW-JXUp7s8S8eyzEwTHc_RaGLncEAVY4NPm0mei6M0EBtsIeGp-O6wIqn1jmtrO5tcE0HpE4OsHFjXOA2zI/s320/Deck%20the%20Halls%20Insta%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_VoW0Kd_VnDqCgkMkUFEYm03IxkkquSmK-ZHZJZGEt9anAPrjLCYilQiOCV2ZG0UJzcILEUdpgUQIGtfQOpKWMd_-lOtb9MCfLgswfUBTgzgHwi3yyidSUgW1B7hLFYnE9ZGLID5o7QNyWUC9rPt_MQ4zSlB8sLl7AH_8MKrBrb2UFYR9hAgd6l3qYNum/s2304/Giveaway.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="1728" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_VoW0Kd_VnDqCgkMkUFEYm03IxkkquSmK-ZHZJZGEt9anAPrjLCYilQiOCV2ZG0UJzcILEUdpgUQIGtfQOpKWMd_-lOtb9MCfLgswfUBTgzgHwi3yyidSUgW1B7hLFYnE9ZGLID5o7QNyWUC9rPt_MQ4zSlB8sLl7AH_8MKrBrb2UFYR9hAgd6l3qYNum/w300-h400/Giveaway.png" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2207" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2207/" id="rcwidget_1mtrdrw7" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
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Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-59219832347372725022023-12-07T03:00:00.005-05:002023-12-07T03:00:00.135-05:00 The Ritual of Remembrance with Laura Engelhardt <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlp7aJxwrFiXkDyZt0E2g7LAz-eZyiKjHnQlXjGllbCxN-k4Aq_jotkcHPhagTC8BdEsk4hosFYyueCwl7nu41MWDed1D303D8H9WG0bcykFDXFWX6PJ75nYqgaIBo09hj0KRAU3YMHp_TJIpjoaH5lmeIfl9oGQRWSoEVibB3HNedMSLtl6I3Bx0P-p4y/s820/Desert%20Enchantments%20Banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlp7aJxwrFiXkDyZt0E2g7LAz-eZyiKjHnQlXjGllbCxN-k4Aq_jotkcHPhagTC8BdEsk4hosFYyueCwl7nu41MWDed1D303D8H9WG0bcykFDXFWX6PJ75nYqgaIBo09hj0KRAU3YMHp_TJIpjoaH5lmeIfl9oGQRWSoEVibB3HNedMSLtl6I3Bx0P-p4y/w400-h153/Desert%20Enchantments%20Banner.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Ritual of Remembrance is not an act you perform for your loved ones. Instead, it is designed to honor strangers. This Ritual is a gift to those who have passed: a promise that they will be remembered and are not alone. While this rite does not need to be performed during any particular season or time of day, it does require multiple visits to a cemetery.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Prepare by walking the graveyard, using your intuition as your guide as you wander until you feel drawn to a particular gravesite. Pause to read the headstone. Think about who this stranger may have been, then continue to walk past. If you still remember the stranger’s name when you return to the cemetery entrance, you have found the right individual for whom to perform this rite. Sometimes it begins with a tingling in the skin or a compulsion to look more closely at a particular headstone. Or maybe you walk past a grave, and feel a curiosity drawing you back. Pay attention to these small signs to identify the right stranger for whom to perform the Ritual of Remembrance. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Do not begin the Ritual immediately after your initial visit to the graveyard. Instead, return a few days or weeks later. When you walk the graves again, see whether you feel pulled back to the same stranger as before. If so, then you may begin the Ritual of Remembrance. If not, then continue walking the graves, repeating the steps from your preparatory visit.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Once you identify the site resonating with the stranger, stand before their grave and greet them by name. Use their name to formally greet them and introduce yourself. Next, ponder any facts you can glean from their gravesite plaque or headstone — such as age, time of life, family connections, occupation, nationality, etc. Ask them about their life. Feel for the tendrils of answers that come to you. Those may be simply your own imagination, but often they are informed by the stranger. Every person’s story is unique and different. The very act of thinking about someone keeps their memory alive, even if there is little to be discerned from their final markers.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Each time you return to the graveyard, acknowledge and greet the former-stranger by name. Continue to contemplate their place in history and the era of their life. Complete the Ritual of Remembrance by planting rosemary atop their grave, as you inform the deceased that you are doing this act to help you remember them. Rosemary is a perennial herb, often linked to the act of remembering. If you also decide to plant flowers, do not plan annuals; select a suitable perennial.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Unlike Samhain Rites and other rites of reverence toward the dead, the Ritual of Remembrance is focused on acknowledging and greeting strangers. Because you never knew the deceased, focus only on the act of giving. You are not seeking anything in return from the deceased. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This Ritual is akin to the rituals of the ancient acts of graveyard blessings, where the practitioner seeks to calm restless spirits. Not every spirit is kind. When performing this work, remember you are performing an act of charity. You are not asking the departed to assist you in anything but are simply providing them with an act of good will, and the promise they are not forgotten. </div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdlwzHBinM1BeGd5V35CcekLrPLmwo81AFb4r20GPRHRa9DvovdbnEk1P4hyQmIGqkp-yhsUwsgsAHBiC953xQdRLPxXO9ju8QGPtCI4Wnbiw5i-Pm_psN-7cyOxwKVHqKBNdg7aOqjDF62UxT2aO2TcRwEgtgxOS9VZn7OXFLyas0qp8r3nlY8CxkANr6/s2700/Desert%20Enchantments-8%20Final.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdlwzHBinM1BeGd5V35CcekLrPLmwo81AFb4r20GPRHRa9DvovdbnEk1P4hyQmIGqkp-yhsUwsgsAHBiC953xQdRLPxXO9ju8QGPtCI4Wnbiw5i-Pm_psN-7cyOxwKVHqKBNdg7aOqjDF62UxT2aO2TcRwEgtgxOS9VZn7OXFLyas0qp8r3nlY8CxkANr6/s320/Desert%20Enchantments-8%20Final.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Desert Enchantments</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Arabian Spells </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Fifth Mage War Prequel</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Laura Engelhardt</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Fantasy</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Wandering Wave Press</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: November 16, 2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 978-1-957778-06-8</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: B0CM3MMSWK </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 130 pages</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 32,000 words</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Rena Violet</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Prophecies, Faeries, Djinni, and Werewolves! A New Fantasy World Awaits…</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">This exciting prequel is perfect for both new readers and current fans of Engelhardt’s award-winning Fifth Mage War series. At only 130 pages, the book provides an introduction into a magical modern world filled with faeries, prophecies, werewolves and djinni. Desert Enchantment focuses on a new character, and features themes of survivor’s guilt/hope and obsessive love/self-control.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">A Class Five mage, Khalid developed the only long-distance magical weapon in existence: the dreaded djinni, who spin across the deserts, destroying everything in their path. Now, he faces the kind of challenge only an Oracle could have predicted.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">In Recasting Fate, we join Khalid as he attempts to rout the European invaders from the Sahara Desert. Except a faerie breezes in with an offer he can't refuse.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">In Djinn Swarm, Khalid battles for self-control when he discovers that the only thing more powerful than a djinn is love.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">These two novelettes are a perfect gateway into the Fifth Mage War series, introducing new characters and new cultures as the world moves inextricably toward a cataclysmic war. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CM3MMSWK"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Amazon</span></a></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b></b></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Excerpt</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The first djinn emerged in the night sky:
a whirlwind topped with a simulacrum of Khalid himself. Knife-sharp grains of
sand spun upward, pulled by the centrifugal force of the air that formed the
construct’s lower half. Khalid swallowed down bile as he looked at his
creation. The djinn’s outstretched arms were frozen in a gesture of welcome,
but its unblinking eyes were indifferent to the suffering it was about to
cause.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">If only he could create a living
construct, he wouldn’t be forced to watch oversized statues of himself wreaking
destruction. Before Sabha, he used to revel in the fact that his enemy would
know he had been the mage who had killed them. Now, the sight of his giant face
in the sky made him sick.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Two more djinni coalesced, dragging
roiling storms of colored lightning behind them like fringed capes. Malik shut
the spellbook, words of congratulations on his lips. But his face fell, his
compliments silenced before they could be uttered. Khalid’s heart rate sped up
as he followed his vizier’s gaze.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The three djinni should have been flying
north over the dunes to the enemy encampment, spinning tornados of wind and
lightning beneath them. Instead, the constructs hung suspended in midair, their
lower whirlwinds frozen into a stillness as eerie as their unmoving humanoid
tops.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">A rush of air rippled Khalid’s headscarf
and robe, but the desert was suddenly silent. He could no longer hear the rasp
of wind over sand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Eurus, Khalid realized, his grim fear
sinking into actual dread.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The glimmering white-gold outline of a
woman’s face emerged in front of the djinni.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Khalid swallowed as she pressed her lips
against one statue-like face before dissipating back into air.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Khalid waved Malik back to the assembled
guard. “Go,” he said. “Back to camp.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">But Malik pressed shoulder-to-shoulder
with him. “No one can contend against the air itself, Amir. It won’t matter if
we stay or go.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">That’s an unfortunate truth, Khalid
thought. For all they knew, Eurus existed within the very air they drew into
their lungs. She was everywhere but only rarely took physical form.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Humans, even other faeries, were typically
beneath her notice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Your djinni still don’t live.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The East Wind’s soft voice was impossible
to locate, though they all spun around to look for her. Eurus was air, an
elemental faerie born billions of years ago when the Earth’s atmosphere formed.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Why are you here?” Khalid called, his
voice overly loud in the stillness. <br />
Eurus, as the East Wind liked to be called, manifested into a shadowed figure
floating cross-legged as if atop a flying carpet. But of course, Eurus didn’t
need any support to defeat gravity.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Khalid’s face covering blew off, and he
caught the red headcloth before responding.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You told me war didn’t interest you
anymore.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Your djinni interest me.” The elemental
faerie’s voice hovered in the air around him, pressing against him like the
atmospheric warning of an approaching sandstorm.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I’m no via-enchanter to cast spells on
living things, Lady Eurus,” Khalid reminded her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The fae demanded honesty, and he’d told
her this many times already. “I don’t know how to make a djinn draw breath.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You were working hard to modify your
spells,” Eurus said. “At least until your sisters convinced you to claim the
Sahara for your al-Saaqib tribe.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I have a duty to protect the desert’s
people. I can’t play with spell designs while we remain under threat,” Khalid
said — then cursed himself when he realized he’d given her an opening.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She pounced. “I am more dangerous than
five thousand battlemages. Bargain with me. I can steal your enemies’ breath.
Blow their ships back from your shores. I can keep your lands safe from the
predators while you perfect your djinn spells.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I’m no via-enchanter, Lady Eurus,” Khalid
repeated. “I spent decades and only managed to integrate biomarkers into the
design.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">His gaze flickered up. Six vacant eyes
that matched his own stared down at him in impotent stillness. Eurus’s magick
held his unreleased djinni captive. He needed her to let them fly. Let Khalid
kill his enemy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You see how well I can keep you safe,”
Eurus said, glancing upward as well. “Even from your own spells.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Khalid hated how tempting her offer was
now. Everyone else had perished at Sabha. It had been a Pyrrhic victory, but a
victory nonetheless. If she didn’t release his djinni, this battle would end in
an actual defeat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">There was nothing worse than defeat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Do not surrender, Al-Amir,” Malik
whispered. “With or without the djinni, we will prevail!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Surrender? Who said anything about
surrender? I’ll be your hired hand, Amir Khalid ibn Hawwa al-Saaqib!” Eurus’s
voice hung slyly in the air as she fluttered down into a full bow, her thin
frame splayed across the sand before him.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Khalid
stared down at the elemental faerie. No sane person made a bargain with a
faerie, but then, no sane faerie stalked a human.</span></p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">
<br />
</span></blockquote><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIu9bDcN7SgGEdFb9_PO13VUigKr_-CgdMhA54q8ubvPmRTLi32bCVXNSoOzohnQKQpLpMIPfXbQdNoGoALYQMK0K4pqz5r52Tsz6NDeJDthtttxLJo5_GR6atqNc7JE9rgfIZgtzsAVhtda0_MPxQY4lpkGKJwR8AELm7qmwfbMJqny6tz2krhNtUGq4Q/s765/Screenshot%20(1619).png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="765" data-original-width="580" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIu9bDcN7SgGEdFb9_PO13VUigKr_-CgdMhA54q8ubvPmRTLi32bCVXNSoOzohnQKQpLpMIPfXbQdNoGoALYQMK0K4pqz5r52Tsz6NDeJDthtttxLJo5_GR6atqNc7JE9rgfIZgtzsAVhtda0_MPxQY4lpkGKJwR8AELm7qmwfbMJqny6tz2krhNtUGq4Q/w152-h200/Screenshot%20(1619).png" width="152" /></a></div>About the Author: </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">An avid sf/fantasy reader, Laura Engelhardt writes the kind of book she likes to read: fantasy with intricate worlds and complex characters facing moral dilemmas. She started writing plays in college, then moved to Germany, where she continued to write while teaching ESL to executives. After moving back to the U.S., she supported her playwriting by teaching ballroom dance and working retail. Deciding that living in her parents’ attic wasn’t for her, Laura went to law school and then spent the next seventeen years as a lawyer and compliance officer in New York City. In 2017, she quit Wall Street and began helping people resolve disputes as a mediator and arbitrator. She now lives in New Jersey with her family.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website: <a href="https://lauraengelhardt.com">https://lauraengelhardt.com</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/5thMageWar/ " rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.facebook.com/5thMageWar/ </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/5thmagewar">https://www.instagram.com/5thmagewar</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19426998">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19426998</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU70Rt-d_aGnZTc33X_P6j9JTWh9xNQebrfWFtp5k3G9Y1XLbbsyns5P1L4ljzpwx87-KbKVA-6wrtbvm4mWQBDIiRiQnVN4yKRuXW6n4yoABKEYmCeyQFs2z0YbVkxatod6Ot_KxCqlE8Gc_CxJqCcmCAJeny2DBNIkPpqpV-ydOdjjEwJ_n_J7SXGIA6/s1080/Desert%20Enchantments%20Instagram%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU70Rt-d_aGnZTc33X_P6j9JTWh9xNQebrfWFtp5k3G9Y1XLbbsyns5P1L4ljzpwx87-KbKVA-6wrtbvm4mWQBDIiRiQnVN4yKRuXW6n4yoABKEYmCeyQFs2z0YbVkxatod6Ot_KxCqlE8Gc_CxJqCcmCAJeny2DBNIkPpqpV-ydOdjjEwJ_n_J7SXGIA6/s320/Desert%20Enchantments%20Instagram%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2210" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2210/" id="rcwidget_s3k6y25c" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
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Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-1016869557800224902023-12-06T06:00:00.004-05:002023-12-06T06:00:00.150-05:00Supernatural Dating Tips with Alex Thornbury #SupernaturalDatingTips #SupernaturalDating <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-y8q9_BiLBGOS_-ZyakvkHzcVyBiVP9KvKsMi6Uy-Ftu8n9hoALxx3gjU5bA0OinOeDUHW-dS_ivDF2S_B0fkQsDhmj38poN4fITAyQySY5yssQRfcGboDzD6xZNhqtRu9BTlI5TNVW89kYwfr3tKpIb3kIG0PbLGTbMDDZG-Tx65QJMR66qJnQAYlVVP/s820/_Rogue%20Mage%20Tour%20%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-y8q9_BiLBGOS_-ZyakvkHzcVyBiVP9KvKsMi6Uy-Ftu8n9hoALxx3gjU5bA0OinOeDUHW-dS_ivDF2S_B0fkQsDhmj38poN4fITAyQySY5yssQRfcGboDzD6xZNhqtRu9BTlI5TNVW89kYwfr3tKpIb3kIG0PbLGTbMDDZG-Tx65QJMR66qJnQAYlVVP/w400-h153/_Rogue%20Mage%20Tour%20%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don’t have much experience dating ghosts, largely as I see right through them from the start. It’s even worse if you meet one of those hauntingly silent types who just stare and stare. It’s chilling to be honest. But I do have a friend in a long-term relationship with a handsome ghost and she swears they make the best listeners. They are also excellent housemates, as they are very tidy and you never need to worry about sharing the bathroom or running out of hot water, as they never shower. And they don’t smell either. They are also handy for scarring off unwanted visitors and thieves. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Vampires, however, are a very different matter. My first advice, one I learned rather quickly on my first date with one, is never take a vampire out for steak. Honestly, don’t even mention the word “steak”, unless you’re going to spell it out for them each time you say it. They are very bad humored about that. The best thing about dating a vampire is that they are very charming, suave, and sophisticated. They like it when you dress nicely for them, too. So be sure to wear your best dress. Red and black are their favorite colors. However, a few sway toward gold, too. Now, ahem. About the feeding part. Yes, they like blood. Your blood especially, if you are dating. It’s their way of showing affection in a relationship. A bit like holding hands. And they might get a little carried away if they have not fed in a while. So be sure to have a safe word prearranged with them, so they know when you start to feel faint. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you are tempted to date a zombie, don’t do it. Just don’t. But, if you have no sense of smell, and met someone special, and really, really want to go on a date with one, then you will need to carry lots of disinfectant with you and be prepared to clean up pieces of gore and flesh that drops off them now and then. They grunt a lot, too, so you’ll need to be the one to carry the conversation. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As for werewolves, they are incredibly loyal, and like their bellies scratched, even in their human form, though they will deny it vehemently at first. Just make sure you always check that it’s not full moon when booking a table in a restaurant or planning to visit family with one. Werewolves never check the phase of the moon themselves, you see. They just assume everyone else will know instead and have the good sense to keep away whilst they shift. And if you forget, they are perfectly happy to shift in the middle of the damned dinner with your parents. And there is no use arguing with a werewolf about it either, as they are incredibly stubborn-headed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_xVbbYEWUSGpy9E_kNUrgG07WxaWIiy1QsSGYoVhyD1PNtNc26tZyzCQPo0bov5eu77l1og3YPxLHDOy2-s94r96GgNnaof1101Pns5CF1Q4WvhD16U3nkSZOahq-VX4g2Ao1DTupWREnciU_dRf6D_tQlqj2tpds2kuxSCGqjCoTUHDZECXFXm4tI2N/s3264/The_Rogue_Mage_eBOOK_COVERv2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1973" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_xVbbYEWUSGpy9E_kNUrgG07WxaWIiy1QsSGYoVhyD1PNtNc26tZyzCQPo0bov5eu77l1og3YPxLHDOy2-s94r96GgNnaof1101Pns5CF1Q4WvhD16U3nkSZOahq-VX4g2Ao1DTupWREnciU_dRf6D_tQlqj2tpds2kuxSCGqjCoTUHDZECXFXm4tI2N/s320/The_Rogue_Mage_eBOOK_COVERv2.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>The Rogue Mage</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>The Sundered Web </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Book Two</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Alex Thornbury</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Fantasy</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Shadow Lore Publishing</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: 5th December 2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 978-0-6454970-4-5</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: B0BW35KXPZ</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 550</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 190,000</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Alejandro Colucci</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: For humankind, she would be the monsters’ monster. She would be their fear in the night. She would be the terror come for them. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Elika crosses the Bridge to Magic to find the world ruled by magic, where nothing is as it seems. Mages run the streets, whilst the tsaren, their masters, war with each other. Though it is men who pay the price with their lives.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Faced with the injustice of the mages and the new world order, Elika discovers her own untapped gifts that may yet shift the balance of power back into the hands of men. But her dabbling in the power she does not understand draws the attention of the dreaded demigod Syn’Moreg.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Elika must now outwit the shadow that hunts her, whilst seeking a way to free mankind from their oppressors. Yet dark grows her heart, and to darkness it reaches for that which the shadow denies.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">As whispers of a newly found heir to the Sacred Crowns grow to cries of war, Elika comes to realize that she may not be the savior of mankind after all. Mite has proclaimed himself King Northwind, and marches on Terren to claim what is rightfully his. Elika is certain he will fail, unless she can vanquish the one power standing in his way. But to do that, she must convince the court and the archmage that she is the demigoddess Arala returned.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BW35KXPZ">Amazon</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></p></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b></b></p></span></div><blockquote><div><span style="font-family: times;"><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b>Excerpt:</b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Aeon-Greengrass’
house was easy to find, illuminated as it was with moonlight. The chimney was a
weave of branches, and grass grew from the walls. She peered down from the edge
of the roof to a small balcony, and silently lowered herself onto it. The tree
branches stirred under her feet, then stilled. Instead of a window, an airy
opening, with black webbing barred her way inside. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">‘Open,’
she commanded in a whisper, pushing her will into the surrounding essence, and
felt the answering quiver. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The
black strands parted, and she strode inside into a darkened lounge. Had she
come here to rob, she would have needed ten sacks for all the loot. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Every
surface was crowded with silver ornaments in strange shapes and flowing forms
that resembled nothing you’d find in nature. She was drawn to a figurine that
resembled a twisting, spiralling shape of a man, as if his body was made from
water. Another figurine was of a dog, his earthly form also looped and
stretched around itself, a grotesque torment of the natural order.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">There
were trees and flowers and animals, all twisted and bent. Yet there was an odd
beauty in the grotesqueness that tugged at her primal heart. Was this how they
saw her world? Strange that these ugly beings searched for beauty and crafted
it in their own appalling way. <br />
What do you want from our world? she pondered. Surely your own is of much
greater splendour, abound as it is with magic and wonder. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Dangerous
musings, she thought, and abruptly turned away before her resolve wavered. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Inside
the house, there were no doors, only archways in the walls of branches with
strange, whimsical fruit sprouting from their tips. No fruit was the same, and
when she touched one, it felt hollow and light as if spun from dust and wishes.
Under her foot, there was a carpet of grass. In it grew small flowers, akin to
those a child might draw with a stick in the mud, both extravagant and clumsy
in their form. The petals were of different sizes and irregular in shape.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Everything
here gave an impression of simultaneous worship and corruption of nature, as if
the Laifae did not understand how it all fitted together. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">At
the end of the hall, she came to a doorway. A black web barred her way. Beyond
it, she felt his essence, the creature who gave this house its form. She
focused on that essence, placed the hand on the webbing and whispered, ‘Do not
resist me.’<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Warm,
slick strands trembled under her fingers and parted before her, allowing her
entry into the majren’s bedchamber. A light glowed in a lantern beside his bed,
illuminating the youthful face of the sleeping mage. He was a youth … no, the
body he had stolen belonged to a youth whose limbs still had not developed the
bulk of a full-grown man. It was an absurdly wrong body for the man who held
such an important position in the archmage’s dominion. Curled on his side, he
looked like a child in peaceful slumber. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The
child is dead, she reminded herself, willing the anger to grow. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Still,
she could not look at him and do what must be done. She sent a black tendril to
extinguish the flame in his lantern, and the room was plunged into darkness. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Aeon-Greengrass
startled awake and sat up. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">‘Who’s
there?’ He moved his face searchingly, back and forth, past where she stood. <br />
She froze, realising that he was blind in the dark of night. His ears were
sharp, however, and he must have heard her intake of breath, or perhaps the
frantic beating of her heart. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">‘Guards!
Guards!’ He shouted from inside the dead man’s chest, a sound akin to a
strangled roar. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Without
further thought, she grasped the threads of his essence and pulled. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">‘No!
Spare me. I have gold and riches.’<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">‘Riches
you earned by selling the lives of men.’<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">‘Who
are you, mistress?’ he gasped.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">In
reply, she pulled harder upon the threads. He groaned and writhed and finally
fell lifeless back onto his bed. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">‘A
life for a life.’ She uttered the mantra from long ago, which they had lived by
on the streets.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">And
something inside her grew cold and dark. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">A
crack under her feet … she plunged through the floor and hit the lower level
with a rough thud. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">She
groaned, rolled, noting that nothing was broken, and looked up. But of course,
she thought, with the Laifae gone, so was his magic. The grass floor morphed to
rotting wood, decayed and barely holding the house together. The walls of the
house were wilting and vanishing, and the stones which had been held firm by
black webbing began to crumble and crash around her. <br />
Elika scrambled to her feet, raced to the window and jumped out. Behind her,
the house fell to rubble and dust chased her down the street. Shouts and calls
came from the folk as they emerged to gape at the rubble she had left behind.
When she was out of their sight, she slowed to a walk.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">A
wind brushed her hood. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">She
stopped, and her heart raced with recognition and fear.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The
wind blew again, stronger this time. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">She
knew that wind. Knew it as well as her own breath. She had lived beside the
dark chasm most of her life, had listened to the shrill screams upon it. But
she was far from the chasm, and the wind of the Abyss did not travel far past
it. Yet here it was, filled with biting rage, swirling around her. And on it,
she felt a dark presence. Something followed her that was not a man.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">She
spun around and probed the deep, lurking shadows of the night, straining her
ears to listen to the silence hidden by the wailing wind. A terrible power drew
near. She felt its approach in the depths of her bones. The very essence of the
world bent and trembled beneath it. It charged the air with its rage. A pulse
of that rage went past, and a tremor shook the ground beneath her feet. She
staggered but managed not to fall, turned again, trying to see where the
nearing storm was coming from. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">It
stilled, as if also listening. Then, as if it caught her scent, the terror
charged towards her. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">She
darted for the closest rainwater pipe and, in an instant, scrambled up it to
the roof, lay flat on her stomach and peered over the edge. No one was there.
No sound, no movement in the faintly lit street. Still, the sense of danger
prickling her skin was a physical sensation she could not ignore. Something was
there, seeking her, scanning the roofs where she had climbed. Aye, there were
eyes searching for her, brushing past her.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Darkness
moved, and she saw it, a shadow darker than the night untouched by moonlight.
It moved and vanished. And the winds of the Abyss grew still.</p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">She rolled away from the edge and stared up at the
moon, waiting until she was certain the shadow had left. Then she rose and ran
home.</p></span></div><div></div></blockquote><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB06iceP7hCYp8VSeCv9hZlUP2n1H1dY4g0lePlH6zuGXx-IWTDIK_3QNsRVAVpVB0zr0nNm1R41oyzwmTo_-WCs87Yj2yJdM7W632WRVmdDaN0F9z-6q2WBXQQ7hxJO2jbm_phhJzOqMk_RdUJ4w8f1WZWNE1gJWjNte-ozlmJ7hTsChQovxcwNWgHhPN/s4739/AlexThornbury.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3164" data-original-width="4739" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB06iceP7hCYp8VSeCv9hZlUP2n1H1dY4g0lePlH6zuGXx-IWTDIK_3QNsRVAVpVB0zr0nNm1R41oyzwmTo_-WCs87Yj2yJdM7W632WRVmdDaN0F9z-6q2WBXQQ7hxJO2jbm_phhJzOqMk_RdUJ4w8f1WZWNE1gJWjNte-ozlmJ7hTsChQovxcwNWgHhPN/w200-h134/AlexThornbury.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>About the Author: </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Alex Thornbury is an award-winning author. She grew up in Cheshire UK, and developed deep love of history and fantasy thanks to the many castles she visited as a child. Though she grew up to be an Alchemist by trade, she never stopped fantasising about other worlds, dragons and epic battles.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website or Blog: <a href="https://alexthornbury.com/">https://alexthornbury.com/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bookbub: <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/alex-thornbury">https://www.bookbub.com/profile/alex-thornbury</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/author.alexthornbury">https://www.facebook.com/author.alexthornbury</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/alexthornbury.author/">https://www.instagram.com/alexthornbury.author/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Newsletter: <a href="https://alexthornbury.com/subscribe-to-my-newsletter/">https://alexthornbury.com/subscribe-to-my-newsletter/</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22845843.Alex_Thornbury">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22845843.Alex_Thornbury</a> </span></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKIobxsJ0bE_Q8UOkfM3sTULJtZH-KANll5MAjNspeMpDqdGfuDGEOhRtOH9VrFKEqxe04KHeaLVkKFo4qOZAJ6DkssJe1FlbDU0CKKKl5MbFf3GFuiYCCq1TvtcfweBH1UQeAyt8nOtOcDNr9g9lqj9iPVzXkclOFstP1kGd_x7TCpDXJGQmiuiM6imN/s1080/_Rogue%20Mage%20Tour%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKIobxsJ0bE_Q8UOkfM3sTULJtZH-KANll5MAjNspeMpDqdGfuDGEOhRtOH9VrFKEqxe04KHeaLVkKFo4qOZAJ6DkssJe1FlbDU0CKKKl5MbFf3GFuiYCCq1TvtcfweBH1UQeAyt8nOtOcDNr9g9lqj9iPVzXkclOFstP1kGd_x7TCpDXJGQmiuiM6imN/s320/_Rogue%20Mage%20Tour%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-6947764035815048312023-12-05T06:00:00.001-05:002023-12-05T06:00:00.192-05:00Release Day Blitz The Rogue Mage by Alex Thornbury<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtefkHsJJxjBbNiSIUCERRkIFHjb08eznEWyKfGZIYYrtXpETXyfCoSKy-QuWQLzZDh3DdIauPGdYP_NE_ZGdZLIRPKU4ew6YhDNqfaOEM2r63IGHufqgWvH3yyZyJxxlfLtrcaSBBQr6ug1hyphenhypheniGJ3etkLTuv7jhdMSYNq4NZh5b4TyxVwLojG5Pcroq0f/s820/_Rogue%20Mage%20RDB%20%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtefkHsJJxjBbNiSIUCERRkIFHjb08eznEWyKfGZIYYrtXpETXyfCoSKy-QuWQLzZDh3DdIauPGdYP_NE_ZGdZLIRPKU4ew6YhDNqfaOEM2r63IGHufqgWvH3yyZyJxxlfLtrcaSBBQr6ug1hyphenhypheniGJ3etkLTuv7jhdMSYNq4NZh5b4TyxVwLojG5Pcroq0f/w400-h153/_Rogue%20Mage%20RDB%20%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_xVbbYEWUSGpy9E_kNUrgG07WxaWIiy1QsSGYoVhyD1PNtNc26tZyzCQPo0bov5eu77l1og3YPxLHDOy2-s94r96GgNnaof1101Pns5CF1Q4WvhD16U3nkSZOahq-VX4g2Ao1DTupWREnciU_dRf6D_tQlqj2tpds2kuxSCGqjCoTUHDZECXFXm4tI2N/s3264/The_Rogue_Mage_eBOOK_COVERv2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1973" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_xVbbYEWUSGpy9E_kNUrgG07WxaWIiy1QsSGYoVhyD1PNtNc26tZyzCQPo0bov5eu77l1og3YPxLHDOy2-s94r96GgNnaof1101Pns5CF1Q4WvhD16U3nkSZOahq-VX4g2Ao1DTupWREnciU_dRf6D_tQlqj2tpds2kuxSCGqjCoTUHDZECXFXm4tI2N/s320/The_Rogue_Mage_eBOOK_COVERv2.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>The Rogue Mage</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>The Sundered Web </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Book Two</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Alex Thornbury</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Fantasy</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Shadow Lore Publishing</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: 5th December 2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 978-0-6454970-4-5</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: B0BW35KXPZ</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 550</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 190,000</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Alejandro Colucci</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: For humankind, she would be the monsters’ monster. She would be their fear in the night. She would be the terror come for them. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Elika crosses the Bridge to Magic to find the world ruled by magic, where nothing is as it seems. Mages run the streets, whilst the tsaren, their masters, war with each other. Though it is men who pay the price with their lives.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Faced with the injustice of the mages and the new world order, Elika discovers her own untapped gifts that may yet shift the balance of power back into the hands of men. But her dabbling in the power she does not understand draws the attention of the dreaded demigod Syn’Moreg.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Elika must now outwit the shadow that hunts her, whilst seeking a way to free mankind from their oppressors. Yet dark grows her heart, and to darkness it reaches for that which the shadow denies.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">As whispers of a newly found heir to the Sacred Crowns grow to cries of war, Elika comes to realize that she may not be the savior of mankind after all. Mite has proclaimed himself King Northwind, and marches on Terren to claim what is rightfully his. Elika is certain he will fail, unless she can vanquish the one power standing in his way. But to do that, she must convince the court and the archmage that she is the demigoddess Arala returned.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BW35KXPZ">Amazon</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></p></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB06iceP7hCYp8VSeCv9hZlUP2n1H1dY4g0lePlH6zuGXx-IWTDIK_3QNsRVAVpVB0zr0nNm1R41oyzwmTo_-WCs87Yj2yJdM7W632WRVmdDaN0F9z-6q2WBXQQ7hxJO2jbm_phhJzOqMk_RdUJ4w8f1WZWNE1gJWjNte-ozlmJ7hTsChQovxcwNWgHhPN/s4739/AlexThornbury.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3164" data-original-width="4739" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB06iceP7hCYp8VSeCv9hZlUP2n1H1dY4g0lePlH6zuGXx-IWTDIK_3QNsRVAVpVB0zr0nNm1R41oyzwmTo_-WCs87Yj2yJdM7W632WRVmdDaN0F9z-6q2WBXQQ7hxJO2jbm_phhJzOqMk_RdUJ4w8f1WZWNE1gJWjNte-ozlmJ7hTsChQovxcwNWgHhPN/w200-h134/AlexThornbury.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>About the Author: </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Alex Thornbury is an award-winning author. She grew up in Cheshire UK, and developed deep love of history and fantasy thanks to the many castles she visited as a child. Though she grew up to be an Alchemist by trade, she never stopped fantasising about other worlds, dragons and epic battles.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website or Blog: <a href="https://alexthornbury.com/">https://alexthornbury.com/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bookbub: <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/alex-thornbury">https://www.bookbub.com/profile/alex-thornbury</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/author.alexthornbury">https://www.facebook.com/author.alexthornbury</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/alexthornbury.author/">https://www.instagram.com/alexthornbury.author/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Newsletter: <a href="https://alexthornbury.com/subscribe-to-my-newsletter/">https://alexthornbury.com/subscribe-to-my-newsletter/</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22845843.Alex_Thornbury">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22845843.Alex_Thornbury</a> </span></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYCbR6mmbXLw5ny0jeSHu7e9kW17ZYJjvUrBfjk45K2X7H3qNqfB2JcIo8RJgNSYcifaHaJcYQw9DGkDhFUFjY3MvuB7dSF1idGtpoYy0jAsbQJYKwdLRsTzWFqg7-nU1MdLSMvuouBmgQQh9eefmuhiFcaRufflJ1wYaXjnw9-bs8FRpRBslD0ca4-1G/s1080/_Rogue%20Mage%20nstagram%20RDB%20Post.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYCbR6mmbXLw5ny0jeSHu7e9kW17ZYJjvUrBfjk45K2X7H3qNqfB2JcIo8RJgNSYcifaHaJcYQw9DGkDhFUFjY3MvuB7dSF1idGtpoYy0jAsbQJYKwdLRsTzWFqg7-nU1MdLSMvuouBmgQQh9eefmuhiFcaRufflJ1wYaXjnw9-bs8FRpRBslD0ca4-1G/s320/_Rogue%20Mage%20nstagram%20RDB%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-49258910513723560362023-12-04T03:00:00.006-05:002023-12-04T03:00:00.153-05:00Alex McKenna and the Geranium Deaths by Vicki-Ann Bush #YAParanormal<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBowmKko2s4r-caB3CxdaqfmZ9CxgvGiNctX1bdo3Ni04nS21m1u_LteNHgFfpXWpV_aBo7OcExtn01CG2wAGKszxTsmDq1M2FcPZGFH6z2MLwObEoZOgOhM-Ygcfi9wfy4J50zhXT-HwPoTHiGYpK4Df1JuHMcjbauxyYVjDs9vUrDS2IDnHwxC9xEE2/s820/CGeranium%20Deaths%20Banner%20%20(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBowmKko2s4r-caB3CxdaqfmZ9CxgvGiNctX1bdo3Ni04nS21m1u_LteNHgFfpXWpV_aBo7OcExtn01CG2wAGKszxTsmDq1M2FcPZGFH6z2MLwObEoZOgOhM-Ygcfi9wfy4J50zhXT-HwPoTHiGYpK4Df1JuHMcjbauxyYVjDs9vUrDS2IDnHwxC9xEE2/w400-h153/CGeranium%20Deaths%20Banner%20%20(1).png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div>It took me years to allow myself to be who I truly am and who my mom, grandma, and other women in my family are and were. Rooted in a catholic background and upbringing, I had to overcome the guilt of not believing the same way as my catholic school friends. Thankfully, although practicing Catholics, my family could understand because of their own experiences. There was more to us than we’d let ourselves admit. </div><div><br /></div><div>Because of this unity and strength I received from them, it felt natural to me to use our connection even after they had passed on to the next realm. They are my source of all things and my spells center around them. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here is a spell I wrote when I was feeling defeated with events around me and needed the light from my source.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Life help from Mom and Gram</b></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Time has no end.</i></div><div><i>Patience has no bend.</i></div><div><i>Will me your strength.</i></div><div><i>Listen to my call.</i></div><div><i>Catch me if I fall.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>See the thoughts in my mind.</i></div><div><i>Help me leave doubt behind.</i></div><div><i>Will me your strength.</i></div><div><i>Let my goals come to light.</i></div><div><i>An influencing call in the early night.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>With the power of three, guide me.</i></div><div><i>With the power of three, bless thee.</i></div><div><i>With the power of three, hear me.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>So mote it be.</i></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvOEPgjVeVZXwni-0mPUnagT1daWcmSB2DTJctTIO0DATiq-6oQDIUPF1-ycpBIqmqSzQCDHhcM88xdwD-7sS6Bgb5gcN0W2dxv4n35VlFBOn8Djqgu_4VwLVwwC5oKojzplkgvkVvxo3Y0kSjuCVeAL7h3OzSnvjaLmR1XlfNltQK1TVFLdI0jWoy2E9/s2560/Alex%202023%20Kindle%20thumbnail%20(2).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvOEPgjVeVZXwni-0mPUnagT1daWcmSB2DTJctTIO0DATiq-6oQDIUPF1-ycpBIqmqSzQCDHhcM88xdwD-7sS6Bgb5gcN0W2dxv4n35VlFBOn8Djqgu_4VwLVwwC5oKojzplkgvkVvxo3Y0kSjuCVeAL7h3OzSnvjaLmR1XlfNltQK1TVFLdI0jWoy2E9/s320/Alex%202023%20Kindle%20thumbnail%20(2).jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Alex McKenna and the Geranium Deaths</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Alex McKenna Series </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Book One</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Vicki-Ann Bush</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: YA Paranormal</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Creative James Media</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: October 17, 2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 978-1-956183-42-9</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 316</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 87837</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Dark Angel Graphic Design</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: The Dead Need Him</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>The dead need him.</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Seventeen-year-old Alex McKenna is a transgender boy who comes from a rich history of Strega witches. Possessing the ability to communicate with the dead, he uses his talents and understanding of what it means to be different to bridge the gap between the living and the beyond. With his girlfriend Margaret and his spirited great-grandmother by his side, Alex helps lost souls resolve their earthly connections and move on.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">When a series of murders plagues his neighborhood, Alex discovers the gruesome truth behind a sixty-year span of deaths and the sinister being responsible.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Will Alex save the next victim and stop the murderer for good? Or will this be his final case?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://books2read.com/u/bOeG2o">Books2Read</a> <a href="https://amzn.to/4645zmg">Amazon</a>
<o:p></o:p></span></b></p></div><div><span><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"><b><span style="font-family: times;"></span></b></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"><b><span style="font-family: times;">Excerpt:</span></b></p>
<span style="font-family: times;"> The shadow slowly turned its attention to
Alex. He stood tall, not showing the fear that was ravaging his body.<br />
“Alex, be careful,” warned his mom. <br />
“It’s okay.” Alex stood firm.<br />
The dark figure let out an ear-piercing screech, and Alex
buried his head in his jacket. Again, it changed its focus and twisted toward
the back seat of the car—Wilby. It held the statue down toward the earth, and
the car started to rock back and forth.<br />
“Wilby!” his mom screamed as she struggled to break free.<br />
Alex’s heart pounded; the death freeze of the dark spirit
was coming, and it was very close.<br />
“Ma, that thing is summoning the beast!” Alex’s voice
dripped with fear.<br />
“Alex, I don’t know what to do. I can’t move. Is Wilby
still sleeping?”<br />
“Yes.”<br />
“Good.” She wiped her upper lip with her sleeve. “What if
he wakes up?”<br />
The vibration in his front pocket distracted him. Alex
slipped out his phone; his gram’s picture lit up like a beacon.<br />
“Gram, we’re in trouble,” Alex whispered.<br />
“I know. Listen carefully, Bonzetta. Tell your mother we
are going to use the prayer of light. I will do what I need from here.”<br />
“What do I do?” Alex’s palms dripped with sweat from
anxiety, and he nearly dropped the phone.<br />
“Just repeat what we say, okay?” <br />
“Okay.”<br />
He didn’t want to shout their plan, so he texted it to his
mom. “Ma, look at your phone.”<br />
She slipped it out of her purse and read the message.
Then,nodding in agreement, she waited.</span></blockquote><span style="font-family: times;"></span><br />
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<!--[endif]--></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlf2oZsCaZLVlfAKaPpswy9DDZKBi70qcrj_fWF_I5ffg5_V_sr9H-hqwL1OGjkYOYMcyPL4gVTiDTRUPjUNUUd-4a3hvR09-0p9qi5FXXvCO3A8alAQCe5NzVpe9rCxJkB4FgpMokM97UrkIBagu2t4LPLuHGfMXy_N07PZoxi9VKDYEGnxNeZcsqTi_O/s3993/Author%20pic%20(3).jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3993" data-original-width="3005" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlf2oZsCaZLVlfAKaPpswy9DDZKBi70qcrj_fWF_I5ffg5_V_sr9H-hqwL1OGjkYOYMcyPL4gVTiDTRUPjUNUUd-4a3hvR09-0p9qi5FXXvCO3A8alAQCe5NzVpe9rCxJkB4FgpMokM97UrkIBagu2t4LPLuHGfMXy_N07PZoxi9VKDYEGnxNeZcsqTi_O/w151-h200/Author%20pic%20(3).jpg" width="151" /></a></div>About the Author: </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Originally from New York, Vicki-Ann currently resides in Nevada. Writing Young Adult paranormal, she finds inspiration from events that have been in her life for as long as she can remember. Inheriting the sensitivity to the supernatural from her family, they continue to be an endless source of vision. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">When not writing, she enjoys watching movies with her husband, their loveable great Dane, Cuba and their baby girl, Curie, a little Chua Chua/Yorkie mix. Other past time faves include, dinner with family and friends, going out to breakfast, and sipping wine on the patio of a lovely Italian restaurant.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">In 2022 Vicki-Ann signed a two book publishing deal with CJM Publishing. Coming in 2024, the YA paranormal romance, The Darkest Light, and a New Adult sci-fi, Liminal Space.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.vickiannbush.com " rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.vickiannbush.com </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://twitter.com/vickiannbush">https://twitter.com/vickiannbush</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/VickiAnn.Bush.Author">https://www.facebook.com/VickiAnn.Bush.Author</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2947321.Vicki_Ann_Bush">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2947321.Vicki_Ann_Bush</a></span></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0J-Rve6PNHdYOJhT0RERtVjBdTbnlZRKZUpx8Sksxk8cRGMNnoYqi4_gYX4bLroZ2hbMBvlepLHee5ls__fbQTZZ0ghDGWFZ21jhRE6c-yfpbHma5TSWSgOIuzll31l5Nl3PYqPGTTlLQ-iu74LiwNqTRkCblKsYhqeR4MuJlnsZZq3S4UG8jJAcrCgE/s1080/CGeranium%20Deaths%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0J-Rve6PNHdYOJhT0RERtVjBdTbnlZRKZUpx8Sksxk8cRGMNnoYqi4_gYX4bLroZ2hbMBvlepLHee5ls__fbQTZZ0ghDGWFZ21jhRE6c-yfpbHma5TSWSgOIuzll31l5Nl3PYqPGTTlLQ-iu74LiwNqTRkCblKsYhqeR4MuJlnsZZq3S4UG8jJAcrCgE/s320/CGeranium%20Deaths%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2205" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2205/" id="rcwidget_9lye4agj" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-64768328479476700412023-11-30T04:30:00.005-05:002023-11-30T04:30:00.154-05:00 TIPS FOR TAKING GOOD CARE OF YOUR PET WEREWOLF with Sean R. Frazier #UrbanFantasy <p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9LCqWAyu6Mjvw1My_TZvh4E8xYxZeh9Tw00ZAwsCtN17PLlQSlis-00OejZxvGIfJTmt9Ev542Ft3W3BwVOCZ61gIYydaCpuTlyZ5DT9FBC7X_37BNK3TgEVXEcl9uYme-4A6JV8DgpYcQDh6Y-pfPCuXFWGgcwsET4AjvVYhChT0XnM9K0mcgcoMfwA/s820/Mage%20breaker%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9LCqWAyu6Mjvw1My_TZvh4E8xYxZeh9Tw00ZAwsCtN17PLlQSlis-00OejZxvGIfJTmt9Ev542Ft3W3BwVOCZ61gIYydaCpuTlyZ5DT9FBC7X_37BNK3TgEVXEcl9uYme-4A6JV8DgpYcQDh6Y-pfPCuXFWGgcwsET4AjvVYhChT0XnM9K0mcgcoMfwA/w400-h153/Mage%20breaker%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, you got yourself a pet werewolf, but you didn’t think this through and now you’re wondering just what you got yourself into and now you’ve no idea what do to. Don’t fret because caring for your werewolf might be easier than you think!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">First of all, is said werewolf secured? Like, in a cage or chained up in a basement or something? Because you can’t just let that creature roam free. A fence, you say? No, that won’t do…unless you don’t like your neighbors. Wait, no, never mind that. Definitely make sure your werewolf is safely contained.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Werewolves enjoy the finer things, however, so you can decorate and provide squeaky toys and maybe a plush bed. They may be animals, but they’re not animals.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Next, you want to make sure your pet has plenty of food. Werewolves eat a lot, and you can’t just throw dog food in there and expect them to be happy. If you don’t want to end up as their next meal, you should find some good quality food. Sure, you could let your werewolf out to find its own food, but it probably won’t come back. The local animal shelter won’t be too thrilled with your pet neglect…if they survive.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Like the T-Rex, werewolves prefer to hunt, and this is where it gets tricky. See, that means you’ve got to find live food for it. I hope you’re a morally gray person. A hot tip is to lure your enemies to your house and then lock them in the same room as your pet. How you do this is up to you but inviting them to dinner always works. Just don’t tell them what’s actually for dinner and who’s eating it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If your werewolf doesn’t take care of itself, you’ll want to groom it. Make sure to get a sturdy brush since their hair is usually coarse and thick. Past that, I have no advice because you’re probably not going to survive the ordeal if I’m being honest.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Finally, and this is something very few werewolf owners think about, your goodest boy or girl is only going to be a werewolf for a fraction of the time. If they’re not in werewolf form, then you end up with just some dude or lady in a cage in your basement which, when you think about it, is pretty disturbing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Try not to let this eat at you too much. They’ll beg and plead to get you to let them out but, remember, they’re your pet. Maybe make sure they have some clothes to wear, though, and remember to feed them human food since humans don’t hunt and eat other humans.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Usually.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/143qHjyhgaE?si=bwi_59iB0J16ebMc" title="YouTube video player" width="450"></iframe></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Zld2bi_KMqDZwoNJ8L7Ut70ZrAzQZIy3l-i9xqB1ojOOSvFhwW-zExwz9C9yldVy59yjvDVFc0F0NDE34ZBOA5eUgI3NekRzPzaksrMF48oQFG6AW6MX9oIIw5PftsOl1uMae7gkpOu0NK6VUOEfaN_QAo9CGRUWNETieyrmOMaT7a1mQlW7mTuDO4U8/s2560/Mage%20Breaker%20Kndle%20thumbnail.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Zld2bi_KMqDZwoNJ8L7Ut70ZrAzQZIy3l-i9xqB1ojOOSvFhwW-zExwz9C9yldVy59yjvDVFc0F0NDE34ZBOA5eUgI3NekRzPzaksrMF48oQFG6AW6MX9oIIw5PftsOl1uMae7gkpOu0NK6VUOEfaN_QAo9CGRUWNETieyrmOMaT7a1mQlW7mTuDO4U8/s320/Mage%20Breaker%20Kndle%20thumbnail.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Mage Breaker</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Mage Breaker Saga </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Book One</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Sean R. Frazier</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Urban Fantasy</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Creative James Media</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: November 28, 2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 978-1-956183-56-6</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 350</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 95,030</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Dark Angel Graphic Design</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Magic isn’t a gift, it’s a prison.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">The planet Seralune runs entirely on magic, a powerful force regulated by an Alien race known as the Kithrak. An ancient prophecy predicts their downfall at the hands of the most powerful mage ever to live.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Ellyne is a gunslinger who reluctantly agrees to assist a woman named Nicole, who is the answer to the prophecy, when the Kithrak discover that Nicole is the Mage Breaker.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Their quest to bring down this powerful threat leads them to the discovery of magic's dark secret. How will they cope when their mission must shift from one focused on their survival to one that must ensure the endurance of the entire human race?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://books2read.com/u/mB8Oek">Books2Read</a> <a href="https://amzn.to/45Ul2VJ">Amazon</a></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: times;"></span></b></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: times;">Excerpt:</span></b><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></div></blockquote><blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ellyne gently closed her eyes and breathed deeply, listening to the man mutter
his incantation. His deliberate and careful pronunciations were a stark
contrast to Nicole who simply teleported on a whim—as effortless as blinking
her eyes. The Kithrak, too, were more skilled at certain types of magic, though
their ability came nowhere close to Nicole’s. For a brief moment, Ellyne
wondered if Nicole really could have beaten everyone here.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"> It was an interesting
thought—a thought that was interrupted by hot, searing pain erupting from every
part of her body. She opened her eyes and screamed, feeling as if she would be
torn apart.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"> “What’s wrong?” someone
asked.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"> “I … I don’t know!”
Torval replied. “The spell failed! Why’s she screaming?”</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"> “What the hell is going
on?” someone else shouted.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"> Ellyne would’ve liked
to see the looks on their faces, but she only saw spots across her vision as
the pressure within her mounted, came to a head, and burst outward with a
deafening explosion.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"> The hands supporting
her fell away and she slumped to the ground, her vision dark and her ears
ringing. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, her trying not to pass out,
and she was fully prepared for someone to hoist her back to her feet and drag
her away at any moment.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"> But as her vision began
to clear and her hearing returned, she neither saw nor heard movement. There
was no magic battle, no shouts or yells, no flashes of light from spells being
cast—nothing. The sound of her own breathing was deafening by comparison.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"> As she struggled to her
feet, standing on shaky legs, she began to see what transpired and wasn’t sure
whether to laugh or be appalled. She staggered forward, stumbling but catching
herself on the bench she’d just a few minutes ago used as cover. It was now
bent, the metal having been twisted and shattered by the car that fell on it mere
moments ago.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"> “It’s like the Metro
all over again,” she muttered.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></div>
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<!--[endif]--><span style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span><p></p></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fBohvz-JrPHRry12iqps0eqTNQq9MlCHRKzJ5Gj5BBRSQfBRs16eHSMg9JGjjHM15ZHOS5y9CilGOOqZF_hyzVJ1AVjgpiXxC6MX2aPqcnprjP7uw_kbSfS0CGxSV0XqN50HyKa9e8ODrcpY7CGsHhW52zPpU5w7fTIyA7tYj7aeUgoWh1cpFPfEy_2n/s710/Author.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="710" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fBohvz-JrPHRry12iqps0eqTNQq9MlCHRKzJ5Gj5BBRSQfBRs16eHSMg9JGjjHM15ZHOS5y9CilGOOqZF_hyzVJ1AVjgpiXxC6MX2aPqcnprjP7uw_kbSfS0CGxSV0XqN50HyKa9e8ODrcpY7CGsHhW52zPpU5w7fTIyA7tYj7aeUgoWh1cpFPfEy_2n/w200-h120/Author.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">When Sean Frazier was growing up, he never really paid attention to the written word. It wasn't necessarily something he enjoyed at the time. Once he graduated college, however, the spark ignited and he decided to write something and try to get it published. And it was...well, not-so-great. Truly, it wasn't the highest caliber material ever produced. But the spark was still there, even if it was simply buried deep within.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Eventually, that overly-loquacious, meandering work of wordsmithing became his first book, "The Call of Chaos". It took many, many years, but Sean finally rekindled that drive and found that he did, indeed enjoy writing.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">When he's not writing, Sean enjoys running, playing video games, and spending time with his family. He is a bona fide Halloween zealot, loves hot wings, is a grand master at telling terrible jokes and, oh, his cat can beat up your cat.(He's a total dork.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://seanrfrazier.com/">https://seanrfrazier.com/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://twitter.com/TheCleftonTwain">https://twitter.com/TheCleftonTwain</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/SeanRFrazierAuthor">https://www.facebook.com/SeanRFrazierAuthor</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16064722.Sean_R_Frazier">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16064722.Sean_R_Frazier</a> </span></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj3UKIPQaln94OT6EBjD9kshlC7xcEkD9kiHxA0cA0RPwaXBZyUxnyzHPby5C3u-pw9Q6LGZoBk1zH8YUJynYyBFauhcE-w-TS5ehBtE9Mb6w6i6jQCSUzpCBPrj_1E2dn_DbH7wRkHmuA1xfk9-c-jKKpHfT6Z5VG0CTZWzVAPRns-O3EpC2kTkm1f7C1/s1080/Mage%20breaker%20Instagram.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj3UKIPQaln94OT6EBjD9kshlC7xcEkD9kiHxA0cA0RPwaXBZyUxnyzHPby5C3u-pw9Q6LGZoBk1zH8YUJynYyBFauhcE-w-TS5ehBtE9Mb6w6i6jQCSUzpCBPrj_1E2dn_DbH7wRkHmuA1xfk9-c-jKKpHfT6Z5VG0CTZWzVAPRns-O3EpC2kTkm1f7C1/s320/Mage%20breaker%20Instagram.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2206" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2206/" id="rcwidget_umuqijlt" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-81403854194179457662023-11-29T04:00:00.006-05:002023-11-29T04:00:00.133-05:00Supernatural Dating Tips with Frank Zanca #GraphicNovel #Vampires #Horror<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWLLpOCON-_7baG-fVDSQl0Gjg-q0ZzB4QCNzFOHenR6MY9Y8bomPTkjzl5a6YVxEq20GKfBEINNpje6MCbXarF_n8tBJyH8CBy6D4hYefaYnmObCkQkxZC3LT8YsNGRSqllFoK9Xb8O9svLaqjYoDLuynKXN7qLVQ7APkKsUITg4AnvLgJp0C8i2-k7n/s820/Lords%20of%20LA%20Banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWLLpOCON-_7baG-fVDSQl0Gjg-q0ZzB4QCNzFOHenR6MY9Y8bomPTkjzl5a6YVxEq20GKfBEINNpje6MCbXarF_n8tBJyH8CBy6D4hYefaYnmObCkQkxZC3LT8YsNGRSqllFoK9Xb8O9svLaqjYoDLuynKXN7qLVQ7APkKsUITg4AnvLgJp0C8i2-k7n/w400-h153/Lords%20of%20LA%20Banner.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div><b><br /></b></div><div>The trick with dating vampires is to have either a pint of blood ready to go, or a scarf or turtleneck prepared for the next morning for those unseemly hickeys. In addition, help them mix the dirt in their coffins with the best scented potpourri. You can’t be seen with someone smelling like they just died yesterday. </div><div><br /></div><div>With werewolves, however, it’s all about stowing the good China and place settings. Bring out the cheap stuff or even plastic silverware when dining. It also might be a good idea to go visit your aunt in Wisconsin once per month. Especially during those pesky full moon nights. Joining him or her during a quiet stroll under a full moon is not advisable. </div><div><br /></div><div>Witches are another subject all together. The first date should be something simple, like going out for coffee. The reason for this is elementary. There is the question that needs to be asked and the truth must be sought before any further dates may be planned. Ask the question concisely, “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” Glenda had it right, and we have all followed her glowing rule. If they hesitate or openly reply with, “Bad.” Then you may want to terminate the date immediately and abscond with your life intact unless you like living on the edge. If you’ve forgotten to ask the question, then while they are sleeping, take the opportunity to look through their pockets or purse for a wand or other magical items that might control your mind and your bank account.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ghosts have intimacy issues with the fact that they can’t touch you. So, unless you just like to sit and talk, ghost dating may not be for you. In addition, there is never any privacy, as you never know when they are watching or not. Possession gets even worse whether it’s you or some stranger knocking on the door telling you that they love you. It’s all just a bit strange. This one group you might want to steer clear of. Your friends and family might become concerned and institutionalize you for constantly talking to yourself.</div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpAMGtpzS06484TC8eUGpF9sfX5_-XtAsgNNzzgjhF7iqnQokOhNFKuO3482NbCZPE9WH0OGDMU-LJ97ySWUNTkaszoG58b5JiVkJwCjCZ-He3mAFwsdEb13kWehuIdznWbXdUOV7IzfbGEvNJB9uaAStePRkSm8JqVEKqsm-EvcA0YpCbYYMQwu1x0_b/s5100/Asian%20Girl%201%20with%20text.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5100" data-original-width="3300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpAMGtpzS06484TC8eUGpF9sfX5_-XtAsgNNzzgjhF7iqnQokOhNFKuO3482NbCZPE9WH0OGDMU-LJ97ySWUNTkaszoG58b5JiVkJwCjCZ-He3mAFwsdEb13kWehuIdznWbXdUOV7IzfbGEvNJB9uaAStePRkSm8JqVEKqsm-EvcA0YpCbYYMQwu1x0_b/s320/Asian%20Girl%201%20with%20text.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>Lords of LA #2</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Frank Zanca</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Graphic Novel, Action/Horror</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Destiny Horizons, Inc.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: 11/5/23</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 48</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Joe Sanchez</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Vampires, the Mob, 1950s Hollywood = Awesome</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Lena Morgan was an exotic-looking lounge singer with hopes of achieving the Hollywood dream in 1952. Here dreams were dashed when she became entangled in a lust triangle between the two mob bosses who ruled the city. She found herself turned into a vampire and was forced to leave her newborn son behind for fear of losing control and hurting him. She spent sixty years training to live among humans, building a fortune, and learning not only to fight, but to dominate. Returning to LA, she has one thought, one goal – revenge on both crime families.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Back
this Project on <a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1169263915/lords-of-la-issue-2-vampire-the-mob-in-1950s-hollywood?ref=5z5b7d">Kickstarter</a></b><b> </b></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Book
Trailer: <a href="https://youtu.be/yE_UTGba3NE">https://youtu.be/yE_UTGba3NE</a></span><o:p></o:p></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_62oMUJVOlUzY3Ybs7rJMnLdwAZVAVNDYPoWNnIzrBGZct3lhO7nDFAP-v7VxE6SygbwWNQ_95rNgrCeEGoTp-iS2PIH2ZULyAPUKf-vQtZXz4yOiGNLPSZItY8SAEUOpTTnC31xEzUUaFvbTTMMl6cC3BXF88SYbwz_sHANwwDkKVA3f3oP165PeLc8c/s1035/ee51a72a9138a23b4b980b7a6239b3bb_original.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1035" data-original-width="680" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_62oMUJVOlUzY3Ybs7rJMnLdwAZVAVNDYPoWNnIzrBGZct3lhO7nDFAP-v7VxE6SygbwWNQ_95rNgrCeEGoTp-iS2PIH2ZULyAPUKf-vQtZXz4yOiGNLPSZItY8SAEUOpTTnC31xEzUUaFvbTTMMl6cC3BXF88SYbwz_sHANwwDkKVA3f3oP165PeLc8c/w421-h640/ee51a72a9138a23b4b980b7a6239b3bb_original.jpg" width="421" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UI5Htccv6WzZmF7-JTqA05VRlBBMOo-2nQ5r1PsE_6rgInBXxmJnY7AIzE1fOUJEkPcG7XLuB-tTDIZVNtkneTn42j6rjtEwuA3AcBW_tmcKY5vI5XEpm4sRS84h_hM0UKqphRCUhafLrfD1wflYjrAHbotWJjV6ghixzvGudJH002xq4T-3VaRzfX9_/s1036/d2db546328b8db8d60603e88615dbb5f_original.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="680" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UI5Htccv6WzZmF7-JTqA05VRlBBMOo-2nQ5r1PsE_6rgInBXxmJnY7AIzE1fOUJEkPcG7XLuB-tTDIZVNtkneTn42j6rjtEwuA3AcBW_tmcKY5vI5XEpm4sRS84h_hM0UKqphRCUhafLrfD1wflYjrAHbotWJjV6ghixzvGudJH002xq4T-3VaRzfX9_/w420-h640/d2db546328b8db8d60603e88615dbb5f_original.jpg" width="420" /></a></div><br /><p></p></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Frank Zanca is an award-winning writer and producer with over 20 years of experience in the entertainment industry. Frank’s first published work was the Shadow Raven comic book in 1995. He has since created the Destiny Aurora franchise, which has been wildly successful in both novel and graphic novel forms. It also spawned a board game, and the audiobook is now available on Audible. Also available on Amazon is Frank’s acclaimed WWII biography Escape from Berlin based on the life of Diane Jacobs.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Frank wrote and produced Six Gun Savior, the Supernatural/Western, starring Eric Roberts and Martin Kove (Cobra Kai), along with Star Trek: Renegades.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website: <a href="https://www.destinyaurora.net/ " rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.destinyaurora.net/ </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/fzanca">https://twitter.com/fzanca</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/frank.zanca.9/">https://www.facebook.com/frank.zanca.9/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/zancafrank/">https://www.instagram.com/zancafrank/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">YouTube: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@DestinyHorizons/videos">https://www.youtube.com/@DestinyHorizons/videos</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Amazon - <a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Frank-Zanca/author/B0B9FNCXXK">https://www.amazon.com/stores/Frank-Zanca/author/B0B9FNCXXK</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Goodreads - <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14242583.Frank_Zanca">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14242583.Frank_Zanca</a></span></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXE7Ek4ToK7LdYvng4jIkoXl62s_n63zJa_atiMpm05MF4MKpzFzNneLz9EO9DlK_v3cZBqSr3fylQlk23EHm7lCJjbFsLYkdiALVlf6Uq2Vm7KB5dd7XA6LYv8S5RG_wpupsDSPnzGgoYY9FCXoP4_TVlyI6kbHoliqP-mxibYgFJCN698knI80VtyTEI/s1080/Lords%20of%20LA%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXE7Ek4ToK7LdYvng4jIkoXl62s_n63zJa_atiMpm05MF4MKpzFzNneLz9EO9DlK_v3cZBqSr3fylQlk23EHm7lCJjbFsLYkdiALVlf6Uq2Vm7KB5dd7XA6LYv8S5RG_wpupsDSPnzGgoYY9FCXoP4_TVlyI6kbHoliqP-mxibYgFJCN698knI80VtyTEI/s320/Lords%20of%20LA%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>
Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-59991421624205981852023-11-21T02:00:00.018-05:002023-11-21T02:00:00.138-05:00Author Interview- Homecoming Chaos by D. W. Brooks #RomanticSuspense #AfricanAmericanFiction #AuthorInterview<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2n1Om3kwrqYnmGUWvwlISbYqmL7q-0i6KuLenRlChmAc-DLX916Kv3_krHyA1oAIyqVgreDn5DZssO1_9PQhAwwMpIvyq5ty7fuFcKNleZUs4HMjXf3xVxeuj3vJkEct1U6x_c07oevbnNtZVaJ-xUK11AIYt_m-duzADWW0lj896EWac6s_I-6bKIfrB/s820/Homecoming%20Chaos%20%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2n1Om3kwrqYnmGUWvwlISbYqmL7q-0i6KuLenRlChmAc-DLX916Kv3_krHyA1oAIyqVgreDn5DZssO1_9PQhAwwMpIvyq5ty7fuFcKNleZUs4HMjXf3xVxeuj3vJkEct1U6x_c07oevbnNtZVaJ-xUK11AIYt_m-duzADWW0lj896EWac6s_I-6bKIfrB/w400-h153/Homecoming%20Chaos%20%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div><b>- If you wrote a book about your life what would the title be?</b></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Grateful, Fortunate, Blessed</i></div><div><br /></div><div>I have been fortunate over my entire life. I was fortunate with the parents I was born to. They were incredibly supportive of what I wanted to try and of what I wanted to do. My father made sure that I was exposed to as many potential career opportunities as he could. They supported me through college, medical school, and business school—even when they didn’t understand what my end goal was. </div><div><br /></div><div>I met my husband almost by accident. A friend’s mother thought that we needed to get out there and find our spouses. She convinced (badgered) us to go to a ski club party. At least my friend had been skiing at some point in her life, but I had not. We reluctantly went and almost left before we went in. We enter and a handsome man comes up to me and asks me if I knew how to salsa dance. I was a dancer and actually been looking into taking some lessons before I met him. I said yes and our love story began. FYI: We did a salsa dance at our wedding.</div><div><br /></div><div>When my kidneys failed and I was placed on the transplant list, my husband aggressively helped look for a living donor. My kidney problem is genetic and there are many people on my mother’s side of the family who have the condition. I am also an only child. The doctors said that it could take up to seven years to find a donor. So, we got to work. Fortunately, I found a donor through my FB page. It took a year to get everyone in optimal physical shape for the transplant. But I was also fortunate my donor was also aggressive about making the surgery happen. She called the transplant office and pushed them to complete the tasks they needed to.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am very grateful for the things in my life.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>- What is the hardest thing about being an author?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Marketing. There are so many marketing options out there. You can spend money or not to help promote your book. Deciding how to market, how much to spend—we all have a budget—and where to direct your money is difficult.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>- What is the best thing about being an author?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Getting to tell the stories that I want to and letting my imagination run wild.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>- What book changed your life?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>The book Roots by Alex Haley. I watched the TV program before I read the book. My father had also gone to DC and searched for some of our ancestors while he was there. When I finally sat down to read the book for myself (I think I was around 12 years old), I understood the importance of learning your history. I became curious about what my father had been looking for in DC. It’s one reason I did an ancestry test to see where I came from.</div><div>A tidbit: Alex Haley came to my hometown when I was nine to give a lecture and sign copies of his book. My mother wouldn’t let me get in line to get an autograph (that event remained a sore spot between us for years!). </div><div><br /></div><div><b>- What were some of your favorite books growing up?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I am a mystery girl, so I loved the Nancy Drew, Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie, and Perry Mason series. By the time I got to high school, though, I became a fan of reading all the classics. I read several Charles Dickens novels (A Tale of Two Cities, Oliver Twist) Alexandre Dumas (The Three Musketeers), Robert Penn Warren (All the King’s Men), and Flannery O’Connor (The Violent Bear It Away, Wise Blood, Everything that Rises Must Converge) books among others. I have returned to the mysteries again, but I would love to have the time to go back and reread some of those classics again.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>- What books are currently in your to be read pile?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I have spent so much time working on this book and the marketing that my to-be-read pile is tiny. I need to read the latest six of the Stephanie Plum series and the last four of the Women’s Murder club novels. But I was looking at my bookshelves a couple of months ago and realized that I would love to take all the series and books that I own and start again at the beginning and read them straight through. I think this comes from streaming on TV, where you can watch an entire series in one sitting. I would love to read book sequels in that way!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>- Which do you prefer ebooks, print, or audio books?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I like the feeling of a printed book in my hands. I enjoy flipping the pages back and forth while I am relishing a scene or a conversation. I can read an ebook if pushed, but I don’t enjoy that as much. My mind wanders with audiobooks, and I would have to rewind too often to make it worthwhile.</div><div><br /></div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></div></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKaTDLNA0w03k9mgS0rNIuwPejru4wXPAvFn4aHj5BAvOKEKEF37GNIRSgn8eBfyjo7qzzJ7udaQ_SuJ8c2rSxs_MMe3gKuzqOoLKidGpQxWcwu2rmm8x712xnQTFibogWTMxdHdTOKs2k-inUHBe7c18YqNFIUdw68A_N8w3CEiVO6OK5Ol4jvGQ_hi0y/s2560/homecoming_chaos_v2%20(2).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKaTDLNA0w03k9mgS0rNIuwPejru4wXPAvFn4aHj5BAvOKEKEF37GNIRSgn8eBfyjo7qzzJ7udaQ_SuJ8c2rSxs_MMe3gKuzqOoLKidGpQxWcwu2rmm8x712xnQTFibogWTMxdHdTOKs2k-inUHBe7c18YqNFIUdw68A_N8w3CEiVO6OK5Ol4jvGQ_hi0y/s320/homecoming_chaos_v2%20(2).jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Homecoming Chaos</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">A Model MD Novel</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book One</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">D. W. Brooks</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Romantic Suspense/ Contemporary Fiction/ African American</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Life: The Reboot LLC</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: October 31, 2023 </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: 100covers.com</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Jamison Jones Scott has been out of the country and out of contact with most of her family for four years. Distraught, she had left the States previously to join a physicians’ relief organization after canceling her wedding and turning down a cushy job offer.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Now Jamie is back. It’s a homecoming where she is unsure of her family’s reception—especially her mother’s—and she walks into a murder mystery at her family’s business and a big birthday soiree. While trying to navigate her return and learning more about this case, she runs into a tall, handsome detective who is working to solve the mystery and who finds her a sexy challenge even when she interferes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Can Jamie survive the chaos and protect her family’s business, deal with her family, and handle the dance with the hot detective without managing to get herself killed?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://amzn.to/40aEP1K">Amazon</a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/199499710-homecoming-chaos">GooglePlay</a> <a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=eincEAAAQBAJ&rdid=book-eincEAAAQBAJ">Goodreads</a> <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/books/homecoming-chaos-by-d-w-brooks">Bookbub</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></p></div><div><span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b></b></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Excerpt </b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
sound of the flight attendant on the loudspeaker startled Jamison Jones Scott
out of her light sleep. Despite having traveled frequently in her lifetime, she
still couldn’t sleep comfortably on a plane. The seat location— first-class or
economy—didn’t make a difference. The plane was nearing its destination, so the
passengers needed to finish filling out their declaration cards. Jamie was
returning to Atlanta to stay at her parents’ home with only the clothes on her
back, a computer bag, the few items of clothing in her duffel, and a
stethoscope. She had nothing to declare. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Her
seatmate appeared to be sleeping through the announcements. Jamie was jealous.
The four-year-old in front of her turned around and started babbling excitedly
in French. She must have noticed that Jamie was finally awake. With her head
still fuzzy from her nap, Jamie couldn’t completely follow the child’s rapid
words, but the gist was that she wanted something from Jamie. Something about a
playdate? Jamie smiled at the girl and hoped the girl’s mother would intervene.
No such luck; she was asleep as well. The child eyeballed Jamie expectantly.
Jamie realized she and the seatmate had started this situation by playing with
the dark-haired child while they were over the ocean. Now, when she didn’t
agree to the latest request, the little girl scrunched up her face to cry. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Nous
atterrissons bientôt. Elle ne peut pas aller avec vous,” Jamie’s seatmate
answered, eyes still closed. “Mais vous pourriez être en mesure de visiter. Je
suis sûr qu’elle tu aimerait garder les enfants.” He grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jamie
gasped while the young girl clapped. This guy had just volunteered her as a
babysitter! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Je
suis désolé, mais il se trompe. Je ne serai pas disponible,” Jamie stated. “Je
parie qu’il a une surprise, pour toi.” The child looked at Jamie’s seatmate for
her present and clapped again. This reply made him open his eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Qu’est-ce
que c’est? Qu’est-ce que c’est?” the child asked. Startled, her pregnant mother
woke up and turned around in her seat sheepishly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">I’m
sorry, she mouthed. She made her eager daughter turn around in her seat and
asked her to leave the other passengers alone. The girl was disappointed, but
her mother handed her a shortbread, which made her forget the people behind
her. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Her
seatmate smiled, opened his eyes, and said, “I could have given her the stuffed
bear I bought. I have a daughter the same age.” He stretched gingerly. “I can’t
wait to get home. I’ve been traveling for too long. What about you? Looking
forward to getting home?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jamie
thought about her return to Atlanta. She hadn’t been home in a while, so she
wasn’t sure how she felt. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Revel
in the chaos. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Revel
in the chaos. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Revel
in the chaos. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jamie
tried to live by this motto for most of her life because her life seemed to
invite chaos. She learned to expect—and sometimes encourage—complications. As
the plane taxied to a halt, she repeated her motto to herself. This phrase,
tattooed on her right hip, particularly applied now.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
international terminal of Hartsfield-Jackson Airport had changed since she was
last there. Her brother, Jonathan, would pick her up at the baggage
claim—alone, she hoped, and not sporting a clingy girlfriend. Time to
re-acclimate and re-establish family bonds. Dealing with an unknown woman in
her face when she wanted to spend time quietly with her brother wasn’t at the
top of her to-do list.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">As
she waited in line to get through passport control, she thought about how she
got to this point—back in Atlanta after several years abroad. She had spent two
of those years working with the non-profit organization Doctors Overseas. Jamie
worked in several locations, including the Central African Republic. She had
her reasons for joining the charitable organization; not all were altruistic,
and she kept those to herself during her entrance interview. The horrors she
witnessed overseas helped her put her personal chaos into perspective. She
realized her issues were nothing compared to what people endured in other parts
of the world. This realization allowed her to embrace her job and enjoy what
she was doing, despite the frequent threats of bodily harm. To help maintain
her sanity while overseas, she traveled a lot and spent six months in Italy working
with a designer friend. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
agent summoning her snapped her out of her reverie. Handing over her passport,
she said, “Nothing to declare. Coming back home for my mother’s birthday and
Christmas.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">At
the check-in counter, the inspector carefully examined her and her passport
photo. Jamison understood the scrutiny. At the time of that picture, she had
been at the height of her glamor phase with a history of modeling and a
resulting, above-average concern about how she looked. In medical school, she
often showed up at rounds with perfectly coiffed hair and more than a swipe of
mascara and lip gloss. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">But
in Africa, those concerns fell away. Right now, Jamie was makeup-free, and a
baseball cap covered her hair. She was still beautiful, but now it was a
girl-next-door beauty. Jamie had high cheekbones, almond-shaped dark brown
eyes, a straight nose, a square jawline, and her golden-brown skin was still
smooth. She wasn’t stomping down runways anymore, as in her past life, because
she had shifted her priorities. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Her
mother would hate it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Welcome to Atlanta,” the inspector said as she
stamped her passport. “Have a pleasant stay.”</span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></p></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNO1JHv4z65NQsTOnDJmnyBlMxQVZoUikXTTQU9v7iWhQNWC4tSdH1jdVlH9YITFb0WfoyXh3E2kgXK5opJaVzguKZ0sCLgEFbkFWYoiZ0gOHNsYW4_VU7i9w_Avy0-vm3vk2Zwvb6Vq8JHNTUZeqAUvmVxJLK_kNQD2FIHyXsdi-vMxmkhY5ZcQIOkcBQ/s400/dominique2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNO1JHv4z65NQsTOnDJmnyBlMxQVZoUikXTTQU9v7iWhQNWC4tSdH1jdVlH9YITFb0WfoyXh3E2kgXK5opJaVzguKZ0sCLgEFbkFWYoiZ0gOHNsYW4_VU7i9w_Avy0-vm3vk2Zwvb6Vq8JHNTUZeqAUvmVxJLK_kNQD2FIHyXsdi-vMxmkhY5ZcQIOkcBQ/w150-h200/dominique2.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br />About the Author:</span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">The author lives in Texas with her husband and children. She enjoys trying to stay in shape, sporadically cooking, reading (still), writing, and working on her blog. She is eternally grateful to the woman who donated a kidney to her over 5 years ago and continues to advocate for organ donation as much as she can.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="https://twitter.com/lifethereboot"><span style="font-family: georgia;">https://twitter.com/lifethereboot</span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="https://instagram.com/authordwbrooks"><span style="font-family: georgia;">https://instagram.com/authordwbrooks</span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="https://facebook.com/authordwbrooks"><span style="font-family: georgia;">https://facebook.com/authordwbrooks</span></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1epcemnWL2l_W770R41mtRhLHD7BtK9f9iAniEWqtHiys0zn7VTlVqu6WsXgbMUfJ2jnvGfybTbXfFVuh99r0NxTp0uZpJhdrgNXlwqGfiwEsV13exJ0jEvyNjfPry8bzbLckPoHBFEF4ov-Iq-IkmtFGOLN6sWvyV1C7wVJWkMIjhL5lubGseU0Ci1L-/s1080/Homecoming%20Chaos%20%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1epcemnWL2l_W770R41mtRhLHD7BtK9f9iAniEWqtHiys0zn7VTlVqu6WsXgbMUfJ2jnvGfybTbXfFVuh99r0NxTp0uZpJhdrgNXlwqGfiwEsV13exJ0jEvyNjfPry8bzbLckPoHBFEF4ov-Iq-IkmtFGOLN6sWvyV1C7wVJWkMIjhL5lubGseU0Ci1L-/s320/Homecoming%20Chaos%20%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-34219570436591445852023-11-14T06:00:00.010-05:002023-11-14T06:00:00.144-05:00 Mariah’s Success Spell with Mariah Stillbrook #WitchTips #Spells #Magick<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheehaYfttt1kBMuq-HjqmOgeGLWoCTQIAQJ1p01hROsfSMmlhGhCDwOXftVIFKE5-n7joNlZo0GWlqADCOH-Mopc9-D8wopN2LZ_cZKwnZ-vq6S8mH4fpxmfvgWWAInEpLIBA0ILpKqFluSMryZT2pf7NAXXKn1_v_SmRYTJgUrYfsVx6FfZSaVCQsVEJB/s820/in%20the%20Pines%20Banner%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheehaYfttt1kBMuq-HjqmOgeGLWoCTQIAQJ1p01hROsfSMmlhGhCDwOXftVIFKE5-n7joNlZo0GWlqADCOH-Mopc9-D8wopN2LZ_cZKwnZ-vq6S8mH4fpxmfvgWWAInEpLIBA0ILpKqFluSMryZT2pf7NAXXKn1_v_SmRYTJgUrYfsVx6FfZSaVCQsVEJB/w400-h153/in%20the%20Pines%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>The opportunities I’ve wanted most in this life have been the hardest to achieve. While I was in the writing trenches, in that agonizing game of rejections and false hope, my husband and I were trying to create new life. I should also insert this here: I hadn’t wanted a child until I met my husband, but as every witch may know, timing is a thing. As soon as I saw his face, I knew he was my husband, and as we grew closer, I realized we would have a child. A couple of years into trying to conceive, I saw my spirit child. She whispered one word to me: patience. I understood this, but still, I wasn’t getting any younger and nothing was happening—pertaining to both my writing and trying to get pregnant. But guess what? There’s always magic.</div><div><br /></div><div>My favorite spell is one that I’ve done a couple times. In fact, I believe my Book of Shadows opens right up to it. I love it because it brings me closer to the divine and yields confidence. It brings me strength. And there are props . . . witches love props. Though it took time for both things to find me—both did. I now have a beautiful daughter who was well worth the wait, and five books releasing between now and 2025 (and many more if I have anything to do with it).</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Mariah’s Success Spell</b></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Ingredients:</b></div><div><br /></div><div>One green candle</div><div>One purple candle</div><div>A meaningful piece of jewelry</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Instructions:</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Ground yourself. When you are ready, hold the jewelry in your dominant hand and the lit purple candle in the other. As you walk across the room to where your unlit green candle is waiting, chant: I walk forward without doubt and fear, drawing success near. Repeat the mantra three times on your walk. Light the green candle with the purple candle, then have a seat before the flames. Close your eyes and meditate (while holding your jewelry to your chest) about the success you desire. Meditate for as long as needed and ensure that your candles burn all the way down. Your new amulet will now be charged and ready for you to wear whenever you need a little boost of confidence or a bit of success. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sidenote: I believe if your intent is there, the magic will work. Just remember that timing is a thing. Heed my spirit child’s message—be patient.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPung0ZpRu7dLpW1Jvs4Rx6Xz4Pvd4-oADQNauhoT8OL3bpsSn0L5u-FuZDbX1nrsB8FosZTJwT2k2SXYVJX4hxjlspFgadBJ-4tixhmQJWrgclmZTSq2VuK3iXvr1mpX_RDNiSN3hGlKcmTuFzqbA32rjgBcJay4GGSMtN2AILokouEM9eJk7RG24f4en/s2700/In%20the%20Pines%20Ebook.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPung0ZpRu7dLpW1Jvs4Rx6Xz4Pvd4-oADQNauhoT8OL3bpsSn0L5u-FuZDbX1nrsB8FosZTJwT2k2SXYVJX4hxjlspFgadBJ-4tixhmQJWrgclmZTSq2VuK3iXvr1mpX_RDNiSN3hGlKcmTuFzqbA32rjgBcJay4GGSMtN2AILokouEM9eJk7RG24f4en/s320/In%20the%20Pines%20Ebook.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>In The Pines</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Mariah Stillbrook</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Paranormal Fantasy</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Creative James Media</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: November 14, 2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 978-1-956183-50-4</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 374</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 110,334</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Triumph Covers</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: These witches have one month to end the spiritual threat to their bloodline. And not kill each other.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Two witches, two secrets, and a curse that could tear a family apart.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Olivia and Ellie have lived their lives knowing a dark entity is stalking their family, determined to kill them all. After the death of Olivia's son, she abandons her magic and her family, leaving Ellie in a nightmare of heartbreak, her marriage crumbling and her sister gone. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Determined to save their mother Arianna from a spell that left her comatose, the two sisters must come together to unravel the riddle of the curse that has haunted their family for generations.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">But as they delve into the past, the truth they uncover is more twisted and treacherous than they ever could have imagined. Will they be able to break the curse, or will it consume them all?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://amzn.to/46IMTcA">Amazon</a> <a href="https://books2read.com/u/mdqYYZ">Books2Read</a> <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61377370-in-the-pines">Goodreads</a></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></b></div><div><span><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b></b></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Excerpt:</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The sound of the waves crashing down below, the impending
fog rolling in, the wind sending curses past my cheeks, streaked with salt
water—all of it seemed to have been put into slow motion as I stood there, full
of rage and powerless against this demon as she held my daughter’s life in her
tainted, dead hands. Eight words were all I was afforded in the two seconds
that followed. “You were the one who let me in.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">And then it all happened at once. There was a "uttering
of feathers, the sensation of a stick being forced into my hand, and the sound
of my own screams as my daughter’s body fell; but then I just as quickly lunged
forward, standing on air and pointing my bit of willow down at her body just
before it was about to make contact with the jagged rocks below.</span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Maddie,
now in possession of her own body, stared up at me with wide eyes and a gaping
mouth as I floated over her like the witch I once was. And before she could
utter a single word, before I could make out the laughter that seemed to be
drifting back into the fog, I used my wand to lift her back up to the cliff and
set her down before landing back on solid earth myself.</span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">
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<!--[endif]--></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdZZAB4UcB3MI4l-k7BmOCVCPFJSJrzJ9UGnchCl_R0tzSnQ_gdxQcvuvJg3bCLGJYPdRFZL7zyNsSwk4hoACOjkGy3z0lRpmMHTdSiHMPojAdbBFBdHCwsHuQVE-HABms9XKzjUYzQgc6JDBqpdxpTQXatVJZ_tWWHPw9cZug7YZCpzplQwV2bbfEJ4O6/s3088/IMG_7659%202%20(2).png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdZZAB4UcB3MI4l-k7BmOCVCPFJSJrzJ9UGnchCl_R0tzSnQ_gdxQcvuvJg3bCLGJYPdRFZL7zyNsSwk4hoACOjkGy3z0lRpmMHTdSiHMPojAdbBFBdHCwsHuQVE-HABms9XKzjUYzQgc6JDBqpdxpTQXatVJZ_tWWHPw9cZug7YZCpzplQwV2bbfEJ4O6/w150-h200/IMG_7659%202%20(2).png" width="150" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Mariah Stillbrook, originally from Iowa, lives in Colorado with her white German shepherd, husband, and little girl. She graduated from the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs. She spends most of her days writing, reading, and enjoying the occasional hike. In her late twenties she realized that her writing was missing something, magic. She now focuses her writing on horror and urban fantasy in both adult and young adult genres.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website: <a href="https://www.mariahstillbrook.com/">https://www.mariahstillbrook.com/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Newsletter: <a href="https://bit.ly/45EeLxb" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://bit.ly/45EeLxb </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">TikTok: <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@mariahstillbrook">https://www.tiktok.com/@mariahstillbrook</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/mstillbrook" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://twitter.com/mstillbrook </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/mariahstillbrook/">https://www.instagram.com/mariahstillbrook/</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100079061712302 " rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100079061712302 </a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22508599.Mariah_Stillbrook">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22508599.Mariah_Stillbrook</a></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeiYXdn6gLI_mWcV1_U9dhBKLS9v3L2I_8xY6jcWHfhMrqgv42MAN8IBQsNRW_KyTxB-rsuQVCBVq8I_zPHDeC1tvm7ak9_Y_xl4b-0uo4TFrZy1ByStg0CiLSJZv4blHXz2Zqs-nSOj9oRSsT0Wz3iNgvptWeL2dpNljxPDZlNfVof1Ke1Xji19TTD_vr/s1080/in%20the%20Pines%20Instagram%20Post.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeiYXdn6gLI_mWcV1_U9dhBKLS9v3L2I_8xY6jcWHfhMrqgv42MAN8IBQsNRW_KyTxB-rsuQVCBVq8I_zPHDeC1tvm7ak9_Y_xl4b-0uo4TFrZy1ByStg0CiLSJZv4blHXz2Zqs-nSOj9oRSsT0Wz3iNgvptWeL2dpNljxPDZlNfVof1Ke1Xji19TTD_vr/s320/in%20the%20Pines%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="ba112ffc2204" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc2204/" id="rcwidget_rt1rcfhv" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3631432473239440773.post-61804646546099247022023-11-13T02:30:00.022-05:002023-11-13T02:30:00.159-05:00David Vorhees Top Ten Favorite Horror Novels<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4omKHvkWfyKZHlBvFEsG7n_-AFF7TmOxRizTqwoFO5bhPA-r_QhTIKInkUPSUYwUow1vA-okfeqgsOcXamAhZ7v3-PLg2nsni6yJD3HkFDfT2mUvT3RVMK93jOvsPwnBYSk4RJWtTqJd0iPVPDstQnmqVIASrvZ_JcXflF6KD49JNKcisH43wBME9hW2o/s820/Brother's%20Keeper%20%20Banner%20%20(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4omKHvkWfyKZHlBvFEsG7n_-AFF7TmOxRizTqwoFO5bhPA-r_QhTIKInkUPSUYwUow1vA-okfeqgsOcXamAhZ7v3-PLg2nsni6yJD3HkFDfT2mUvT3RVMK93jOvsPwnBYSk4RJWtTqJd0iPVPDstQnmqVIASrvZ_JcXflF6KD49JNKcisH43wBME9hW2o/w400-h153/Brother's%20Keeper%20%20Banner%20%20(1).png" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div>TOP TEN FAVORITE HORROR NOVELS</div><div><br /></div><div><b>10. Cycle of the Werewolf </b>- I am starting this list with one of my favorites, and is in fact, my absolute favorite werewolf story. Stephen King takes the old, outdated, and worn-out werewolf lore and updates it into a unique horrifying and scary tale. Month to month the story builds on the tension it creates with deep characters. Although it is a novella, the length of the book only enhances it’s greatness. It leaves you wanting more without overstaying it’s welcome.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>9. Memnoch the Devil</b> – This was the fifth entry into the Vampire Chronicles series by Anne Rice and the last one I read. Although I enjoy Rice’s writing a lot, especially the Vampire Chronicles as you will see later in this list. The one part I could gripe about is the heavy reliance on romance. The books have always been supernatural romance and an open love letter to her dark character Lestat. However, in this chapter of the series she delves into the religious aspects of the vampire and even introduces the idea that the term Devil is more of a title and has had many demons carry it starting with Lucifer, that it’s a job created by God to give balance and choice to mankind. This allows the reader to wonder if God truly wanted free will for mankind did he instigate Lucifer’s fall from grace to give us a options to choose from?</div><div><br /></div><div><b>8. Interview with a Vampire </b>– The Vampire Chronicles may be Rice’s best works, it surely is my favorite, and this book is the best one in that series that I have personally read. She completely redefines the vampire and changes them from the stuffy old count types like Dracula and King’s Barlowe and gives them a modern flare while rooting them deeply in the lore surrounding the vampire. They retain who they are when they were human after there transformation by the dark gift and even though they search for blood to quench their over controlling thirst they also want to live life to the fullest and they also Want to love and be loved. In their own way, love is at the heart of their desires more so than blood like the vampires of old. Lestat Changes Louis because he loves him, he Changes the child Claudia to try and make Louis happy. The aspect that the Vampire is also out in the world living and enjoying the night life to it’s fullest instead if hiding away in a dilapidated old castle was fresh and new for its time. Rice’s interview began a whole to found romance for vampires that changed how they were viewed for all time.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>7. Masque of the Red Death </b>– This is the first entry for Edgar Allen Poe, but it will not be his last. I love how Poe uses the veil of a person as the embodiment of disease. I like how it shoes that no matter how rich or important a person is they can not hide from death and disease. Poe has a knack for creating short stories that make you think long after you are done reading them. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>6. The Stand - </b>Another story about disease, this one from King. This one has recently been on a lot of people’s minds since Covid has breached our world in a similar the super or captain trips did in this book. However, King take post disease apocalyptic world and make it a battle of good versus evil. I love how he shows how the disease spreads but the character development and the reality of what it would take to re-establish society needs such as water and electricity. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>5. The Tell Tale Heart –</b> This is my favorite Poe story. I wrote a story for my first collection about a man who kills his wife on New Year’s Eve in hope to start a new life with the start of the new year. When the police show up the murderer begins hearing the sound of his wife’s cell phone. This is not just a direct nod to the Tell Tale Heart, but in my own way, a celebration of that story. I love how the heinous act of killing weighs so heavily on the murderer’s mind that he hears the heartbeat of the man he killed until so wracked with guilt and fear he confesses to the police his horrific deed. In this day with death and murder so prevalent in movies and television, one forgets how unnatural it is to kill and how heavy it would weigh ion one’s mind and soul.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>4. The Shinning –</b> I remember the first time I read this book. I had just previously introduced my ex-wife to Kubrick’s version of The Shinning. Of all the King Books I read, this one alluded me for some reason so I headed to the library and checked it out. It was summer and very hot, especially in the trailer we lived in that had no air conditioning. I recall laying on the couch on a blistering Saturday afternoon, reading this book and feeling cold chills run across my skin and the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. TO say this book was frightening is to sell the effect of King’s masterful storytelling short. This book had me engrossed and scared. I would hear noises outside wondering if it was the wind or something more sinister at work. I loved this book instantly and understood exactly why King dislikes the movie so much and ever since then I have agreed with him and have nit been ale to re-watch that movie since.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>3. Billy Summers </b>– This is my favorites book of the modern King era. As you may already be able to tell Stephen King is my favorite author and although some of his stories are drawn out needlessly, tend to get a bit boring at time, and the endings, especially to happily ever after ones, seem to come out of nowhere, he is a master storyteller that always follow where the story leads him no matter what. This story is no different. Much like Misery you get two stories for the price of one. Billy Summers is ex-military currently working as a hitman. Although Billy has a code, he only kills bad guys. He also has the intelligence to down play his intelligence to his employers and because f this he stumbles onto the conspiracy that after the hit is done his employer plane=s on killing him. While waiting for the hit order he poses as a writer in the town he is staying in and begins to s=write his life story. He makes the hit, survives the attempt on his life, rescues a girl, escapes and begins to hunt down his actual employer through the handler that hired him directly and along the way finds out the horrific truth about his employer. The adventure, the action, and the suspense makes this book stand out from King’s more normal works. This could be the basis for a James bond or Mission Impossible type of film. This stand apart is one of the reasons this book has quickly become one of my favorites of his. Not a classical horror but still has plenty of horror moments in it,. It also has a reference to the Overlook hotel, placing it firmly in the same universe as The Shining and Doctor Sleep. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>2. IT – </b>This book has been a part of my psyche ever since I read it back in High School. Many have come to know and love Pennywise because of the old ABC miniseries or the recently released two-part film and I understand that completely. I my first introduction to the evil clown was the min-series I jus spoke of, but it wasn’t until I read the novel that I became engrossed with IT. I read this book nonstop, except for school and work, for less than two weeks. U was enthralled with it. I struggle to put it down at night to go to bed and on the weekends I fell asleep reading it into the early hours of the morning. My favorite parts were the ones that took place when the cast were children. The scariest parts for me didn’t involve Pennywise though, it was the bullies. As a child I was bullied form time to time myself and I understood their fear, if not their pain. No one ever carved their initials into me. although there were a few scenes that became increasingly uncomfortable, like the kids in the sewer after they defeated Pennywise the first time, the overall book was a masterpiece. The way he interconnected themes from childhood to adult almost perfectly describes how we grow and yet some of the things that defined us as children are still very much present in our adult selves. It was scary and even if I didn’t understand all the adult themes back when I originally read IT, I do now.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>1. Pet Sematary –</b> Those that know me know I am not a big fan of zombies. The idea of corpses being reanimated hungry for the flesh and brains with the ability to move without muscle and tendons seem unfathomable to me. The one exception is King’s Pet Sematary. Though not many connect this with zombies, much like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, that is exactly what it is. King’s zombies are more than reanimated corpses but living breathing vessels of pure supernatural evil. These members of the walking dead not only have the memories of the their lives before death, but they also use them to terrorize and kill. The characters are so well written and the more you read the more you tend to care about these doomed people. This book didn’t scare me like The Shining, but it raised the bar so high for zombies that no one has been able to come remotely close top. It changed the whole sub-genre for me. </div><div><br /></div><div>As you can tell by this list King and Poe are my absolute favorite authors of all time. I have read other authors, but none have had the same affect on me and I have no doubt that if and when ou read my works you will see their influence peppered throughout. </div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZe3XVixHbowlE7TT1aJ67OpxCi_pjGAHwjNpAZ4293Z8UgbM96Vxh0c08qK9CC7t5VHUMCRnGsHY4_TMxzF1srj3lbWs7PQ6sW_YPgCKzHSDghpLBq7x26RNJgISatf0PImou8rDjEv8dfrqAvoZytyZFZLSzBj4TBuP27pd7oGC6zaoqxiN2gIavXBo/s2048/F8QtaLoWQAAZFWj.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZe3XVixHbowlE7TT1aJ67OpxCi_pjGAHwjNpAZ4293Z8UgbM96Vxh0c08qK9CC7t5VHUMCRnGsHY4_TMxzF1srj3lbWs7PQ6sW_YPgCKzHSDghpLBq7x26RNJgISatf0PImou8rDjEv8dfrqAvoZytyZFZLSzBj4TBuP27pd7oGC6zaoqxiN2gIavXBo/s320/F8QtaLoWQAAZFWj.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Brother’s Keeper</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>David Vorhees</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: horror, thriller, family drama</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: October 31</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 9798849162690</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: B0CKYGKPL1</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: paperback 355</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 89595</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Myers Taylor</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Families love. Families support. Families betray.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Book Description:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Shea receives a call that completely upends her existence and forces her to return to Sundown, the town she thought she had left behind. Tensions increase as she deals with her brother Donovan’s untimely death, and long-buried family dynamics start to show again. Shea’s return brings back memories of a town with a troubled past that is racially divided as she makes new connections with her childhood friend Marcus, the town’s new police chief, and her elder brother Jay, who is now mayor. The repercussions of the past challenge the ties between family and friends.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Angelo, Andy to his friends, a Navy Veteran who retires from his civilian job of 35 years and decides to return the San Francisco Bay area to see the places he never saw while he was stationed there. Andy meets a beautiful woman who runs the bed and breakfast and almost instantly falls for her. As they grow closer Andy grows closer to unveiling a horrifying secret about this woman and her sick son in A Mother’s Love.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Quarantine tells the story of a Father and Husband who goes to great and horrific lengths to save his family from the ravages of a new and mysterious disease. These and many more tales of family, love, and betrayal await you.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Brother’s Keeper is a gripping collection of love, loss, and the enduring power of family ties. These stories will leave you captivated and emotionally invested in the characters’ journey, making it impossible to put down. Don’t miss these compelling narratives that tackle pressing social issues while delivering heartfelt and engaging stories. A must-read that will linger with you long after the final page is turned.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Don’t miss out on this emotionally charged tale that challenges societal norms and leaves you craving more.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Dive into “Brother’s Keeper” today and get ready to confront your own assumptions and biases as you become engrossed in a world where love and loyalty are put to the ultimate test.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><a href="https://amzn.to/3QBNYxk" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Amazon</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: times;"></span></b></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: times;">Excerpt – Sundown</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Coffee?” the young pretty waitress asked,
holding a pot of coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Oh, yes, thank you, Shelby,” Jay said
and she turned his cup over for her to fill. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Do you want your usual?” Shelby asked,
smiling brightly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Please,” Jay said, smiling back.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Shelby turned and looked towards Shea, and
without smiling at her, said, “And you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Just coffee please,” Shea said, feeling
a little uncomfortable. “Uncle Jeb made me eat a big breakfast before I left.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Shelby, you remember my sister, Shea?”
Jay said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Your sister?” Shelby said, finally
looking at the young woman sitting in the booth across from Jay. “Oh my God!
Shea! Honey, I didn’t recognize you. Get up here and give me a hug.” Shea stood
up and hugged her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Hi, Shelby,” Shea said. “It’s good to
see you.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“It’s good to see you. How long are you
back for?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Till tomorrow. I will be leaving after
the funeral,” Shea replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Oh, yes, I am so sorry about your
brother. Everyone loved Donovan,” Shelby said. “He truly was a good man.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Thank you,” Shea said, then Jay cleared
his throat intentionally.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Ok, Mr. Mayor, I hear ya. Let me go
and put this order in and I’ll let you guys visit.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">We’ll talk later,” Shelby said and
walked away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You know, I think she has a crush on
you,” Shea said slyly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You think? I hope so since we have
been dating for the past year,” Jay said, laughing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Really!? That’s wonderful. I always
liked her,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“She always liked you too,” Jay said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“So, do you see this going somewhere? I
mean, you’re getting a little long in the tooth, don’t ya think?” she said
jokingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Yeah, maybe,” he said, smiling. Then
his smile faded. “But we’re not here to talk about my love life. We’re here to
talk about your husband and kids.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Oh, so your love life is off the table
but mine is the topic of conversation?” Shea asked sternly, looking at him with
a hardened look.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Don’t look at me like that, Shea. I am
just trying to say that maybe it’s not the best idea for them to come to the
funeral,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Why? Because my husband is white and
my kids are mixed?” she asked coldly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Yes,” he stated bluntly. He had never
approved of her marrying a white guy. Daniel was nice enough but he was white
and Jay could not let that go, especially after who killed their parents and
now who killed Donovan.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Uh-huh, I see,” she said. “You have
hated Daniel since the very first time you saw him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I didn’t hate him, but you have to
understand how wrong it is,” Jay said, trying to reason with her. It was
difficult to reason with her when she got mad and, even after all these years,
he could tell she was getting angry. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Oh, you’re so full of shit. I had been
dating Daniel for almost a year. I never brought him home because I knew how
you would react to him, and then one day, you and Marcus show up at my school
unannounced. You yell at me and get in my face because you caught me kissing a
white man, and Marcus gets in Daniel’s face and threatens him. You embarrassed
yourself, me, this family, and this whole damn town that day. I never forgave
either of you for that and I hoped that maybe because of Donovan, we could get
past that and become family again, but I guess not.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Well, we wouldn’t have had to come to
your school to find out what or who you were hiding if you would have just told
us,” Jay said. “I still can’t believe you would even consider dating a white
guy after what happened to Mom and Dad.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Told you? Why, so you could come up
there and threaten to kick his ass if he didn’t leave me alone? Oh, wait, you
did that anyways. Besides, what happened to Mom and Dad was an accident. It
could have been anybody driving that other car drunk, it just happened to be a
white guy. You can’t hold Daniel responsible for that,” Shea said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“A white guy that got what… two years’
probation and a stint in a rehab?” Jay said, getting angry himself now. “And
every white person is responsible for that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“The white guy didn’t pick his
punishment, that was the system and the system is broken. We all know that,”
Shea said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“And who set up the broken system?
White guys.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“And we are trying to fix it. Daniel
and Donovan were—are—trying to fix and change the system and ya know Donovan
liked Daniel and loved those kids. He would want them there, and maybe if you
got over your racist bullshit, you’d see how wonderful they are.” She stood,
getting ready to leave.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“It ain’t about that. You know how this
town is and you know what could happen,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I know what could happen, huh?” she
said. “I know what should happen. This town you so dearly love should join the
rest of us in the 21st motherfucking century. That’s what should fucking
happen!” Shea said, turning to head for the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Shea!” Jay tried to say.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Nah, fuck you. You don’t get to
threaten my family and try to justify it,” Shea said. “Fuck you and fuck this
town. This kind of shit is why I stayed away for so long, and after tomorrow, I
ain’t never coming back again.” She turned and walked away. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Shea! Shea!” he called after her as
she left the diner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I don’t know what happened, but I am
pretty sure you need to apologize,” Shelby said</span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Yeah, I know, and I will after she gets back home. I
promise,” Jay said as he sat back down. Everyone in the diner had stopped to
watch them and now they turned their attention back to their food and their
conversations.</span></p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--></span></blockquote><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
<!--[endif]--></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Horror and drams are passions to David as a Book Author at Amazon Direct Publishing. He has published three books, The Feast and Other Horrifying Tales and Abigail’s Odyssey, and Brother’s Keeper that explore different themes, scenarios, and characters in these genres. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">David’s writing skills are also rooted in journalism education and experience. He studied Journalism at the University of Phoenix, which he completed online while working as an Assembly Line Worker at Addecco Staffing. Before becoming a Book Author, he worked as a Reporter at The Wapakoneta Daily News, covering local news, events, and stories, as well as taking photos and designing pages. David enjoys learning new things, exploring different perspectives, and creating engaging and original content.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">David lives in Ohio with his wife and family.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">LinkTree <a href="https://linktr.ee/dcvorhees">https://linktr.ee/dcvorhees</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Twitter/X: <a href="https://twitter.com/AuthorHorror">https://twitter.com/AuthorHorror</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website: <a href="https://dcv1975.wixsite.com/davidvorhees">https://dcv1975.wixsite.com/davidvorhees</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Blog: <a href="https://dcv1975.wixsite.com/davidvorhees/blog">https://dcv1975.wixsite.com/davidvorhees/blog</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19429806.David_Vorhees">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19429806.David_Vorhees</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYElQO6N6V0oGlaMCxt5xk6KEDd3TUYAOJ-3uKaY-g2HSh7Uxov-yoYZigw3dfXXLthMRgJHNgL9okXHR_lrxvg5upOS6D1DGA67AU1iDt3Vdivsy70eweXd-3_M4doMCE6wugW8AyT0qmTW9tKZ9TIweMNiak4206McA-z4k0S0Do446684e3XjnGpbhB/s1080/Brother's%20Keeper%20%20Instagram%20Post%20(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYElQO6N6V0oGlaMCxt5xk6KEDd3TUYAOJ-3uKaY-g2HSh7Uxov-yoYZigw3dfXXLthMRgJHNgL9okXHR_lrxvg5upOS6D1DGA67AU1iDt3Vdivsy70eweXd-3_M4doMCE6wugW8AyT0qmTW9tKZ9TIweMNiak4206McA-z4k0S0Do446684e3XjnGpbhB/s320/Brother's%20Keeper%20%20Instagram%20Post%20(1).png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div>Roxanne Rhoadshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727784602361446818noreply@blogger.com0