tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20026248882046822972024-03-18T04:55:33.242-04:00Serena Synn Erotica AuthorSerena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.comBlogger521125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-38939268985559079012024-03-18T04:55:00.022-04:002024-03-18T04:55:00.140-04:00Eric Swett Talks About the Importance Hobbies and Painting To Take a Break from Writing<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGyVZBTPuZTnMuTurOwLcJBMF7dJ4EuW5_rA8HwuJo-mAb-Cg13JIGX13EZXWr-fG07R7G-YyYwbN-LIE9uR9LqvZF6CXHgzplXAaVKFWHiZjfmC93WBHHK8SI9zm32i5Wuwpnv50WOtzujZbdZmtstVGQqtL05MREqJ33vVCGYpOdxCUEdbq97RpL_uDU/s820/A%20Murder%20of%20Wizards%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/AVvXsEhGyVZBTPuZTnMuTurOwLcJBMF7dJ4EuW5_rA8HwuJo-mAb-Cg13JIGX13EZXWr-fG07R7G-YyYwbN-LIE9uR9LqvZF6CXHgzplXAaVKFWHiZjfmC93WBHHK8SI9zm32i5Wuwpnv50WOtzujZbdZmtstVGQqtL05MREqJ33vVCGYpOdxCUEdbq97RpL_uDU/w400-h153/A%20Murder%20of%20Wizards%20%20Banner%20.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="font-family: georgia;">When I first started writing, it was purely for the pleasure of writing. As time went on, writing became a passion more than a hobby. Writing stopped being something I did to relax in the evening and became something I had to do. There was no gun to my head, no deadline I was staring down, but an internal imperative pushed me back to the keyboard and left me feeling incomplete if I did not make that time.</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 much as I love writing, I still need a break from it from time to time. </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;">Now, I work a day job and have plenty of time when I’m not writing. Even when I’m at home, I can’t always dive straight into my current WIP. Being a husband and dad of three means my time is not always my own. Cooking dinner, taking care of pets, checking homework, and more keeps me away from the keyboard more often than not, so I take my writing time seriously, and when I need a break from it I usually fill the same time slot with my other hobby activities.</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;">So, what do I do when I need a break from writing?</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;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kc7bsiqMpISWBFG0OKHDR6XsngbDcgaFn_r8FBcVPYgYFFJjt4-J9MlfZOQJilTJ18LL1sMNgec8KB4DmC8m4mL1mgi-6jW3egfbV28Ka543TkLZG_SXaHZswsniwl8henmdtWZ8n8Gi4qPryK0VsrgthCg5x2OztOAxd2-czYf6aD0b73AWL_ADZ00/s1606/20220328_201223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1606" data-original-width="1230" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kc7bsiqMpISWBFG0OKHDR6XsngbDcgaFn_r8FBcVPYgYFFJjt4-J9MlfZOQJilTJ18LL1sMNgec8KB4DmC8m4mL1mgi-6jW3egfbV28Ka543TkLZG_SXaHZswsniwl8henmdtWZ8n8Gi4qPryK0VsrgthCg5x2OztOAxd2-czYf6aD0b73AWL_ADZ00/s320/20220328_201223.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My first choice is painting miniature figures. If you are familiar with Dungeons & Dragons or other tabletop games, you know all about the miniatures used for keeping track of your characters or the monsters that are being faced. As a lifetime DungeonMaster I paint more monsters than anything, but I also paint miniatures for other games such as Battletech. But I also paint miniatures that will never see the tabletop, because I do them just for my own enjoyment.</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;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2F5AQF5OZKAhv_i19Hkt-aN-o6ouSieHHS6ztgaasgfEpwAEspSKmVC2Hfw1OW2rw3aGWzZRS6lkqHAj-A66Kv9e5Pq-WcmbK4UfzgzZzw5Ql02nblCmGUkYoZV4G7Z8J-_9mUk4Vn31sLHBZ3IEBnabHaLed7zSOzooTz7E7dE1K0aD3b44WVFrdrI/s1823/20220328_201244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1823" data-original-width="1261" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2F5AQF5OZKAhv_i19Hkt-aN-o6ouSieHHS6ztgaasgfEpwAEspSKmVC2Hfw1OW2rw3aGWzZRS6lkqHAj-A66Kv9e5Pq-WcmbK4UfzgzZzw5Ql02nblCmGUkYoZV4G7Z8J-_9mUk4Vn31sLHBZ3IEBnabHaLed7zSOzooTz7E7dE1K0aD3b44WVFrdrI/s320/20220328_201244.jpg" width="221" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></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;">Something about the hyperfocus of painting allows me to detach my thinking from all of the writing work I have to do or the dead end I have written myself into. For those precious hours it is all about the colors and bringing something else to life. When I am done, I feel a bit recharged and ready to tackle my writing again. A good painting session can descramble my brain enough that I can get myself out of whatever jam I find myself in.</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;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSdcLjpgMX7AUr9-G64LjG1ZvR8omgi7ryU14fvbGYi-6r62IEjoVAVLlghbV0WzSaNR9maFjQqUWbxjQLmrOhtUBeLpVYAoQ_9D5CkiYq0vLXHnOXJaegATCym1llPAXwBUnzLTReEcNkuQw6N1qL4nX8JF3TU4rajctN_lhyMEI2maXRMKBJrmGWmJI/s2322/20220328_201642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2322" data-original-width="1800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSdcLjpgMX7AUr9-G64LjG1ZvR8omgi7ryU14fvbGYi-6r62IEjoVAVLlghbV0WzSaNR9maFjQqUWbxjQLmrOhtUBeLpVYAoQ_9D5CkiYq0vLXHnOXJaegATCym1llPAXwBUnzLTReEcNkuQw6N1qL4nX8JF3TU4rajctN_lhyMEI2maXRMKBJrmGWmJI/s320/20220328_201642.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></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;">Lately, I’ve felt a bit guilty about the time I spend on painting because I have so much writing I need to get done as self-imposed deadlines get closer, and I know it will be a struggle to get the work done. I sit down to paint and I almost stop myself, but I keep at it because I know I need it.</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;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUo_5YRxKyxPkLMR4N45zenpEWrjwUxvqqTFZhZvcqhrqMeuakbTLAw-KZerTh_N9iSHba_XBOiS7CvQJtvojIAyOrg7jXmpBxI-WqYm6KzRvwm7JsymmwnMQKPwyX3C0UkqSbIslOzfbdKYbXJisXZWzAohUo4bAXLfsu8wOiXrg11pWLG9joLg28qZM/s1903/20220410_155553.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1903" data-original-width="1732" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUo_5YRxKyxPkLMR4N45zenpEWrjwUxvqqTFZhZvcqhrqMeuakbTLAw-KZerTh_N9iSHba_XBOiS7CvQJtvojIAyOrg7jXmpBxI-WqYm6KzRvwm7JsymmwnMQKPwyX3C0UkqSbIslOzfbdKYbXJisXZWzAohUo4bAXLfsu8wOiXrg11pWLG9joLg28qZM/s320/20220410_155553.jpg" width="291" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Recently, I went to Ret-Con, and during one of the panels, a panelist said that you don’t have to write every day to be a writer (we’ve all heard that little fallacy now, haven’t we?) because it is not all about getting words on a page. Sometimes you will spend your writing time thinking about a scene, looking for inspiration, or finding ways to recharge. They mentioned painting, photography, and jewelry making as other creative acts that may be just as important to your writing as banging away on the keyboard.</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;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2yslDm23huqdB52b0hBzX4zeJGIXuV5kb0tMl0bMyIDLO_Lik3oadTCt7yyCsNOwNSD96Ju2STmodY17Smo-AWHnwFGwwflNI1p7abEPdyXjV0RhVy_Cs2b6Myg9nbkf0R2b7piPXGtjEtVxkU49xzAEguN_SpjGcd_RRXghCZ-AqOcQXxwHH1pBlePc/s1607/20220410_155633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1607" data-original-width="1218" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2yslDm23huqdB52b0hBzX4zeJGIXuV5kb0tMl0bMyIDLO_Lik3oadTCt7yyCsNOwNSD96Ju2STmodY17Smo-AWHnwFGwwflNI1p7abEPdyXjV0RhVy_Cs2b6Myg9nbkf0R2b7piPXGtjEtVxkU49xzAEguN_SpjGcd_RRXghCZ-AqOcQXxwHH1pBlePc/s320/20220410_155633.jpg" width="243" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It was like a bomb went off in my brain. Painting was not just an escape from writing, a necessary distraction, it was part of my process. Diving into creating something else fed into the creativity of my writing, not something I needed to feel guilty about. Rather than feeling like I was letting myself down by taking the time to paint, I started looking at it as an important part of my process. Maybe it’s not right for everyone, but for me it was the perfect release and I have given myself permission to make time for it, no matter what.</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;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8byU1WlDgN0veBYyLsm3L4pr5oDWrdTPuFhkNMaCL4mL01wwXPwljBAeJe-hlcuHVoX-C8S7T6G1KOMs5uzpzWnAQ9fIkhdtUkUvRT1kcizc0mF-OCEMDGHLhNg74uHEfIqyxXe7BKr4uGS8OA4VInaPN3ufbcLwnmfDRo_KqU3axxczcSnbTmu4PAw/s2528/20220705_080613.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2528" data-original-width="1800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8byU1WlDgN0veBYyLsm3L4pr5oDWrdTPuFhkNMaCL4mL01wwXPwljBAeJe-hlcuHVoX-C8S7T6G1KOMs5uzpzWnAQ9fIkhdtUkUvRT1kcizc0mF-OCEMDGHLhNg74uHEfIqyxXe7BKr4uGS8OA4VInaPN3ufbcLwnmfDRo_KqU3axxczcSnbTmu4PAw/s320/20220705_080613.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></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 guess what I am trying to say is that it is important to take breaks from your writing, especially when the stress levels are high. I’m not saying you should use your hobbies as an excuse to avoid your responsibilities, but you might just find that taking that break to pursue your hobbies will make writing more pleasurable in the long run. When I sit down to write, I want to enjoy it as much as I did when I was writing as a hobby, so I let my other hobbies help me get there. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoY-tCGQr5yiNQV-idi9QVm9a5_9P7q-CauGaW_6pYIzLT7Hz1wBCA1kEnZGlobzOPKL5rv4XBRrEvGUarisRrYmVAPbZiXf5xUh-niKKQUSY-cVm27ZjF42shv5QLGpQBrNhGWBgsAwjYdTV6DbSu8D_NJQH5MevPpnmw9bt6rjXVyU2lHUTpH46DvsI/s2121/20220805_165819.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2121" data-original-width="1700" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoY-tCGQr5yiNQV-idi9QVm9a5_9P7q-CauGaW_6pYIzLT7Hz1wBCA1kEnZGlobzOPKL5rv4XBRrEvGUarisRrYmVAPbZiXf5xUh-niKKQUSY-cVm27ZjF42shv5QLGpQBrNhGWBgsAwjYdTV6DbSu8D_NJQH5MevPpnmw9bt6rjXVyU2lHUTpH46DvsI/s320/20220805_165819.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></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;">So, find something that energizes you when you need to take a break from writing, and you’ll be happy you made it a part of your process.</span></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVDNLBiIsX5uF7tchpskZf1ZNeInqKtIUUGU8QLiNW9zZmf9q59tIar10A3Rq55zQgSmfT75ZHgjMrzAk4SjExwKY5S7SXFZSim2gsDMVSP4ZHSfvz728sXyl25ciqmihArQhPY7F15cw1Clmgk-OKkx89QlfKiZ8UdiOiDEYDMNCwToK70McuOAIegwg/s2400/Screenshot_20221230_154648_Telegram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVDNLBiIsX5uF7tchpskZf1ZNeInqKtIUUGU8QLiNW9zZmf9q59tIar10A3Rq55zQgSmfT75ZHgjMrzAk4SjExwKY5S7SXFZSim2gsDMVSP4ZHSfvz728sXyl25ciqmihArQhPY7F15cw1Clmgk-OKkx89QlfKiZ8UdiOiDEYDMNCwToK70McuOAIegwg/s320/Screenshot_20221230_154648_Telegram.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><br /><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/AVvXsEgxCzkh1T-4UDnTPA8uDEcovVYoQkQMJYKjTyq5Boa9fHz-UbqwVNQ38JA4kfeXb8y_FXGWn7kE7gqcqKu3_t_2qqBTjYfeYDnTs1P_NCmP3vFe_rgZMQQhzFF1_IPBXEEs49sIt2tlGBaX_mht2PaOgXHo2DX9ngoeuQ-LI3ve46G-OMLpKQ51EmudWEE0/s2250/1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="1410" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxCzkh1T-4UDnTPA8uDEcovVYoQkQMJYKjTyq5Boa9fHz-UbqwVNQ38JA4kfeXb8y_FXGWn7kE7gqcqKu3_t_2qqBTjYfeYDnTs1P_NCmP3vFe_rgZMQQhzFF1_IPBXEEs49sIt2tlGBaX_mht2PaOgXHo2DX9ngoeuQ-LI3ve46G-OMLpKQ51EmudWEE0/s320/1.jpg" width="201" /></a></div>A Murder of Wizards: Apocalypse Rising Year Two</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Armageddon Angels </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Book Three</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Eric Swett</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: Haileybug Publishing </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: 12/9/23</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 979-8867576660</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN:B0CN7HJCGN</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 251</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 95,789</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Eric Swett</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: The Grim Reaper looks for a serial killer who is ritually murdering wizards and taunting them in the process. He needs to find the killer and stop him before his plot comes to a disastrous conclusion.</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;">Apocalypse Rising: A Murder of Wizards is an Urban Fantasy about a fallen Angel named Justin. He just happens to be one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, the Grim Reaper himself, Death. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Two years have passed since he remembered who he was and what he is. He is regaining abilities and memories he lost when he chose to fall to earth and live among humans, but he has a long way to go before he can fully reclaim his title. When Justin is asked by a friend to investigate a string of supernatural murders he can't say no. Justin discovers he has a connection to the murders and has to find the murderer before their plans come to fruition.</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://a.co/d/aCBzGl9">Amazon</a> <a href="https://books2read.com/u/m26Pa6">Books2Read</a> <a href="https://mywriterscramp.com/my-books/">MyWritersCramp</a></span></b></div><span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></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> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Don’t look.” Justin turned and pulled Lilly to him. He tried to shield
her from the gore splattered about the alley. The copper stink of fresh blood
assaulted them as they stood across the street from the scene. As the Grim
Reaper, eons of death dulled the impact for Justin. He wanted to keep Lilly
from it if possible. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I can’t.” Lilly looked away, but it did not help. Despite being blind,
the murder shone in vivid technicolor to her. Being Justin's Oracle gave her
sight far beyond what any normal person enjoyed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The pull of death drew her attention, and in her mind's eye, the scene
coalesced as clearly as if she stared at it. The violence and butchery lit the
aura surrounding the dead body in angry tones of black and red that shone like
a spotlight upon the murder.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She placed her hand over her mouth to keep from vomiting. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The splayed open corpse's entrails hung about the alley. The smashed
kidneys hung from the side of a dumpster. The lungs sat in a pile against the
alley wall. The liver dripped blood into a shallow pool beside the corpse. The
buzzing of flies grew louder as the dead man's evacuated bowels drew them to
the feast. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The callous mess made of another human left her uneasy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She wanted to block it out, bury her head in Justin’s chest, and flee
the scene. She tried to look away, but ancient instinct forced her to bear
witness to the death of a fellow human. Her instincts buzzed with warning. Her
palms sweated, and her lips trembled. A predator lurked nearby, and she needed
to be aware.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Lilly.” Justin put an arm around her shoulders and turned her back to
the horrific scene playing out in the alley. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Justin wanted to go home and leave it all behind them. Lilly wanted to
know what happened and needed him to tell her so she did not have to face it
alone. The closer they got to it, the more apparent the full extent of the
horror became.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What…what is it? What happened, Justin?” Lilly held onto him tightly,
seeking comfort in his strength.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He apprised the situation with a practiced stare. His experience on
earth gave him some insight, but his familiarity with death brought everything
into focus. He scratched at the stubble on his chin as he considered the dead
man. “Looks like a sacrifice of some sort, a ritual, but not one I’ve seen
before. Doesn’t appear demonic, but it could be part of a summoning. Maybe
something geographical...”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Can we go? I don’t like the way this feels. There is something wrong about
this. I can't put my finger on it, but there is something dark here. It's
tickling my senses, tempting me, drawing me toward it like an inevitable
conclusion.” She turned her back on the scene and shuddered.</span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure. Let’s get out of here.” Justin guided Lilly away
from the murder. Justin held her hand gently as they walked. “Sorry about that.
Hazard of the profession. As the Angel of Death, I've seen a lot of corpses.
It’s not every day you come across something this unusual.”</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/AVvXsEiA8_WP1oKidm3uZNx3w0GXfy7tsTuImz7ulrCLM7y988PevaCIAQDCtxIdEtgec4_PshLJIr2NAKt-5C0s1C0JLWdwGS-i6FdLDqmDyVVG8NCNgyfdYzC8i8S1y6bleAtZT-_u0HWAIo1l20WmEcn2BH2ObKVqW1tSZIWm11ty2TalBej2V-aBxJTJ-yMa/s1404/FDc_FsWXMAIpIUF.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1404" data-original-width="1152" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA8_WP1oKidm3uZNx3w0GXfy7tsTuImz7ulrCLM7y988PevaCIAQDCtxIdEtgec4_PshLJIr2NAKt-5C0s1C0JLWdwGS-i6FdLDqmDyVVG8NCNgyfdYzC8i8S1y6bleAtZT-_u0HWAIo1l20WmEcn2BH2ObKVqW1tSZIWm11ty2TalBej2V-aBxJTJ-yMa/w164-h200/FDc_FsWXMAIpIUF.jpg" width="164" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Eric Swett is a husband and father. He has a beautiful wife named Tracy and three fabulous children (Zachary, Connor, and Kaitlyn). Between the four of them, he has absolutely everything he really needs in this world. If everything else went away and he still had them, he could die and count himself a fortunate man.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">He works in IT, streams video games, and dabbles in 3D printing.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">He is a self-proclaimed Geek and does not adhere to a single form of geekdom. He likes roleplaying games, tabletop games with painted miniatures, video games, comic books, science fiction and fantasy, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Doctor Who. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website: <a href="https://mywriterscramp.com">https://mywriterscramp.com</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">X: <a href="https://twitter.com/ericswett">https://twitter.com/ericswett</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">TikTok: <a href="https://www.tiktok/ericswett">https://www.tiktok/ericswett</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Amazon: <a href="http://amazon.com/author/ericswett">http://amazon.com/author/ericswett</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/innocenteric">https://www.instagram.com/innocenteric</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/ericswettauthorinprogress">https://www.facebook.com/ericswettauthorinprogress</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/6439846.Eric_Swett">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6439846.Eric_Swett</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/AVvXsEhG74NHLW_5ACYiG-ELuF8DvtSv4JyAS6o7F6C6A5DAzKeUtU5U0LQ81EiwRZ8DrKrZHs6eZ8JzFTYX3jLDqG3bEG_oD8T3m9lWQqQtqCFMJUJezQsUpBXwknRYZMYPdY7ycssnbH6ZjJciS5oN9KwL6LrVxfJEGOyPSYjEzxlpPuLTIEkKIeCjzN5jsJ9_/s1080/A%20Murder%20of%20Wizards%20%20Insta%20(2).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/AVvXsEhG74NHLW_5ACYiG-ELuF8DvtSv4JyAS6o7F6C6A5DAzKeUtU5U0LQ81EiwRZ8DrKrZHs6eZ8JzFTYX3jLDqG3bEG_oD8T3m9lWQqQtqCFMJUJezQsUpBXwknRYZMYPdY7ycssnbH6ZjJciS5oN9KwL6LrVxfJEGOyPSYjEzxlpPuLTIEkKIeCjzN5jsJ9_/s320/A%20Murder%20of%20Wizards%20%20Insta%20(2).png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-72718063711105469062024-03-01T06:00:00.005-05:002024-03-01T06:00:00.308-05:00Guest Blog- Storm's Convergence by Valerie Storm #Fantasy<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 class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The old adage of “don’t judge a book by its cover” can be utter nonsense when it comes to books. Speaking as a reader, I have set so many books aside because the cover did not look appealing to me. I’m sure I’ve missed many great books this way! But in a world where time is so limited, I have to be choosy—and inevitably, that means I will be drawn to covers that appeal 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="white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In fact, I still remember a book (that I won’t name) that I grabbed off the shelf because the spine was so pretty. I read the back, then read the first page or so and bought it, no hesitation. I did end up finishing it with some exhaustive effort—it ended up not being for me at all. But still! That author’s had gotten a sale out of me, and I’m sure there are lovers of the book and its sequel out there.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When I started planning my first book’s release, I realized I had to have a cover that would be strong, thematic, and show readers my inspirations and intention. Kari and her series are so heavily imbedded with anime inspiration, I wanted to make that very clear. Birth of the Storm’s cover is dynamic, colorful, and dramatic with Kari’s pose and the storm on the horizon. I love everything about it, and I’ve had friends tell me it makes them think of Miyazaki’s art. Occasionally it gathers the attention of anime lovers, which is all I had ever wanted!</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;">Since then, I have meticulously planned every single cover and will continue to do so. I want my covers to tell their story across the series—I want Kari’s growth to be evident as each cover comes and goes. On Birth of the Storm, she starts off alone, facing a storm—now, with book 5, Storm’s Convergence, she is standing side-by-side with Ari, her beloved. They’re still facing a storm—a worse one—but now they are together. And since Kari’s whole journey is about learning how to find strength in her bonds, this cover is VERY important.</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 know not everyone will see the magic that I have tried so very hard to craft here. Yet just like with writing the story itself, the effort and love behind the scenes will reach certain people, and those people are my people. As a writer, an author, that is all I’ve dreamed of.</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 will always be an advocate for strong covers. They need to draw interest, they need to tell a story, they need to prove the pages within are worthy of someone else’s attention. While the craft of writing is hard and sometimes lonely, we need to understand we are not deserved any form of recognition for the work we’ve done. Just like anything else, that needs to be earned—and a powerful cover made from the soul is absolutely the first step to that.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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/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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-76618770203384942024-02-23T03:30:00.004-05:002024-02-23T03:30:00.146-05:00Five Tips for Querying Publishers and Agents with K.R. Gastreich #PNR #AuthorAdvice <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;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Don’t give up. No matter how many rejections you receive, never stop believing in your story. If you want to publish via the traditional route, you must exercise patience and persistence and no small amount of faith. Every time you receive a rejection (and you will receive them), pick yourself up and try again. Have another look at the opening chapters. Tweak the synopsis. Tighten (or expand) the query letter. Then send out an even stronger package to someone else. </div><div><br /></div><div>Do your homework. Research agents and publishers wish lists and preferences. Many are also very explicit about what they are not looking for. You will save yourself time and heartache by making sure the story you have to sell matches the editor’s or agent’s interests and strengths. </div><div><br /></div><div>Keep editing. Yes, you have a final completed manuscript. Yes, it’s already taken you years to write! But don’t be afraid to keep polishing your work even as you query. On rare occasions, you may get feedback from an agent or editor that will shed light on why your manuscript might not be as strong as it could be. If so, pay attention. The more polished your manuscript is, the more likely you are to land an offer (or at least a request for the full) the next time you query.</div><div><br /></div><div>The first five pages matter. Many agents and editors don’t read past the first five pages. You must hook them with the opening lines of your manuscript, or they will go onto the next item in their slush pile. I know this sounds unfair. I know we all believe that if the publisher would just stay with the story for ten or twenty or thirty pages, they’d see the genius in our writing. Unfortunately, this is not how publishing - or marketing - works. Identify the earliest, best scene you’ve written for the story, and find a way to make that the beginning of your novel. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cast a wide net. Knock on every door that seems appropriate for your manuscript. Keep in mind that some doors that appeared close may open at a later time. There’s often turnover in agencies, so the agents you looked at six months ago might be slightly different than the agents available today. Similarly, there’s always another press you haven’t heard about. Or, a press you looked into last month that has since opened to unagented submissions. No matter what happens, keep looking. Keep trying. Keep querying! </div><div><br /></div></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;">
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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/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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-45739086319858068862024-02-20T02:00:00.006-05:002024-02-20T02:00:00.161-05:00Guest Blog - A Sword of Blood and Roses by 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;"><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" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Hi, I’m Jessica Ash and I’ve been writing books since before the social media age. Back in the day, the best way to get in touch with readers was packing up all your books, getting in the car, and driving to bookstores, festivals, and coffee shops. It was hard work and time consuming, and you were lucky to get a decent cinnnamon roll, let alone a true romance reader. Fantasy romance wasn’t a genre back then and I had to explain to people what a wolf shifter was, or why you would even have romance in your fantasy to begin with!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Those days are gone. While I still love to pack up the car and have coffee and tasty treats with readers, we now have dedicated romance conventions where everyone understands what the difference between enemies to lovers and grumpy sunshine tropes, and how you can have both in one book. And that’s fabulous, but you still might not get a lot of your true fans at any one place. But now we have social media, and it’s amazing for finding your tribe!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">While blogs and Tik-tok are places you can socialize, my tribe get’s to follow along with me on my Facebook page, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/jessicaashromance">https://www.facebook.com/jessicaashromance</a> . That’s where I love interacting with readers. And I mean, interact. It’s not just a matter of “Buy my book!” desperation. My Facebook page is the place I share character traits, fun excerpts, and what’s going on behind the scenes with the edits. Its where you can find out all the secrets...what’s coming up next, what I’m doing for fun, and yes, all about the books.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Because promoting books is still essentially about exactly what it was when years ago we sat down together across the coffee table and chatted, only now, I have my coffee at my breakfast table, and you have it at yours, and together, we’re on the internet socializing. We still get to chat about the fun ins and outs of fantasy romance. What makes a good fairy tale romance? Do you love Cinderella, Snow White, or Beauty and the Beast fantasy romance twists the best? And how dark is too dark for a romantic hero? Hint: my readers love the dark and twisty ones!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">So, I promote my books the way I’ve always done it, one on one with readers. I interact with comments and let them know what’s going on in my life, and they love to let me know what’s going on in theirs too. And we still sip coffee and devour cinnamon rolls, but now we get to choose our own coffee and creamer and sit in our cozy homes. At the heart of it, sharing my fantasy romances with readers is still the same as it’s always been, it’s a reader and myself, and our love of books.</span></p><p><br /></p><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/AVvXsEipuoO9QJLHCQnPwACFBLSxCYFAV5aBp9gqY7U5GTag_-eeStjorhvKv5E-TbKo8DHVCN04eCR02k6wMXEF_y77ruuhhsZ8ROFSKEUx6ehMYAbyDFIRRhalejyzrxH_BAbECSRs0Zi0gexfeUgyo5gvsM-I-WTBH-EjULQEpCHgetHgZz-dJ08Jx1HIsMVV/s600/cover_md.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; 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>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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-2547887389553841952024-02-19T03:00:00.007-05:002024-02-19T03:00:00.134-05:00Interview- Aestrangel 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 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;"><b>Tell readers a little about your main character or characters?</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;">Aestrangel the Fallen is the story of Aestra, one of the Lord’s most favorite angels in heaven. God isn’t supposed to have favorites, but here we are… and Aestra is fiercely loyal and fiercely devoted to her creator—so much that when she is dispatched to earth on her mission to help a human, she will do anything to justify and validate her actions. Her unwavering service to God puts her in a very awkward predicament. Especially when she starts to fall in love with the young man she’s been assigned to save.</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>Where do you like to write? Do you have an office or writing nook?</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 write on my couch. I have one of those lap-desk thingies that holds my phone in a little slot. So, I sprawl out on my chaise lounge, throw a blanket over my legs, and fire up the laptop!</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>What is one of your best marketing tips for other authors? </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;">Don’t ignore the power of a newsletter! Encourage your readers to sign up and be consistent with sending out messages. I only do once a month so as to not inundate my audience. It’s a good tool to use when doing promos and first looks. Also, have a website with your name. I know social media is the go-to, but there is a lot to be said about a professional website with a simple and easy to remember web address. </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>What websites or tools have you found that offer the best results?</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Zazzle. Love it for making bookmarks, stickers, and business cards. And I recently got a dot card! Oh my word! Talk about a game changer!</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>Any advice for aspiring writers?</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’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: You have to have thick skin. Rejection is just an email away, and you are not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. If you let every negative review, or every negative comment bring you down, you’re going to limit yourself and possibly get stuck in that Imposter Syndrome rut. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div></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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-6643303261139841732024-02-06T06:00:00.007-05:002024-02-06T06:00:00.143-05:00Music Soundtrack for Hollywood by Connor Coyne #LGBTQ+ #LitFic #MagicalRealism<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;"><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/AVvXsEimWzLsPnto_wjcqhfI5hPEGhRvtjnaBAglMGeIMSu844Fv2GUG22De3tjjqRWsKQHLzYttKWWATV23tVCqFiQCtexXy_yf3XISVNe9Y6CLaymBvjtsyaoeh-BMEB4XtPfsJ8BbTn6XxGsSKxPOo5msyckVmeKcrBSfgOncOMpoyipkBFw70fHm-z1C5jpF/w400-h153/Hollywood%20Banner%20.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>You can immerse
yourself in the <i>Hollywood</i> soundtrack at </b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Spotify (<a href="http://tinyurl.com/hollywoodnovellaspotify">http://tinyurl.com/hollywoodnovellaspotify</a>) </b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>or </b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>YouTube (<a href="http://tinyurl.com/hollywoodnovellayoutube">http://tinyurl.com/hollywoodnovellayoutube</a>). </b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The story begins
when Ophelia climbs off an elevated train in an unfamiliar city, and walks to
her high-rise apartment, overlooking a nearby beach on the shores of a Great
Lake. As she takes this in, she hears the “four-to-the-floor with the bass bass
bass” coming from her noisy neighbors upstairs. The music will follow her
throughout the story, but while at first the pervasive thrumming frustrates her,
she soon begins to associate the sounds with friendship, camaraderie, and love.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Hollywood</i> is largely inspired by a year of themed
parties I threw with my friends in 2004-2005. We were a motley crowd of
Chicagoans and Michigan expats, thrown together by circumstance and mutual
associations in the same high rise where Ophelia finds herself. Many members of
this collective were musicians and DJs; naturally music was a big part of our
life together and a lot of those same pieces have found their way onto the
soundtrack.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My roommate that
year was Sam, one of my best friends; he had recently graduated from Northern
Michigan and I persuaded him to move down to Chicago. He had been dabbling in
DJing, and some of his friends (Mr. Automatic and Vourteque) more deeply
immersed themselves in this craft. But it was Sam who really introduced me to
electronic music.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">After a sampling of
the <i>Jaws</i> theme, one of the first pieces on the soundtrack is “Cups,” the
twelve-minute opener of Underworld’s <i>Beaucoup Fish</i>. The song isn’t a
single, and the lyrics are all but unintelligible. What is not ignorable is the
utter funk of the low growling bassline, punctuated by Vocoderized vocals, guitar
licks, and odd chirps and chimes. It’s the kind of song that almost <i>compels</i>
dancing. But it transforms itself into something downright cathartic just
before the nine-minute mark when all these decidedly meandering rhythms gather
themselves into a single propulsive, percussive synth beat that continues to
hammer away at your speakers for the next three minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The first time I
ever heard this song, Sam and I were just about a week into our new lease and
were driving south along Lakeshore Drive to meet some friends on the South
Side. As you move southward along the Chicago lakeshore, North Ave. forms the
terminus of Lincoln Park, and behind it climbs a wall of high-rises and
skyscrapers, rank upon rank, miles deep, utterly unlike anything we’ve got in
Michigan. With the final aggressive
thrust of that song, coming in under the lengthening shadows of the vast city,
I felt like it was about to swallow me. Both song and city.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But Chicago – “the
City” of <i>Hollywood</i> – was not unkind to me, or to Ophelia. It was a place
to meet new people, to try new ideas, to learn how to be an adult – a human
responsible for himself – in the world. So, most of the dance-cadenced
electronic stuff on the soundtrack are less confrontational in their posture
than “Cups.” For example, it is
immediately followed by the effervescent “Butterfly” of Smile.dk. This is a
love song, a coherent one, a spontaneous and silly one, and it sounds like the
opposite of “Cups’” surly funk. That’s why I put it here.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Other electronic
offerings include Aphex Twin’s uncharacteristically gentle “Fingerbib,” the
lush retro sounds of Jesse Saunders’ “Fantasy,” and plenty of others.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A lot of indie rock
and latter-day alt rock also wound up on the <i>Hollywood</i> soundtrack. Few
fans would have listed <i>The Beekeeper </i>as their favorite Tori Amos album
or <i>Around the Sun</i> as their favorite R.E.M. (In fact, the latter is
considered that band’s biggest and debatably <i>only</i> dud.) But Michael
Stipe crooning “I wanted to be wrong,” on election night 2004 perfectly
summarized how I felt as midnight passed and the map turned red. Amos’ reassuring
words in “Jamaica Inn,” – “the sexiest thing is trust,” – perfectly captured
the moods and needs of a year when I was getting married and moving hundreds of
miles from the people I knew and loved.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">There are a few
outliers along the way. After eight years in Chicago, I couldn’t leave off the
Blues Brothers, but I don’t think Ophelia would have either. She spent months
visiting the best joints across town, from the sadly defunct Checkerboard
Lounge (it had just departed from 43<sup>rd</sup> Street in 2003) to Rosa’s
Lounge on West Armitage, happily still kicking. Bill Evans’ “Peace Piece,”
Professor Longhair’s “Tipitina,” Postal Service’s “Clark Gable,” and Jane’s
Addiction “Jane Says” all have a home here. The soundtrack is eclectic, but
these are songs of a place in time, and they capture Ophelia’s moods and
movements as well as they do my own.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The soundtrack
closes almost as a mirrored inversion of the way it opens, with “Halcyon and On
an On,” by Orbital. Like Underworld, these were British dance stars that got
their stuff on movies and the radio. And like “Cups,” “Halcyon” is a monster
track, that builds and builds for nine minutes from something ethereal and
pensive to an urgent call-to-dance. But while “Cups” opens, “Halcyon” closes. I
guess I hope people will listen to this soundtrack for pleasure. That the songs
chosen here will either comfort or inspire to move.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">There’s one song
after this: R.E.M. is the only musician that appears more than once on the
soundtrack – they appear three times here – and they close the whole thing out
with “Electrolyte,” their poignant farewell to the 20<sup>th</sup> century. As
much as it is saying “goodbye,” the song has a kind of hopeful yearning to it;
something that situates it prior to Covid, prior to Trump, prior to the Great
Recession, prior to 9/11, and all the other messes we’ve inherited or made in
the first quarter of the 21st century.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I’m out of here,”
Michael sings at the very end. And so is
Ophelia, and so are we all!</span><i><o:p></o:p></i></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><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/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;">
<!--[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/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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-69286503204890652822024-01-26T03:30:00.004-05:002024-01-26T03:30:00.131-05:00Guest Blog- Mamacadabra by Carrie Monroe O’Keefe #Memoir #BlendedFamily #StepParent<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBeJ7pnE30jKkg285HVFjVFyHC1K8PDNNFg5aMKTMUt8TcwBtITsCd77LMqoncALGs5sERxl4At5ldY6PCyk8JI3gYK-KNqDgnH45uPYascm-Y7FdorG5LyqG2Ea5-u476Awx2LcnnO7ZYU3FcbG3BsCI7qtBsJce88sm7DnFP_xDNl1iaLkeQvBquP36W/s820/Mama%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/AVvXsEhBeJ7pnE30jKkg285HVFjVFyHC1K8PDNNFg5aMKTMUt8TcwBtITsCd77LMqoncALGs5sERxl4At5ldY6PCyk8JI3gYK-KNqDgnH45uPYascm-Y7FdorG5LyqG2Ea5-u476Awx2LcnnO7ZYU3FcbG3BsCI7qtBsJce88sm7DnFP_xDNl1iaLkeQvBquP36W/w400-h153/Mama%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; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I started dating my husband in 2007 when his two little girls had just turned three and four. Within four months, we knew our relationship was serious, and I moved into their house. I was an instant mom in a serious relationship and I had no idea what to do with myself. I started looking for books that might give me even an inkling of an idea of how to do this right and well. I found several but none of them resonated. </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 went from living alone in a condo I owned, working 60 hour weeks in a job I loved, and living a life that was designed exactly as I wanted it, to living with an already formed family and simply trying to get to work on time after dropping the girls off at daycare. Where, by the way, the daycare workers were mean to me because clearly I was an imposter.</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 didn’t know where I fit. I didn’t know how to be a good mom in this scenario, let alone a good partner to my husband. I had zero idea how to still be a good employee in my job which, suddenly, seemed a lot less important than it had before. I was lost.</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 started writing a blog to help myself process these feelings. My goal each day was to try to look at things a little differently, or do things a little differently, in an effort to feel better about any of it. Once people started reading, I realized that the things with which I was struggling weren’t just stepmom problems. They were parenting, marriage, and life problems. Challenges that most of us living as part of families have to face. I started making connections with readers and understanding that, man, parenting and marriage are not for the weak at heart. </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 time went on, and I continued to write, I also started to understand that I wasn’t as lost and inept as I previously thought. Many of the answers were already within me – I just had to give it a beat and listen to my gut. It’s hard to trust yourself when you feel so completely lost and out of your comfort zone. But as I continued to try to reframe things and look at our situation, the right way forward became a little more clear. My role in this new blended family began to solidify. While in the beginning it felt like I was thrown into this already-existing family, I started to see how my very own choices landed me here.</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's hard to see the way through struggle when you think you’re the only one experiencing it. When we start to see that others, in fact many others, are facing the same things it feels just a bit more manageable. A tiny bit less scary and uncertain. My goal in publishing this book was to connect with readers and make people feel less alone when they too are feeling lost and uncertain. Hopefully it does that!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></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/AVvXsEhfQWBymUxZi5Le-_O2hMA5k6i36JcqyIQO3XUCDUZk8CMzJA8s-L3Ck0gWVG6n2UtsqLDeyPMacEtaa17ncVsvkVWPg3dPiRCFWQBq4cpzv0a5oZq6jz9tfPBKVU8CVMKKM5iYg76AQDgdI67L7BYShnv0dwpsGDQwPx5at_U2frh7Zru9C4guvEhvzcpU/s3750/MamacadabraBookCover.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3750" data-original-width="2566" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQWBymUxZi5Le-_O2hMA5k6i36JcqyIQO3XUCDUZk8CMzJA8s-L3Ck0gWVG6n2UtsqLDeyPMacEtaa17ncVsvkVWPg3dPiRCFWQBq4cpzv0a5oZq6jz9tfPBKVU8CVMKKM5iYg76AQDgdI67L7BYShnv0dwpsGDQwPx5at_U2frh7Zru9C4guvEhvzcpU/s320/MamacadabraBookCover.jpg" width="219" /></a></div>Mamacadabra</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Carrie Monroe O’Keefe</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: Nonfiction / Memoir / Parenting / Blended Family / Stepparent</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Mamacadabra Press</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: 11/22/2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 978-1733629935</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: 1733629939</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 200</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: Leah Kent</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Poof! You’re a mom now!</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;">Starting her third year of marriage, Carrie Monroe O'Keefe had already been on the roller coaster of extreme highs and lows of a newly blended family. Thinking she could do a better job of navigating marriage, step-motherhood, working full time, and all of the things, she embarked on a year of "what if."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Settling into her role as wife and mom, she tried to find ways to do things better, see things differently, and reframe her thinking to create a better home for her family and to feel more at home herself. With humor, unwavering honesty, vulnerability, and sarcasm, Carrie finds her way through the year and to her true self.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3NBR56t">Amazon</a>
<a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/book/1144367657?ean=9781733629935">BN</a> <a href="https://bookshop.org/p/books/mamacadabra-poof-you-re-a-mom-now-carrie-monroe-o-keefe/20888592?ean=9781733629935">Bookshop</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: times;">Excerpt
From Chapter: This House is Not a Home (Currently)</span></b></div><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">It’s a bright Saturday morning and I’m looking around my kitchen wondering
when, exactly, I let it get THIS bad. The dishwasher has been run, but nobody
has bothered to unload it, resulting in piles of dirty dishes in and around the
sink. There are empty cereal boxes lined up, I assume, so I can cut out the Box
Tops for Education labels…because I’m the only one who can what…use scissors?
Break down the boxes for recycling? Throw away the empty bag inside the boxes
that once held cereal?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Speaking of recycling, there’s a bag of recycling on a stool waiting to be
taken out on our “next trip” out of the house. It’s been there for three days
and we have, in fact, left the house several times in those three days.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The clincher, though, is the kitchen table. Our puppy has a best friend that
lives next door. He comes over to our back deck door and barks for Sullivan to
come out to play. They wrestle, run around, investigate, bark at each other,
bark at passersby, lay down to rest, and then start over. When they’re out and
I’m working or writing, I bring my laptop up to the kitchen table so I can
check on the dogs from time to time.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At this very moment, I’m sitting at my kitchen table and surrounding my laptop
are:</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> One little girl’s black shoe.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> One little girl’s gold shoe.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> One little girl’s pink slipper.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The Nancy Drew book we’re currently reading.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Large bag of colored pencils.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Pair of my husband’s dirty socks.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Empty napkin holder on its side.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The art project brought home by my littlest little
girl.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Pad of paper with my work notes scribbled on it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Three place mats (one was a casualty of yesterday’s
juice fiasco).</div><div style="text-align: left;"> One black marker.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Work documents of my husband’s.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> A partially completed drawing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">My kitchen table isn’t even big! How, or perhaps a better question is WHY, is
there so much sh*t sitting on it?!! And does anybody else find it a teensy bit
disconcerting that there are two shoes, a slipper, and dirty socks on the table
at which we EAT OUR MEALS? Anyone???</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">If I told you about the kitchen counter, you’d have a nervous breakdown, which
I’m on the verge of, but I’m trying to hold it together. Here’s the deal. We do
not have the little girls this weekend, so we should be able to get everything
organized, cleaned, and put away, but there’s more…</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My husband is in school. He was in school last night and again this morning.
Also, have I mentioned he has a small business on the side that he’s owned
since he was 18 years old? After he bolts from school today, we’ll be
frantically preparing for his trade show tomorrow. Any ‘free’ time otherwise
used for sanity-saving-house-organization will instead be spent on
trade-show-preparation-in-hopes-of-finding-new-clients. Ugh.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Our dog is even looking at me with disgust. Yeah…YOU’RE one to talk, Sullivan…I
believe that pile of firewood on our back deck is YOUR doing. It looks like the
frigging Blair Witch Project out there.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I take issue with a disastrous house for many reasons.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> A – When it’s disastrous as it is now, I feel totally out
of sorts and stressed.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> B - It wouldn’t be like this if some people didn’t refuse
to put dishes in the dishwasher, unload the dishwasher, hang-up their coats,
put away their shoes, and so on, and so on, and so on.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> C - We don’t have the square footage to allow for unusable
space…and as far as I’m concerned, this kitchen is NOT USABLE.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> D - It’s FREEZING outside which keeps us INSIDE this war
zone of a house.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> E - I believe our home is supposed to feel safe, and cozy,
and comfortable, and lovely, you know, as opposed to chaotic, dirty, cluttered,
and filled to the brim with crap people haven’t put away.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Therefore, on a day I technically could have slept in, I’ve been up since 6:30
trying to get this house back in order. I’d rather be sleepy from a late night
and an early morning than be CRAZY because the house is so awful. For me,
sleepy is less dangerous than crazy.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Which brings me to the real question: is this my gig from now on? Husband in
school, swamped at work, busy with small business, little girls here half the
time, so while they’re willing and eager to do chores, it only happens every
other weekend, leaving me to take this on and be sure this house is in fact a
home and I AM in fact sane? No, seriously…REALLY?</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Chalk this up to a question for which I did NOT want the answer.</div></span><p></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"></div><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/AVvXsEjto-Q3QA0-FmnuN98MmNCeDLgbsH8N3DjJTEWP4tPO5j1xNujfs1pGpmiDUE3-zjgmCSx9nhQlFmYIzbsAbbX82bq5yqudGLOAjgKfl7JFUGKhIVn-aL85hie2_jfQZtkv5RT9yyJSUVovwQ5Sml2-8sMGpNl1oTA-sYz8_sA9HM6WRjKE8ojBhbfOVU8o/s1078/CMOAuthorPhoto.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="882" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjto-Q3QA0-FmnuN98MmNCeDLgbsH8N3DjJTEWP4tPO5j1xNujfs1pGpmiDUE3-zjgmCSx9nhQlFmYIzbsAbbX82bq5yqudGLOAjgKfl7JFUGKhIVn-aL85hie2_jfQZtkv5RT9yyJSUVovwQ5Sml2-8sMGpNl1oTA-sYz8_sA9HM6WRjKE8ojBhbfOVU8o/w164-h200/CMOAuthorPhoto.jpg" width="164" /></a></div>About the Author:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Carrie Monroe O’Keefe started blogging about her life by sharing stories of marriage, stepmotherhood, and how to navigate it all on mamacadabra.com in 2012. People said they loved reading the posts, so she kept writing. In addition to blogging, she released her middle-grade fiction book, The Whole Truth, in 2019. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Carrie lives outside of Minneapolis with her husband, two daughters, and dog Finlay. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Website: <a href="https://mamacadabra.com">https://mamacadabra.com</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/cmonroeokeefe">https://twitter.com/cmonroeokeefe</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/@monroeokeefe">https://www.tiktok.com/@monroeokeefe</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/mamacadabra">https://www.facebook.com/mamacadabra</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/cmonroeokeefe/">https://www.facebook.com/cmonroeokeefe/</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/monroeokeefe">https://www.instagram.com/monroeokeefe</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">LinkedIn: <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/carriemonroeokeefe/">https://www.linkedin.com/in/carriemonroeokeefe/</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/18816687.Carrie_Monroe_O_Keefe">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18816687.Carrie_Monroe_O_Keefe</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8tTvcoS_LSRPdQ-zWsr4seYKoYVSML_46x_dWd_88j661d9LuKA82ulu_8N3jTetzHUSOgnV7OuwGgcrzNRxDxor0VPKjfCGTu2Ql_sM_xf3eCOzcEjcS6LZ645UzGn7NtS9Mwk4nF_FnSsc7Y6g5Es09G7P9oM18sMVlJK_q7Lnifu436uo0MWFVY2u/s1080/Mama%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/AVvXsEjU8tTvcoS_LSRPdQ-zWsr4seYKoYVSML_46x_dWd_88j661d9LuKA82ulu_8N3jTetzHUSOgnV7OuwGgcrzNRxDxor0VPKjfCGTu2Ql_sM_xf3eCOzcEjcS6LZ645UzGn7NtS9Mwk4nF_FnSsc7Y6g5Es09G7P9oM18sMVlJK_q7Lnifu436uo0MWFVY2u/s320/Mama%20Instagram%20Post.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div></div>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-30179232271511953042024-01-22T05:00:00.017-05:002024-01-22T05:00:00.146-05:00Meet Author Timothy Symington “Huzza!” Toasting a New Nation, 1760-1815 #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;"><div><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I had to ask to Tim- what made you decide to try and be a published author?</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>TS: I never thought that I would actually write a book and have a publisher take a chance on it (McFarland Books…you are the best!). </div><div><br /></div><div>I am an avid reader, and I have plenty of experience as a writer of book reviews and as an editor of historical papers. The idea of writing a history book was suggested to me by other people. I was fortunate to have discovered a “niche” that no one else did: writing history through the study of drinking toasts. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I started looking at these lists of toasts, it was only to complete my master’s dissertation. But when I finished, I could not stop doing the research. I wanted to learn more for its own sake. </div><div><br /></div><div>Some close friends and family members told me to see if a book could be made out of my work, giving me some direction. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I started writing things out, one idea became a chapter, and then there was another chapter, and soon a completed work was staring at me!</div><div><br /></div><div><div><b>Tell Readers 10 Things About Timothy Symington</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>1.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span> Tim once stood next to the marble sarcophagus of George Washington inside His Excellency’s tomb at Mount Vernon.</div><div>2.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tim ran the Boston Marathon six times.</div><div>3.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tim gave 1353 shows when he worked as a dolphin trainer.</div><div>4.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tim has a permanent scar on his forearm, courtesy of a young sea lion.</div><div>5.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tim has acted professionally on stage and has even done one commercial.</div><div>6.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tim saw and waved at His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama from across the street.</div><div>7.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tim, a devoted Beatlemaniac, has seen concerts given by the two remaining Beatles.</div><div>8.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tim played solo guitar in front of an audience in the musical “Grease.”</div><div>9.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tim read over 90 books in 2023.</div><div>10.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span> Tim used to be active in Okinawan-Shorin-Ryu karate.</div><div><br /></div></div><div><b> </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/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 />
<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-50727787184267611022024-01-11T06:00:00.005-05:002024-01-11T06:00:00.135-05:00The Day I Sold My First Book with 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;"><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The day was bittersweet when
I got the call from the publisher wanting to publish my book, Cat-astrophic. I
was in Maui with my stepdaughters to spread my husband's ashes in his favorite
lagoon. When I missed the call, I was dressing and mentally preparing for his
emotional send-off, but the caller left a voice message.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> I
needed to hurry because we were to meet at the catamaran. I peeked at the
message, skimming the words—I think they liked my book! I gulped and wanted to
listen to the message more carefully after Ken's send-off.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> We
set sail on this perfect/imperfect day—complete with two juvenile humpback
whales cavorting off the front of the boat. The sound system was playing Frank
Sinatra's—I Did It My Way as we drank champagne in a toast to Ken's remarkable
life. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> I
only wished Ken had lived long enough to see my career take off. I Did It My
Way certainly held for me also, or perhaps my song would have been, I Did It
The Long Way. I wrote that book over seven years ago, made many edits, and
rewrote big portions of it before sending it out to almost a hundred publishers
and agents! But better late than never, right? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Before
I left Hawaii to return home, I also got four more offers—didn't that sort of
thing only happen to the famous writers? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> To
say the day was bittersweet is an understatement—bitter that Ken wasn't with me
on this ride, but sweet knowing someone valued my work. I know Ken was with me
in spirit saying, "Atta Girl!" And he may have had his spiritual hand
in the mix somehow.</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p></div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></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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Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-33252834395389860722024-01-09T02:00:00.005-05:002024-01-09T02:00:00.286-05:00Random Facts with Author 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><br /><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div>First random fact/thought: THE THINGS I’VE DONE FOR LOVE #1: When I was about 14, I was captivated by Scott Hamilton, the Olympic Gold-winning figure-skater. Like -really- captivated. My daydreams often were of us holding hands, ice skating together. I’m so glad the Internet wasn’t a thing back then, or I’d have been obsessed! On the other hand, I did write him a fan letter. I told him that in only four years, we’d be able to date and then get married, and I asked him to wait for me. After some weeks went by, I received my answer: a signed postcard of him skating.</div><div><br /></div><div>Second random fact/thought: THE THINGS I’VE DONE FOR LOVE #2: I’m way past 14 by now, but apparently, the celebrity crush thing runs strong in me. Until recently, I might have had an “absolutely not weird or unhealthy at all” crush on a particular actor—to the point where I have a private Pintrest board all dedicated to him. I do sometimes wonder if my Pintrest board is on par with those creepy rooms bad guys have on murder mysteries, covered with all kinds of pictures regarding their obsession. I haven’t gone -that-far. On the other hand, I’ve told people that he’s my secret boyfriend. Because he’s famous, he’s worried about my privacy. So, to keep the paparazzi away, he has no idea who I am or that he’s even in a relationship. That’s how dedicated he is to me. See? Totally normal. My husband says, “Your fantasy life is your business!”</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/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 />
</span></blockquote><span style="font-family: times;"></span><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-65928737466705959942023-12-21T03:30:00.001-05:002023-12-21T03:30:00.150-05:00Spooky 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><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><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/AVvXsEgNbABCWdQgDPv4_GmxltoK_hor-dbI-OtG814sh0XKj_CzL_cl06o0TxjBB1hnMoyuxko5JOy4OdukthmavNtp5lx-yhb5OL7NZfs3qS_GUR8Q2kC6FzjoR5hdY_9Sb1qYHh8ukFZ0dgoV_R4bmjzZtzECTp0-yl0HHRhgM6Ksp4pjmHwpVpS7dnHq2ZU/s2480/Holiday%20Recipe.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="2480" height="84" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNbABCWdQgDPv4_GmxltoK_hor-dbI-OtG814sh0XKj_CzL_cl06o0TxjBB1hnMoyuxko5JOy4OdukthmavNtp5lx-yhb5OL7NZfs3qS_GUR8Q2kC6FzjoR5hdY_9Sb1qYHh8ukFZ0dgoV_R4bmjzZtzECTp0-yl0HHRhgM6Ksp4pjmHwpVpS7dnHq2ZU/w400-h84/Holiday%20Recipe.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The Absolute Best Red Lentil Soup</b></div><b><div style="text-align: center;"><b>by Loren Rhoads</b></div></b>
<br />
When you’re trying to carve out some writing time on a rainy (or snowy)
Saturday, it’s great to put together some soup – and then write while it
simmers. This is one of my favorites.<br />
<br />
1 tablespoon olive oil<br />
1 medium onion, finely chopped<br />
2 medium carrots, finely chopped<br />
1 rib celery, finely chopped<br />
1 cup dried red lentils<br />
2 T tablespoons tomato paste<br />
½ teaspon ground cumin<br />
pinch of ground red pepper<br />
5 cups reduced-sodium chicken or vegetable broth<br />
6 tablespoons low-fat plain yogurt or sour cream<br />
<br />
Heat oil in medium pot over medium-high heat. Add onions, carrots, and celery
and sauté about 3 minutes or until vegetables start to soften.<br />
<br />
Stir in lentils, tomato paste, cumin, pepper, and broth. Raise heat to high and
bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 30 minutes or until
lentils are soft and soup is thick.<br />
<br />
Ladle into bowls and top each with a tablespoon of yogurt or sour cream.<br />
<br />
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<!--[endif]--></span><div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></b></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;"><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 />
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<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQtVd0N_l9dSjpM_ZqSBOLgKEHHbh0WVrSYwM7mfKID6Fx4lvACjOCUUO5T8uoxQJIWJnRfTu_2mUxuG7tIIRjIDLnDerg4xKjQYIoi2onKSHHpX8CQRujWLQrDAodUGqAnvaeqKsWFDI2uFhlzYhr-hM2iAo6HZonkALJ4hreOfW2SO8NPlzIT4TJ0Fc/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/AVvXsEgQtVd0N_l9dSjpM_ZqSBOLgKEHHbh0WVrSYwM7mfKID6Fx4lvACjOCUUO5T8uoxQJIWJnRfTu_2mUxuG7tIIRjIDLnDerg4xKjQYIoi2onKSHHpX8CQRujWLQrDAodUGqAnvaeqKsWFDI2uFhlzYhr-hM2iAo6HZonkALJ4hreOfW2SO8NPlzIT4TJ0Fc/w400-h225/Rhoads%20SWP%20sample%20pages%201.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></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><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><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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Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-63246869955177196912023-12-15T01:00:00.007-05:002023-12-15T01:00:00.133-05:00Author Advice with Laura Engelhardt #AuthorAdvice <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;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">Which Way Do I Go: Indie
or Traditional?<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Congratulations! You've
finished your first book. It's your baby. You've slaved over it for months,
years, even decades. You have a solid draft. Maybe you've even shared it with a
few friends/readers, who wax enthusiastic. Now what?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">While the budding author,
Emily Starr,<i> </i>from Lucy Maud Montgomery's classic series tossed her first
novel in the fire after realizing it wasn't up to par, most of us aren't as
willing or as able to let go like that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The truth is, most first
novels are flawed. If you ask writers today about their first published books,
they'll often cringe. Sometimes DECADES later, they even release a re-write,
that never manages to elevate the book to the same caliber as their later
novels. Writers, like any professional, have to gain experience. Sure, there
are exceptions — like the one-hit wonder, <i>Catcher in the Rye </i>— but for
the most part, authors have to train like athletes. You can't expect the same
level of skill from a rookie pitcher in the minors that you do from a seasoned
veteran in the majors!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">So, what to do with your
admittedly imperfect first novel? Do you shop it with traditional publishers,
hoping to catch an editor's eye and be raised out of the slush pile where 99.9%
of submissions dissolve into illegible goo? Do you let it die in your desk
drawer while you wait for a yes? Do you burn it? Or do you publish it yourself?
Because unlike Emily Starr, modern aspiring authors CAN publish on their own.
The question is … should you?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I've compiled a list of ten
questions to ask yourself in making this decision for you and your novel.
Because at the end of the day, it comes down to the kind of book you wrote,
your goals, personality, and worldview.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="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]--><b>Is my book
“commercial?” <o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Before you put pen to
paper, did you thoroughly research the kinds of books in your sub-genre that
are on the best-seller list today? Does your story fit within the word count
and tropes of that market, while having a slightly unique spin on the
plot/characters/story that will set it apart? If you didn't do this research before
you wrote it, do it now. If you didn't “stay in your lane” and parallel the
books that are on the bestseller list RIGHT NOW, your odds of being picked up
by an agent or publisher are very low.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>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; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Is my book
“unique?”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Maybe you didn't fit
within the relevant tropes because you've written something utterly different.
Maybe you started with a mystery, but instead wrote a genre-busting, satiric
allegory. It fits a unique and timely niche that a select group of specialty publishers
might be interested in. Maybe it's worth a shot! Delay your indie publication
and investigate the smaller publishing houses. Work on your submission letters,
work on your agent outreach. Set a realistic deadline to re-evaluate the
traditional path if you haven't gotten traction.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>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; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Do I know
anyone in the “industry?”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Like everything else,
the publishing world revolves around “who you know.” Is your best friend's
uncle an editor at Ballentine Books? Get an intro, get on his calendar, and get
his thoughts on your book. Personalized advice is ALWAYS better than following
a generic blogger's suggestions ;)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>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; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>How
optimistic am I?<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The odds of being
traditionally-published are slightly higher than your odds of winning more than
$25 on a scratch-off lottery ticket. If you pursue this path, you may indeed
get your book published, but it's far more likely that your first novel will
languish in your desk drawer, while you write book #2, and book #3. Maybe,
you'll interest an agent in book #4! All of the other books you will have
written up to that point will die unread. Perhaps you'll pull one of them out
years from now & re-write it. But more likely, you'll have moved on to
other characters and stories.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>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; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>How do I
want to spend my time?<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Would you rather put
your non-writing time into (a) finding a traditional publisher, writing query
letters, researching agents, investigating the industry, etc. OR (b) hiring an
editor, cover designer, print layout firm/software, marketing, distribution
channels. YOU WILL SPEND HOURS/DAYS/MONTHS working on the non-creative aspects
of writing to get published — whether traditionally OR independently. You will
learn a lot about the business aspects of publishing either way. Would you
rather learn about how to make a succinct/catchy pitch, or how to write ad
copy? Would you rather learn what commercial publishers think will sell, or
would you rather work with a cover artist?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>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; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>How much
$$ am I willing to spend?<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The cost of
independently publishing will be substantially more than traditionally publishing.
Traditional publishers will pay you for your book. They will take the risk of
selling it and you will make an immediate profit. If you are independently
publishing any kind of book other than erotica, please be aware: first, second,
and even third novels will be loss-leaders. You will not recoup your costs. You
will spend more than you make. You will not turn a profit. If you publish
traditionally, you will only be out the cost of postage and any editorial
advice you seek before finding an agent/publisher, even if you don't wind up
publishing at all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>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; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>What kind
of rejection/criticism do I want?<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Reviews are sometimes
unduly kind, sometimes quite valid, sometimes unfair. They are always public.
You can learn a lot from what readers who bothered to leave a review
liked/didn't like about it. But there's nothing you can do about reviews after
they're written, and a book with an average 3-star rating will not be purchased
or read. Rejection letters will mostly be form-letters, giving you no insight
into how to improve or what caused the editor/agent to reject you. But they are
private. Would you rather get knocked around in public, but find out what you
need to do to become a better writer, or would you rather get bland rejections
privately?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>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; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Do I like
reading indie books?<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Do you have a Kindle
Unlimited subscription? Do you read books on an eReader? Do you subscribe to a
newsletter where you download free books onto your eReader? If you don't answer
yes to any of these questions, you probably haven't read an indie book. Before
going in this direction, read some of the “bestseller” indie books in your genre
— preferably ones with more than 100 reviews. That will give you a sense of
what you might aspire to if you publish independently. THEN read a book with
under 25 reviews, preferably an author's first book. While the quality of the
writing <i>might </i>be as good as a traditionally-published book, you are more
likely to notice flaws. BUT a good indie novel often breaks with
conventions/commercial trends and can be fun to read. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>9.<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]--><b>How do I
rate indie books?<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">If a book costs $9.99,
do you have the same expectations for it that you do if it costs $2.99?
Traditional publishers charge more for ebooks than indie publishers. If you
expect the same quality of writing in a $2.99 book that you do in a $9.99 book,
and don't “grade on curve,” then indie publishing probably isn't for you. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>10.<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]--><b>Do I need to publish?<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 12pt 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Indie authors range
from hobbyists to people who long to be traditionally published. If you're
still reading, you probably fall on the latter end of the spectrum. Is it
important to you that people read your work — even if it's not many people?
What kind of motivation do you need to keep writing? If you need the
satisfaction of seeing your books in print, of knowing there are at least a few
people out there who enjoy your work, then maybe indie publication is something
to consider. But if you've got the internal drive to keep working, the
perfectionist streak that would allow you to burn your book-baby if it's not
good enough, then the traditional path is the one for you.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Normal1" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></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/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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Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-13682513543649435512023-12-14T04:30:00.001-05:002023-12-14T04:30:00.140-05:00Release Day Blitz - Slither by Nikki Rae #ReleaseDay #BookBirthday<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><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 />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[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" 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/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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-35980690982816754052023-12-13T06:00:00.001-05:002023-12-13T06:00:00.150-05:00Cover 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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-14171033931325759382023-12-08T04:30:00.015-05:002023-12-08T04:30:00.142-05:00 How to Make Your Characters Believable with Alex Thornbury #CharacterCreation #WritingAdvice #WritingTips<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;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This one was a bit of a battle for me during my early years of writing. I turned to the books I loved the most for answers and found the one uniting feature behind them. In each one, the characters were the ones telling the story, and not the author. It was the character who took me on the journey with them. </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;">So, the question is not so much how to make your characters believable, but how to become your character, in mind, body and soul. </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;">After years of downloading endless character sheets and reading advice on how to construct them, I ended up throwing all of that away. It just did not work for me. Having a list of dry questions about your characters was clinical and methodical. It produced stiff, unyielding caricatures akin to robots. They would not move unless you told them where to go. They were nothing more than puppets on strings, soulless and hollow. </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;">So I thought about it, and came up with another way to bring them to 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;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">The main character</span></b></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;">When sitting in front of a blank page, I start every story with a character, for the story is not about a place or time or some strange set of events, it’s about your main character. It is about their quest. That character is you. You must become that character. You need to feel as they feel, and fear what they fear. No matter how good or evil, no matter whether you agree with their choices or loathe them.</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 do not know every little detail of my main character at the start. Nor is it important. Those details will emerge when it’s important that they do or when the character feels ready to share them. </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;">At the start of every story, there are only two things I know about my main character: where they came from and where they are going. Only their past and their future matter. These two things then shape both character and the story itself. Every personality trait and every decision they make will be shaped and driven by where they came from and where they will end up at the end. And on that journey, they will change and grow. They might become a hero or a villain. </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;">Before I write a single word, I skip to the end of the story, and like a god of old, I preordain the main character’s fate. I know what awaits them on the last page. This is the most important thing you need to know before you begin the journey. </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;">Then I begin to write, and the character awakens and leads the way. I do not bend them to my rules or wishes. My task is only to place stepping stones for them to reach that lead them to their preordained end. </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;">So the trick to writing believable characters is to give them the freedom to tell their own stories. They will then surprise you and thrill you and make you love them all the more. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">Secondary characters</span></b></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;">Now that you have your main character, you are ready to meet the rest. This is the trick that works for me. I meet them, as I would any other person. Or rather my main character meets them, for they live in that world.</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 how do you find these characters in the first place? </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;">Easy. You need to join your character in the place and time of the scene they had led you to. And look around through their eyes. Who do you see? Who would you encounter in a place such as this?</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;">A person will emerge. Then another. From what they are wearing, I can guess many things about them and their purpose. A merchant, a drunk, a runaway bride, or merely a bartender with a keen eye, watching the faces go by as he wipes down the glasses. Each has something about them that draws the eye. And it is not the color of their eyes, unless they are strange or staring back at you. </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 gaze travels over them. Each person I see has vague features I pay no attention to, for they are common and many folk have brown or blue eyes, and dark or light hair. I look past the shape of their nose … except for the ruffian, who has a large chunk missing from it and its hard not to stare at the hole on one side of it. I move on and pay close attention to their mannerisms and body language to gauge a sense of who and what they are; a bored kid with an eye for mischief, a proud knight eyeing a maid at a distance, a sly pauper with restless, clever fingers, a lord with a mocking twist to his lips. One lanky youth has slumped shoulders from the weight of some unknown misfortune, or perhaps he’s nursing a broken heart. </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;">Each character, no matter how insignificant, will have their own unique marks, the clothes and facial expressions. Perhaps a flash of grey hair in their temples on an otherwise common face. One of them always taps his fingers when speaking, yet still them when listening. </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;">Once I see a character who catches my eye more than the others, I simply open the door for them to join my story and see what they do. The only thing I ask them is their main reason for being in my story. What are they there to do and why? Sometimes they lie, and only later reveal their true purpose.</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 the story progresses, they reveal more and more of their secrets. Such as things they might be hiding in their pockets, or perhaps their fears, hopes, and hidden talents. Bit by bit, they reveal their past, which I might have already suspected upon meeting them. </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;">Using this approach or allowing the characters to write their own stories, I am often surprised by where they end up. </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 The Rogue Mage, the character of Blood Dog was one of those. I never expected to see him in book 2, then he just popped up in chapter 1. Not even sure why he was there. As the story unfolded, his character became more and more prevalent. At the end, the revelation of who he actually was completely blew me away. I never planned for it. Never suspected it, even when I first met him. He was a passing character and was not worth adding to Book 2 … or so I thought. He had other ideas, however. He pushed his way into my story, affecting events in the most unexpected ways. I am now very much looking forward to seeing what he does in Book 3. And I honestly have no idea what he plans to do next, or what other secrets he hides from me. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></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/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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-53609205529514853162023-12-07T03:30:00.000-05:002023-12-07T11:02:12.853-05:00Dreamscape by J.N. Sheats #paranormalromance #horror<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><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" imageanchor="1" 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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-44093353748263067682023-12-06T04:30:00.001-05:002023-12-06T04:30:00.140-05:00The 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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Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-37825309904293324832023-12-05T03:30:00.003-05:002023-12-05T03:30:00.156-05:00Release 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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-16962408544573103472023-12-05T03:30:00.001-05:002023-12-05T03:30:00.155-05:00Bah 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" 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><span style="font-family: verdana;">A Mate
to Remember<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><i>A
Mystic River Shifters </i></b><b><i>Flash
Fiction</i></b></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><i>By</i></b><b><i> </i></b><b><i>USA Today Bestselling Author </i></b><b><i>DELTA
JAMES</i></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><b><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></i></b></p></div><blockquote><div><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"><b><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Christmas Day<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><b><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Seattle, Washington</span></i></b></p></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">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.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">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: verdana;">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: verdana;">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: verdana;">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: verdana;">***</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><b><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Christmas Eve<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><b><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Seattle,
Washington</span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">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: verdana;">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: verdana;">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: verdana;">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: verdana;">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: verdana;">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: verdana;">“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: verdana;">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: verdana;">“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: verdana;">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: verdana;">“I can assure you the alpha…”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“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: verdana;">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: verdana;">“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: verdana;">“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: verdana;">“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: verdana;">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: verdana;">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: verdana;">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: verdana;">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: verdana;">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: verdana;">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: verdana;">“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: verdana;">“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: verdana;">“I know no such thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">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: verdana;">“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: verdana;">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: verdana;">“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: verdana;">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: verdana;">“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: verdana;">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: verdana;">“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: verdana;">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: verdana;">“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: verdana;">Brie snorted.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“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: verdana;">“And what do you need, Colby?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“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: verdana;">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?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There was no time to seek
answers for Colby swept her into his arms, carrying her to the large, ornate
brass bed at one end of the room. He stripped them both of their clothes and
then she was in the middle of the bed, Colby hovering over her, spreading her
legs and leaning down to put his mouth on her sex. The instant his lips made
contact, Brie’s body arched up in response, every single erotic synapse coming
online in a way it never had before.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He licked, nibbled, and suckled
her clit until she was wriggling and gasping—her body soft, ripe and ready for
him. He moved down, nuzzling her labia and inhaling her scent. Then fastening
his mouth to her pussy, he began to feast, his tongue spearing her over and
over as he lapped up her honey.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Brie called his name as her body
stiffened and she came, her body shuddering before she sighed and went limp in
his hands. But there was nothing limp or soft about Colby Reynolds. He was all
coiled muscle, smooth skin, and hard dick. He crawled up her body, dragging his
skin over hers, letting her feel his need and strength.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She watched him intently as he
made his way up her body. He was, quite simply, the most beautiful thing she’d
ever seen. He combined raw masculine power with a grace and elegance that she’d
never seen before. She opened her arms and beckoned him to her.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He covered her with his body,
allowing her to take his weight as she wound herself around him. She could feel
his breath; hear his heartbeat. He readjusted his position and stared into her
eyes as the broad head of his cock breached her opening and he began to work
his way in. Her pussy was tight around him and even with her orgasm and the
slick of her arousal, he was a lot to take in. But there was no pain, no
discomfort, only perfection. It was as if she had been made to be his.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Colby began to thrust in and out
of her, holding her steady beneath him so she was forced to take what he gave
her. She found she didn’t mind as what he gave was wonderful, joyful, sensual
pleasure. She’d been with other men, but nothing had prepared her for what she
might feel beneath the relentless pounding of her fated mate.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She raked his back with her
nails, causing him to groan in an erotic response to her scoring his flesh. Her
body rushed towards another powerful climax, and she cried out as her pussy
clamped down on him, spasming along his length. His mouth captured hers,
swallowing down her cries.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Brie hadn’t expected his orgasm
to hit him as hard as it appeared to as he pounded into her, before giving a
final, brutal thrust that drove his cock to the end of her sheath before he
poured himself into her. He collapsed on top of her, nestling into her neck
before he rolled to his back, dragging her with him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
</p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Twice more he reached for her.
Twice more she succumbed to his mating call and surrendered herself to him. But
as the first pale rays of light began to pierce the dense fog rolling in off
the water, Brie knew it was time to go. She slipped from his bed and managed to
get dressed without waking him. A good operative always spotted a way to
escape, and Brie was among the best. Checking the window for alarms, she
disarmed the one she found, climbed out onto the roof and made her way to the
ground without being seen. She was gone before he’d ever known she was no
longer beside him.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></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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Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-67534656867185530602023-12-04T04:00:00.001-05:002023-12-04T04:00:00.158-05:00Boss Level by Allyson Lindt - 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/AVvXsEgzhVhf0NgVvDXham_t6toFKPBud7Ke3wshBsZogJevTq02O3BJHFROSipbiAr94bO0MS1f27csVOkLFF7weFam3mYd0g4vKcFjlj7L3m1bKaMPGTvZ-5LFu73pg4LCQce0f3I083utxyzNsVJ5Gs4WorsJrLlvhkslfpDOOTPKTAP2n5xPZ3qt14Dl7Hke/s820/Boss%20Level%20Deck%20the%20Halls%20Banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzhVhf0NgVvDXham_t6toFKPBud7Ke3wshBsZogJevTq02O3BJHFROSipbiAr94bO0MS1f27csVOkLFF7weFam3mYd0g4vKcFjlj7L3m1bKaMPGTvZ-5LFu73pg4LCQce0f3I083utxyzNsVJ5Gs4WorsJrLlvhkslfpDOOTPKTAP2n5xPZ3qt14Dl7Hke/w400-h153/Boss%20Level%20Deck%20the%20Halls%20Banner.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfM7kDoc2fEsrMirT8WGeVRddDnctlEQvzKuHzE4-sHX6vTOhc4hpaVv6ya4Ule-086kLs1susFYVY698QQ7T-Sq9mO1XiGeAsioWqI5rEaIwKymlBp_edkCzLISnlKoEKK4bNBKAF-Mk8dybsX7_9lcWIJPElPurh6dpEDsyGJjIe3HkZzrOyDg/s2480/Holiday%20Flash%20Fiction.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="2480" height="84" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfM7kDoc2fEsrMirT8WGeVRddDnctlEQvzKuHzE4-sHX6vTOhc4hpaVv6ya4Ule-086kLs1susFYVY698QQ7T-Sq9mO1XiGeAsioWqI5rEaIwKymlBp_edkCzLISnlKoEKK4bNBKAF-Mk8dybsX7_9lcWIJPElPurh6dpEDsyGJjIe3HkZzrOyDg/w400-h84/Holiday%20Flash%20Fiction.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b><span style="font-family: times;"></span></b></p><blockquote><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b><span style="font-family: times;">New
Game <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b><span style="font-family: times;">An
Aces Played Short Story<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0in;">Judith</span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I hadn’t watched a
Santa this closely since I was five. Of course, at the time I thought the jolly
old man at the mall was <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">the</span></i> Santa, and
tonight at least part of me was hoping <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">this</span></i> Santa had
something for me in his magic sack.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Of course, most
Santas didn’t look as good as Xander, either. The streaks of silver mixed with
brown that peeked out from under his hat were natural, as was the salt and
pepper beard. His Santa outfit was multiple layers of deceptive, hiding a
large, muscular build under padding, and tattoos under long sleeves.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">He stopped next to
one of dozens of <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Rincon</span></i> signs dotted around the
convention center, to pose for yet another picture with a smiling child.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Admiring our handy
work?” Chloe’s question caught me off-guard.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I was never
off-guard. Time to stop staring at the pretty man and get back to it.
“Something like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Chloe and I hadn’t
put this event together ourselves, but we did manage the teams who had.
Rinslet’s inaugural gaming convention. She was the company’s VP of all things
creative and I was the same for Operations.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">She looked past me at
Xander, who was posing with another kid. “He is pretty.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Deceptively so.”
Underneath the smiling exterior was a sadist. One of the things I liked about
him was he knew when to whip that out. “What’s up?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I need your
expertise and presence if you’re up for it. New guy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I grinned. “Of course
I am.” One thing I loved about doing client and partner meetings with Chloe was
the way people tended to underestimate us. Two petite women in tech who people
assumed joined a meeting together because we were meek. <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">New guy</span></i> meant this one wasn’t familiar with our
reputation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Introducing ourselves
would take my mind off the reason I was waiting for Xander.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Except it didn’t. I
gave the meeting enough attention to make sure Chloe had my support when she
needed it, and to present a united front. My thoughts were on a far more
lucrative decision I needed to make.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I’d built a career on
taking risks and pushing limits, but I always had enough information to go into
the decisions before I took the leap. Except my failed marriage. I followed my
gut there and discovered I needed more from a man than a big dick and good
orgasms. Those helped, but…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">That had nothing to
do with this except that it was another terrifying decision, and I didn’t
normally do fear. Rinslet had become one of the two biggest gaming companies in
the world, climbing from the ashes to soar here.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Some of us who had
been here for a long time, since before the fall, wanted to get back into being
on the cutting edge. We had a game idea. They had all signed on and were
brilliant minds.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">The only hold-out was
me. The person who would run it all, fund a lot of it, and make sure other
groups funded the rest. No one was better suited for this job, but the idea
pushed so many limits and if we put it out there before the world was ready, it
would crash and burn.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I had until the New
Year to make up my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Chloe and I wrapped
things up with the vendor, who was far more polite than when the meeting
started, and I went in search of Xander.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Apparently Santa was
done for the night and nowhere to be found.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I sent him a quick
text asking if he was ready to go, and stepped away from the thinning crowds to
see if I could spot him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">We’d been friends
since high school. We’d been there for each other through heartbreak, divorce,
ruin, and amazing salvation. We also very occasionally fucked—<i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">friends with benefits </span></i>sounded so tame—and tonight
that seemed like a good Christmas present to both of us when everything was
over.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Sit on Santa’s lap
and tell him what you want, little girl?” His low, teasing voice filled my
thoughts and his hot breath brushed my cheek when he leaned in from behind me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">My smile popped into
place without permission, and I leaned into him enough to feel the muscle under
the suit. I wouldn’t be obscene with Santa in front of the children or media.
“Is that a candy cane in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” I kept
my voice low enough only he would hear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">He held a miniature,
individually wrapped candy cane in front of my face. “What do you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I think I like a guy
who knows size isn’t the only thing that matters.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">His chuckle was
more <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">I can’t want to make you scream later</span></i> and less<i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"> ho ho ho</span></i>. “Are you ready to get out of here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Can we go someplace
you’ll leave the suit on?” We had a stop to make first, but there was a whole
night after that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Depends on if you
behave at dinner.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I was the one who
laughed this time. “I didn’t plan on it.” I didn’t submit to anyone in the
boardroom or the bedroom, it was another reason I’d clashed with my ex. But
with Xander, we’d been exposed to each other in far more intimate ways than
sex, and sometimes a little yielding on my part took the edge off the rest of
life.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">We ditched the coat
from his outfit in his car, and he pulled on a sweater instead. Simple, cream
colored, and hugging every inch of muscle on his torso, with the red pants
still in place? That was as hot as anything.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">We crossed the street
to the hotel across from the convention center, and headed toward their
signature restaurant. I needed a neutral legal opinion on some aspects of this business,
and a friend had referred me to the man we were meeting with, as someone who
would give me an unbiased legal opinion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Xander was the only
person outside of our group and their significant others who knew the details
of this concept. He was already onboard to invest and pushing me to sign on.
But only if I was comfortable with it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">The foyer was
crowded, but the lone businessman wearing an expensive suit and a stern
expression stood out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Are you Dominic?” I
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">He turned his gaze on
me and studied me with eyes so dark they were almost black. He wasn’t quite as
big and built as Xander, but he still towered over me, and that stern
expression was <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">wow</span></i>. A polite smile slipped onto
his face. “I am. Judith?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Pleasure to meet
you. Thank you for making time for me tonight.” I extended my hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">His grip was firm and
tantalizing. I hoped he had some lucky woman or man waiting at home for him to
use that plus his smoldering stare on. “Not a problem.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I introduced Xander
as well, gave the host my name for my reservation, and we were shown to a
table.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">We were only here for
drinks and conversation, but the moment Xander ordered appetizers, I realized
how hungry I was. “Make that a double order,” I told the waiter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Xander shook his head
as the man walked away. “You haven’t eaten all day, have you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Guilty as charged. I
tended to forget food when I had more important things on my mind. “I had a
muffin for breakfast and enough coffee since then to kill a mule.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Good thing you’re more
stubborn than one,” Xander teased.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dominic didn’t look
so amused. He didn’t look like he was feeling much of anything. Reading him
would be interesting, but fortunately this was an advice session, not a
negotiation. “What can I do for you this evening?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“We’re looking to
create an MMORPG—a massively multiplayer online roleplaying game—”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I know what the
acronym means.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I raised my brows,
unimpressed at being cut off. If he didn’t know what it meant, I’d be more
concerned, since he was supposed to be well versed in tech. “—that will contain
a large amount of adult content.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Don’t most of them?”
Dominic asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Like graphic
depictions of people fucking.” Xander went straight for the punchline. “More
than two people at once. Orgies. The like.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dominic still didn’t
flinch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I wasn’t willing to
give out too much information, since there were some innovative concepts
involved in the plan, but we did need to tell him enough to get answers. I
filled in a few more highlights, and was wrapping up as our food arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I dove into the
cheese dip like a ravenous child, enough to sate the gnawing in my stomach,
while the men nibbled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“So what is it <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">I</span></i> can do for you?” Dominic repeated.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Make up my mind for
me. Tell me this was a stupid idea. Crack just enough for me to get a read on
that gorgeously stony exterior. “I want to know what the legal repercussions
are. I’ve considered several, but I won’t list them. I want to hear your
thoughts. What do you feel I should look out for, what could bite me in the ass
if I’m not prepared for it, and will this fuck me over when things go wrong?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Business will always
fuck you over if things go wrong enough,” Dominic said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“But how wrong is
that, really?” Xander’s smirk was the antithesis to Dominic’s marble
expression. “I mean, sometimes getting fucked, even when it’s wrong—”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Sexual harassment.”
Dominic did seem to like to talk over people. “That’s the number one thing that
will bite you in the ass.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Was it wrong that I
thought it was hot, the way he and Xander clashed? Oil and water. Fire and ice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Sexual harassment is
a concern in most companies, especially in tech,” I said. “I don’t disagree
with you, but how is this different?” I had my own thoughts on the matter, and
I’d looped through them from multiple angles, but I was here to hear Dominic’s.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You’re starting a
company were discussing explicit sexual acts won’t just be a daily occurrence,
they’ll be a requirement of the job.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“So if Man One were
to ask Woman One her thoughts on double penetration, and what would make it
more pleasurable to both of them…” Xander left the thought hanging.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Did the corner of
Dominic’s mouth just twitch? “First of all, double penetration implies at least
three people, so grammatically the question is what would make it more
pleasurable for all three of them. Second, in almost every office in the world,
that conversation would be harassment. And lastly, I’m here to consult, not be
tested.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I could argue that we
weren’t poking at his edges, to see what gave, but he was right. And Xander had
only just started. It was almost a shame this was a business meeting, because
Mr. Dominic the Lawyer was a kind of wound-up I knew all too well, and I also
knew good sex released a lot of that tension.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I’d love to see the
sparks fly between him and Xander. Even better, I’d love to be the filling on
that sandwich.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">But there was work to
do. “Sexual harassment. Noted. What else do I need to consider?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">We went down a list,
and he hit most of the points on my list, as well as others I hadn’t even
considered. As we talked, we worked our way through the food, and stuck to
coffee rather than liquor. We had finished up and I’d paid the bill, much to
both men’s dismay, but were still talking.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“All well and good,
but the harassment will be an issue regardless.” Apparently Xander was a dog
with a bone about this. “How does she get around that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Like anything
sexual, consent and honesty need to be part of the conversation.” Dominic’s
glance at me heated my blood. “People need to know the topic will come up, and
also understand that it’s up to them to be adults about how they handle it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Xander leaned in.
“Care to provide an example?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Of course.” Dominic
met and held my gaze. “If I were to offer to finger you under the table, to see
how long it took you until you cracked, and you were to jerk me off in return,
while Bad Santa over there watched, and the suggestion made you uncomfortable,
that would be harassment.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Touché. And if he was
expecting me to back down, he was about to learn a thing or two. “What if your
offer made me wet, instead of uncomfortable. And Bad Santa doesn’t tend to
watch. He’s more of a hands-on kind of guy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Watching is exactly
what any Santa does, good or bad.” Dominic’s stare was going to burn a hole
through my soul.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Xander chuckled.
“Sounds both naughty and nice. I’m in.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I wanted to shoot him
a glance, but I couldn’t look away. “Easy for you to say. You get to sit back
and watch.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Because that’s not
torture?” he countered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Because you won’t
take yours later?” Dominic asked. “And if it turns you on, rather than offends
you, and nothing professional hinges on the exchange, it’s not harassment.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I’d call him on the
way he’d just oversimplified things, but I was too enthralled by his
suggestion. I covered his hand with mine, and moved both to my leg, at the hem
of my skirt.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dominic’s face still
didn’t so much as twitch as he shoved my skirt up, and inched his fingers along
the inside of my thigh.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">This was a horrible
place for foreplay, but I didn’t need it anyway. I was already turned on by the
clash between Xander and Dominic, and the fact that we were in public and I had
an almost-stranger’s hand gliding toward my pussy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I swallowed a gasp
and spread my legs when he brushed the crotch of my panties, but I refused to
crack.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">This time I was
certain I saw a smile tug up one corner of Dominic’s mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Xander wasn’t hiding
anything. He looked amused as fuck.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dominic pushed aside
my panties, and teased toward my opening. I was slick with anticipation, and
his touch glided easily along my skin. He slipped inside me just enough to
penetrate, before withdrawing and gliding up to my clit.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">My nipples were hard
and tight against my bra, straining the lace. I swore everyone in here knew
what we were up to, despite there being a tablecloth keeping anyone from seeing.
My pulse hammered in my ears with each touch and stroke from Dominic. He really
knew how to use those fingers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">If anyone figured out
what we were up to, would it turn them on too? Would someone else go home and
get laid tonight, fantasizing about our display? Hell, could I go home and get
laid tonight, based on this?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">The way Xander
watched us said <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">yes</span></i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">The longer Dominic
stroked my clit, the closer I pushed to orgasm. I tried to focus on not letting
any reaction show, but my chest was heaving. I couldn’t look at anything but my
clenched fists, or I’d lose my composure.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Climax spilled
through me, and I nearly bit a hole through my cheek trying to keep it from
showing. Just as the pleasure started to ebb, Dominic slipped his fingers
inside me again, drawing out the moment, as I clenched tight around him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">He slipped out of me
without comment, and I struggled to catch my breath.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Xander pushed a glass
of water toward me. “Impressive. You almost melted the Ice Queen. You’ll have
to be positively glacial to win this one.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“We haven’t
established stakes,” Dominic said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">That didn’t sound
like a <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">me</span></i> problem. “It’s a bit late for that, since we’ve
already started. Are you backing out?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">He shook his head
.”Most definitely not.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Do the three of you
need anything else?” The waiter chose that moment to interrupt.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Why did this all make
me squirm almost as much as when Dominic was touching me?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“We’re fine, thank
you.” Xander never missed a beat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">As the waiter walked
away, I pushed my skirt up a little higher, enough to grab my panties.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What are you up to?”
Xander eyed me as I shifted in my seat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I slid the underwear
down my legs, cleaned myself up a little—they were ruined anyway—and set them
on the bench between Dominic and me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">He raised an eyebrow,
and I turned away from the questioning look as if it didn’t mean a thing. I
watched Xander instead as I tugged down Dominic’s zipper. He was already hard,
which made working him free difficult, but I figured it out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I wanted to risk a
glance at his exposed cock, but that felt too much like revealing how much I
was enjoying this. My hand would have to tell me the full story, and it was
telling an impressively big tale.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I grabbed my panties
again, and glided the smooth, damp silk along his skin when I gripped his
shaft.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">He clenched his jaw.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">The only regret I had
so far was with my panties gone, I was going to leave a wet spot on the back of
my skirt. But he started this and I was going to finish it. I watched Dominic,
looking for a clue as to what he was thinking or feeling. <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Fuck</span></i> he was good. Stoic. Gorgeous.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">When he tightened
under my touch, a quiet <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">fuck</span></i> slipped
out under his breath. His hips came up and his ass rose off the seat. I felt
the warm spurt of his climax through the panties I’d wrapped around him, when
he came.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Was it wrong to want
to gloat as I eased my touch off? I was too turned on, still, to put too much
thought into it. I was definitely going to provoke Xander into something when
we got out of here, if he wasn’t already.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Pretty sure the lady
wins.” Xander took care of the looking smug on my behalf.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dominic’s laugh was
strained, but it was distinctly a laugh. “I know when I’ve been beat.” He took
the panties from me and shoved them in his jacket pocket. “Not complaining
about the outcome though. Anything else I can do for you this evening?” Like
that, his composure was back.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Damn, he was good. “I
think what you’ve offered has been incredibly helpful. Thank you for your
time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You two kill me.”
Xander rolled his eyes. “There’s enough repression between the two of you to
imprison a small planet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You ought to try it
sometime. Showing some composure.” Yup, Dominic was back.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Xander shook his
head. “No thanks. Wouldn’t want to deprive either of you. Pretty sure you’ve
made it a finite resource. Can we walk you out?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Since we’re going
the same way, that makes sense,” Dominic said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">When I stood, he was
ready with my coat, which was long enough to cover any wet spot on my skirt.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Xander led us through
a back hallway toward a tucked away exit. The hallway wasn’t labeled <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">staff only</span></i>, but most of what was down here looked like
it was for employees.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">As we reached an open
door with light spilling onto the carpet. Xander grabbed my wrist and yanked me
inside, and Dominic followed, closing the door behind us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">That the clash between
them had become this kind of synchronicity was scary-hot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Amid linen and other
room supplies, Xander pressed his body to mine, pinning me to the wall. “You
didn’t think that display out there would go unanswered.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I hoped it
wouldn’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">He bit my neck where
it met my shoulder, and my desire spiked. He moved his mouth to my ear. “I’m
glad you gave him your panties.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Why?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Because I want my
cum running down your leg while you walk to your car. While you drive home.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dominic’s groan
matched my whimper. I couldn’t hide the reaction, but I could gloss over it.
“You’re such an asshole.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Yup.” Xander was
rough when he shoved my skirt up around my hips.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I returned the favor
by freeing his cock.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">He was strong enough,
and enough bigger than me, that he made it look effortless when he grabbed my
hips and lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, sighing in delight as
he slid inside me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dominic teased my
breast through my shirt. “I don’t know how he kept his hands to himself.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“All about proving a
point.” Xander’s voice trailed off as he pumped in me, starting slow and
building to a fast, hard pounding.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I gripped tight,
enjoying the desperation in this moment. That spot he hit inside me at just the
right angle. And when Dominic worked his hand between us, and sought out my
clit again. I was both too tender and not sensitive enough for this kind of
touch, and I dug my nails into Xander’s back.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">He grunted in
response, and fucked me harder.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dominic’s skilled
touch worked me past the physical wall of resistance, and pleasure built inside
me again. Orgasm felt out of reach, until it crashed around me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Xander’s familiar
grunts blended with voices in the hallway, and my anticipation soared as he
spilled inside me. The talking outside moved away again, but my heart still
hammered against my ribs from the entire thing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Xander was gentle as
he lowered me to my feet, but the three of us stayed tangled in a knot as we
caught our breath.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">I wasn’t new to
taking risks, but since my divorce, they’d all been calculated. I had mountains
of data before walking into any situation. I didn’t have that for the decision
I was about to make, and that was why it terrified me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">Tonight was reckless
and out of control, though. If Dominic hadn’t been up for the challenge, if the
media had gotten hold of the news, if most people outside the company found
out… I could’ve been ruined. And I didn’t regret a minute of what we’d done.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">If I didn’t step up
and take this opportunity, I was going to regret letting it pass me by.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What are you thinking,
Judy?” Xander murmured against my skin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">No one called me
that. Ever. But with him, tonight, it was right. “I’m thinking I need Dominic’s
business card, and to secure his legal services. Let’s play this hand and see
what happens.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;">~*~<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i>To find out what
becomes of the company in question, and to find out where Judith, Xander, and
Dominic are now, <a href="https://www.allysonlindt.co/three-player-tag-team-poly-menage-romance/"><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: windowtext; padding: 0in;">check out my Three Player Tag-Team series</span></a></i><i>.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></blockquote><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></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/AVvXsEj-Dd38CbvuByatx8ebYVySsv4RSSabGL2gubloinHJoSEsDIUF5rn_l26pAyOR-fqEUyBBQ8A8AURPrNFON2fcPLph2LkaJ3uZ_fjDJcmAqsyCKCHQlhAQebyCNe94dA1j1V3-OFJV6DV9qz_BZEOwQ7ERSP_BGb9WTK22a8Jt9Sw9d85lWzMqbrXCVVFr/s2700/9781955518291.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/AVvXsEj-Dd38CbvuByatx8ebYVySsv4RSSabGL2gubloinHJoSEsDIUF5rn_l26pAyOR-fqEUyBBQ8A8AURPrNFON2fcPLph2LkaJ3uZ_fjDJcmAqsyCKCHQlhAQebyCNe94dA1j1V3-OFJV6DV9qz_BZEOwQ7ERSP_BGb9WTK22a8Jt9Sw9d85lWzMqbrXCVVFr/s320/9781955518291.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Boss Level</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b>Three Player Tag-Team </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b>Book Six</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><b>Allyson Lindt</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: Erotic Romance</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Publisher: Acelette Press</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Date of Publication: 12/24/2022</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">ISBN: 9781955518291</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">ASIN: B0CJ83FY8P</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Number of pages: 350</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">Word Count: 76,000</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;">Cover Artist: Romance Premades</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: Her Fake Fiancé is Her Childhood Sweetheart’s Husband</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;">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;">Judith</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;">It’s lonely at the top.</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;">I knew it would be when I clawed my way up here, trading away favors and any personal life to get to where I am today, the head of the hottest new video game company in the industry.</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 an old friend calls in one of those favors, I’m happy to help Xander out. His partner, Dominic, needs to impress some conservative clients, and showing up to get-to-know-you dinners with a heavily tattooed man on his arm isn’t the way to do it.</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;">And there are far worse things in the world than pretending to be Dom’s fiancée.</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 the fake kisses with Dominic start to feel real, I realize there’s something missing in my life. Worse, I’m starting to realize I never should’ve let Xander get away.</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;">But the three of us together will bring everything we’ve worked for toppling down around us. There’s no way love is worth that kind of sacrifice.</span></div><div><b style="text-align: center;"><span style="bckground: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<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: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="books2read.com/ALBossLevel">Books2Read</a> <a href="https://amzn.to/46iCSSD">Amazon</a></span></b></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><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBMOMvYaiQdaaMy8X8198Da2_BC7-eeavepyZU0KHR_QBx-w6PgbYjKdBZA2o2Hcy-zBwcnaRxkkAn3MX9ydUfz9WBCb-TL27MesliYgjDKgTF4SMaLa55wkZDnGJEP6ElCKK9d4DIN-eoeBekxtnfbno2W2cbTpvRbUACgRb5NwVSLlZb_X3bHj__Hm6L/s1404/AllysonLindtBioPic.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1404" data-original-width="1075" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBMOMvYaiQdaaMy8X8198Da2_BC7-eeavepyZU0KHR_QBx-w6PgbYjKdBZA2o2Hcy-zBwcnaRxkkAn3MX9ydUfz9WBCb-TL27MesliYgjDKgTF4SMaLa55wkZDnGJEP6ElCKK9d4DIN-eoeBekxtnfbno2W2cbTpvRbUACgRb5NwVSLlZb_X3bHj__Hm6L/w153-h200/AllysonLindtBioPic.jpg" width="153" /></a></div>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;">Award winning and USA Today Bestselling Author Allyson Lindt is a full-time geek and a fuller-time author. She likes her stories with sweet geekiness and heavy spice, and loves a sexy happily-ever-after. Because cubicle dwellers need love too.</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: <a href="http://allysonlindt.com">http://allysonlindt.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;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/AllysonLindt">https://twitter.com/AllysonLindt</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="http://newsletter.allysonlindt.com">http://newsletter.allysonlindt.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;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AllysonLindt">https://www.facebook.com/AllysonLindt</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;">Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/author/allysonlindt">http://www.amazon.com/author/allysonlindt</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="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7024176.Allyson_Lindt">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7024176.Allyson_Lindt</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/AVvXsEiXFcG7NQ6K830dY5IgYWqOrfKPTa0WF1iW7FWUn1GCQxCjfaUJPvxN5zDrEnW55g2G6mQnCYJYn_jEcqvjZaMFCNHZfh-5LaUIa8MNC8cmIap6KhNokBbuhWJ40fdgodebDttnUxqu109T9GUT4mxPCkxR7aShwl8MPv9U2B_bUa1DcIo55jDVMmgXOtZA/s1080/Deck%20the%20Halls%20Insta%20%20(2).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/AVvXsEiXFcG7NQ6K830dY5IgYWqOrfKPTa0WF1iW7FWUn1GCQxCjfaUJPvxN5zDrEnW55g2G6mQnCYJYn_jEcqvjZaMFCNHZfh-5LaUIa8MNC8cmIap6KhNokBbuhWJ40fdgodebDttnUxqu109T9GUT4mxPCkxR7aShwl8MPv9U2B_bUa1DcIo55jDVMmgXOtZA/w320-h320/Deck%20the%20Halls%20Insta%20%20(2).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/AVvXsEgKZ0dxprpHpyDB_iWI9Dy7QksBDxyRhC3jo5I2-wD0S0vM9bB14-lErtAhoc_4NM4nNqk8yrpqmiaKUXyu_5A5crScN7KUto86O3e7YBo-bsiHniAXaqchuGPXxl4SFCLBz0OQvmYSoVl9TeEP7jClH5HQq0NcFtP5VfMEvYP8aX3XwdaeI4JaUO77f4NB/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/AVvXsEgKZ0dxprpHpyDB_iWI9Dy7QksBDxyRhC3jo5I2-wD0S0vM9bB14-lErtAhoc_4NM4nNqk8yrpqmiaKUXyu_5A5crScN7KUto86O3e7YBo-bsiHniAXaqchuGPXxl4SFCLBz0OQvmYSoVl9TeEP7jClH5HQq0NcFtP5VfMEvYP8aX3XwdaeI4JaUO77f4NB/w300-h400/Giveaway.png" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div><br /></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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Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-4271965451969230702023-11-28T06:00:00.003-05:002023-11-28T06:00:00.157-05:00Writing Advice 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;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;">After writing my
seventh novel, my twelfth screenplay, and my ninth comic book/graphic novel,
I’m still learning what not to do. I often speak to other writers who ask me
for suggestions and the first thing I ask is: “What is your story about?” I’ve
heard things like, “It’s about a world where…?” or “It’s a cookbook, but also a
story about my life in Afghanistan. The recipes are pages sprinkled into the
story.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;"> My initial response has been
awestruck, but then gathered my thoughts and said in respective reply, “A story
is never about a place, it’s about people.” To the second, “Your book is either
about your life in Afghanistan or it’s a cookbook, it cannot be both. It can be
a cookbook with a little anecdotal companion to each recipe, but you can’t stop
the story to throw a recipe on a page and then continue - it would be jarring.”
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">The
secondary response to each is the same – “How does the publishing marketing
team market your book?” In the case of the biographical cookbook, it can only
be marketed as one thing, so it’s either a cookbook or it’s a biography. It
can’t be marketed as both. One will always take a backseat to the other. Sure,
there are dual genre stories, like supernatural romance and sci-fi fantasy, but
you’re still marketing to one set of readers. In other words, know your
audience; know exactly to whom you are marketing. If you find yourself
marketing to two different audiences, then there’s an error somewhere that you
must reconsider. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;"> After you choose your genre, then you
must define your story. You can do this in one of two ways: 1) Create a
character and then build the story around them or 2) Create a story and then
build the characters that will run the obstacle course you’ve built for them.
I’ve done both. Especially in the comic book medium, you find yourself building
the character first. From there you must create the hero’s journey, which must
be present in all stories. This is what makes your character not only relatable
but makes the reader root for them. The harder the struggle, the more the
audience will engage. However, that struggle must be grounded in the reality of
your story. If your character falls a hundred feet from a cliff in the 1800s
and in the end must win a foot race against the villain, most readers are going
to check out due to the implausibility. Make sure you’re not going too far out
of the box. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;"> Make sure you stick the landing. I
read a great many books published by major imprints where I find the ending ill
conceived and disappointing. An ending doesn’t have to be epic, but it should
give a nice bit of closure to the main character’s story where have achieved
their goals and become the person they were meant to be. Give the ending a
great deal of thought and make sure you get the opinion of several people
before you settle into the editing process.<o:p></o:p></p></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>
Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-46710338753216874662023-11-28T05:00:00.030-05:002023-11-28T05:00:00.140-05:00Music Playlist for Enlightenment of the Rogue Emperor by Jana Klánová #YAFantasy<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmcxUCyKl0z-EA7TXadCHwwFyrXfrzpa_ixjyq6BTtF-4MTsqS_ufCPwMiWcx9eFfX3FaKT0VJf4tUxXiLzmB2DtV_clFdH_vUpTTIaIMUkOSFpK4YdmlNv801rmYSbyPefpF_ocMlw52RZqe5IRplOqIYQnKffiPRdXulDrjc8eWnRB_9nC79v-hVP-NP/s820/Enlightenment%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/AVvXsEhmcxUCyKl0z-EA7TXadCHwwFyrXfrzpa_ixjyq6BTtF-4MTsqS_ufCPwMiWcx9eFfX3FaKT0VJf4tUxXiLzmB2DtV_clFdH_vUpTTIaIMUkOSFpK4YdmlNv801rmYSbyPefpF_ocMlw52RZqe5IRplOqIYQnKffiPRdXulDrjc8eWnRB_9nC79v-hVP-NP/w400-h153/Enlightenment%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;">Hi, I’m Jana, I’m a fantasy author and my author journey completely ruined my music taste. I create elaborate playlists to keep the vibe of each character, each scene, each dialogue consistent and I literally cannot work without a proper soundtrack that would help me to channel the emotion and convert it into words on the paper. When the book is finished, I chop down the playlist and keep in tracks that remind me of the most significant moments and this is what I would like to share with you today and what is behind them.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Teeny weeny spoilers ahead.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>1) Battle Scars – The Chemical Brothers</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;">This track is melancholic and dark, yet somewhat whimsical and optimistic. The falsetto “There’s no path to follow” struck me on an escalator one day on the way from a long day at work and I realized that I need to write a story about characters who are stuck in the rut of their life, which they did not choose and have no way out from.</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>2) Strangers – No Mana</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This is an electrifying house track, a little shy, a little cautious but also sweet. Clearly, this is our meet-cute song. Eugenie doesn’t know how to behave around AJ and AJ doesn’t want to let her too close. </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>3) Prescription Kid – KID BRUNSWICK</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This one kicks off with very aggressive trap, but the second half is relaxed and calm … surrendered even. It resembles the key duality of AJ’s state of mind – he knows he must do something to change Unity, to make things right or at least try to find a way for himself and his sister to escape the system. However, at the same time he knows and he accepts that he will probably not be able to achieve anything in his lifetime and gives up. He lacks the real motivation.</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>4) Why a Butterfly Can’t Love a Spider</b> – Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes, The Bloody Beetroots remix</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 this song crude rock’n’roll meets raw EDM. Eugenie and AJ are getting closer, but they still blunder; they try to chase away the mere thoughts of budding feelings for each other and dismiss them with some classist bullsh*t. </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>5) Blodtørst – Kvelertak </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;">Badass and blood thirsty. Eugenie kicks the living hell out of undead sea monster.</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>6) Underwater – RÜFÜS DU SOL</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When the battle is finished, AJ is trapped inside the hull of a sinking ship for a while. He’s exhausted, barely alive when he notices knocked-out Eugenie going down too, but he still musters some strength to save her.</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>7) Dancing 2020 – i_o</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>8) Possession – i_o</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;">When I heard these two and I knew I must write a possessed techno club. I just had to. I am not going to apologize. </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>9) DOA – Olen</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;">This one sounds to me like butterflies in stomach. It is the breaking point for these two when they realize that the other – against the better judgement - might actually like them, too…</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>10) Autocorrect – Rock Remix – KONGOS</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;">… and they are rolling with it.</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>11) Superstitious Thing – Fake Shark</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;">Eugenie and AJ are changing the course of their adventure to get to the bottom of Eugenie’s mysterious origins. I just love how AJ is so much into explaining the “paranormal” with logic, facts and science that he wouldn’t be able to conceive the idea of having something pretty paranormal right in his home. </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>12) Trouble Coming – Royal Blood </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;">Well, obviously, everything goes according to the brilliant plan. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>13) Precious – Depeche Mode</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 chose this song on purpose. Both characters are into music big time, but Eugenie is rock’n’roll and AJ digs electro and seemingly they have nothing in common. However, there is this one tiny little scene where Eugenie drives the car and AJ gets to peek into music on her phone and he was surprised (and relieved) to find something that blends these polarly different genres and is enjoyable for both characters. It has a symbolic meaning – this coming-togetherness is a huge milestone of their relationship dynamic.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>14) Kings (feat. Golden Sun) – Bass King, Vertigo</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;">In terms of EDM, this song is old as dirt now. But I love listening to it when I need to take a trip to summer 2013. It is super sweet and gentle, but it has a kick of adrenaline to it. Also, I used the line “I need you to be sensitive” as a subchapter title, because Eugenie essentially asked AJ about the findings of their expedition, and he is trying to tell her the softest way he can, but she eventually breaks down.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>15) Mosquito Song – Vitamin String Quartet (Queens of the Stone Age tribute)</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 music on Charli’s suitor party is probably more cheerful than this, but AJ is in his worst nightmare. </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>16) Used to Darkness – Des Rocs</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;">Wild Crestia appears. She squeezes Eugenie with no intentions of letting her live. We learn that she is a criminal, yes, a murderer, yes, but not a psychopath, she is a very principled woman who is simply … used to darkness. Perhaps too much. </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>17) Criminal – TAEMIN</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">AJ can no longer keep up with the farce in the Imperial Palace. He blows everything. He doesn’t care. The disobedience gets him mullered. He still doesn’t care.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>18) Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! – ABBA</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 cavalry arrives! Eugenie and Bingo get to find their Imperial troublemakers and save them from the Crimson Ops ambush. With style.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>19) FCK 2020 – Scooter</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This song helped me to shape the character of Marcell. My initial plan was to make him a bit of a sleazy, unpleasant trope of a father, but nah, that would be boring. I don’t want to do boring. Marcell is a guy who used to be mega cool couple decades back and it is still 90s in his head. The high-octane, high-stakes environment between motorsports and the Imperial shlock made Marcell piss adrenaline.</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>20) Feels – Crystal Lake</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;">Now, how does it feel like to sit in a car with the best racer in Unity? It’s a moment of triumph, the realization that they might actually make it out of this mess alive. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>21) The Voodoo Engine – Parov Stelar</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;">This song is unusually creepy for someone like Parov Stelar. The track sounds like the Whispering Woods. It is sinister, it is dark, hostile and filled with creatures people from Unity were conditioned to treat with an extreme prejudice; the panic chokes you and you know you are not supposed to be there. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>22) Back Down – Bob Moses</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;">This is the final song of my Enlightenment of the Rogue Emperor playlist. As the book ends, the motivation of the two protagonists has been solidified. Maybe they are not ready for the next stage of their adventure but they know why they need to keep moving forward – simply because there is no way back. The world is going to become a different place. They have to make it so.</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;">Also I think the kiss scene is really cute. </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;">Well and that’s it for EotRE music! I hope you enjoyed the commentary behind my creative process and if you felt like it, you can listen to the playlist <b><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5QMWkagd2AGdqq1bGo7tXz?si=283ab0f5bc15409f" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">here. </a></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="352" loading="lazy" src="https://open.spotify.com/embed/playlist/5QMWkagd2AGdqq1bGo7tXz?utm_source=generator" style="border-radius: 12px;" width="450"></iframe></div><div style="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/AVvXsEhfOPmV_xVvibCz4JXKSB-RZSUYMkWYDoYA1aRSo3-O0Tse8FZv5bS9RgzbE_JC157lJ6GELzOoL1XK5KPkmJCXbE1O1KaSYOrQIWglzxtMH1cx9bLVEgvJtazWl4jH4L6a8tpqQwAlM5Ua-aFjEy7renpMVQ4x5_R8mndH8yAHe-4JqWTEw4YVTlIa1AY5/s2400/eBook%20optimized%20Cover.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/AVvXsEhfOPmV_xVvibCz4JXKSB-RZSUYMkWYDoYA1aRSo3-O0Tse8FZv5bS9RgzbE_JC157lJ6GELzOoL1XK5KPkmJCXbE1O1KaSYOrQIWglzxtMH1cx9bLVEgvJtazWl4jH4L6a8tpqQwAlM5Ua-aFjEy7renpMVQ4x5_R8mndH8yAHe-4JqWTEw4YVTlIa1AY5/s320/eBook%20optimized%20Cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Enlightenment of the Rogue Emperor</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Rogue, Arcane and Desolate </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Book One</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Jana Klánová</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b> </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Genre: YA Fantasy Adventure</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Publisher: Jana Klánová</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Date of Publication: 19th May 2023</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ISBN: 978-80-11-03194-7</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASIN: B0C4LH4VYV</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Number of pages: 526</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Word Count: 155k</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cover Artist: nskvsky</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tagline: Until death or authorities do us part</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;">Eugenie is a certified, double-vetted, regular, ordinary high-school girl living her best life someone more competent planned for her, in a perfectly normal world, where strange things don't happen because that is simply impossible.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Or so she thought.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Right the second she graduates, the rug under her feet gets pulled and she, alongside a young, mysterious scoundrel, takes a wild tumble down a mountain of myths and hoaxes that her country has been built upon into a whirl of unknown, scary… but oh, so exciting.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://amzn.to/48SBXe9">Amazon</a> <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/books/enlightenment-of-the-rogue-emperor-rogue-arcane-and-desolate-book-1-by-jana-klanova">Bookbub</a></span><o:p></o:p></b></p></div><div><span><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="font-family: georgia; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b></b></span></p><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;">It was finally over. The last day of Academy began with a
rather underwhelming and bleak summer morning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">After spending four long years at the Military Academy of
the capital city Concordam, cadets were anxiously shivering with expectations
for the Commander’s arrival; it was his decision that would sort them into
specialized military branches and launch them into their new lives and careers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">While Eugenie sluggishly approached the classroom through a
dim academy hallway, she couldn’t help but overhear the excited chatter of her
classmates. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Oh, I hope I go to the Navy! I submitted my preference form
a day after the deadline.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Do you think they’ll still accept it?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I applied for covert ops!” exclaimed an annoying voice of
an annoying classmate.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You just proved that you’re too dumb for that,” someone
reacted, and a burst of clamorous laughter followed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Eugenie rested her back against the wall outside the
classroom door. Waiting quietly all by herself for the chime to announce the
beginning of the end. When it finally rang, she slung her bag, packed in
accordance with the protocol for immediate transfer, over her shoulder and then
headed into the classroom. It was easy to notice that the second she entered, the
joyous murmur of the class notably faded. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Eugenie was odd. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She used to strike everyone’s attention by being decisively
the tallest girl in the class with a wordless greeting of an unimpressed stare–
eyes cold and grey like a stone. Her chestnut hair, slovenly laid to her
shoulders, naturally rebellious fresh face and slender stature were still
making people turn around, but it had been a long time since boys had dropped
the attempts to impress her, and girls gave up on involving her in recess chat.
Eugenie did not seem bothered. By nothing and no one. She could return
compliments, but that idea never crossed her mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Days passed by without her saying a full sentence. Her whole
image and emotionless behaviour that she had displayed steered her classmates
to the conclusion that she was an incorrigible, arrogant bitch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She waddled to her desk at the back of the room and
collapsed unglamorously into the seat. Before classmates managed to revive the
flow of the chat that Eugenie disrupted, the Commander of the Academy walked
in. In a blink of an eye, the class stood in a rigid salute, greeting.
Commander Vance Ewin, who had constantly smelled like an ashtray, was a
remarkably vital man in his early seventies. Or unusually worn out in his
mid-fifties. No one knew for sure. His age was the first military secret cadets
came across.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“At ease, sit down,” he answered and casually slid his hands
into pockets of his heavily decorated olive-green uniform. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“The time has come for cadets to follow their own paths to
carry out the will of the motherland. As we all did. In the past years, while
ya’ll have been training on the grounds of our Academy, your performances and
physical and mental strengths were up for some evaluations.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Last month you were ordered to submit your preference forms!
If there is a match between your skills and the General’s demand, your wish is
likely to be granted. If the demand can’t accommodate you and your preference,
don’t think we’ll send you home. You’ll be sorted into a branch that will
utilize your existing skillset the best… Well, I bet ya’ll know the drill by
now pretty well, so let’s move on to what everybody is waiting for.<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 now going to hand out envelopes. Each envelope has a
number inside. A respective military branch officer will come later, call a
number, and if they call yours, you’ll follow, no questions asked. Until then,
you’ll be quiet like a mouse. Instructions couldn’t be clearer.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">He didn’t wait for any response and barked the name of the
first cadet in the alphabet:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Aikman!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Trissy Aikman was briskly on her feet and paced to the
Commander confidently. There was no need to hesitate; they all had been through
something similar before. She saluted. The Commander then shook her hand
formally and passed the envelope to her. After that, she skittered to her desk
to find her result. She raised four fingers in the direction of her besties,
sitting across the aisle, to indicate which group she landed in. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ingo Broft repeated the same protocol precisely. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Dean!” Eugenie got minor heart failure when she heard her
name. She stood up so rapidly that her chair tumbled on the floor with an
ear-splitting clatter. Her face flushed red from embarrassment. Eugenie
staggered as if she instinctively wanted to put it upright again, but she froze
in motion. Fixing mess was not part of the envelope protocol. She overstepped
the disaster on the floor and headed towards the Commander. The Commander
rolled his eyes and nodded, albeit begrudgingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Commander! An amazon is attempting to destroy the Academy
properties!” Broft, now a successful navy candidate from Panumbreno, caused a
boom of boisterous laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Broft! You think I can’t hear that damn racket? Well, I
did, but did you hear my order to shut the hell up and wait? Maybe you want to
run laps till your hearing gets better?” Commander Ewin growled back at him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“No sir,” the classmate peeped, humbled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Eugenie made it to the Commander and saluted with apologetic
eyes, but the Commander’s capacity seemed to be completely spent by the
correctness of the envelope ritual while simultaneously emitting his
don’t-fuck-with-me vibes in Broft’s general direction. After Eugenie returned
to her desk, she got her chair upright and hid her face away from the judging looks
of her fellow classmates. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The Commander took only minutes to serve all the envelopes
he had at hand. <br />
“Respective officers will be in here shortly. Make us proud. Make yourselves
count,” were the last words of advice they heard from the Commander before he
left the religiously quiet classroom. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Eugenie opened the packet slightly. But she saw nothing. She
pulled the paper out to see the other side. Empty. She flipped the page
frantically and then inspected the inside of the envelope, utterly dumbfounded.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Eugenie was given a blank paper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Every time a group of classmates left, her stomach clenched
tighter and tighter. It did not take long for the classroom to get deserted.
The thick aura of frustration, condensing slowly around Eugenie, became the
only other entity to keep her company.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The blank paper’s gotta mean something. The Commander gave
the order to shut up and sit. That means I can’t just leave yet, Eugenie
assessed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">She did not know how to execute the white paper protocol,
but she was as sure as sun that no cadet in the Academy of Concordam was meant
to take any action against orders. <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 getting kicked out of the Army, she concluded, breaking
out into a cold sweat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The dreary tension was making every tick of the clock drag
like years. Eugenie was in quiet panic mode, mentally preparing for the
possible outcomes of expulsion from the Army. The regime was not leaving many
options to anyone, but Eugenie did not fear the prospects that unsuccessful
cadets and students were haunted by. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">It was the terrifying uncertainty of what would happen next
that was curdling her blood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">On top of that, she was not even permitted to leave; an officer
had to allow that first.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The Academy had emptied. Eugenie did not hear a single
squeak in the hallway for a long while. Suddenly, the silence was shattered by
an ear-splitting tire screech from outside. Her desk by the window allowed a
little peek into the Academy’s backyard; Eugenie leaned in to quench her
curiosity, fuelled by the boredom. She witnessed how an executive limo had
parked in the middle of the backyard with almost dastardly disrespect to any
kind of order. A distinct shape of an officer emerged from the driver seat and
scooted across in an agitated rush. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Oh no, Eugenie thought. Nope. It’s not him. It’s NEVER him.
He never visits the Academy. I wish that maybe someday, SOMEDAY, I’d get to
meet General Everian. He’s a rockstar just by the rank, an Imperial... and his
looks on top of that! She had been lost on a train of her gushing fangirl
fantasies until steps in the hallway grew louder and disturbed Eugenie from her
convenient daydreaming.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Gingerly, she glanced through the open door in the direction
of the incoming noise and in that second, her heart stopped beating. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">A man in his late twenties, of a tall, athletic stature,
with a decorated army hat pressed against black hair, brushed into a fringe,
was rushing through the corridor like a merciless tempest. Even if this was
Eugenie’s first time to see a general in person, she could clearly recognize
the sign of the Imperial family; a coral-red sash was peeking through his
loosely unbuttoned, anthracite officer trench coat. And yes, he was carrying a
long-hilted sword clipped to his belt. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">There was no doubt left. General Alistar Everian was coming
at her. A reflex immediately kicked Eugenie into a frenzied attention stance. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The handsome machine of authority charged into the empty
classroom but quickly lost his momentum in front of the blackboard. Perhaps, he
came to a shocking realization that it would be easier for him to navigate
without his hat. The annoying visor of his General headpiece kept invading his
line of sight constantly. He took it off, furrowed his thick eyebrows and
pierced Eugenie with a fiercely stern gaze. Even across the classroom, Eugenie
was snared by his frosty blue eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“It is alright, Cadet. At ease,” he uttered coldly. A
displeased grimace on the General’s face curved his lips and revealed his
perfect, glistening teeth. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Eugenie felt like all her blood had decided to go on a
strike, despite her heart’s insane efforts. She tumbled down to the seat like a
pine tree defeated by a hurricane. General Everian paced to her, and with a
swift move, he snatched a chair belonging to another desk and descended on it,
right in front of Eugenie, with grace that would make a swan jealous. Eugenie
panted for a breath and leaned away in a desperate attempt to increase the
distance between them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Cadet, none of this is in my job description, and I have no
time for this. Are you even at least aware of what could possibly bring me
here?” He was not smiling. Nor graceful. His voice was so neutral that Eugenie
could not tell if he was trying to comfort or intimidate her. She shook her
head and turned her eyes down in a negative response. The General softly
exhaled, and from his exasperated hand gesture, it was clear he was searching for
words. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Alright. Let me tell you the story from my end. On one fine
evening, I am sitting in my Commanding centre, minding my own business. Nothing
too important. As a Cordam General, I am only responsible for supplying
military personnel into seven provinces.” Even though he was ranting, Eugenie
could not help herself; all she could think of was how glorious General looked
when he was doing that. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“That’s the core responsibility of Cordam. We produce
soldiers, officers, clerks, lawyers, doctors, teachers and all this—” he waved
his hand impatiently, “—to maintain public order in the Unity lands.” Eugenie
nodded vigorously. The word he was missing was infrastructure, but she did not
find the courage to suggest it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Then this fat piece of – Commander-- waltzes in my
Commanding centre and tells me: look, Alistar, I have one excellent cadet with
a unique psychological profile, and I don’t know how to sort her after she
graduates, which is roughly in 14 hours. Now you see, cadet, I got played like
a banjo by that stinker because you can already deduce, he got me to visit the
hellhole he runs to check on your sorting process,” he fired off his version so
casually as if they were drinking buds. Eugenie pulled another weak apologetic
face. When General noticed her reaction, his murderous drive faltered. He
looked around erratically as if he was supposed to search for some hidden clue.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Looking at you, I assume that you’re already guessing the
cause of my presence. Can I see your envelope, please?” By the end of the
sentence, he posed his hand in a demanding gesture to Eugenie. Even though he
sounded calmer, saying no was not an option. Eugenie was shaking when she
passed the envelope to the General. He pinched it with two fingers and
inspected it against the light without any due. He scoffed at his findings. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Cadet Dean, why did you not fill out your preference form?
You would get sorted by your choice, I can guarantee that,” there was a
negligible hint of curiosity in his tone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I didn’t like any of the options, sir,” she replied
bluntly. Immediately, she regretted not thinking her answer through. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“And what would be to your liking then?” he fired back at
her. This time she was ready with an answer. She had spent years waiting for
someone to ask her this question. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I’d like to be Emperor’s personal guard, sir!” Eugenie
spouted proudly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Although General Everian was a seasoned professional in his
trade, he lost his face in front of her again. This time, he was genuinely
baffled. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? Imagine as if I,
when sitting here ten years ago, said: I wanna be a General, but there is no
box to tick in your form, so piss off.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Eugenie just kept her eyes low; no military officer was ever
in the mood for delusions of grandeur. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“No wonder you couldn’t find a match in the preference form.
Are you even aware that the Emperor has no dedicated military personnel?”
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Yes, I know, sir. That is why I submitted an incomplete
preference form. No matter what I’ll get sorted into, it will be a
disappointing result.” The General could no longer maintain his ironclad
composure, and his face got tainted with an amused grin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Why the Emperor? Why not… me, for example?” he acted
frisky. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Ignore that question, Cadet,” he waved it away the second
he noticed that Eugenie was violently blushing. </span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
<!--[endif]--><b style="font-family: georgia;"><o:p></o:p></b></p></span></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/AVvXsEip07MIy_Vj-eUAUPw_ADHzTAAw3LR6aqaVLj679am0b2N_ZyJ0TQcqfPuvrz8wTXP5ZRnimESfhH_Yx1Pkz_cLhyySRU6TzBz9FxYDjqKbUM1GVCuv7WWGXA3VCqS49QlmaM_dEfh7ysiH_ZZ-PC1LziKl2m-dh1_5b-ELbHnk2vSShDlHWZ3j8NUV6TRo/s800/author.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip07MIy_Vj-eUAUPw_ADHzTAAw3LR6aqaVLj679am0b2N_ZyJ0TQcqfPuvrz8wTXP5ZRnimESfhH_Yx1Pkz_cLhyySRU6TzBz9FxYDjqKbUM1GVCuv7WWGXA3VCqS49QlmaM_dEfh7ysiH_ZZ-PC1LziKl2m-dh1_5b-ELbHnk2vSShDlHWZ3j8NUV6TRo/w133-h200/author.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;">Jana Klánová is an author from the capital of beer and magic, Prague, Czech Republic.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Her work is hugely influenced by authors like Terry Pratchett, J.R.R. Tolkien, George R.R. Martin, Stephanie Meyer, Tara Gilesbie and other absolute legends.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.janaklanova.com">https://www.janaklanova.com</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://twitter.com/JanaKlanova">https://twitter.com/JanaKlanova</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/jana-klanova">https://www.bookbub.com/authors/jana-klanova</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/26602726.Jana_Klanova">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/26602726.Jana_Klanova</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></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/AVvXsEjb2J-mZGIfmxWRGBkHq6dJupcE3cpZ8LcC5pY50Cdy9J-XOIQyVGJIQp6HOfJ0IiHKem2vVd2pBELa3sgMP6VZTU4Fxj7XqP5UieESywquE8pwo-Qk2Ie4KpAlNdL_od_fg0-lpcGfL9DNi1-qePNRIV1zmDlqJE-3xqzMVgr3IMxX0ukoGGUy1NP1Y5Rz/s1080/Enlightenment%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/AVvXsEjb2J-mZGIfmxWRGBkHq6dJupcE3cpZ8LcC5pY50Cdy9J-XOIQyVGJIQp6HOfJ0IiHKem2vVd2pBELa3sgMP6VZTU4Fxj7XqP5UieESywquE8pwo-Qk2Ie4KpAlNdL_od_fg0-lpcGfL9DNi1-qePNRIV1zmDlqJE-3xqzMVgr3IMxX0ukoGGUy1NP1Y5Rz/s320/Enlightenment%20Instagram%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-72366662643782916882023-11-28T04:00:00.004-05:002023-11-28T04:00:00.149-05:00Why Book Covers Are So Important 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;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div><b><br /></b></div><div><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>When driving, I commonly cycle through the radio stations, attempting to decide which of the available songs I should listen to. Though I drive my daughters bonkers with this behavior, I’m really just trying to avoid missing out on hearing a really good song.</div><div><br /></div><div>Even when I find that song, I can’t help but wonder what’s playing on the other stations for the duration, and I may even keep searching for a better song.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, you may be wondering what this has to do with books. My answer: Everything.</div><div><br /></div><div>Think of how many options are out there now and then add that to how many avenues there are, and you will quickly see my point. Authors aren’t in competition with one another, but their books often are. And you’ll want yours to get noticed.</div><div><br /></div><div>You worked hard on your book, and you want it to stand out. With self-publishing and small presses, readers have more options than ever when looking for their next read. And they don’t just browse bookstore shelves anymore. So how do you keep them from scrolling past your book or looking past it on a shelf? The answer is easy.</div><div><br /></div><div>You should have a solid book cover. You want a cover that grabs attention and stands out, otherwise, how is anyone going to know it’s there? What’s to stop potential readers from simply changing the radio station?</div><div><br /></div><div>The concept is simple, but the execution can be excruciatingly difficult. People are visual creatures. For most of us, what we see is our first interaction with something. As much as I hate to say it, many of us do judge books by their covers. And, sometimes, that’s justified.</div><div><br /></div><div>If a book cover is sloppy or uninspiring, readers may think the book itself is the same way. After all, if the author didn’t put in the work for the cover, maybe they didn’t work too hard on the book itself. Is this a fair assumption? Maybe, and maybe not. But this is the way things work. Until that changes, book covers will continue to be of paramount importance.</div><div><br /></div><div>An eye-catching cover will usually compel a reader to at least pull your book off the shelf and possibly read the blurb. Or maybe they stop scrolling and click on your book. This is your first test and it’s crucial you pass it.</div><div><br /></div><div>There’s a marketing term called “unaided awareness.” This is what your book cover should accomplish—someone who’s never heard of your book stops and looks further into your baby. If readers don’t notice your book, then they won’t read it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Readers can’t read books they don’t know about. Your book cover is the most effective way to grab their attention, pure and simple.</div><div><br /></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/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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-27180217204863910202023-11-21T04:30:00.013-05:002023-11-21T04:30:00.163-05:00 Cracking the Case: Unveiling My Lifelong Affection for Mysteries with D. W. Brooks #RomanticSuspense #AfricanAmericanFiction<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><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Once I learned to read, reading was everything to me!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">I read all things in their entirety as a child. My parents had to keep the kitchen table clear because I would read anything on the table—milk cartons, cereal boxes, jelly jars. I was very familiar with the ingredient lists of all breakfast foods! I was already a slow eater, and the tendency to read everything would leave me sitting alone at the dinner table and my cousins outside playing!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">My parents filled my first trips to the library with books that they chose as to be expected. But when I was seven or eight years old, I learned about Nancy Drew. Our library rules allowed three books by one author to be checked out at one time. Boom—three titian-haired sleuth books to go! Nancy had a convertible and was really brave. I could see being that too.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Then, I found Trixie Belden. The discovery of the Belden mystery-solving clan coincided with our (my cousins and I) attempts to create our own book series. I loved how these preteens handled their business and solved the case in the face of danger. I didn't want to face danger, but I wanted to write about it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">A side note: I never got into the Bobbsey twins or the Hardy Boys books. I felt the Bobbsey twins dealt with topics that were too young for me to appreciate (rightly or wrongly). The Hardy Boys books were too "boyish". But when I was a little older, I enjoyed the Hardy Boys TV show with Parker Stevenson and Shawn Cassidy (truly dating myself now), That may have had less to do with the mystery part…LOL.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">By age 10, I was venturing into adult mysteries. I read all of Agatha Christie's mysteries although they had some problematic issues because of the timeframe she wrote them. At the time, I was young, and I am not sure I could read them so easily today. I remember when I read all of Sir Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories: our family went to California when I was 12, and I purchased an exclusive set of the major books (I still have The Hound of the Baskervilles now). I read all of them while we were still on vacation. Erle Stanley Gardner, the author of the Perry Mason stories, was next on the list. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">I had to adjust my reading content during high school, college, and medical school, as we had to read the classics and other assigned reading. There wasn't much room for mystery books during that phase of my life. But once school was over and I could read freely again, the mystery addiction came back. James Patterson (several of his series), Janet Evanovich, John Sandford, and more have been my go-to books. I read all 25 of Sue Grafton's books, and if I wrote fast enough, I would strive for her consistency! I also buy most of the books I read and have several cluttered bookshelves full of series and standalone mysteries. There are so many more that I need to make time to read.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">I need to start using the library again!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div><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; display: inline !important; float: left; font-family: georgia; font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><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>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002624888204682297.post-18584726635047045282023-11-20T16:11:00.001-05:002023-11-20T16:11:34.072-05:00Available for Pre-Order: Happy Howlidays #WerewolfErotica #FatedMates<div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: left;"><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></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/AVvXsEhbzxvV-2FkWxjalZ63R2MAtTNVr41gwqR_VLfLyQqkKK-2BlGMwZbwJR7t3VC33JLWI9aHU8z4KiMU0i_zOKrnWflhh2Mfk2hj01rk22STjxW4usiXj6pqgWG648LbtqOTVA3iT72v-UbhOq0oRLSdvZgJnZPa0MKmHokGkAnDsBHmry6hVfQPqwowAUg/s2560/Happy%20Howlidays%20(1600%20x%202560%20px).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/AVvXsEhbzxvV-2FkWxjalZ63R2MAtTNVr41gwqR_VLfLyQqkKK-2BlGMwZbwJR7t3VC33JLWI9aHU8z4KiMU0i_zOKrnWflhh2Mfk2hj01rk22STjxW4usiXj6pqgWG648LbtqOTVA3iT72v-UbhOq0oRLSdvZgJnZPa0MKmHokGkAnDsBHmry6hVfQPqwowAUg/s320/Happy%20Howlidays%20(1600%20x%202560%20px).jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Happy Howlidays</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>By Serena Synn</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">In the pulsating heat of a local nightclub, Alissa meets Conall, it’s an immediate and intense connection. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Conall is destined to become the Alpha of his werewolf pack and he senses that Alissa is his fated mate. They share several passionate nights that culminate in a decision to commit to a relationship.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">But Conall keeps his supernatural secret under wraps for weeks. Then he whisks Alissa away to his ancestral castle in the Highlands of Scotland for the holidays. Amidst the splendor of ancient stones, he unveils the truth to her—his family is a pack of werewolves. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">As Alissa grapples with this revelation, Conall extends an invitation for her to join his pack, a choice that could reshape her destiny. Will she embrace the wild, untamed future that awaits her, or will the challenges of accepting a werewolf as her mate prove insurmountable?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">In this sizzling erotic romance, passion intertwines with the paranormal against the backdrop of the Scottish Highlands.</span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3R5HsPK" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Amazon </a> <a href="https://books2read.com/u/bwQqqO" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Books2Read</a></span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>Serena Synnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03970205580271499798noreply@blogger.com0