Sunday, March 1, 2026

The Care and Feeding of Kelpies with Melissa Widmaier #Kelpies #CareAndFeeding




The kelpie is an elusive and solitary creature, not one to be possessed. However, should you come into the vicinity of one that allows you to care for it, you should feel very special indeed. Do not sleep near its water source and keep one eye open, nevertheless. They are notoriously fickle.

What is a kelpie?

The kelpie, or each-uisge as they are called in Scotland, is a shapeshifting creature of dubious intent. They typically appear in a horse-like form in black, grey, or white, but sometimes they can appear as hooved humans.

Where are they found?
Kelpies are most fond of bodies of water, particularly lochs, though they can be seen in streams and marshes. They tend to hide in the dark waters for their prey. They have been known to sing for their supper, luring unsuspecting travelers into the waters with their sweet songs like sirens.

What do they devour?

You. They devour you. Basically, anyone that falls for their trap is drowned in the waters and their flesh is ripped from their bones.

Kelpies are ravenous creatures. If you’re daft enough to care for one, be prepared to feed it lots of fresh meat. I will not go into whose flesh you are serving. That’s none of my business. I’ll leave that between you and the kelpie. I’ll not go near it!

How not to be their next victim

Don’t be a fool! Sadly, you’re already trying to tame one, so I suspect you’ve not got your wits about you, and you might be doomed already. But, if you must keep at it, stay far from the water’s edge when offering your kelpie its meal and don’t heed its enchanting song if you can. If you anger the kelpie somehow, offer it a horse friend or even a snail. Kelpies like keeping pets, too.

Also, whatever you do, don’t pet it or look it in the eye. The last thing you want to do is challenge a shapeshifting water spirit.

Good luck to you! I’m out of here!



The Roses of Carterhaugh
Melissa Widmaier

Genre: Fantasy/Fairytale Retelling
Date of Publication: March 1, 2026
ISBN: 979-8-9877992-9-1
ASIN: B0G5SKM55R
Number of pages: 208
Word Count: 50K+

Tagline: A plucky 16th century Scottish lass saves a 14th century Scottish knight from a fairy kingdom of magical misfits.

Book Description: 

Love is immortal.

In a quiet souters village in Scotland, an earl’s rebellious daughter stirs up trouble with the fabled faeries known as the Daoine Sìth. Can she lift the veil on a darkened past and rescue her knight from the seelie queen’s clutches?

Based on a beloved Child Ballad, this fairytale retelling mixes magic with devotion, leading our heroine and her loved ones on an adventure worth recounting in an enchanted glade or a royal hall.

Books2Read    Amazon    BN

Excerpt

Heartsick, the Lord of the Unseelie slipped from Carterhaugh through the portal oak. He materialized into Elphyne, trembling. There was someone he missed as much as Tam missed his father, and, like Old Thomas, he was never returning—to this realm or the mortal one.

He ambled through the pristine meadows and grasslands of his grandmother’s seelie kingdom and slipped easily into the forest that bordered his own.

Much of the Sìth folk gave him the space his rank was due, especially the ones who had known and feared his grandfather, Finveara. But the unseelie creatures found Alfarinn exhausting. They made a point of glaring with beady eyes and sharp hisses whenever he passed by. He was no Finveara.

It wasn’t until he reached the marshes that Alfarinn noticed something was odd. He stopped abruptly and looked around, hoping the stillness in the damp air was only the result of his sister’s mysterious cats mid-stalk.

His grey Sìth eyes settled on a horse head bobbing in the muddy waters, with a passenger in the form of a slimy snail. This could only be one particular kelpie. The Lord of the Unseelie groaned and approached his nosy subject.

“Your grandfather would have thrown a fireball at me for spying,” Ceol teased.

The silver beast pulled himself up out of the water and shook from snout to tail. It was a miracle that his pet snail did not fly off.

Alfarinn whipped the water from his clothes with a wave of his hand. “You admit to spying?”

“Perhaps a little.”

Ceol’s horse face split into an eerie, sharp-toothed grin as his monstrous body metamorphosized into the figure of a man. The kelpie usually graced the courts in faerie form but there were times that he retreated to the cool marshes to transform into his true nature. It was a face he only showed his kin, his master, and his victims.

“I’m just curious, my lord. Why do you sulk about your holdings? Do you seek mischief? If so, I am eager to be of assistance.”

Alfarinn snickered as the smiling kelpie delicately hid his precious creature in his enchanted pocket. “Are you now? Actually, I could use a little help, Ceol.”

The kelpie pranced about, waving his arms wildly.

Alfarinn raised a hand in warning. “This will require more stealth than anything, Ceol. I will not have you mauling anyone for this task.”

The kelpie deflated and gave a resentful pout. “But I haven’t mauled anyone in ages!” he whined.

Alfarinn did his best to hide his shiver. Kelpies were forbidden from attacking other fae, but the souls of mortals were fair game. Tam fit into both categories, much to the kelpie population’s displeasure.

“What if I told you that this mischief would be wrought on a certain earthly knight? Would you be willing to play my game to be rid of him?”

The kelpie reverted back to his horse form and danced fluidly around his master. “Pretty Tam’s flesh is tantalizing, and his soul would be delicious. If you want to be rid of him, let me have him. I'll not tell a Sìth it was you.”

Alfarinn scowled, channeling his grandfather’s energy. The kelpie recoiled.

“No, Ceol. The queen would fly into a rage the likes of which we've never seen.”

The creature’s eye fixed on the Sìth lord, gleaming maliciously. “Are you afraid of her, Lord of the Unseelie?” It was a declaration more than a question, a search for weakness in the chain of command.

Alfarinn squinted and folded his arms over his chest, pulling himself up to full height. “Afraid! No. I am her grandson,” he reminded with a smug smile. “She loves kin above all else. You, on the other hand, council member or not, would do well to keep in her good graces.”

Ceol swallowed and quickly changed back into his less-intimidating configuration. “Noted.”

He looked about the marsh for a moment, perhaps weighing his choices, and fondled the poor snail in his pocket. After some moments avoiding his exasperated master, the kelpie turned and nodded his acceptance.

“So, what exactly must I do to annoy the tasty mortal boy?”


About the Author:

Melissa is an award-winning author on the spectrum who likes to mix a little ink with her magic. Her books focus on the familial bond and exploring the natural world. When not manipulating words, she can be found camping with a camera in hand, getting lost among things green and growing. She lives in Arizona with her husband, three boys, a dapper old cat, and a rambunctious corgi.



Tuesday, February 24, 2026

Six and Twisted #Horror #HorrorCollection


Six and Twisted
D. Thomas Jerlo, David Boiani, Jenna Greene,
Simon Parker, Phil Thomas, Char Baker

Genre: Horror / Speculative Fiction
Publisher: Vitality House
Date of Publication: Feb.2.2026
ISBN-13: ‎ 978-1970504002
ISBN-10: ‎ 1970504005
ASIN:  B0GL3ND4CR
Number of pages: 360 Paperback

Cover Artist: Dawné Dominique / DusktilDawn Designs

Tagline: Six macabre, supernatural, fanatical, and dystopian tales all brought to you by the minds of six brilliant authors, each bringing their version of spellbinding storytelling in one anthology. Prepare to be fascinated by their unique perspectives, as they weave intricate stories that blur the lines between reality and the surreal.

Book Description:  

Six visions of horror, each more unsettling than the last.

In Something Neighborly by D. Thomas Jerlo, a gremlin’s mischievous tricks twist everyday life into a nightmare.

In The Breezy Ridge Inn by David Boiani, an idyllic Vermont getaway hides sinister secrets behind its prayers.

In Consumed by Jenna Greene, the tolling of bells marks the countdown to sacrifice in a dystopian world.

In The Year of the Dead by Simon Parker, one man faces his last Christmas as humanity falls to the plague of the undead.

In The Clairvoyant Connection by Phil Thomas, a psychic on the 1986 boardwalk foresees a death she cannot stop.

And in Fortune Favours by Char Baker, a team of supernatural agents uncovers a deadly conspiracy of demons, shapeshifters, and betrayal.

Together, these stories explore mischief, faith, fate, and apocalypse — six doors into terror, each waiting for you to step through.





Monday, February 2, 2026

Character Confessions: The Fablecastle Chronicles by Trina Spillman #MagicalRealism #CharacterConfessions



If my protagonist, Lucifer, were to vent about me, it would be scathing and probably go something like this...

I will say this once, because repetition is inefficient.

You are an empathetic writer. That is your problem.

Empathy, in theory, is a useful instrument. In practice, you wield it like a blunt object. You give it to everyone. Heroes. Villains. Bystanders. Historical monsters. People who have not earned so much as a passing glance of understanding. You dilute it until it loses all strategic value.

Scarcity creates meaning. You ignore this. You distribute understanding as if it were an inexhaustible resource, which tells me you have never tried to run a system at scale. I have. Trust me. Unlimited compassion collapses under its own weight.

You are obsessed with motivation. You insist on explaining why everyone does what they do. Childhood wounds. Structural pressures. Cultural inheritance. Occasionally, people are not broken. Occasionally, they are functioning exactly as designed. You refuse to accept this, which slows everything down.

You keep asking whether something is justified.

That question is irrelevant.

Systems do not require justification. They require participation. They do not need to be moral. They need to be efficient. You keep trying to hold them accountable to human ethics, which is charming, in the way a child insisting a storm should apologize is charming.

You romanticize resistance. This is a common error among earth monkeys who fancy themselves perceptive. You believe defiance is rare. It is not. It is loud, performative, and usually inconsequential. Compliance is the real miracle. Quiet. Enduring. Automatic.

Most humans do not need fear or faith to be controlled. They need convenience. They will trade autonomy for comfort without a second thought and then congratulate themselves for being pragmatic. You occasionally forget this, and when you do, your stories wobble.

You also insist on writing me with wit.

This is a mistake.

Wit invites affection. Affection invites misunderstanding. I am not here to be liked. I am here to be accurate. Every time you make me seem amusing, you soften the blade. Every time you give me a good line, you let the reader feel clever instead of implicated.

Do not mistake that for approval.

And yet.

For someone so clearly obsessed with structure, you persist in pretending stories are about heroes. They are not. They are about systems. Stress points. Feedback loops. Small, quiet decisions made by people who believe they are insignificant and therefore harmless.

You do, at least, ask the correct questions. That is more than I can say for most earth monkeys. You simply hesitate to follow those questions to their logical conclusion.

Work on that.

And if you ever again associate me with that ridiculous number, 666, know this: I did not choose it. I do not like it. It is vulgar. It is amateurish. And it is the direct result of medieval numerologists with far too much time and nowhere near enough education to distinguish between me and Nero.

This is not a subtle error. It is not an interpretive flourish. It is a basic failure of literacy dressed up as mysticism. They mistook political arithmetic for cosmic symbolism and congratulated themselves for the confusion.

I was not encoded in a number. I was not hiding in a riddle. I was not skulking about in gematria like a common parlor trick. That particular calculation was about a Roman emperor with a talent for arson and a thin skin, not the architect of belief systems.

But earth monkeys adore shortcuts. Someone scrawled a number in the margins, someone else mistook it for revelation, and suddenly I am saddled with a brand I neither chose nor approve of.

It is sloppy work.

And I do not reward sloppiness.

Remove it.

Preferably retroactively.

Now stop overthinking and write something.


The Fablecastle Chronicles
Trina Spillman

Genre: Magical Realism
Publisher: Trina Spillman
ISBN: 9798649138604
ASIN:B08956JDBP
Number of pages: 252
Word Count: 47,500

Cover Artist: BrainyGeeks

Tagline: How do you report the truth when the truth could end everything?

Book Description:

Maggie McCullough is a star reporter for the Daily Mirror. In her monthly column, Setting the Record Straight, she revealed the truth behind the fables you may remember from your childhood. Those interviews brought her to the attention of someone in another dimension, someone claiming to be Lucifer. 

Join Maggie and Andrew Wolfgang, her boyfriend and quasi bodyguard, as they travel to Earth and hopscotch across this strange dimension, in pursuit of a story that explains the truth behind Lucifer’s origins, the mutation he unleashed on Earth’s inhabitants, what really happened to the ark following the great flood, and why pyramids dot the planet. 

Can Maggie write her earth-shattering article and escape Earth before all hell breaks loose?

Amazon

Watch the Book Trailer


Excerpt:

Maggie and Andrew approached the bar and were relieved they had arrived twenty minutes early. That is, until an attendant approached Maggie and said, “Good evening, Miss McCullough. If you would follow me, I will lead you to your private cabana. Your guest has already arrived and is waiting for you.” Maggie held up her finger and said, “I’ll be right with you.” “Certainly, take all the time you need.” The man moved to the end of the bar and waited discreetly. Maggie grabbed Andrew’s elbow and dragged him to the opposite corner of the bar. She was a little frazzled. “I am not going into a closed tent without you being able to watch me, especially since I have no idea who I’m supposed to be interviewing.” “Tell the waiter you are claustrophobic, and you need one of the side flaps on the cabana removed. That way I can keep an eye on you during the interview.” “Perfect.” Maggie summoned the waiter and explained what she needed. He seemed irritated but, without a word, walked to the cabana and unzipped the side flap, revealing an attractive man of medium build with a head of thick auburn hair lit with natural highlights of red and blond. Hair color to die for, Maggie thought. She squeezed Andrew’s elbow and whispered, “Here goes nothing.”

Andrew didn’t want her interviewee to be alerted to his presence, so keeping a respectable but short distance from Maggie, he nonchalantly whispered, “You’ll do great.” Maggie followed the attendant to the cabana where the man was sitting. He stood as she approached and held her chair out for her. She thanked him and sat. Turning toward the waiter, the stranger authoritatively commanded, “Bring the 1869 Chateau Lafite.” “Very good, sir. Will there be anything else?” “No,” he said dismissively. The waiter left. The man sitting across from Maggie said, “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lucifer, but you can call me Luc.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Maggie extended her hand. The man sitting across from her looked at it with disgust. She slowly withdrew her hand and placed it in her lap. A palpable energy radiated from him and made her skin crawl. Maggie quickly drew a protection spell in her notebook and was relieved when the unsettling sensation abated. Luc addressed Maggie. “There are a few ground rules that will need to be established before we commence.” Maggie said, “Absolutely. Please, continue.” “First, don’t speak unless spoken to. Secondly, there is a lot of information to cover and I will tell you what is important and what isn’t. Lastly, don’t be irritating. Keep your questions relevant and we will get along swimmingly.” What a dick, Maggie thought, but bit her tongue since she was positive such a comment would undoubtedly irritate him. “Duly noted.” “You may proceed and ask your first question.” Maggie jumped right in and asked, “What story do you want to set straight?” Luc chuckled. “I am not the figure humans have made me out to be and I would like to tell my side of the story.”

 

 

 

About the Author:

Trina Spillman, who also writes under the pen name Selene Greenleaf, crafts both practical witchcraft guides and immersive works of fiction that span romance, magical realism, and contemporary thrillers. Splitting her creative life between Colorado’s mountain landscapes and a growing library of story ideas, she blends current events, folklore, plant magic, and real-world rituals to invite readers into transformative experiences. Under Selene Greenleaf, she’s the author of Witchcraft Essentials: A Modern-Day Guide to Spells, Herbs, and Crystals; Cupid's Craft: Love Spells for Valentine's Day; and her forthcoming Plant Magic Encyclopedia: Rituals & Remedies, resources designed to help modern practitioners weave intention and botanical wisdom into everyday life. 

Writing as Trina Spillman, she’s best known for her engaging fairy tale retellings. Upcoming projects include: 

A New Dawn — a gripping political thriller of power, ethics, and love, to be released by The Wild Rose Press 

Collateral Justice — the powerful sequel to A New Dawn, where a hidden alliance of the world’s elite blurs the line between justice and vengeance. 

The Witches of Fablecastle— When a witch hunter’s mirror exposes her forbidden magic, Holly McCool flees through a portal to Fablecastle, only to learn she’s the one destined to stop him from tearing both worlds apart. 

The Quantum Hitchhiker’s Guide to Escaping the Matrix — a witty, mind-bending manual on how to hack reality, rewrite your personal code, and manifest with humor, consciousness, and a touch of modern witchcraft.  

Whether she’s exploring the ethics of power in a thriller or sharing herbal recipes for daily rituals, Trina/Selene’s work reflects her unwavering belief in the healing and transformative power of words. 







Monday, January 26, 2026

The Oath of Blood and Roses by C. M. Hano #Romantasy


Background Info About the Series:

In my series, Hearts of Dalaria, dragons have remained shrouded in secrecy for centuries, hidden away from the world. 

The ancient lore of this realm tells of a profound bond shared between dragons and royals—a sacred connection that is not merely a privilege but a birthright woven into the fabric of their existence. When a dragon chooses its royal counterpart, their bond is eternal, unbreakable. 

The god of dragons assumes the majestic form of an Ashana while on Earth, a creature of ethereal grace and powerful majesty. This transformation allows him not only to seek a mate but also to safeguard the lineage of both dragons and their chosen royals, ensuring that their legacy endures through the ages. 

Once, this vital duty fell to Tika, Calian's father, a figure of great significance in the realm's history. Long before the events of the first book unfolded, a monumental battle erupted, reshaping the destiny of dragons and humans alike. 

The echoes of these events resonate in the second book, where deeper truths are unveiled. 

Without spoiling the journey, I can share that dragons are elemental beings, each embodying a unique aspect of nature, and they bestow their extraordinary powers upon the royals they bond with. 

This enchanting connection creates a rich tapestry of magic that is as captivating as it is powerful. 

The Oath of Blood and Roses
Hearts Of Dalaria 
Book One
C. M. Hano

Genre: Romantasy
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press 
Date of Publication: May 6, 2024
ISBN: 9781509254347
ASIN: B0CW1JZGN4
Number of pages: 322 Word Count: 95,000
Cover Artist: Lea Schizas  

Tagline: Love was never part of the oath.

Book Description: 

Charming and arrogant, elite Ashana, Calian, has one serve his prince. He has never considered breaking his oath...until her.

Clover Celestia. The High Princess with a stubborn streak and a spark that incinerates his oath to ash. She’s nothing he expected and everything he needed.

Inch by inch, she slowly incinerates his defenses until he faces the truth—that all he wants is to mark his princess.

Because she’s his.

His goddess. His Fated.

Bound by the chains of her past, Princess Clover dreams of living freely. But when her parents are murdered, she’s suddenly thrust into a war she never knew existed.

As she navigates the choices—and betrayals—of her new role, she must also confront her desire for the man who forced her hand.

The Ashana. Her protector. Her Fated.

Unexpected and forbidden, theirs is a love that could destroy a realm... and doom them both.

Amazon     BN     Kobo     GoogleBooks     AppleBooks


Excerpt:

My parents are dead. I can be free if I go with him. Even if it means being bound to him until death. Alma will be safe. She is brave, selfless, and I know she will take care of the kingdom. This was a chance for me to get away from here. I won’t give him the satisfaction of kissing me. I will learn who that shadow man was and why he killed my parents.

A sacred bond that can only be enacted by using blood magic. That confirmed the suspicion that magic had come back to the realm and our goddess will be reborn again. There was a lot I didn’t know about this oath, but what I knew was that once I agree to it, I won’t be able to lie to him, kill him, or betray our original vow. That was the full extent of my knowledge of this oath, but he didn’t know that.

“Blood oath,” I spat.

“This will hurt, which is why I preferred the kiss.” He held out his right hand and then ran his blade across his palm, then across my right. I didn’t wince, and I saw the flicker of amusement on his face. I have withstood far worse pain in much more sensitive places on my body.

“Intriguing,” he said.

“Chloe, you don’t have to do this,” Alma pleaded, reaching for my left hand.

“It’ll be all right,” I told her. I am not a ruler or leader. Mother burned any chance of that out of me the day she made the first cut. But Alma, she is. That is why my next order can be said so easily.

“Once we leave, you will assume the throne. Cancel the ball and inform the other kingdoms that the entire royal family is dead because of an unforeseen accident. This man will let me make an official document having you take the throne because of my death. This is an order and not a request.” Snagging my left arm, she turned me toward her.

“Don’t do this,” Alma begged. I jerked my arm from her grip, handed her the dagger, and then turned back toward the man.

“Get on with it.”

“As you wish.” We joined our cut palms, blood mixing, and then he pulled me into him.

One hand gripped my waist, and I felt the hardness of his body against me.

“Do we have to be this close?” I asked. Completely ignoring me, he began the oath, and my mouth filled with the flavor of magic as our joined palms burned.

“Under the rights of the Blood Oath, I swear we will leave your people unharmed if you come with me willingly and without complication. If you break this oath, your people will pay with their lives. Do you swear by it?”

Our gaze didn’t falter. “Under the rights of the Blood Oath, I swear to come with you willingly and without complications, and you will leave my people unharmed. If you break this oath, you and your people will pay with their lives.” It came out a lot easier than I thought it would.

“Sheathe your swords,” he ordered his men, our eyes still locked onto each other.

“Lower your weapons,” I ordered. “Leave these quarters and don’t follow us. Don’t come after me, if any of you disobey me, you will be executed.”

“Chloe.” Alma sounded defeated, and it broke my heart.

“Draw up a parchment willing the kingdom over to her and then stamp it with the royal seal,” I ordered the man.

“You heard her.” The entire time, our bloodied hands, bodies, and eyes never faltered from their positions. I knew he was trying to intimidate me into submission, but I have been through worse with Mother. Alma and the guards left the chambers. The man stepped back from me, our embrace broken, but not our eye contact. One of his men brought over the parchment. He examined the message, and then went over to my stationary and sealed it with the royal crest that belonged to me.

“Bring that to the one called Alma. We need to get going.” He then approached me. “You are a very brave woman.” He snapped his fingers and one of his men brought over some rope.

“Is that necessary? I just swore to you I wouldn’t escape.”

“I don’t want you getting any wicked ideas about stabbing me, Princess.”

 

About the Author:

C. M. Hano is a Fantasy Romance Author who aspires to write strong female driven, hot and magical adventures, and being a good mother. She lives in Louisiana with her husband and three beautiful children.

 

X.com: https://x.com/HanoCera

 

Linktree: https://linktr.ee/cmhanoauthor

 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cmhano

 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/cerahano

 

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@cmhanoauthor

 

Sign up for C.M.’s Newsletter: https://mailchi.mp/02303e09df76/newsletter-landing-page

 

 


Monday, December 22, 2025

Love, Laughter, and a Little Light Sorcery: Dating a Male Witch with Wren Valentino #MMRomance #GuestBlog #BookTour

Love, Laughter, and a Little Light Sorcery: Dating a Male Witch

Dating a male witch is like dating a regular guy, if your regular guy keeps rosemary by the door and knows the moon’s schedule better than your mom’s birthday. It’s charming, really. Candlelit dinners? He’s got seventeen candles, each “for ambiance,” and yes, they all matter.

First tip: respect the tools. That “old stick” is a wand. The teacups aren’t dusty; they’re “charging.” And if he asks you not to touch the salt circle, do not, under any circumstances, touch the salt circle. This is not a quirk; it’s a boundary. (Also, possibly a demon thing.)

Communication is key, especially during Mercury retrograde, when every misunderstanding is blamed on the cosmos. Forgot to text back? Mercury. Showed up late? Mercury. Accidentally summoned a minor wind spirit? Definitely Mercury.

On the plus side, self-care is elite. He knows herbs for sleep, focus, and heartbreak. Bad day at work? He’s got a tea for that. Bad date before him? He’s already burned the energetic residue.

Meet-the-friends night may include a coven, a cat that judges you, and a group chat called “Hexes & Hugs.” Be polite. Compliment the altar. Bring wine, or moon water (if you’re feeling brave).

Finally, remember: love is the strongest magic. Also, always ask before borrowing his cloak. It’s probably enchanted. Yeah, it definitely is. 

The Christmas Knockout
Wren Valentino

Genre: M/M Romance
Publisher: Blue Dasher Press 
Date of Publication: 12/5/2025
ASIN: B0G5B8G3H1
Word Count: 5K

Cover Artist: James at GoOnWrite.com

Tagline: When a lonely reporter meets a legendary fighter, Christmas delivers its sweetest knockout.

Book Description: 

A steamy, romantic Christmas Eve encounter between a lonely reporter and a charming boxing champion. When journalist Grayson Lane meets newly out boxing star Sergio Cavallo, their interview quickly turns into an unexpected escape from a stuffy gala and a night filled with honesty, heat, and holiday vulnerability. In Grayson’s tiny apartment, sparks fly and two lonely men discover a connection neither saw coming.

Excerpt:

Dressed as formally as his casual wardrobe allowed, Grayson arrived sans tie at the staff entrance of a local banquet hall. It was only a few blocks away from the three-story building where the newspaper had occupied for nearly a hundred years, and a short walk from his one-bedroom apartment he shared with a fluffy cat named Duke. The streets were wet from a rumbling rainstorm that had decided to take a short break, much to Grayson’s luck. Sparkling Christmas lights shimmered in puddles, covering the cobblestoned alley with a palette of cozy holiday hues. The banquet hall was similar in neo-Gothic architecture as the old newspaper building. Locals swore the place was haunted just by the sight of it. Secretly, Grayson hoped it was.

He rang the entrance bell and waited, shifting his weight from foot to foot. When there was no response, he rang again. Finally, the old door creaked open, revealing a scruffy man in a tuxedo, sporting large, black-framed glasses. The man eyed Grayson for an explanation for this intrusion.

“I’m Grayson Lane,” he said. When that didn’t get him invited inside, he continued. “I’m here to interview Sergio Cavallo.”

“You’re a reporter?” the man rumbled in a gravelly voice. For a moment, Grayson half-expected to see the swirl of cigarette smoke in the air as if he’d somehow stumbled into a classic film noir.

Sir, are you related to Humphrey Bogart by any chance?

“Yes, I am,” Grayson explained, shivering.

The man glanced him over and said, “You look like a delivery boy.”

“Thanks,” he muttered. “May I see Sergio now?”

With what looked like reluctance, the man with salt and pepper wavy hair nodded and pushed the door open wider. It creaked again and Grayson couldn’t help but wonder if the spooky sound was a warning.

Once inside, Grayson was led down a series of dimly lit corridors, all with walls adorned with framed paintings of the Scottish founders of the city and, apparently, the ones responsible for the building they were moving through.

            Finally, they stopped. The man in the tuxedo knocked on a door before entering. He looked back and said to Grayson, “Come. Mr. Cavallo is waiting for you.”

            Pausing for a moment in the hallway, Grayson drew in a steadying breath, reflecting over the hours of research he’d conducted to prepare for this assignment. Exhaling, he opened the door and entered the room. Glancing around, Grayson determined he was standing in the center of a private lounge that was trying hard to be swanky but really looked like the set of an adult film, complete with dimmed lighting in not-so-subtle shades of hot pink, electric blue, and amber. The furniture was leather, and the carpet looked thick and soft.

Positioned as if he were sitting on a throne was Sergio Cavallo, looking rather distinguished in a fashionable blazer, slacks, and crisp white shirt with the top two buttons undone to reveal olive-tinged bare skin. The dark-haired Italian boxer looked like the undefeated boxing champ that he was, The King of The Ring as many commentators appropriately referred to him. No wonder many had fallen under his spell.

            What Grayson wasn’t expecting was how flushed he felt when Sergio looked into his eyes and with a delicious and very inviting smile said, “Well…hello. You’re not what I was expecting.”

            Trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering inside of him, Grayson held Sergio’s stare and responded confidently, “And neither are you. I’m Grayson Lane.”

            The boxer leaned forward. His dark brown eyes held an expression of tenderness, despite his savage reputation of being a beast of a boxer. His facial hair was a few shades lighter than the almost jet-black hair on his head and looked like a modern version of a Van Dyke. “I’m curious,” said Sergio. Grayson felt the man’s eyes wash over his body as if he were drinking water from his pores. “Grayson, am I somehow a disappointment?”

            Grayson spied an empty chair directly across from Sergio. Not waiting to be asked to sit, he took a seat, sinking into the soft leather. The comfort of the chair soothed his nerves, grounding him in the moment. “Not at all,” he said. “It’s not every day I get to interview a champion.”

            Seeming satisfied with Grayson’s answer, Sergio grinned. “I like you,” he noted.

            “Give it time,” Grayson countered with a playful tone to match the smile on his face.

            “I’m ready when you are,” Sergio said, his words dripping with hot innuendo. “For the interview, I mean.”

 

About the Author:

Wren Valentino is a multifaceted storyteller—an actor, author, entrepreneur, film producer, critic, and instructor—whose work spans stage, screen, and page. A bestselling novelist with twenty-one books across romance, thriller, young adult, and horror, he has built a reputation for crafting emotionally rich, genre-spanning narratives.

An accomplished playwright, Wren has written more than seventy stage plays produced in twelve countries and three languages. His success extends to the screen as well, with eight original screenplays and seven stage plays adapted into films. As a film producer, he has contributed to the creation of over one hundred independent movies, and as an actor, he has appeared in more than forty films.

Wren earned his Bachelor of Arts in Communications and English from Oglethorpe University, graduating with honors. He holds a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from Queens University of Charlotte and completed the Professional Program in Screenwriting at UCLA.

A dedicated member of the writing community, Wren belongs to Contemporary Romance Writers, the International Screenwriters’ Association, Rainbow Romance Writers, and the Romance Writers of America, which recognized his service with a Volunteer Service Award.








Monday, December 15, 2025

The Publishing Path Isn’t Straight—And That’s Okay: Real Talk for Writers with SZ Estavillo #AuthorAdvice


If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this publishing journey, it’s that the path is rarely straight. We all start with dreams—big ones. I certainly did. I once had an agent for five years, and like so many writers, I desperately hoped it would lead to a Big Five book deal. I imagined the announcement, the validation, the sense that I’d finally “made it.”

But that’s not what happened.

After five years on submission with no sale, my agent and I parted ways amicably. No hard feelings, just disappointment and exhaustion. I had no book deal, no clear next step, and a sinking feeling that maybe I’d missed my chance.

And then—three months later—I landed my own book contract.

At first it was a three-book deal. Then it grew to four, then six, and eventually expanded into an eight-book contract. That opportunity changed everything for me. It set me on the path I’m on today, writing the Serpent Series and building a career I’m proud of.

The biggest lesson? You have to stay open-minded about your publishing path.

Agents Are Great—But They’re Not the Only Door

Everyone seems to think an agent is the golden ticket. And yes, for many authors, representation is a dream and a huge achievement. But there are also writers who don’t want an agent. There are indie authors making incredible careers on their own terms. And there are writers like me who found success through a small press instead of a Big Five imprint.

There isn’t one “right” way to be an author.

Why Small Presses Deserve More Credit

One of the unexpected joys of my journey is discovering how personalized and supportive a small press can be. My publisher texts me. Calls me. Checks in about everything from series arcs to marketing strategy. It’s not a giant team where you get lost—it’s a handful of passionate professionals who genuinely care about the books they’re putting into the world.

Another perk?
When you’re with a small press, you’re not paying an agent 15% of your earnings. That alone can make a big difference, especially early in your career.

The Industry Is Tough—But Not Impossible

Publishing is full of rejection. It’s subjective. It’s slow. It tests your patience, your ego, and your belief in your own story. But it also has moments of magic—like that email offering you a contract just when you thought everything had fallen apart.

If you’re a writer trying to figure out your next step, here’s my honest advice:

  • Be persistent.
  • Be flexible.
  • Don’t pin your worth on one publishing path.
  • Don’t assume the “dream route” is the only route.
  • Stay open to the doors you never expected to walk through.

If you do that, you may end up exactly where you’re meant to be—even if the journey looks nothing like you imagined.

Your book doesn’t need a perfect path.
It just needs you not to give up.

 

 

 


The Serpent’s Order
The Serpent Series
Book 4
SZ Estavillo

Genre: Thriller
Publisher: Oliver-Heber
Date of Publication: February 10, 2026
ASIN: B0FX5TFVLP
Number of pages: 314
Word Count: 90, 219
Cover Artist: Oliver-Heber

Tagline: An assassin bound by obedience. A detective marked for death. A cartel war with no survivors.

Book Description:

Von Schlange thought she’d escaped her past. Now Black Nova owns her—an elite, off-the-books task force where obedience is survival and failure means death. As their newest assassin, she’s unleashed on targets tied to Jaxon Ryker, a drug lord buried deep in the Alaskan wilds.

Her partner, Xander Holt, a former Navy SEAL with ice in his veins, lives by the same brutal code: no attachments, no lines crossed. But as missions turn bloody, the fragile boundary between partner and lover begins to blur—and desire becomes its own kind of danger.

Across the country, Detective Anaya Nazario faces a nightmare of her own. A synthetic “zombie drug,” deadlier than fentanyl and immune to Narcan, is ripping through Los Angeles. Her investigation exposes a network of dirty cops shielding Ryker’s empire—and puts a target squarely on her back.

Two women on opposite fronts. One war against corruption and cartel power. And a single truth—every betrayal leaves a body behind.

Explosive, unrelenting, and razor-sharp, The Serpent’s Order propels the Serpent Series into its most dangerous chapter yet—where justice is a myth, and survival comes at a price paid in blood.

Book Trailer:

https://www.tiktok.com/@szestavillo.author/video/7573464953785535774

 

 

Excerpt:

 

Darkness pressed against her eyes. The air carried no warmth, only a damp cold that burrowed into her marrow. The metallic taste on her tongue sharpened. Air scraped colder against her throat. Every nerve screamed awake as the chemical fog bled out of her veins. It was easy to fend off the hazy pull of delirium when it felt like she was sitting in an ice box. Frigid salty air wrapped her in an arctic grip, numbing her body. The sound of the seas never betrayed its location, offering no clues as to her whereabouts until the blackout hood was lifted.

Her surroundings winked awake, blurring slowly into focus. Faint traces of soot and aged timber amplified the cabin’s solitude. As her vision sharpened, the first thing she saw was the rugged glaciers looming beyond the drafty windows. Snow consumed the landscape, a frozen expanse as thick as packed sugar, burying the world beneath at least twenty inches of wintery silence. At a distance, she could hear how the ocean roiled, a wild, restless beast, while the bitter subzero terrain stretched in stark harmony with the gray horizon.

Groggy, her eyes roamed in search of Zeus, panic setting in, forcing her heart to quicken until she spotted him across the room in a dark corner. Her head felt like a thousand-pound weight pressed down on her skull, each pulse of pain a hammer striking her temples. She found herself passed out on a lounger that looked to be a decade old—at least her kidnappers, or rather, her new boss—had the courtesy to leave her somewhere relatively comfortable. At the sound of her steps, Zeus lifted his head, tail thumping against the rickety wooden floorboards, though not quite making it to his feet.

It looked like she wasn’t the only one trying to shake herself out of the cocktail she’d been injected with, as Zeus tried to drag himself up. She knelt beside him and massaged his legs, trying to coax circulation back into his limbs. After a few minutes, Zeus soldiered to his feet, the kneading doing the trick. Von exhaled, tension ebbing at the reassuring presence of her loyal companion. She ambled back to the kitchen, taking in her surroundings while Zeus kept time with her steps. A thin film of dust coated the kitchen counters and cupboards, telling her that time had been the lonely cabin’s sole friend for a long while.

She rooted around, discovering there were enough dishes for one person, and the fridge had been stocked with salads and fruit. At least her mysterious employer had the decency to respect her food preferences. They even left a bowl of dried dog food and water for Zeus. How thoughtful. She smirked at their attention to detail as she headed to the bedroom—and then she saw it.

Sitting dead center on the bed, the phone was waiting for her.

Sleek, black, and unbranded—just a smooth slab of technology with no markings or logos, nothing to indicate who made it. While it appeared to be just another typical high-end smartphone, Von knew better. This wasn’t an ordinary device. It was a leash. She picked it up. Lighter than she expected. No buttons, no ports, no removable SIM card. Completely sealed. The kind of hardware designed to be untouchable, tamper-proof. Not to be trusted. The screen stayed dark for a ten-count before flickering to life, awakened by a simple touch. The interface was equal parts minimalist and sterile.

Nothing personal. No apps. No browser. Just a lone notification, already there.

“Welcome to Black Nova.”

She flipped it in her hand, examining it. There wasn’t even a password prompt, fingerprint, or facial recognition scan. Von wasn’t logging in. She was already in—immediate access like it knew her. Then she remembered where she’d seen one before: Jefferson Pierce. Former Marine-turned-hacker, an asset for the FBI. Asset. The word twisted in her stomach, acidic and biting. She recalled the words—“federal asset”—before her world went black. Right before they took her.

“Silent Circle—” Jefferson had called it.

“A what?” She recalled how her brows had knitted together, confused over the unfamiliar phone. “Never heard of it.”

“Military-grade. Locked down tight. End-to-end encrypted calls and messages.”

“Sounds a bit paranoid,” Von had said.

“For what I do—I gotta be. Safest, most private phone out on the market.

She recognized it now. Its black matte finish and elegant, no-nonsense style. But it wasn’t hers—it was theirs. A direct line to the people who had dragged her into this. Her permission not needed. Her choices, her next movements, her next breath would be dictated, assigned. The second she thought this, the phone rang. She stared at it, letting it ring three times before quietly answering.

“You’re awake. Good. Commander Lucian Cain here, in case your memory needs a little reminder,” a calm, authoritative voice began. “Let’s see if we didn’t make a mistake bringing you into the fold.”

“Where the hell am I?”

“Kodiak Island.”

“Fucking Alaska?”

“Impressed you know your geography—most people don’t know where Kodiak Island is,” Cain said. “Before we officially begin, you must complete our test.”

“And if I fail?”

“Don’t think failure’s in your DNA,” he said, then switched to German, “Schlangenfrau.”

She hadn’t intended to assume the title of the Serpent Woman, not before the brutal attack that dragged her to the edge of death. Her guts shredded, body mutilated and left infertile, stripped of the capacity to bear life. A monstrous snake-like crimson keloid scar now etched its path along her abdomen, sewn back up like an object in a sterile lab—efficiently reconstructed like a modern Frankenstein experiment, an uncanny patchwork that left her hollow.

Von Schlange—Schlangenfrau—the Serpent Woman had become her signature.

 

About the Author:

As a BIPOC thriller author, she previously parted amicably with her agent and, three months later, secured an eight-book deal with Oliver-Heber Books—now boasting 24,000 downloads in its first year and a BookRaid bestseller ranking in the thriller category. The Serpent Woman (Book 2) reached #1 on Amazon and topped all three of its categories. Her background spans literary agencies and TV studios, where she contributed to greenlit screenplays that became Lifetime movies. She holds a Master’s in Television, Radio, and Film, has taught author branding workshops (L.A. Writer’s Conference, North Texas RWA), and maintains a 100K+ social media following.