Monday, January 28, 2013

May I present the sublime Alexandra Anthony

**Please be aware the following post contains some material not suitable for anyone under the age of eighteen.

About the Author
Alexandra lives in the Midwest with her husband and daughter. She is currently writing the The Vampire Destiny Series in which Josephine Anderson, a Psychic Empath, meets the undead man of her dreams. She is also working on her newest series, The Dark Hart Chronicles. In this series, we meet Savannah Wood and up and coming rock star Nick Hart.

Awakening (The Vampire Destiny Series Book 3)

After a harrowing attempt on her life…
Vampire hybrid Josephine Anderson and her gorgeous vampire mate, Stefan Lifsten return home to New York City. Unknown to her, they will be forced to face the Council regarding her brush with death and Stefan’s hand in the killing of the vampire that attacked her…

There’s more than meets the eye...
Her continued changes reveal that there is much more to her relationship than she originally thought… going much deeper than simply fate and destiny. Their passion and desire for one another increases, threatening to consume them both…

Time is slowly ticking away…
As their Council date approaches, long-buried evidence is uncovered that further complicates Josephine’s tenuous relationship with her vampire father… and will change vampire hierarchy forever…

*This is an erotic, romantic book. It contains sexy vampires, graphic language, adult content and situations that aren't for the faint of heart. Consider yourself warned.*

Excerpt from Awakening
* * *

When I awoke hours later, it was late morning and Stefan was still sleeping beside me.  Filtered light from the curtains barely penetrated the darkness of the room.  Surprisingly alert, I replayed the night through my head.
His plan to keep my mind occupied had worked.  As he took me time and time again, I equally adored and hated how much I needed him.  We destroyed the sheets, ripping them to shreds with scratching fingernails and clenching fists.  Hours had passed and my poor body was exhausted, yet still wordlessly begged him for more.  We'd become insatiable, out of control.  His overwhelming lust amplified my own, leaving me wanting more when I thought it was impossible.
His hands reached for me again, gathering me in his arms and standing us up.  He held my thighs across both of his forearms.  My hips were splayed wide open above his pulsing cock, causing an unbearable need to rush over my body like it was the first time we’d made love.  My hands clasped his shoulders and I moaned in delicious expectation as I waited for him to plunge himself inside me again.
Stefan didn't make me wait.  He never did.
"More," he demanded, lowering me gently over him.  Tears of exhaustion pricked at my eyes, leaving me to rest my heavy head in the crook of his neck.  Once again my poor body instinctively responded, eager for more of him.  My weary muscles welcomed him weakly.  It was shocking how wet I was for him, and he met no resistance as he filled me up until we were joined once again.
How did he do this to me?  How could I possibly want him more than I did before?
"Stefan..." I moaned out his name in reverence against his throat.  My lips brushed against the softness of his skin, reveling in the sensation.
Sensing my fatigue, he chose a gentle pace this time, slowly lifting and lowering me, teasing himself with me.  He pulled out completely, only to thrust back in until I cried out.  I had no control or strength, yet I managed to contract and clench my inner muscles around him.  Rubbing my aching nipples against his chest, I nibbled gently on his earlobe. "My beautiful man," I whispered distractedly.
"You are exquisitely perfect, Josephine," he whispered raggedly.  "There will never be anyone for me except you.  You know this."
His soft words filled me with my own smug pride.  Nibbling my teeth against his cheek, I headed down his face to kiss his fangless mouth.
"I still never get tired of hearing it," I murmured.  Swirling my hips, I bent him in a tight circle, shamelessly coaxing his sharp fangs to come out and play with me.
He felt my intention, my desire for his bite crystal clear.  "No," he rebuked playfully.  "You won't break me, vackra.  Your blood destroys my self-control."
"You won't hurt me," I countered teasingly, swirling him again and again deep inside me.  "Let’s see if I can bring you to your knees."
He laughed at my bravado and gripped my ass, stopping my circles and slowing the pace.  "Ah, someone is feeling confident.  Prove it," he rasped deeply as he stroked harder inside of me, crushing my bold assumptions.
Moaning, I gave up and clutched his arms, letting him take me harder than before.  He was never one to back away from a challenge and he was determined to prove me wrong.
Feeling my surrender, his pace quickened further with excitement.  "Morgonen är här. 
Kom med mig."

His words caused me to fall helplessly with him into the abyss, vaguely hearing him shout as he emptied himself deep inside me for the countless time that night.  Shuddering against him yet again, I helplessly melted against him.
My eyes heavy, I felt the bed rush up to meet us.  Had he placed us there or had we finally collapsed, simply falling over from sheer exhaustion?  Honestly, I had no way of knowing.  I simply crumpled along with him, unbelievably wanting more, yet physically unable to even lift my head.
Shattered and drained, we fell asleep, tangled together in the covers and each others arms.
Twisting to my side to face him, I pulled myself out of the memory and back into the present.  He looked almost exactly the same as when we'd entered the bedroom last night.  He was more rumpled, but nonetheless gorgeous.  Unscathed.  Lying on his back, he was lost in sleep, oblivious to the fact that we'd destroyed each other for hours in this very bed.
Moving my arms to smooth his hair, the tattered sheet fell away and my eyes were drawn to my own naked skin.  There were faint bruises on my hips and breasts where he'd held me, already fading as I brazenly admired them.  I adored them and wished irrationally that there were more sprinkled over my skin.  This is why he'd chosen not to share his blood with me.  He had wanted me to wear his marks, if only for a little while.  Taking his blood would cause my mostly immortal body to heal faster and he wanted me to see them, to remember how every one came to be.
Gazing back at his sleeping form, even my silent observations of him made desire swirl angrily in the pit of my stomach.  He had warned me that we would be like this: insatiable and all consumed with one another.
That had been the understatement of the century.
Stretching, I padded into the adjoining bathroom and flicked on the light, instantly catching my reflection in the mirrored room.  The woman staring back at me didn’t even look like me.  I looked wild, feral.  Turning from side to side, I memorized every pale purple fingertip, the pink outline of his hand across my ass, the fading bite marks that scattered a path from my neck to my stomach.
The only thing missing were the marks from his fangs.  They’d already healed.  The tiny bruises and marks were already vanishing and would be gone by afternoon.  Watching them disappear would be almost as frustrating as my numerous attempts to brand him.
Once again, my mind flashed back to hours earlier as I relentlessly attempted to mark him.  The scratches and bites I inflicted on him healed within seconds, leaving behind his flawless, perfect skin.
He'd sensed my frustration.  He'd kissed me tenderly, following the line of my cheekbones with his fingertips and lips.  "I would gladly wear your marks if you could inflict them on me."
And once again he caught me off guard under his sweet words.

Saturday, January 26, 2013

Guest post from the resplendent Paulette Mahurin


By Paulette Mahurin

Author of

The Persecution of Mildred Dunlap


I’m often asked, “What is your inspiration for writing?” and one simple answer commonly arises, acts of kindness. Not just kindness in a vacuum but in the face of the world we live in, tragedy upon tragedy, a simple smile, a touch, giving someone some time, can mean so much. Here I am at a complete stranger’s blog site, Booksy Violet, her moniker on her e-mail, signing off communications Tracy/Violet, and I have to wonder who is this person?


My thoughts immediately go to all sorts of things, naturally, she’s a writer, like me, and then I draw a blank, at least in my thoughts, but in my heart, that’s another matter, for this stranger has filled it up. I’m bowled over with her kindness to want to help me promote my book, a simple act of kindness and what does it all mean? Since all my profits are going to animal rescue, Santa Paula Animal Rescue Center, the first and only no-kill animal shelter in Ventura County, CA. then it means she, Booksy Violet, is helping to save lives, furthering my motto of read a book, save a life.

But it doesn’t end there, for she is also helping to further a message of tolerance.


My book has been written up in large scale press and national magazines in the U.S. for its pro-tolerance/pro-human rights message and so my new friend, Tracy/Violet, you’re helping to forward something greater than just you and me, tolerance, a peaceful way of living in a world of differences. You’ve embraced all this by inviting me in, with your simple and wonderfully sweet act of kindness and I thank you.


Just a few words about my book for anyone who is now just coming across it for the first time. In 1895, Oscar Wilde was imprisoned for “indecency” in Britain. He was sentenced to two years in a prison of hard labor, to sleep on a wood board, walk a tread mill six hours/day, eat watery porridge, and not allowed as much as pen and paper, all because he loved another man and wanted to be with him. When the news of his imprisonment rang out over telegraphs around the world it changed the views on homosexuality from a civil tolerance to outright hatred and abuse. The impact of his imprisonment on a small Nevada town, a lesbian couple in particular, is the focus of the story, but this is not just a story about homophobia; it also encompasses anti-Semitism and racism. It is a chronicle of hatred and prejudice with all its unintended and devastating consequences and how love and friendship heal.


I’m grateful to be here, with my new friend, no longer a stranger, Booksy Violet. I’m grateful for anyone who reads this and wants to pick up the book and read it, spread the word, or help in any way, in the name of tolerance and also perchance to save a few dogs and cats from being on death row, to help them arrive into their forever homes with wagging tales.



Author Bio:


Paulette Mahurin, an award-winning author, is a Nurse Practitioner who lives in Ojai, California with her husband Terry and their two dogs--Max and Bella. She practices women’s health in a rural clinic and writes in her spare time.  








Monday, January 21, 2013

May I present fellow author Terri Callsen...

Join Charlie and Kaylee as they embark on black bear, cougar, mule deer, elk, grizzly bear, lynx, caribou and bighorn sheep hunting adventures.
When they aren’t hunting they’re fishing or taking part in their Young Sportsman’s Club where they learn the skills that enhance the wilderness

Will they face their fears with the protection of Mom and Dad as they create memories that last forever?

A sample that you can’t read in the preview on Charlie is quite the character; highly excitable, and quick to tell you what he thinks or how to do things. In the below chapter Charlie and Mom go on a guided hunt for cariboo where Charlie assumes that because they are being guided that will be easy to hunt cariboo. As the author I thought this was an important issue to talk about because there are many benefits to having a guide that’s familar with the area versus entering the same region for the first time and being frustrated at not seeing anything.

Chapter Twenty- One
A Hunting We Will Go
Everything was perfect, according to Charlie. He created the ultimate shelters for Mom and him. Standing proudly over his spectacular fire pit, rubbing his hands over the “second try” fire, he counted the firewood when he noticed the four wheelers needed to be covered because it could rain tomorrow. Walking over, Charlie said, “This is great Mom; I’m glad that we’re caribou hunting together. What are we having for dinner?”
Mom chuckled, “So glad you’re having a good time. You’ve done an incredible job setting up our base camp. Dare I say better than your father? Sshhh, don’t want to hurt his feelings, we’ll show him with the photos we took of all your hard work. You just have to wait until the camp cook says it’s ready.”
His eyes gleamed with delight; his chest puffed up, hands on his hips, and replied with casual sarcasm, “They don’t call me Mr. Survival Handbook for nothing.”
Even though the guide outfitters were tending to the horses they smirked.
“He definitely read that book back and forth, I don’t think he forgot a thing,” the head guide commented.
“If we didn’t know any better, we might be annoyed at how he has to be in control of everything from set up to take down,” the second in command said.
“Well, Lois did ask that we be in the background while they’re hunting caribou. If that’s what she wants then I’m more than happy to oblige. The number one rule with our guests is that if they want full out guide outfitting we provide that. If they want us to just help out, making sure nothing goes wrong and if it does then we’re here. It’s about their experience,” the head guide stated.
They were camped on the other side of the one of the enclosing mountains that formed a lake like valley where the caribou were migrating to. It was necessary to be camped that far away with the smell of food, fire, and human scent. Charlie scanned the area, seeing the ridged path they were going to take horses up, “Have I told you how grateful I am that we don’t have to walk up that to get to see hundreds of caribou just standing there. It’d be almost like shooting fish in a barrel!”
The head guide finished chewing his mouthful and wisely replied, “Well, I don’t believe it’s going to be that easy. ..”
Charlie interrupted, “Why else would you guide in this area? I mean, there are thousands of them! I know it’s not going to be easy because it’s a long ways up along the ridge to use the binocs to pick out the biggest bull in that river of caribou migrating. Seriously, fish in a barrel!”
Mom snickered, “Charlie, be realistic.”
“Oh, I am,” With eyebrows raised he nodded enthusiastically, lightly clapping his hands, “Well, I’m off to bed so we can get an early start. Eewwww, so excited, fish in a barrel!”

Yearning for more?  Try the whole book today!  The Adventures of Charlie and Kaylee

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Introducing the divine Isabella Sinclair

Erotic Romance Author Isabella Sinclair shares her favorite dish Spicy Nights Turkey Enchiladas – Servings 6 (Two shells)

As an author of erotica I LOVE all things spicy! With the Thanksgiving holiday almost upon us, now is the time to start devising ways to use up all that yummy leftover turkey! Sandwiches are great – for the first day or so. If you like to enjoy a good enchilada you will devour this recipe!
You will need…
  • Turkey
  • 1 can Cream of Mushroom soup
  • Corn Tortillas
  • 8 oz Mozzarella Cheese (grated)
  • 8 oz Colby Jack (grated)
  • Reg size container Ricotta Cheese
  • Coconut Oil (cause I like the exotic flavoring over Olive oil)
First you want to soften your corn shells by heating them in a skillet over med heat using the Coconut Oil. Put a TSP or so of oil in the pan and lay the shell in it. As it heats up it will start change color slightly and/or bubble. Flip the shell over and heat the other side. This will make the stiff shells pliable for filling and wrapping.
After you have your shells all soft and workable you want to grease your casserole dish with a smidge of oil.
In a mixing bowl combine the Turkey, Cream of Mushroom soup, Ricotta cheese, and 2/3 of the grated cheese. Use a small amount of this filling to line your baking dish to keep the shells from sticking and to add flavor all the way around.
Holding the shell in the cup of your palm, scoop approximately two tblsp of filling into the center. Wrap the side together and place in the dish. Using your finger smear a bit of the filling across one edge and overlap the other on top of it. The bit of filling will help keep them sealed together.
All 12 shells may or may not fit into one dish. Just get a smaller one and use it for the leftovers. After you have stuffed your shells you want to take the remaining filling (if there is any!) and spread it over the enchiladas then top with the remaining shredded cheese.
You can cover with aluminum foil – or not. I don’t like to so I leave it topless   Bake on 350 degrees for mmmm approximately 30 mins. I cook by smell. If I can smell it – it’s time to take it out! lol You want the top cheese melted and the shells to have a cooked look to them. (edges might be brown and crunchy looking but not overly so)
If you like them HOT add some Chile sauce to your mixture.
Pull them out of the oven and let stand only a few minutes. Top with your favorite Salsa and Sour Cream!
Of course, I can’t eat Spicy Nights Turkey Enchiladas without my fave Mexican beer Dos Equis…because I AM the most interesting woman in the world! 
Visit with Isabella Sinclair on her Facebook page.
What better way to spend an evening than curling up with Isabella’s Enchiladas and her book OLLY!! (don’t forget the Dos Equis!)

Until then...Enjoy this exerpt from OLLY…
 “I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, In secret, between the shadow and the soul."   ~ Pablo Neruda
With my hand resting at the top of my breastbone, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, preparing to exhume several ghosts from a past I had suppressed long ago. I began, “The problem with love is that people often mistake it with several of its closely related cousins.” I paused to gather my scattered thoughts and could see she already had questions, but I held up my hand to keep her from breaking our agreement. “So many people-myself included-mistake lust and obsession for love. While still embodying them, true love is neither of those things, if that makes sense.”
Devin nodded, keeping silent while feverishly jotting down notes.
“In order to appreciate why I fell in love with the man I did, you have to understand how I came to accept the fact that love doesn’t always show up in the most convenient package. Sometimes it pushes all your buttons, makes you doubt yourself and question the core of your beliefs. At a time in my life when love didn’t seem possible, I went hunting for the next best thing….”

About The Author
Isabella is like a fine wine with a little bit of Rock-n-Roll. She began writing erotic stories to entertain her boyfriend and discovered a talent given at birth. Weaving an erotic tale without going overboard is no simple thing and Isabella wouldn't dream of leaving out matters of the heart. After all, what is sex without love? Empty!

Connect with Isabella via:  Facebook  and  Goodreads    
Buy her book OLLY on Amazon and Smashwords

Saturday, January 19, 2013

Suspend reality for a moment....

After a devastating injury to his father, Clay Thomas is abandoned by two of the people closest to him while being pursued by the local police chief for crimes he didn’t commit.  He is determined to find the culprit of a series of local robberies while fulfilling a promise to a ghost to solve his eleven-year-old murder.  Clay and his son, Tanner, incorporate their unique mind-control abilities to solve the crimes, restoring broken relationships in the process. Bulletproof, a stand-alone novel, is the third exciting installment in the Clay and Tanner Thomas mystery/suspense series.

Check out Bulletproof by Jeff LaFerney

Yearning for more?  Check out this interview with Jeff….

What is your inspiration? What helps you get through writer's block?
So far to me, writer’s block is just an inconvenience. It doesn’t last long. It’s just a warning to me that I need to think about things maybe from a different perspective. I usually get writer’s block in transition scenes when I feel I need something else before I continue with the main plot. Some of those scenes end up being my favorites.

Who inspires you? What authors do you look up to? Why?
I like Robert B. Parker’s action and dialogue; I like Harlan Coban’s twists and surprises; I like John Irving’s story-telling ability; and I like any author who mixes humor with suspense.

When did you first start writing? What genre do you prefer?
I started writing in the summer of 2009, and I’ve completed a book a year since. I really like mystery and suspense. It’s what I prefer to read too.

If you had to choose another genre to write, what would it be? Why?
I’m in the finishing stages of a time-travel adventure right now. It was very different from a mystery, but I love the science-fiction and action/adventures elements in it.

Do you have another job and if so what is it?
I’m an eighth-grade English teacher at a public school in Michigan.  Until I retire, writing will have to suffice as an awesome “hobby.” I have a blog where I try to give grammar and language tips while being somewhat entertaining at the same time. When I’m retired, teaching English on my blog will be my “hobby.”

List all of your titles with a one sentence synopsis of each.
Loving the RainClay Thomas deals with the consequences of manipulating people’s minds while fighting off a criminal and dealing with problems with his wife and son.  
Skeleton KeyClay and his son use their parapsychological abilities to solve a seven-year-old mystery about a disappearance from a train and the foul play causing a ghost’s prior death. 
Bulletproof Clay, with help from his son, solves a string of robberies for which he was arrested while at the same time solving the eleven-year-old mystery of a ghost in a haunted hotel. 

Who is your favorite character? Why?
Jasper Bugner is a midget (little person) who is in my second and third books. He’s angry, sarcastic, and somehow downright loveable. He’s always involved in mischief or humorous antics, and he comes through them all as a favorite to my readers as well.

What scenes are most difficult to write?
I always do a lot of research because I want my details to be accurate. I wrote a scene where there was brain surgery. That was hard! I’ve written political scenes or scenes with a medical examiner. Things that I have to learn 100% about before I write them are toughest, but they’re also the most satisfying.

Indie pub or trad pub?
I’ve done both. My first two books were indie until World Castle Publishing picked them up and republished them as well as Bulletproof. I plan to revert back to Indie for my time-travel book called The Jumper.

What is your favorite scene? Why?
I’m still kind of partial to two scenes. One was in Loving the Rain when I weaved several sub-plots together and had the principal characters all at an exciting basketball game at the same time. It was there that a lot of the answers came. I also loved a caving scene in Skeleton Key where Clay experienced quite a bit of suspense while reaching a conclusion that he needed to make some changes in his life.

If you could take the place of one of your characters, which one would you choose and why
I think I’d want to be Tanner Thomas. He’s an awesome athlete who has amazing parapsychological powers. He’s amazingly intense but also fun loving. He’s 18 to 20 years old in the three books, but he’s still mature, caring, and loyal.

What is your favorite TV show/movie from your childhood?  What is it now?
I’m going to say in the past it was Spenser for Hire, a series based on a detective in Robert B. Parker’s books. I like to think that my male heroes are a lot like Spenser and Hawk. Now, I absolutely love The Mentalist. I love how Patrick Jane reads people and manipulates people, and the show makes me laugh while I take notes on how to “detect” with my own crime-solving amateurs.


Friday, January 18, 2013

The illustrious SJ Byrne.....

Emily's Loss

Without looking up, she mumbled a quiet "Thank ye," before lifting one hand to wrap around the steaming mug. After a few seconds, she rotated the mug a quarter turn, pausing briefly before turning the mug again. Lifting her chin, she watched the liquid swirling in lazy circles within the confines of the ceramic cup. Tear tracks streaked her cheeks as salty drops rolled off her chin to land on the hand clinging desperately to an empty midsection.

"Ah always wanted a hoose full o' bairns." Her low voice cracked from the force of overwhelming emotions.

Sitting in silence, Katherine opened her heart to support her young friend the best way she knew how, by listening. 

"Ah dinnae hae any brothers or sisters an growin’ up was a lonely affair. Ah kent at a verra young age tha' Ah wanted a hoose full of the wee heathens." She paused a moment to collect her thoughts and take a long drink to wet her throat. "When Ah met Eadan, he loved the idea of havin’ a hoose full as well. He figured if Ah was busy tendin’ the weans, Ah'd no be shaggin’ half the toon while he worked the rig."

Amused by the way her man rationalized things, Emily emitted a very Scottish like snort, and Katherine smiled over the top of her cup.

"We figured we'd wait a few years afore really tryin’. Yano, let us get used tae bein marriet an enjoy eht bein’ just the tae of us fer a wee while."

It was a good plan, but Katherine could hear Millie in her head, quoting Robbie Burns: “The best laid schemes of mice and men.” 

As if it held the power to grant her courage, Emily paused to drink more of her coffee, swallowing several times to clear a sudden obstruction clogging her throat before forcing a smile to turn up the corners of her mouth.

"We'd been marriet almost a year when Ah got pregnant."

In the silence that followed, Katherine heard the sound of her own heart breaking; nothing good was coming next, she felt it in every cell of her body.

"We were both sae giddy, shoppin’ fer things the bairn wud need an talkin’ fer hours on end aboot how we were gaun tae raise her. Eadan thought eht would be a boy, dinnae all men?" She smiled at the memory of those conversations. "But Ah kent different; she were a wee lassie an Ah kent eht right off. Och, how Ah talked tae her, all day e'ry day, especially when Eadan was gone. I didnae hae anyone else. We took walks en the park, and Ah told her all aboot the world she was gaun tae become a part of."

It was easy to see the wonderful mother Emily would have been: kind, loving, generous yet firm when needs be, all great parental qualities. Katherine got up to refill their mugs, allowing Emily to savor the pleasant memories.

"Everythin’ was pairfect." Her whisper filled the room as Katherine returned the pot to its heated cradle and reclaimed her seat. "Ah was . . . ." Emily swallowed hard, fighting back a flood of tears that threatened to flow. "Ah was five an a half months along when . . . ." The memories were too painful to speak all at once, and taking a deep breath, she allowed each bit to surface as it would. "things went . . . ." Deep breath in. ". . . terribly wrong."

Emily took several deep breaths to calm her panicking nervous system.

"Ah was on one of mah wee walks in the park; we lived on the East side of Glesgah back then, sae eht wud hae been Alexandra Park." The mug was spun in small circles as Emily watched something other than the murky brown brew sloshing about. "Ah started feelin’ a pain en mah side, near tae the end o' mah walk; eht was different than the stretchin’ pains Ah'd had sae far." More deep breaths and a slow drink to wet her suddenly parched throat. "Ah made eht hame en time fer the first excruciatin’ one tae rip through me. Eadan was oot tha' week; they'd put hem on one week alternations, instead of the typical rotation, eht bein’ oor first bairnie."

Horrific pain and terror were her constant companions as she'd rung up her physician, who'd immediately called for an emergency transport.

"They came fast as they cud, Ah kent this, but . . . ." Fresh tears rolled as she fought hard to remain calm.
"The medic didnae make eht en time . . . ." 

She'd gone into the bathroom to fetch a towel, in case she started bleeding. The contractions were coming fast and they'd begun to feel like one continuous urge to push. Before she'd reached the bathroom, something inside her uterus had ripped, and in blinding pain she'd screamed as a flood of red flowed from between her thighs. Rocking back and forth, she'd sat in the middle of her living room floor, hands holding fast to the baby bump beneath her maternity clothes. With every premature contraction, she'd screamed out, instead of pushing, praying it would be enough to keep her baby safe from harm.

"There was nothin’ Ah cud hae done tae protect mah bairn. She were a wee lassie. Ah'd been right, much guid eht daes me tae ken tha' noo. Ah'd rather Ah was wrong an still hae her by mah side!" Emily shouted her frustration at the unfair hand they'd all been dealt.

Katherine flinched at the sound of Emily's voice raised in anger, and she suddenly realized her young friend had never permitted herself to properly grieve the loss of her child. "Give yourself permission to feel the pain, Emily; it's eating you up from the inside out, and you need to grieve."

"Of course Ah need tae greet, Ah ne'er took the time tae dae sae when eht happened. Eadan needed me tae be strong fer hem; he was sae distraught by the loss. He didnae need tae worry aboot me as well." Her words were loud and strewn together in one sentence full of pain.

Everything else came out as one long, loud, abusive dialog meant to purge the soul free of the demons left behind in grief's wake. Katherine knew the anger, frustration, and hate weren't anything personal, nor was it aimed at her. She remained calm when Emily jumped from her seat and with her hands braced on the table top for support, shouted obscenities in her face. She reminded herself it was only the pain talking as it looked for an escape route out of the box Emily had shoved it into so long ago.

A slight change in Emily's posture alerted her to the fact that something had shifted, and warning bells exploded throughout her instinctual body. She watched patiently as Emily looked around the kitchen, her chest heaving as she wrestled for control of a demon only she could fight; her eyes swung the length of the counter top, snapping in place when she found the item she was looking for.

Following Emily's gaze, Katherine sucked in a breath of shock as a fierce growl erupted from the petite woman's throat, and she shoved up out of her chair in time to grab a distraught Emily as she made a dash for the block of cutting knives resting innocently in the middle of the counter.

"Emily, no!" Katherine shouted, hoping the distraction would be enough to keep her away from the deadly weapons.

"Eht's nae guid. Am nae guid, Katherine."

"That's not true, Emily. You ARE good. There can be other children if you try again."

A deeper, more aggressive growl filled the room as Emily lunged for the knives.

"Canna . . .  cannae...Cannae!! Will nae, EVER!" She screamed, ripping the longest blade from the block.
Katherine didn't think Emily would purposely do herself harm, but she knew better than anyone, that a woman eaten up from grief and emotional pain was capable of most anything. Before she could guess at Emily's intent, a loud thunk echoed around them and she looked to the closed kitchen door where a blade wobbled back and forth, ensconced in the thick wood; Emily had chosen to throw the knife instead of use it on herself.

One after another, knives were plucked from their resting place and flung with dead accuracy at the heavy oak door. After the thirteenth blade had been thrown, Katherine thought the door resembled a circus trick gone dreadfully wrong. The block held fifteen different types of kitchen knives, and with only two left, Emily didn't appear to be losing steam.

One by one Katherine opened cabinet doors, hunting for objects to sacrifice. The cupboard to her left was stocked to capacity with the most hideously mismatched cache of dishes, and suddenly the need for destruction welled up from within her own hidden place of pain. Plucking a tea cup from the array, she threw it at the knife encrusted door and giggled like a mad scientist as the little cup shattered into tiny pieces.

The commotion attracted Emily's attention, and her look of astonishment turned maniacal as she began to understand the offering Katherine made with the dinner plate she held out to her. Piece by piece, the women unleashed a poisonous anger and hatred that had been held back for far too long. Katherine was shocked to find she still held so much animosity within herself; it had been deeply buried, and she might never have known it was there, reaching its dark tentacles into those parts of her that were most fragile. Her need to destroy abated quickly, and she stepped back, allowing Emily free reign on the unsuspecting cabinet.

A perfunctory search behind the remaining doors revealed Millie's posh tableware, which Katherine decided to offer up if the need arose, but as the stack of breakables dwindled, so did Emily's rage; her throws packing less punch and from among the noise of breaking ceramics, came the sound of uncontrollable weeping. Katherine waited patiently, knowing the rage had given way to a soul destroying grief that had been buried, protecting its existence behind a wall of anger large enough to scare its host from ever exploring it too deeply.

Katherine picked up the last of the tiny ceramic tea cups, one with tiny black ants painted over its entire surface and wondered who in seven hells would want to drink from a cup covered in ants? As she handed the grotesque item into Emily's outstretched hand, the meaning for the dishes became perfectly clear; Millie had arranged them on purpose, in case she needed to do a little venting of her own.

She was a very wise woman, the black sheep of the family.

Holding onto the hideous cup, Emily examined it closely as her body vibrated from the emotion pouring out of it. Lifting her arm to throw the last piece, she hesitated too long and Katherine stepped forward to catch her in the moment that she lost all strength to remain standing; the rage had finally exhausted itself.

About the Author

Living in the mountains of Western North Carolina she is just trying to make her way through the insanity that comes with creativity. Writing is her passion - life is her muse. Keep an eye out for new books due later this year.

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Thursday, January 17, 2013

Now featuring Amy K. McClung for your reading enjoyment!!

The Parker Harris Series
by Amy K McClung

Cascades of Moonlight (Book #1)

“Vampires and Werewolves have been myths turned into movies, books, and plays for hundreds of years. Everyone has heard of them, everyone has their own interpretation of what they are and the ways you can kill them. Some people say that Vampires are creatures of the night that can’t walk in the sun and are killed by wooden stakes, burned by holy water or torn apart by other vampires. Some say vampires can’t go in the sun because their skin sparkles like diamonds. There are stories of vampire slayers and there are werewolf hunters.
As many stories as there are, you would think more people would believe these creatures exist. I mean, how else would there be so much talk about something that never existed? How would there be so many ideas that are so closely related? Maybe some people just don’t want to believe because they are scared of the possibilities it could bring, scared to face the reality that monsters are real. Of all the myths, the part of how to kill a vampire is quite limited. There is no easy way to kill a vampire unless you are a master vampire or a werewolf. Luckily, I am a werewolf.”
Parker Harris isn’t your typical teenage girl, not completely at least. For the past two years she has been struggling once a month with the extreme pain of shifting into a werewolf. She faces the challenge of keeping this secret from those she loves until one day a stranger comes into town and he knows that secret somehow. Now she has to face an even bigger challenge. She is falling in love...with a Vampire, of all things. Murder, Betrayal, Love, Deception, Friendship, and Loyalty, fill the pages of this book.

Dreams, Spells, and Moonlit Tales (Book #2)

“Barely able to open my eyes, I croaked out, "Don't go…please…don’t leave me alone. I'm scared…" His face whipped back to look at me, when he heard my voice, and I saw that his fangs were out. His face was a mask of anguish. He began moving back toward me, but reached up, felt his teeth, and turned back again to leave and was gone in a flash. The blood had made him hungry, he hasn’t fed in a while and he was losing control. He had no other choice but to leave me there, dying. Fear washed over me with the realization that I was going to die here, these injuries are too severe for my wolf powers to heal me, I could feel my body growing weaker by the minute. Gloom was closing over me; pain enveloped my body, and I couldn’t fight closing my eyes anymore. All I wanted was the pain to stop. I invited the darkness to encompass me, with the promise that I would hurt no more.”
A mistake from Parker's past is revealed and proves to be more enormous than she realized. Dreams, Spells, and Moonlit Tales summarize the events of Parker's life in this book.

Both books are available now and Book 3 will be out in the Summer of 2013.

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Tuesday, January 15, 2013

And an amazing guest post by the fabulous Michaelene!

Can Authors and Readers Live With Not Knowing

share save 171 16 Can Authors and Readers Live With Not Knowing
questionmark Can Authors and Readers Live With Not Knowing“I can live with doubt, and uncertainty, and not knowing. I think it’s much more interesting to live not knowing, than to have answers which might be wrong. There are many things I don’t know anything about. But I don’t have to know an answer. I don’t feel frightened by not knowing things.” – Nobel Laureate and Physicist Richard Feynman.
I’ve been pondering Richard Feynman’s quote; my musings carried by the wind through my woods, coming back around to rest at my cerebral doorstep. I don’t know about you, but I took comfort in his words, and felt a certain freedom set in immediately following the period (.). I mean, if a Nobel Laureate physicist doesn’t have the answer to everything, and feels no need to — Why should I? Better yet, how could I?
I took Feynman’s quote out of the cosmic, abstract realm and wrapped it around the art of writing. I believe the acceptance of not knowing opens the door to possibility when applied to writing, and, for that matter, reading –unless, of course, you’re studying a medical journal.brain 204x300 Can Authors and Readers Live With Not Knowing I’ll be honest, if someone is about to remove one of my internal organs, I’d much rather there not be a comfort zone when it comes to living with doubt and uncertainty. But as a writer and reader of fiction, especially the stretchy, elastic reality variety, I’m entranced by the vastness not knowing and uncertainty offer me. In one sense, if I don’t know an answer, I’m not limited by the boundaries of certainty, be it accurate or not (always a possibility). I’m allowed to leave the door open, lift the shuttered windows and let the breeze of questions unanswered simply move through the space; my characters free to roam the hallowed halls of unknowing.
Fine, I hear you say, as long as at the end of the writing process you throw out Feynman’s comfort in not knowing and come to some sort of conclusion, right or wrong. So I ask: Writers, would you ever finish a novel without knowing the ultimate outcome of your protagonist’s life, or for that matter, any of your characters at the end of your story?vague 186x300 Can Authors and Readers Live With Not Knowing Or do you feel it’s the author’s responsibility to leave no stone unturned, all uncertainty laid to rest?
To readers: Are you verklempt after reading the last paragraph of a novel where there is no big bow wrapping all the pieces in a pretty box; THE END, like a ferocious dangling participle, staring you in the face without seeming forethought to your afterthought?cryingwoman 267x300 Can Authors and Readers Live With Not Knowing
Finally: What book have you read that left questions unanswered and how did it make you feel?

Question Mark Photo by Marco Bellucci
Photos 2, 3 and 4, www.wipwapweb

Featured Author - J. K. Accinni

Take a minute to learn about J.K. and pick up her books!

About the Author

J. K. Accinni was born and raised in Sussex County before moving to Randolph, New Jersey, where she lived with her husband, five dogs and eight rabbits, all rescued and currently resides in Sarasota, Florida. Mrs. Accinni’s passion for wildlife conservation has led her all over the world, including three trips to Africa, where ten years ago she and her husband fell in love with a baby elephant named Wendi, that had been rescued by a wildlife group. That baby is the inspiration for the character Tobi, the elephant featured in her fourth book titled Hive.

The character of Caesar is inspired by a real life iconic tiger from Big Cat Habitat and Gulf Coast Sanctuary in Sarasota. A portion of the proceeds from her third book, Armageddon Cometh, will be donated to the sanctuary in support of the enormous expense required to house and feed the displaced wildlife in their care. Mrs. Accinni invites her readers to visit to view the astounding facility and plan a visit with your family.

Baby by J.K. Accinni


Have you ever wondered why God does not punish the evil and depraved of our planet? Why does He tolerate the destructive bloodthirsty nature of Homo sapiens allowing them to rule over all creatures, abusing and exploiting according to their whims? Why has science been unable to solve the vexing mystery of our ancestor, the Missing Link? How could one planet evolve such complex and divergent examples of biodiversity? Can you imagine God ever saying, “To Hell with this mess that is Earth?”

The series “Species Intervention #6609” spans two hundred years, encompassing tender love between divergent species, political downfalls and violence of unspeakable order. It is an unfortunate tale of Armageddon and the remote possibility of redemption.

In Baby, Netty is a naive teenage farm girl given in marriage to an older brutal opportunist disguised as a successful citizen during the years of Prohibition in Sussex County, New Jersey.  After years of enslavement, Netty flees into the night from her rapist husband, traveling back to the farm worked by her parents, where she rescues an unfamiliar damaged creature she finds in a cave in the woods of her childhood, falling in love with the enigmatic creature she names Baby. Together they find happiness and fulfillment despite the changes to Netty’s body wrought by the proximity of the unusual creature.

When a handsome Italian stranger comes into Netty’s life, complications ensue as she falls in love while trying to hide the bizarre and wondrous changes to her farm and her body.  Netty, Baby and Wil strive to conquer obstacles thrown in their path by life, succeeding wildly until the heart-rending and astonishingly brutal climax to their story.

Echo by J.K. Accinni


Netty’s influence transcends a full century as the United States evolves to a point of politically driven economic collapse. The year is 2033 as a young mother, abused by her shiftless husband, heroically decides to remove her two sickly children, Scotty and Abby, from the mean streets of their government subsidized tenement town of Short Hills, New Jersey to the hills and old farmland of Sussex County. There they unite with a Latino family that adopted Jose, a young boy from Costa Rica, traumatized at the age of seven by the brutal murder of his parents and the kidnapping of his infant sister.

The two families unite to pool finances, creating the love and bonds that will enable them to survive the psychotic attention of Armoni, a soul damaged beyond redemption, discovery of Baby’s miraculous offspring, Echo; and their subsequent body changes. Through the efforts of Echo who develops an unexplained passion for the curly haired dog, Barney, they flee the clutches of Armoni after the murder of Armoni’s sidekicks by Echo, to Sarasota, Florida, one of the last remaining enclaves of wealth in the U.S.

Scotty learns to utilize Echo as a co-conspirator in his intrigue to thwart the efforts of heinous people that prey on the lives of creatures in their environmentally rich new home, where the insidious miscreant, Armoni, tracks them; dragging along Ginger Mae, a New York City prostitute looking for opportunity with her mute child, Daisy; bringing brutality and violence to all.

Having fallen in love, the young  Abby and Jose draw close, only to be separated by the transcendental Netty, who tries to use Abby as a conduit in her plan to rescue as much wildlife as they can before despicable political events bring on the specter of Armageddon.

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