tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21912677659892565242024-03-05T08:51:45.837-08:00Rogue Phoenix PressChristine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.comBlogger3931125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-43547882905456503422020-11-20T00:01:00.000-08:002020-11-20T00:01:00.314-08:00#ShadowOfTheLegacy<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi11y4ytPsJlLdAD91ks1v3dhKfHvqSM5NctNX7CEtm8Y8UoxohUSb6YK7gLca-LeBj7-igmxxGnjAtrsf0E8eK_qXT9Gno0sq43r7rPFjwT07LcgawgYlQvXt2iNZxtfJbqs6RgyIi7g/s300/Shadow+of+the+Legacy+New.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi11y4ytPsJlLdAD91ks1v3dhKfHvqSM5NctNX7CEtm8Y8UoxohUSb6YK7gLca-LeBj7-igmxxGnjAtrsf0E8eK_qXT9Gno0sq43r7rPFjwT07LcgawgYlQvXt2iNZxtfJbqs6RgyIi7g/s0/Shadow+of+the+Legacy+New.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><a name="OLE_LINK3"></a><a name="OLE_LINK2"></a><a name="OLE_LINK1"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: Shadow of the Legacy <o:p></o:p></span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: Genie Gabriel<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial;">Email: </span><a><span style="font-family: Arial;">genene@genenevalleau.com</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">Contemporary Fiction</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Excerpt Heat Level: 1<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Book Heat Level: 2<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><a name="OLE_LINK7"></a><a name="OLE_LINK6"></a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Legacy-Halo-Genie-Gabriel-ebook/dp/B00BMIFCNY/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1387474584&sr=1-1&keywords=Shadow+of+the+Legacy+by+Genie+Gabriel" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">: </span><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/shadow-of-the-legacy-genie-gabriel/1114737485?ean=2940016233086" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Barnes & Nobel</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">: <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">BLURB: Shadow of the Legacy<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><a name="OLE_LINK5"></a><a name="OLE_LINK4"><span style="font-family: Arial;">A letter from his dead father and a confession of killing a woman throws a shadow of suspicion over the life of an easy-going cop. </span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">When he returns to his hometown to find the truth, he discovers secrets that have held the town hostage for decades, danger that threatens his life, and love with a woman determined to be no more than friends.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">EXCERPT: Shadow of the Legacy<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Rochelle closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, then moved into her warm-up</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">routine. She hadn't had the time to do any kick-boxing for awhile, but already her body hummed in anticipation of the challenge. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Johnny was not her opponent, but the cancer that had invaded her body. No battle was more important than this one. No prize more vital: her life. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Her first moves were simple. A few easy punches before she bobbed and danced away, though there was no need for defense as Johnny threw no punches. If only the disease was as yielding. Instead it had snuck up and attacked without warning. Rochelle jabbed with her right hand and followed with a punch from her left. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Adrenaline pumped through Rochelle's body as the familiar moves flexed and worked her muscles, and brought a smile to her face. Then she lifted first one knee and the other, followed by a series of alternating punches. Right, left, right.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Rochelle drew a deep breath and blew it out, already feeling winded less than ten minutes into sparring and hating that weakness. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">She pushed herself to throw the momentum of her body into a right cross, then spun around to deliver a one-two kick before bouncing away on the balls of her feet. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">She moved toward Johnny again, throwing another flurry of kicks and punches, feeling the heat in her body and fighting the fatigue slowly creeping over her.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">"Let's take a break." Johnny caught her in a clinch. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Rochelle shook her head and moved away, throwing another right hook that fell wide of Johnny's head. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">A vision of the damning spots in the x-rays filled her head, and Rochelle delivered another combination of kicks to Johnny's mid-section. In her mind, the lumps dissolved a little more each time she made contact. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">She threw a knee, followed by a side-kick, and another spot disappeared from her mind's eye. Rabbit punches with her right hand eliminated a few more. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Rochelle kicked and punched until the vision in her head was clear of spots and fatigue was claiming her body, sapping her energy as it spread from her arms, down her torso, and turned her feet to leaden weights. She fell against Johnny in a clinch, and he supported her as her body went limp. Spent and sweaty, Rochelle surrendered to the exhaustion claiming her.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-89741039234054136632020-10-14T00:01:00.001-07:002020-10-14T00:01:03.801-07:00 Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Sumatran Rat by Joanna Campbell Slan<p style="text-align: center;"> Please welcome Joanna Campbell Slan author of Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Sumatran Rat</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666984558105px; text-align: left;">Joanna Campbell Slan will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKl6tsHnBRnuaOIzgGoz8H_C4TYOeeSNM8tc7LcydcndpKiKxpPM0CcviTeCXQstg_sjCR0y1wZVS9NnKHqSzrB1gWiC2Z-q2B2KVoJVNml4PjqbpLQWjwXls9xnoqkfbDoWkhirDTw/s1200/TourBanner_Sherlock+Holmes+and+the+Giant+Sumatran+Rat.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKl6tsHnBRnuaOIzgGoz8H_C4TYOeeSNM8tc7LcydcndpKiKxpPM0CcviTeCXQstg_sjCR0y1wZVS9NnKHqSzrB1gWiC2Z-q2B2KVoJVNml4PjqbpLQWjwXls9xnoqkfbDoWkhirDTw/s320/TourBanner_Sherlock+Holmes+and+the+Giant+Sumatran+Rat.gif" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 18pt;">Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Sumatran Rat</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">by</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Joanna Campbell Slan</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">GENRE</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;">: </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> fantasy suspense</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">BLURB:</span></b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">The world was not prepared for this story, a conspiracy hatched in the highest levels of the British government. A rogue Minister of Defense plans to turn soldiers into blood-thirsty animals—and Holmes and Watson may be among their first victims.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /><br /><span style="color: #222222;">The adventure starts when Holmes is warned away from investigating Jack the Ripper’s heinous crimes. Despite Holmes’ well known skills, he is sidelined. He must content himself with a straightforward case, finding a bolting beau, the result of a simple lovers’ quarrel.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: #222222;">But that “romance gone wrong” is really the key to a nasty secret with tendrils reaching all the way to a Sumatran island. That’s where four castaways made a difficult decision. They turned their backs on a society that sent them packing and allowed themselves to be infected with a deadly virus. After all, they never expected to ever come home again… And they certainly never expected to be considered lethal weapons! Can Holmes and Watson stop them from being used for evil purposes?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: #222222;">This fast-paced adventure will take Holmes and Watson from the dregs of London to its noble heights. The two friends will travel from Bedlam, the hospital for the insane, to stately Windsor Park. Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Sumatran Rat is a fast-paced thrill ride that’s sure to keep readers on the edge of their seats. If you like historical thrillers with a hint of the supernatural, you’ll love this series. Each book stays true to Sherlock Holmes and his faithful friend, John Watson, whilst featuring a cast of real people and issues pertinent to the times.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr7jjKBnOvO1V0qx8Ca-pNYCs4fle5F4oqsMRvJA0ibINpa86WAGLlv8RC33kqtqRoAiUt1e_ylEefm_8gxEeOT_uWrYr4RqjAUeB2iYDHSlP5CJ9bD8Bar_9-PD3ZiJErj4qbqx5ohA/s2048/Book+Cover_+Sherlock+Holmes.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr7jjKBnOvO1V0qx8Ca-pNYCs4fle5F4oqsMRvJA0ibINpa86WAGLlv8RC33kqtqRoAiUt1e_ylEefm_8gxEeOT_uWrYr4RqjAUeB2iYDHSlP5CJ9bD8Bar_9-PD3ZiJErj4qbqx5ohA/s320/Book+Cover_+Sherlock+Holmes.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">EXCERPT</span></b><b style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">:</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">“You’ve done an admirable job keeping details of these murders out of the press,” observed Sherlock Holmes, ignoring the man interrupting his investigation. “Is that fair, Lestrade? Don’t people need to know that a beast roams the streets? That an animal who preys on young women is loose among us? Wouldn’t it be fair to warn everyone, but especially young women, to go out and about with caution?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Lestrade said, “They aren’t but prostitutes, so don’t worry yourselves much. The East End is full of them. You can’t toss a rock and not hit one. Disgusting, I say. I ought to lock up the lot of them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Holmes turned narrowed eyes on Lestrade. “Yes, but only if you lock up their customers, too. Look at her! She can scarcely weigh eight stone! Do you honestly think she enjoys selling herself to the highest bidder? Does she look like she’d had an easy life? What say you? Can you see the slightest hint that she had something to look forward to, given how gaunt she is and how dirty, except merely surviving one more day? And now some heinous wretch has taken even that away from her. Jack the Ripper, indeed! If he killed her with one quick blow, smiting her senseless, then he’d be an angel of mercy, I’d warrant. But he did not. He played with her as a cat does a mouse. Only a few East End residents live beyond that tender age of thirty, and so this young woman was not allotted much more time here anyway!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizClAF_bZ-OlUSPecC7uYyKx0B21NdA3EJ2lQxup80PVjy5qBL1NjgolvGbeYDtkScrV_2iDGEl44BO2qLX_oLIzhklf-3Pw_duHXapaI59KKQbSsjuMxlUxxRYDbtsyFEhcN80NgUnw/s1593/Joanna+Campbell+Slan+cropped+with+tea+cup+at+70.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1593" data-original-width="1145" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizClAF_bZ-OlUSPecC7uYyKx0B21NdA3EJ2lQxup80PVjy5qBL1NjgolvGbeYDtkScrV_2iDGEl44BO2qLX_oLIzhklf-3Pw_duHXapaI59KKQbSsjuMxlUxxRYDbtsyFEhcN80NgUnw/s320/Joanna+Campbell+Slan+cropped+with+tea+cup+at+70.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">AUTHOR Bio and Links:</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">New York Times</span></i></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">and </span><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">USA Today</span></i></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">bestselling author Joanna Campbell Slan has penned more than 40 books. She writes four mystery series and has won the Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence for her historical romance. Visit her at </span><a href="http://www.joannaslan.com/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">http://www.JoannaSlan.com</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Follow her on social media by going here </span><a href="https://www.linktr.ee/JCSlan" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">https://www.linktr.ee/JCSlan</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Amazon buy link:</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sherlock-Holmes-Giant-Sumatran-Rat-ebook/dp/B08B82B35P/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">https://www.amazon.com/Sherlock-Holmes-Giant-Sumatran-Rat-ebook/dp/B08B82B35P/</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 14px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.399999618530273px;">The book will be $0.99. </span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE:</span></b><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Joanna Campbell Slan will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.</span><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /><br /><span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; text-align: start;"><a href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f3545" style="color: purple;">http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f3545</a></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 11pt; text-align: start;"> </span><span style="text-align: start;"></span></p>Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-31144714310226185732020-10-07T00:01:00.001-07:002020-10-07T00:01:05.127-07:00Rogue's Angels Present: Songs Of Autumn by Lauren Sevier<p style="text-align: center;"> Please welcome Lauren Sevier author of Songs Of Autumn</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666984558105px; text-align: start;">Lauren Sevier will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQnkwnZraxstB8HvIY7D2DvFQfdqcWuz7vIGml1fGv1TO_hAhSeZkvlakiyG16kyjnlT6Jn_KMIKp-mNJi7GuYIxKySwHhGzA7lOlfk52ajqEswECSbBiXFIvSGtIiwQCHMropy1K0GQ/s1200/TourBanner_Songs+Of+Autumn.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQnkwnZraxstB8HvIY7D2DvFQfdqcWuz7vIGml1fGv1TO_hAhSeZkvlakiyG16kyjnlT6Jn_KMIKp-mNJi7GuYIxKySwHhGzA7lOlfk52ajqEswECSbBiXFIvSGtIiwQCHMropy1K0GQ/s320/TourBanner_Songs+Of+Autumn.gif" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18pt;">Songs Of Autumn<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">by Lauren Sevier<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">GENRE</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;">: YA Fantasy<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">INTERVIEW:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Interview Questions for Rogue's Angels <br />1. What or who inspired you to start writing?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">My son. He’s the reason I do everything, like all parents I’m sure. My husband and I struggled with infertility for many years and when he was born the stress and pressures of being a new mom along with dealing with Post-Partum Anxiety really highlighted some parts of my life that just weren’t working. I had been struggling with my identity as a woman and as a mother; I was re-evaluating my purpose in life. I realized that all of these things I wanted for my son, for him to live a life that made him happy and fulfilled him, for him to never compromise on his dreams, for him to never be afraid to put himself out there, those were things I should want for myself too. After all, he’s learning to be a person by watching my example. So, I made the decision to go after my dreams recklessly and make sure I enjoyed every part of the journey getting there. It’s because of him that I gave myself permission to try. To fail. To try again. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />2. What elements are necessary components for this genre?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">What I love about YA Fantasy and Fantasy as a genre in general is that there are a ton of rules, and the best books break them all. Fantasy is pure imagination; any element of reality can be twisted, uprooted, or downright destroyed in the context of the world an author is creating. I love authors in this genre who takes stories we think we know and turn them on their head. So in my humble opinion the only element really needed to write fantasy, is imagination. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />3. How did you come up with your idea for your novel?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">The main conflict throughout the series is a direct parallel to climate crisis. Living in Louisiana, right on the gulf coast and seeing the increasing ferocity of hurricanes and flooding due to climate crisis this is a theme I’ve wanted to explore in fiction for a while. While the Kingdom of Aegis is experiencing adverse effects from dwindling magick (a natural resource that fuels the natural processes of the world, and has almost run out), we suffer from a similar problem. Too many greenhouse gases, the destruction of the wetlands, and many other factors have started causing storms and floods to become life threatening events. Just this year Lake Charles, Louisiana was devastated by Hurricane Laura and in 2016 we had ‘the thousand year flood’ that destroyed the homes and lives of people all over the state who’d never experienced the effects of storm season before. These are real fears that I’ve lived with my entire life, but that have worsened in recent years. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />4. What expertise did you bring to your writing?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Expertise implies that I feel like I’m an expert at anything and I try really hard not to be. Let me explain. Part of what I love about the writing process and publishing industry is there is always a new perspective to consider, or another genre or writing style to dive into; you’re constantly learning new techniques. It’s a journey, not a destination. That’s part of the beauty of becoming an author. There’s no end to your growth. It’s not about just one book that you’ve written but your body of work, and hopefully I just keep getting better with time. Like a fine wine. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />5. What would you want your readers to know about you that might not be in your bio?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I’m terminally goofy. I mean, to the point that co-workers look at me funny throughout the day. I love to joke and laugh, which is something that the serious themes of my book may not always convey. When I finish a manuscript whether it’s two in the morning or the middle of the day, I do this stupid victory dance. Lots of fist raising and pelvic thrusts, but it makes me happy. I don’t really get embarrassed easily and will be the first person to don a fun colored wig or terrible fake accent to get a smile out of someone.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />6. As far as your writing goes, what are your future plans?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Songs Of Autumn is the first in a planned six book series, so currently I’m deep into developmental edits for Book #2 titled Songs Of Winter. Much to my husband’s chagrin (because I barely have time to function as it is) I also have several other working projects. One of which I’m writing currently with a Co-Author, A. Smith. It’s titled Guns & Smoke and is a Dystopian Western Romance that is dark and gritty, with wonderful heart. The two main characters are thrown together on a wild adventure outrunning bounty hunters and the traumas of their past, but eventually figure out that life should be about more than just surviving. I’m really excited to share this one with the world and we’re shooting for 2022 publication date. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />7. If you could be one of the characters from this book, who would it be and why?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I love this question!. Of all my characters, I think I’m the most like Tia. She’s impulsive and fun, but still very caring. She has this wonderful wild streak that I think I could have a lot of fun with. I like that she takes chances and wants to experience everything the world has to offer. She dances and drinks and falls in love recklessly. It’s a beautiful kind of reckless though. I also think Tia throws epic parties, and I’d love to just be invited to one. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />8. Can you give us a sneak peek into this book?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I would love to. I was really proud of this scene, where Liz is being prepared to be sacrificed. She’s essentially coming to terms with her own death while being draped in finery and opulence. The lyrical tone of the writing is intentional, because in their culture when someone dies their loved ones sing the song of their life, therefore allowing you into the Halls of the gods. All of the descriptions of her dress and jewelry are also intentional, metaphors for tears and sadness. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 10pt;">The sunset over the bay was the most beautiful Liz had ever seen, but perhaps it's because she knew it would be the last. It set the sky aflame, burning deep into her memory. She wore pearls in her hair and a crown adorned with so many shimmering diamonds it appeared to be made from seawater and starlight itself. Every inch of her porcelain skin had been cleansed and massaged with lavender oil. An extravagant lamb, headed for slaughter.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 10pt;">The silk and lace of her wedding gown clung to the curves of her body and flowed like water around her as she moved. Her figure, too curvy to be considered fashionable, was squeezed into an acceptable shape by a corset inlaid with whale bones. Never had she been more radiant, her flame-like hair mirroring the sunset outside. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 10pt;">A woman at the peak of her life, never more ready to begin, and it was her ending. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />9. Do you belong to a critique group? If so how does this help or hinder your writing?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I don’t belong to a critique group, but I’m a YouTube content creator and a proud member of AuthorTube, which is a small subsection of creators whose content is geared towards helping aspiring authors or sharing our experiences on YouTube. Through that community I’ve met other authors around the world and made friends I never would have met otherwise. Several of my critique partners, members of my ARC team, even editors and formatters I’ve met through networking and connections through that platform. It’s helped my writing so much to have authors in the same genre reading and critiquing my work. Especially authors who’ve been published before, they normally understand story structure, voice, and all kinds of other things that I wouldn’t have thought of before. Finding a good critique partner can be hard, but is the most valuable thing you can do in my opinion. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />10. When did you first decide to submit your work? Please tell us what or who encouraged you to take this big step?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I decided after the first draft was finished in December of 2018 that I would pursue this book to publication. It was after my son was born and the first manuscript I’d finished on my own. As a new mom I felt I had an obligation to chase after my dreams and lead my son by example. To show him that hard work and passion can help you achieve great things. I knew that this story was special and that I wanted to share it with the world. It was a terrifying decision, for sure, but also one that has led me to a ton of personal growth. Now, I’m wondering why I didn’t decide to publish sooner. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />11. What is the best and worst advice you ever received? (regarding writing or publishing)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">The worst advice I’ve ever been given and some writing advice that is widely told to aspiring authors is ‘write every day’. I think that it’s harmful to perpetuate that kind of advice, especially in creative fields like writing or art. Surely you <b>can</b>write every day, but <b>should</b>you? Writing is an act of creation that draws from inspiration, but you can’t draw on a well that’s empty. And every author has a different process, different boundaries, and different obstacles. Forcing yourself to write every day because that’s what popular authors or articles tell you is going to make you successful can be more detrimental than beneficial in my experience. I’d like to amend that advice to say ‘Work every day’. Research, reading, editing, outlining, connecting with other people with similar interests. These are all very important to the process too and will help you get closer to publishing your book. So if you miss a day of writing, give yourself some grace and try again tomorrow. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">The best advice I’ve ever been given was ‘Take breaks’. Anytime I feel myself starting to get burnt out or overwhelmed, I take a break. I go for a walk or spend time with my family. I read a new book or work on a completely different project. By the time I come back to my manuscript I’m invigorated, inspired, ready to dive in head first, and BONUS I can see the book more objectively than before which usually helps me puzzle through whatever I was stuck on. Staying healthy is just as important as writing someone’s next favorite book. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />12. Do you outline your books or just start writing?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Both! My process is a strange blend of both outlining and winging it. I always know where the story begins, the catalyst moment near the beginning that plunges the main character into the main plot, and the ending. Sometimes I’ll know a few things that happen along the way, but everything else just… sort of… happens. I love character driven plots, so I focus a lot of my before work on developing the characters and let a lot of their own natural motivations drive the story in the direction I need them to go. Let me tell you, that’s a fun way to write. I love not knowing each little plot bunny or curveball until it comes flying out of my fingertips. It does lend oneself to writing themselves into a corner or having to scrap a conversation or scene that isn’t working in the book as a whole but, I also feel it gives a more natural progression to the story than heavy outlining. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />13. How do you maintain your creativity?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I take lots of breaks. I said it before, but it’s true! I’ll take my son to the zoo or get out of the house. I like to shake up my routine when I’m feeling creatively blocked. Sometimes I’ll try a new medium. Poetry or song lyrics or a short story set in the same world but with a new character or in a different part of the world. Sometimes, I just take really long baths and drink wine and eat chocolate and sit with my thoughts. I’m convinced I’m at least part-mermaid because I usually get all my best ideas when I’m enjoying a long bubble bath. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />14. Who is your favorite character in the book. Can you tell us why?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">My favorite/least favorite character in the book is the same character and for the same reason. Gareth. Gareth is what I affectionately refer to as a ‘magnet character’. He pulls focus from main characters and plots, and while I know all of my other characters inside and out, every day I’m discovering new things about him. He’s a complicated character with lots of layers and depth, which is equally as frustrating for an author as it is enticing. He’s reserved by nature and keeps things close to his chest, but has this innate nobility that I find confusing and so endearing. He’s the hardest character to write, but also the most satisfying. When I get a scene or piece of dialogue of his just right, it feels like a real accomplishment. He’s also my husband’s favorite character so, if I don’t do him justice I’ll never hear the end of it. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">BLURB:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: start;"><a name="_GoBack"></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">What if your entire life you knew the exact day you were going to die?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Liz does.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Magick in the Kingdom of Aegis has almost run out. When that happens, the seasons will stop changing, the tides will cease to turn, and the sun will no longer be able to rise and set. The only way to save the lives of her people is if Liz agrees to be a blood sacrifice in a brutal ceremony that will take her life.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">The problem is… Liz isn't ready to go.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">With the help of a mischievous wanna-be soldier, Matioch Steele, Liz dares to take her fate into her own hands. Defying a blood-thirsty sorcerer, her desperate flight teaches her how to truly live while Mat finds out what's worth dying for. Each other.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Love, Death, Magick, and Mystery come together to weave one girl's epic tale of self-discovery.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Her song will echo within us all.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">EXCERPT</span></b><b style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">:</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">The sunset over the bay was the most beautiful Liz had ever seen, but perhaps it's because she knew it would be the last. It set the sky aflame, burning deep into her memory. She wore pearls in her hair and a crown adorned with so many shimmering diamonds it appeared to be made from seawater and starlight itself. Every inch of her porcelain skin had been cleansed and massaged with lavender oil. An extravagant lamb, headed for slaughter.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">The silk and lace of her wedding gown clung to the curves of her body and flowed like water around her as she moved. Her figure, too curvy to be considered fashionable, was squeezed into an acceptable shape by a corset inlaid with whale bones. Never had she been more radiant, her flame-like hair mirroring the sunset outside. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">A woman at the peak of her life, never more ready to begin, and it was her ending. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“Tell me again,” She said firmly, adjusting the pins near her left ear. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“Your highness, it doesn’t matter how-<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“Tell me again.” She snapped, turning piercing blue eyes on Priestess Elba whose words fell away in an instant. Her breath hitched and her eyes fell to the mosaic beneath her feet.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“You’ll walk down the front steps of the palace to a boat waiting at the edge of the water. Your parents will walk behind you and all the people of Silver City will be there to witness your descent.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Liz closed her eyes tight, imagining it in her mind, biting her lower lip hard enough that she worried she would break the skin. If she prepared herself now, perhaps she could retain some dignity in these final moments.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimdx20lc7bDGRHIYMYLddnab_kSMgcyFcipABIx-wks8huLDiHe2XoZ31B-MAUiqcDdBEDb6M8oqCsK_qtB_7MkwQvZpS4e37mUMwApf6IqXI8xQIpqYEhRbmOdRHKbcPU2gmJcCW-RA/s1080/AuthorImage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimdx20lc7bDGRHIYMYLddnab_kSMgcyFcipABIx-wks8huLDiHe2XoZ31B-MAUiqcDdBEDb6M8oqCsK_qtB_7MkwQvZpS4e37mUMwApf6IqXI8xQIpqYEhRbmOdRHKbcPU2gmJcCW-RA/s320/AuthorImage.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">AUTHOR Bio and Links:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Lauren Sevier lives a simple life in small town Walker, Louisiana with her family and two mischievous dogs. She’s a proud firefighter wife and mother to her miracle son, born through IVF after an eight-year battle with infertility. She works full-time for a non-profit hospital in Cardiology caring for the elderly and low-income families all over the state of Louisiana in satellite and outreach clinics. Writing and being in the service of helping others are her two passions in life.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">She started writing song lyrics and poems on the front porch swing of her family home nestled amidst a 200-year-old pecan tree orchard that was once part of a Civil War plantation. She’s inspired the most by Shakespeare, the Bronte sisters, Jane Austen, and JK Rowling. Her background in Theatre introduced her to classic British literature, playwrights, and poets from a very young age. This helped her to understand story concepts, dramatization, and character development the way Shakespeare once did, as an actor.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Now her biggest inspiration for writing is her son who, like all children, learns by example. Lauren is determined to set a specific example for him; to live simply, work hard, and to never stop chasing her dreams. Because, one day, you just might catch them.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Links to Socials/Book<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">UBL: https://books2read.com/u/3LDDkJ<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Website: www.laurensevier.com<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Youtube: www.youtube.com/c/laurensevier<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Twitter: www.twitter.com/laurensevier<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Instagram: www.instagram.com/laurensevier<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorlaurensevier<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/49204479-songs-of-autumn<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon:https://www.amazon.com/Songs-Autumn-Book-1-ebook/dp/B082MRDZXN<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/songs-of-autumn-lauren-sevier/1136242243<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><b><span style="color: red; font-family: Arial;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><b><span style="color: red; font-family: Arial;"> </span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Lauren Sevier will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">RAFFLECOPTER:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; text-align: start;">http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f3499</span><span style="text-align: start;"></span></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-85255072670658837782020-10-05T00:01:00.001-07:002020-10-05T00:01:03.754-07:00Rogue's Angels Present: The Trey Parker Story by RW Reels<p style="text-align: center;"> Please welcome RW Reels author of The Trey Parker Story</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHHJS7krCvS2Z5MxG099IFWc-2f4_w5IcvI7kJ8idBB8M7bdY509U4zdo17SbvcmlSmBDHyjEwjofrQGH8YdH0-PI_Ljty3QYJx3IZVwGRpgmxhoj3b3WU9fc9QCziakvsNfyT2WJaw/s1200/TourBanner_The+Trey+Parker+Story+Case+of+the+Lost+Child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHHJS7krCvS2Z5MxG099IFWc-2f4_w5IcvI7kJ8idBB8M7bdY509U4zdo17SbvcmlSmBDHyjEwjofrQGH8YdH0-PI_Ljty3QYJx3IZVwGRpgmxhoj3b3WU9fc9QCziakvsNfyT2WJaw/s320/TourBanner_The+Trey+Parker+Story+Case+of+the+Lost+Child.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 18pt;">The Trey Parker Story</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">by</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">RW Reels</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">GENRE</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;">: </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> Paranormal Thriller</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">BLURB:</span></b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">The Trey Parker Story II: Case of the Lost Child, the second novel in this paranormal thriller series, will make readers keenly aware of the unseen world around them. After hiding away in a small farm town in the Philippines, Trey Parker is compelled to return to the States to assist Detective Landis in finding a lost child. Trey’s wife, Iris, fears that the secret government agency that monitored Trey since his Near-Death Experience and took the lives of the tenants of the Sundance Apartments will be waiting for him upon his arrival. Iris believes Trey leaving so close to her due date is reckless and that he is oblivious to the perils.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Back in Tacoma, Washington, Detective Landis is still unable to cope with the loss of his daughter and his ex-wife Jada, even as the Detective struggles with a new relationship. Landis’s past is not so easy to escape, as Thomas Barstow attains parole and looks for the opportunity to settle the score that can only be resolved through bloodshed.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">The lives and souls of all hang in the balance and divine intervention may be only the solution. </span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5scU2uD5oC7_2NDmq76emR_8aiARgqLkozQFUgJp94fbOyGYASj3syT-VIr4IDh3eUSroAOEvD1bWnnxLW6T3W4nmJCDvv4uhC4NHJebZVdSlT_x17LKaL6NJ-LXfvBYdt7jVA43prg/s900/BookCover_Trey+Parker+Story.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 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/AVvXsEg5scU2uD5oC7_2NDmq76emR_8aiARgqLkozQFUgJp94fbOyGYASj3syT-VIr4IDh3eUSroAOEvD1bWnnxLW6T3W4nmJCDvv4uhC4NHJebZVdSlT_x17LKaL6NJ-LXfvBYdt7jVA43prg/s320/BookCover_Trey+Parker+Story.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">EXCERPT</span></b><b style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">:</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Constantia; font-size: 12pt;">“I don’t think you can understand how it feels. Having a miscarriage is not the same as losing an eight-year-old child…”</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieDTSugAUwDWFM27KJJxXh1cwJKkjLwtPUxuHnCab3VaTIThykGW8RYN79SmWW4sbblORpmS2Z1ew2mq_WzeK_T3rZQlzUBE5hNVM_YLUhTwhYNaAjGaTL9h0HXkVzrbyf33xxrYAlXg/s2048/author+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1638" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieDTSugAUwDWFM27KJJxXh1cwJKkjLwtPUxuHnCab3VaTIThykGW8RYN79SmWW4sbblORpmS2Z1ew2mq_WzeK_T3rZQlzUBE5hNVM_YLUhTwhYNaAjGaTL9h0HXkVzrbyf33xxrYAlXg/s320/author+photo.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">AUTHOR Bio and Links:</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">My infatuation with writing was born before I ever took my first breath, somewhere on the rural plains of Eastern North Carolina, nourished by the adventures of my grandmother's childhood. From the time I was only four or five years old, her memories gave flight to my imagination and fuel to my curiosities. Her stories widened my eyes to the fascinatingly bizarre in the everyday. <br />As a young girl, my grandmother would bring her puppy with her to stalk rabbits every morning. The two of them would chase an unlucky long-eared rascal until it escaped into a hollow at the base of a tree, and she would run a stick around the inside of the opening as though churning butter. The spell of the sound and vibration would lure the rabbit out of the tree and into her hands. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br />Good fiction, inventive and provocative fiction, reverberates in readers and spellbinds them. It can spur surprise, delight, discomfort, and revelation and defy reason. As a storyteller, I strive to help others solve their problems by sharing things that I have read about, heard about, and seen. But I also prize the look on people's faces when they hear the brilliant punch line of a joke, or when they experience an epiphany that knocks the logical wind out of them. These are the reactions that I live to inspire in my audiences when I write paranormal thrillers. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br />My obsession with the extraordinary in my writing might also, ironically, stem from my 20-year career in the U.S. Army. I can allow my mind to wander in the extraterrestrial sphere while my love for my country keeps me grounded in domestic affairs. Of all of my accomplishments, serving as a paratrooper in a Special Forces Group and a Field Artillery outfit during Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm claims high rank. Few situations force a person to confront his humanity as painfully as going off to war, and this experience taught me both to accept accountability for my actions and to trust others. Eventually, I became a successful Army Recruiter and Station Commander, earning the Top Recruiting Station awards in Dallas and Seattle Recruiting Battalions. North Carolina Central University granted me a Public Service Award for my work in the local community. And currently, I serve fellow veterans as an HR Specialist for the Department of Veteran Affairs. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br />Other passions of mine include playing chess, photography, traveling, and indulging in my contrarian nature by instigating debate. Spending time with my wife tops the list of my life's privileges, however. Whether I am entertaining her with my emulation of Laurence Olivier as Marcus Crassus or protecting her from an elk during one of our photography excursions in the wild, I treasure her companionship and affection.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br />When I was twelve years old, I announced to my Aunt Becky and Cousin Tony that I wanted to write a book. They stared at me in astonishment. The world of publishing was an enigma to simple country folks in Beaufort, North Carolina in 1982. These days I am achieving my dream with the ebook, a medium through which I can express my individuality without sacrificing my voice to expectations of marketability, popularity, and deadlines. My goal is to create an opportunity for escapism that is bold and absolute.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Twitter: @RReels<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Facebook: </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheTreyParkerStory" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">https://www.facebook.com/TheTreyParkerStory</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Goodreads: </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13334662.R_W_Reels" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13334662.R_W_Reels</span></a><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 14px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE:</span></b><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">RW Reels will be awarding a $20 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.</span><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /><br /><span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; text-align: start;"><a href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f3473" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f3473</span></a></span><span style="text-align: start;"></span></p>Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-84700992048452153852018-12-01T00:01:00.000-08:002018-12-01T00:01:02.443-08:00#TwelveDaysToLove #HistoricalRomance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgRMLJTb7XSYoW_Kwj6tFGP-Sv-tXHlfIEhFOk5ntyCILz8SCd0u1LPhfk0haiIqB4QR5Qdt78OhYBUKYMqDVGTeKOgvyShRMyDS2QgGOSGB9556q_Kq2h62iVRXQ0yhlmpQMTWZWHQ/s1600/Twelve+Days+to+Love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgRMLJTb7XSYoW_Kwj6tFGP-Sv-tXHlfIEhFOk5ntyCILz8SCd0u1LPhfk0haiIqB4QR5Qdt78OhYBUKYMqDVGTeKOgvyShRMyDS2QgGOSGB9556q_Kq2h62iVRXQ0yhlmpQMTWZWHQ/s1600/Twelve+Days+to+Love.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: Twelve Days to Love<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: Christine Young<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Historical Romance</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Book Heat Level: 3<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Twelve-Days-Love-Christine-Young-ebook/dp/B07KDYF7MM/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1542300056&sr=1-1&keywords=TWELVE+DAYS+TO+LOVE+CHRISTINE+YOUNG" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="MsoHyperlink" style="color: blue; text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-twelve-days-love/" style="color: purple;">Read First Chapter<o:p></o:p></a></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">TAGLINE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Archer Steele shows up at Calanthe Durand’s failing plantation with an alligator over his shoulder, intent on doing everything and anything to convince the beautiful Miss Durand he is worthy of her love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">BLURB: Twelve Days to Love<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When Archer Steele shows up at Calanthe Durand’s failing plantation with an alligator over his shoulder, Cali thinks she’s never seen a more handsome man. During the war she had to defend herself and her servants from both union and confederate soldiers. Independent and self-sufficient, she vows to never marry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">But Archer Steele has different ideas. The first time Archer sees Cali in town, he feels an instant attraction. He decides he will do everything and anything to convince the beautiful Miss Durand he is worthy of her love. During the weeks leading up to Christmas, he gives her twelve gifts in hopes she will fall in love with him. Yet they are faced with challenges they must overcome before Cali can commit to a marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">EXCERPT: Twelve Days to Love<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“When that window shattered, I thought the world was comin’ to an end. The glass was everywhere, rain pelting into the room. I was terrified, and he was there, helping, knowing just what to do.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“He took charge. Just like he probably commanded his men during the war.” Cali understood that truth. She’d seen her share of troops stay at her home and listened to the officers giving orders. Some had been upstanding gentleman while others were ruthless, taking what they wanted and leaving nothing behind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Well, without him, Miss Cali, we would have lost furniture, paintings...”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Many valuables.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A vase that had been given to her mother and father as a wedding gift crashed to the floor, but she’d been able to save other objects when Archer raced outside to board up the windows for a second time. Sam had followed, and together they finished the job.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“More tea?” Daisy rose from the table to retrieve the teapot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Yes, that would be nice. We should get started on that fabric we bought in the French Quarter before the storm. Sam needs shirts, and we both need a couple new serviceable day dresses.” To Cali, sewing was cathartic. She could sew all day if she had enough fabric. Alas, she could only afford material for everyday needs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I’ll get right to it. Do you have any fashion plates you want to look at, or do you just want to use old ones?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Old ones will do. Don’t have the time or the desire to sort through the latest fashions from Paris.” Cali hadn’t looked at fashion plates since before the war when a dressmaker had created all her clothes. That was such a long time ago. She knew Daisy would be laughing inside. Daisy asked the same question every time they made dresses, and her answer never varied. They didn’t have any updated fashion plates to look through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Let’s finish this cup of tea then get started. I’ll clean up the kitchen, and you can sort through the material.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I’ll meet you in the sewing room.” Cali added a lump of sugar to her tea and a bit of milk before sipping thoughtfully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Daisy was silent, but Cali watched her deep brown and intelligent eyes as they peered over the teacup. What matchmaking scheme was Daisy conspiring now? Or was she paranoid? Fancying things she shouldn’t be imagining.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Penny for your thoughts? Daisy asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I was thinking the same, wondering what you were dreaming up. I don’t want you scheming a way to get Mr. Archer here. If he comes of his own accord, then fine. I’ll figure things out, but don’t entice him here. And I’m not going to seek him out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Fine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Fine.” Cali sipped the last bit of tea and grabbing another biscuit, she started for the sewing room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Cali knew Daisy would mull that over in her mind, and she also knew she was still trying to figure a way for Archer to come to her. Ignoring the disarray in the sewing room, she rummaged through the bolts of fabric, accepting the fact most of what they bought was appropriate for Sam’s work clothes and not dresses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“My goodness this place is a mess.” One of the windows that shattered during the storm was located in this room. Under normal circumstances this place was bright, sunshine filtering inside. Today it was dark and so dreary it sent a shiver down her spine. She rubbed her arms, warding off the chill then spun on a heel, leaving the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A few minutes later she was back, putting mosquito netting over the now open window. A cool breeze flowed through the opening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Why, Miss Cali, that was brilliant.” Daisy stood in the doorway seeming to admire Cali’s handiwork.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Thank you.” Cali set about straightening the room and cleaning up debris from the tempest. A few branches had found their way inside as well as leaves and mud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Good thing the new bolts of fabric were put in a safe place before the hurricane hit.” Daisy removed the netting and tossed a branch and some leaves out the window.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Doubt if we’re going to get much sewing done today. This place is a jumble. I’ll go downstairs and bring up a couple of mops and a pail of soapy water.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">In the kitchen, Cali put a few pots and pans on the stove to heat the water to room temperature before locating two buckets, and other paraphernalia needed to clean the sewing room. It had been a couple of weeks since the hurricane, and they’d had so many chores around the house, this was the first time she’d thought of this particular area of the house. Of course, when you need to sew new clothes, that’s when you remember how the storm tore that chamber apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Miss Cali...” Sam stood in the doorway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Oh my! Her hand flew to her chest. You scared me. Guess I was lost in thought.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Sorry, but there is someone here to see you.” Sam cleared his throat, stepping aside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Mr. Steele? Whatever...? I didn’t expect you.” Her hand on her throat, she tried to swallow while she was thinking he was even more handsome today than he’d been the last time she saw him. His dress was casual. He wore buckskins for pants, along with a white shirt and a leather jacket with a small amount of fringe. He’d pulled his dark hair back and tied it with a leather strap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Historical, Romance, Regency, England<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-48335342688585229892018-11-22T00:01:00.000-08:002018-11-22T00:01:04.141-08:00#OnceUponAnAustinNight #Action #Adventure<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Title: Once Upon an Austin Night<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Author: Danile Lance Wright<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Genre: Action/Adventure, Thriller, Romance<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Book Heat Level: 3<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Once-Austin-Night-Daniel-Wright-ebook/dp/B07K4F5RLP/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1542298483&sr=1-1-fkmr0&keywords=once+upon+an+austin+night+dangle+wright" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial";">, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-upon-austin-night/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Read first chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">TAGLINE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">Carlee Cayne has another chance at love, but a dangerous situation must be dealt with first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">BLURB: Once Upon an Austin Night<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">Carlee Cayne’s career in the U-S Marshal Service suddenly becomes fraught with more danger than she bargained for. Forced to shoot and kill a drug cartel leader’s brother puts a target on her by the vengeance seeking kingpin. The promise of another chance at love comes along with the appearance of Lincoln Bridger in her life. He shows her the way to a better, and safer, existence. But first, she and best friend Dixie Vega have dangerous business to tend to before that can be possible. She must stop the relentless stalking by the revenge-seeking drug lord, Rogelio Ortiz.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">EXCERPT: Once Upon an Austin Nigght<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Lincoln was already at his car with his keys out unlocking it. He saw Carlee abruptly stop beside her car, her eyes followed a dark colored SUV with blacked out windows driving into the hotel parking lot off the street very fast, screeching tires, driving directly for where Lincoln stood.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Gun!” Carlee shouted as loud as she could. “Get down, Linc!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lincoln looked to the vehicle across the top of his car to see what she was yelling about. He saw a rear darkened window going down. The short barrel of a gun emerged into the illumination of the pinkish sodium vapor parking lot lights.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The rattling pops of automatic gunfire sounded off. Bullets ripped holes through the other side of his car.<o:p></o:p></div>
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His first panicked instinct was to run. He turned to do just that when he heard Carlee yell, “Damn it, Linc, get down!” He jerked his head around to see her sprinting high on her toes toward him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Another staccato rant of gunfire came his direction.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He dropped to his stomach and looked across underneath his car. He saw Carlee carrying her gym bag, unzipping it on the run. She retrieved a pistol in a holster from it and dropped the bag on the fly. She then threw the holster off the pistol, racked the slide, chambering a shell, and fired three fast shots at the driver′s side of the windshield on the SUV. “Stay down, Linc! Don′t get up!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The rattling trill of automatic gunfire again ripped through the night. This time, not at him, but from the opposite side of the offending vehicle toward Carlee. He saw her dive and roll out of the line of fire behind a parked car. Her head and gun arm emerged seconds later from behind the front end of another parked vehicle. She squeezed off three more quick shots. He heard a heavily accented voice from inside the SUV yell, “The bitch shot me! Let′s get out of here! Drive! Drive!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The vehicle smoked its rear tires on the way out of the parking lot. Carlee sprang up from the safety of the vehicle she had crouched behind. She squeezed off three more parting shots, hitting the rear window with all three, as the vehicle screamed off down the street at high speed. She immediately spun around and ran for where Lincoln lay beside his car.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Linc, are you okay!” she was shouting as she rounded the rear of his car.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lincoln pushed himself to a sitting position and scooted back to lean against the car. “I think so,” he replied and then held both hands out. They were shaking. “But, I may need to change my underwear.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Carlee drew a breath and blew it out as her body slumped forward, adrenaline charge leaving her in a sudden rush. She stepped next to him, backed up to his car, and oozed down to sit beside him. She pulled a cell phone from the side pocket of her jeans and dialed 911.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As she offered as many details as she could to the dispatcher, Lincoln thought about what had just happened. It occurred to him, for better or worse, the two of them had quite suddenly become more than friends. The thought came heavily tinged with fear. They were now bound by circumstances, lives inexorably linked for the foreseeable future. It did not take Sherlock Holmes to see this was likely a retaliatory thing for the shooting of Manuel Ortiz. Lincoln wondered if they would soon make another attempt. It seemed likely. It also seemed obvious to him, whoever was in that black SUV was going after someone she cared for, and that happened to be him on this night. It spoke to the cartel’s ruthlessness. They wanted her to see a friend or relative killed. Whoever they were had no way of knowing he and Carlee were mere acquaintances.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Another thought quickly moved in. It would now be impossible to keep Carlee a secret from Jeannine or her parents. It would be on every local news channel all day tomorrow and, possibly, a couple of network news sequences. There could be live bulletins going out tonight, due to the use of fully automatic weapons within the city limits. Television stations may determine it to be a public safety issue. It made him uneasy to think his wife and her parents would easily learn of the attack and that he and Carlee had been together. After a few seconds, his mind eased, when he considered Jeannine′s likely tryst Fitz told him about. He became conflicted. Should he even care what they thought? He and Carlee escaped harm. That′s what was important. He assumed Jeannine would be relieved that he was safe. <i>What the hell am I thinking? I can′t assume that at all.</i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-86311954257108514292018-11-15T00:01:00.000-08:002018-11-15T00:01:10.510-08:00#Eveleen'sSeduction #HistoricalRomance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: Eveleen’s Seduction<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: Christine Young<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Historical Romance/Regency<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Book Heat Level: 4<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JVHTTNN" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-eveleens-seduction/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Read first chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">TAGLINE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Young Eveleen Hepburn discovers truths about herself she never expected as she enchants Logan Maxwell's cynical heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">BLURB: Eveleen's Seduction<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A WHISPER OF SEDUCTION<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A brutal attack on Eveleen Hepburn's cherished island off the Scottish coastline leaves her shattered and bewildered. Learning a man she once trusted can kill as easily as he can breathe even though the deed saves her life, creates questions that need answers. An innocent beauty, she enchants Logan Maxwell's cynical heart—giving in to the raging passion she feels for her mysterious suitor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A WHISPER OF INTRIGUE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">In Logan's Maxwell's world of espionage and privilege, young Eveleen discovers truths about herself she never expected, and a need for passion and love can overcome all her fears if she learns to accept certain truths. She finds herself entangled in a lethal battle for land that was once owned by French nobility, taken from them during the revolution and sold to Maxwell. But grave peril would unleash the flames of love that simmers, creating a magical union that cannot be refuted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">EXCERPT: Eveleen's Seduction<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“We’re here,” he said, and not waiting for the driver to open the door, he did it himself and leapt from the carriage. Holding out his hands for her, he placed them on her waist and helped her from the carriage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When they walked through the park, the fallen snow crunched beneath her feet. The sun poked its head from behind the clouds sending sparkles alight on the snow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“There they are.” She pointed to Ella and Drake and rushed to meet them. Ella and Evie hugged. “I’ve missed you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I’ve had so much I’ve wanted to talk to you about,” Ella said then turning to Drake, she laughed, watching him with a twinkle in her eyes, “Time to make your snow angel.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Drake looked at the snow then back to Ella then, “I don’t suppose I can put this off to the next snowfall.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Of course not,” Eveleen answered for Ella. “And you, Logan, I’m waiting.” With hands on her hips, she tapped one foot, grinning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“After you,” he waved a hand at the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Eveleen laughed delightedly and lying on the ground, she ran her arms and legs across the snow. She stopped and sat up. “That was fun. I can’t remember the last time. Logan?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He contorted his face in what looked like a grimace. Even though he hesitated, he followed suit and soon a second angel was formed. “Are you happy now?” He stood and drew Eveleen into his arms, kissing her soundly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Yes,” her breathless reply seemed to make him beam. They both turned their attention to Drake. Ella sat on her snow angel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Well,” Ella patted the ground near her, smiling at her ever so reluctant husband.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He scratched his head. “I suppose if it gets me a kiss and maybe more, I can do just about anything.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A moment later with the deed accomplished, Drake drug Ella into his arms. Rolling over her, he kissed her soundly to the applause of a few onlookers in the gardens.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Drake,” laughing she beat his shoulders with her fists. “This isn’t proper. You have to stop before there is more talk about us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He roared with laughter, “You should know I’m never appropriate and neither are you. That would be so boring.” He rolled with her, snow cloaking her pelisse and hat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Seeming to like what Drake was doing, Logan gently tackled Eveleen to the snowy landscape. She laughed, picking up snow in one hand and tossing it at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Oh, you don’t play fair.” He loosely packed a snowball and tossed it at her, missing as she anticipated and ducked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I don’t need to be treated like a girl. This isn’t my first snowball fight.” She packed snow and threw it, hitting him in the chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Doesn’t appear that it is.” He reciprocated and the game continued until they were both quite breathless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">With a quick look to Ella, Eveleen signaled to her cousin and snowballs flew at the men. They laughed, running from the onslaught of missiles directed their way, hiding behind a tree while they fashioned more weapons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The two men appeared on either side, and they were bombarded even as they emptied their arsenal. Laughing again, they raced from their hiding place to see other people had joined in the snow fight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Look what you started.” Logan stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder as he put the cold wet snow on her neck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Oh! That’s not fair.” She shivered from the cold wetness, pushing away from him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“It’s a fight. Everything is fair,” he whispered, and seeming to take pity on her, he brushed the snow from her body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I want to find privacy. Do you?” he asked her, retrieving her muff and handing it to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Moistening her lips, she nodded, wondering what he intended yet she had a pretty good idea. “You don’t mean to do it here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Only if you want to,” he teased.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Her breath caught in her throat. “It’s too cold.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“We will warm each other.” He grinned and winked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">One hand on her elbow he guided her down a path then another and finally they saw no one. Finding a rock to sit on, he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her hard and deep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Determined to meet his deviltry with her own, she slipped her fingers inside his coat and finding the fastenings on his shirt, she undid enough to slip her hands inside to meet hot flesh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Evie!” he gasped. “Your hands are freezing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I know and I thought you could help warm them up. Isn’t that what you just said?” She smiled sweetly at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Little devil,” he whispered. “You can warm your hands on me any time as long as I can heat mine as well.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Don’t think that will be possible with all the clothes I have on.” She wasn’t about to tell him her secret, which Ella had wickedly passed on to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Hmm...there are other tender places, hot places, I can put my hands. If you’re willing.” He drew her pelisse around them, making a tent of sorts with the two of them inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-90090698166751715792018-11-08T00:01:00.000-08:002018-11-08T00:01:03.224-08:00Life On Another Island #HistoricalRomance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAWCTHGt_0JEqXLeTmFh4JxVAL-jVSU8xngan-ll5GgCK1I34HDj9iDvseVJE4rHl1niIVCv7_pOtrEv-vtRMfzaaNRupzrh8s3244k1Y2uF-nrHwc_qu0yGFBje2ctAXtm4ppBdbFQ/s1600/Life+on+Another+Island.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAWCTHGt_0JEqXLeTmFh4JxVAL-jVSU8xngan-ll5GgCK1I34HDj9iDvseVJE4rHl1niIVCv7_pOtrEv-vtRMfzaaNRupzrh8s3244k1Y2uF-nrHwc_qu0yGFBje2ctAXtm4ppBdbFQ/s1600/Life+on+Another+Island.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: Life on Another Island<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Life on Another Island Series Book 2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: Ruth Danes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-383-1</span><b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Alternative History/Historical/Adventure/Romance<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Keywords: </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Alternative history, adventure, thrillers, 18th century, historical, romance</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Excerpt Heat Level: 1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Book Heat Level: 4<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Life-Another-Island-Ruth-Danes-ebook/dp/B07HYHZZ4X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1541083465&sr=8-1&keywords=Life+on+another+island+ruth+danes" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-life-another-island/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Read first chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Adeliza, the Demonic princess turned English maid, begins another chapter of her life, this time with a companion. However danger and adventure still follow her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">BLURB: Life on Another Island<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Adeliza, now a little older and very much wiser, makes an alliance in the hope of keeping herself safe and promoting her future happiness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">However, events both in Britain and abroad threaten not only her unexpected joy but also her very life and her adopted homeland. Can she fight to save herself, those she loves and Britain itself?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">EXCERPT: Life on Another Island<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">It was decided that as a bride I should open the ball and the guest of honour was to be Mr. Wild so I had to dance with him. There was no way around it, he had recently received his medal and everyone expected it. I dreaded being in such close contact with him for two dances, I could not believe he would not recognise me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Mr. Wild gave me his arm and we led the way into the ballroom to form the head of a set for the first dance. I felt shy at so many eyes upon me, although I was becoming used to being considered important once more and annoyed at my partner’s self-satisfied smile. However, as our two dances progressed I learnt things from him which made me glad I had the opportunity to be with him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">We talked of the Demonic plot which seemed to have materialised as a few tiny pockets of rebellion in both Scotland and the north of England which had soon been suppressed. In Denmark there were riots and wide-spread looting. In Iceland the situation was even worse due to the country’s poverty which became desperate after the volcanic eruption in 1783.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">“Those who went back to the Devil’s Isles are unfortunate if they were transported and fools if they went willingly. There is very little there, the blast of 1780 saw to that, and that was supporting a colony of about three hundred people. Many times, the number have drawn anchor at the Bay of Arx. They’ll be famine, war and disease in no time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">I shuddered and could only be thankful for my own situation. Mr. Wild continued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">“I’d bet you’re glad your husband is no longer a commissioner, ma’am.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">“I am glad to have him with me, yes. Why, are they going to be sent out there again?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">“Officially no, but unofficially it is very likely. At the moment they are hunting out plots all over Europe, including here. The tide is starting to turn against them though. They were revered as men who risked their lives and sacrificed their dignity to win a war and wipe out human sacrifice but now there are complaints that they are taking bribes and sticking their noses into other people’s business unnecessarily. Lots of dirty little secrets have been uncovered, secrets that have nothing to do with Demons, the Devil’s Isles or plots.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">“I meant to ask, how can Demons be transported from Denmark and Danish colonies if the Devil’s Isles belong to Britain?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">“I don’t know ma’am, but I wouldn’t be surprised if some people very high up have some very dirty little secrets indeed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Website URL: www.ruthdanes.com<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Facebook page: I am not Facebook but I am on Goodreads and BookBub <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Twitter handle: I am not on Twitter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Triberr: I am not on Triberr</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-84209018703596134482018-09-08T00:01:00.000-07:002018-09-08T00:01:09.147-07:00Both End in Speculation by Nancy Avery Dafoe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: Both End in Speculation<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: Nancy Avery Dafoe<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-395-4</span><b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Mystery/Thriller<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Keywords: Mystery, Thriller, Crime, Detective, Italy, Rome<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Excerpt Heat Level: 1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Price: 3.99<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Both-Speculation-Goodwin-Murder-Mystery-ebook/dp/B07GX6MN8D/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1535832107&sr=8-1-fkmr0&keywords=BOTH+END+IN+SPECULATION+NANCEY+DAFOE" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-end-speculation/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Read first chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">Both End in Speculation</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;">is a Vena Goodwin mystery about three murders in Rome, Italy, centered around a previously unknown John Keats’ poem. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">BLURB: Both End in Speculation<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">Both End in Speculation</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;">begins with two discoveries: a murdered woman found on the Arch of Constantine and the revelation of a John Keats’ poem written at the end of his life in Rome, Italy. Disclosure of the invaluable poem causes events leading to murders with bodies deposited at historical sites in Rome.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Vena Goodwin mystery is also an exploration of Keats’ concept of “negative capability,” in which intuition and uncertainty are prized over absoluteness. The speculation refers to light and darkness in the plot, bringing in the European refugee crisis, the Keats’ poem, and why we seek out uncertainties, including mystery. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Familiar characters from book one in the series are the protagonist Vena Goodwin and her Italian lover Elio Canestrini. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">EXCERPT: Both End in Speculation<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Professore Giancarlo Pavoni had been to the Coliseum more times than he could count, but on the evening of March 14, Giancarlo was lying in pooled blood inside a body bag at the lowest levels of the Coliseum. From a historical perspective, the Coliseum had always impressed the young university professor of Greek and Latin studies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A hulking figure dressed in black, pulled up the construction vehicle in pouring rain, and dragged Pavoni’s wrapped body out and, with considerable exertion, lifted the bag over his shoulder. Indifferent to the Coliseum's night lights and cameras, pictures blurred by the downpour, the mysterious man was thinking about body weight. The city’s carelessness about farming out construction on their monuments made everything possible. This man’s specialty was dismantling and dismembering anything and everything. Of course, he could pay a couple of mechanics to do his bidding on a stolen truck. He knew they could be trusted because they owed him money, and owing Guerra money could be a death sentence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Guerra was surprised the middle-aged man was nearly as light as the young woman had been when he climbed steep stairs inside the Arch of Constantine. Comparing body weights was the straightforward but determined thought process of the man who was immune to risks; a man who knew Webcams would capture his photo, scenes of his crimes, his construction truck. None of the physical evidence mattered because they would not find him or link him to the scene. He had, however, left a conspicuous clue, one designed to confuse authorities. Stapled to Pavoni’s shirt was a note.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Website URL: dafoewritingandconsulting.com, nancydafoebooks.com, nancydafoefiction.com</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Blog URL:</span><span lang="DE" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"></span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">nancydafoebooks.com, nancydafoefiction.com</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook page: Nancy Dafoe</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter handle: https://twitter.com/dafoenad</span></div>
Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-76903118253871031872018-09-01T00:01:00.000-07:002018-09-01T00:01:00.200-07:00Wolves and Deer #HistoricalRomance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Title: Wolves and Deer<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"> A Tale Based on Fact<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Author: Catherine Haustein<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">ISBN: 978-1-62420-374-9</span><b><span style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Genre: Historical Romance/Regency<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Keywords: historical, regency romance, science, Dora (Dorothy) Jordan, dark humor<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Buy at:</span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Wolves-Deer-Tale-Based-Fact-ebook/dp/B07GD6YQR3/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1534170843&sr=8-1&keywords=WOLVES+%26+DEER+BY+CATHERINE+HAUSTEIN" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial";">, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-wolves-deer/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Read first chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">An actress, a secret, and a prince who’s not too charming. Who will get the last laugh?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">In 1832, Grace Clare works at the Royal Institution under the direction of the well-known chemist Michael Faraday. But science isn't all she has on her mind. She learns that her birth mother was famous comic actress Dora Jordan. Grace is dangerously drawn into the tale of Dora's mysterious, unjust death after her twenty-year relationship with the prince who now occupies the throne--a man who betrayed his life partner and mother of his children. As the only child free to do so, Grace travels to Paris for work and to view her mother’s lonely grave. Awash with the injustice of the cruel betrayal, will Grace be doomed to a tragic life of seeking revenge or like her mother will she be laughing in the end?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Sacred to the memory of DOROTHY JORDAN, who, for a series of years, in London, as well as other cities of Britain pre-eminently adorned the Stage. For Comic Wit, sweetness of voice, and imitating the manners and customs of laughing maidens, as well as the opposite sex, she ranked second to none in the display of that Art, wherein she was so pre-eminently skilled. Neither was any one more prompt in relieving the necessitous. She departed this life the 5th of July 1816, aged fifty. Remember and weep for her!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Harry handed Grace the tulips. It was true; he did find her beautiful, her dark eyes mysterious. His fingers ached to touch her hair. But the talk of poison put him off. He had to find something to say as she stood forlornly in front of her mother’s grave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Relieving the necessitous. There’s the mark of a fine person, someone who cares for the poor. A hard-working and talented commoner, I hear tell. I’m happy to pay my respects.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Yes. This is my mother. Here she rests. I, however, shan’t rest.” Grace climbed over the fence and placed the tulip bouquet next to the stone. There were no other flowers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“She needs some roses planted to show she died in midlife,” Grace said. “I will come back with roses.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“My condolences. My parents admired her. There is still a postcard of her as Viola in our kitchen. My mother speaks of her generous heart and her sad fate.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“I’m overwhelmed by it all. Yes, my dear mother, so far from home.” Grace let the tears come. She crouched down and put her hand on the dirt that separated Dora from the air and the sunshine and from the child who longed so much to know her. The ground was wet as if even the earth wept for her. Grace ran her hand across it as sorrow rose up and shook her like a dog shakes a rabbit. Aunt Hester was right. This grave held a broken heart that caught anyone who came to pay respects.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Oh, my. It’s so forlorn. So forlorn and forgotten,” Grace said in her ripe peach voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Harry wanted to take the broken girl in his arms, to tell her how sorry he was that he’d agreed to bring her here. Instead, he folded his arms across his broad chest, but this gesture didn’t hold in the injustice that grew in it. “The people still speak of how her royal ‘protector’, now our glorious King, worked her like a plow horse, as they’ll do to us all. The powerful expect our sacrifice. It’s nothing to them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Grace wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “No mention of mate or offspring on that stone. What does that tell you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“That her fans laid the stone. It’s known.” This, to Harry, was the most grievous part of the death; no family had come forward to pay for a grave marker. An English couple who had visited her in Paris made the arrangements for the simple memorial, and a mysterious male friend arranged for the gravesite.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“More than that, Harry. It means that her connections wanted her to be forgotten. She didn’t come here to escape swindling sons-in-law, as my aunt has suggested. She was purposely sent here to be disremembered,” Grace said. “How can it be that none of her other children have visited?” Disappointment filled her. There wasn’t anything more to this place. It was just a lonely grave in a damp spot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“A shame.” Harry climbed over the fence and kneeled beside Grace. “The Royals are beasts. They aren’t better than we are as they wish we’d believe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Harry took out a handkerchief, and bent down and wiped her cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Here now, Miss Clare, allow me. I don’t mean to be forward, but your face is dirty.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Grace cried as the softness of the handkerchief stroked her face. “She doesn’t belong here. I’m so melancholy. My insides are like a crumpled letter. Death is meant to bring peace, but even her bones were kept from everything she’d loved.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Harry went to the carriage and came back with a bag. He took out a trowel and dug a hole six inches deep through the spindly grass. He handed Grace a tulip bulb.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Mr. Babbage says that the tulip signifies the brevity of life. Place it point up in the hole.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Are you giving me advice?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“I am simply passing on gardening wisdom. Do you want them to grow?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Will anything grow in this dank spot? ‘Twill be a miracle if we’re not overcome by miasma. I believe I am sick already.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Grace put the bulb in the hole while Harry dug another one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Do you know why no one was allowed to attend her death?” Grace asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“They did not know about it until it was too late.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“No. It was a way of signaling to the population of England that she was doomed to hell for her sins, for there are but two directions, heaven or hell, and if you are alone, it shows God that you were not loved and to hell you go. My Aunt Hester has told me this much. Not that she believes it, but as evidence that Mother’s death was arranged by the palace to appear as a judgment.” Grace put another bulb in the hole, and Harry scooped dirt over it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-20705776147367180122018-08-22T00:01:00.000-07:002018-08-22T00:01:07.909-07:00Ella'sPleasure #Historical/RegencyRomance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Title: Ella’s Pleasure<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Twelve Dancing Princesses Book Seven</span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Author: Christine Young<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">ISBN: 978-1-62420-393-0</span><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Genre: Historical Romance</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Excerpt Heat Level: 1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Book Heat Level: 4<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07FZQGXL4/ref=as_li_qf_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=achristay-20&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B07FZQGXL4&linkId=e2ebbcb76d84957ee3c8cd0193251a89" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Amazon,</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="MsoHyperlink" style="color: blue; text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-ellas-pleasure/" style="color: purple;">Read First Chapter<o:p></o:p></a></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial";">TAGLINE: Ella's Pleasure<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Ella Hepburn discovers passion and desire can overcome everything she's been taught to resist.</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">BLURB: Ella's Pleasure<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">A WHISPER OF PLEASURE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Ella Hepburn was an auburn haired debutant from the harsh Scottish coastline—a wild innocent to be seduced and tamed. A spirited beauty, she captivated Drake Montgomerie's jaded heart—while succumbing to the smoldering desire she felt for her unyielding suitor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">A WHISPER OF DANGER<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">In Drake Montgomerie's glittering world of money and privilege, young Ella discovered passion and desire could overcome everything she'd been taught to resist—entangling Drake, the heir apparent, in a lethal coil of aristocratic family intrigue. But grave peril would only nurse the sparks of a love that knew no limits and a magnificent ecstasy that would not be denied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">EXCERPT: Ella's Pleasure<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Come, let’s take this path.” He settled one hand on the small of her back, directing her to the left. “I want to show you something.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">She gazed at him with wide eyes. “What? It’s getting late, I’m sure The Duchess will be looking for us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Trust me, she won’t have to search for you. Between my men and Scarlett, they know exactly where we are. I mean to elude them for a few minutes of privacy.” He bent close to her and whispered. “I want to kiss you and there are just too many folks here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Kiss me? I like your kisses.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“I’m glad.” Lord, but he didn’t know what he’d do if she’d told him the opposite. “This way.” They were strolling deeper into the gardens where fewer people walked. Privacy was what he wanted; this was exactly where he meant to steal a real kiss from Ella Hepburn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“What are those noises?” she stopped and looked at him, searching for the source of the sounds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">He ran one finger between his collar and neck attempting to figure out what to tell her. “They are people enjoying pleasure.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">The expression on her face outlined by the gaslights amazed him. “Is it what I’m thinking?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“I don’t know. What do you believe you hear?” He laughed inside at the joy he felt about this inquisitive lady.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Well, I don’t think they are just kissing.” Even in the half-light he watched the blush rise on her cheeks as she covered her mouth as if she understood what was going on all around her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Remember our conversation about love making?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">She nodded her eyes huge with wonder. “In public?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“My darling girl, can you see them?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“No, but I now know what they are doing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Hush,” he said, guiding her to a spot just beneath a light. “I’m going to kiss you until your Auntie finds us and stops me from having my wicked way with you in those bushes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">He turned Ella and looking into her eyes, his mouth descended to meet hers. His hands at the small of her back pulled her close. With a surprised gasp she delighted him by opening her mouth. His tongue invaded with a primal urgency, creating a mercuric heat within. Tasting her sweetness and the honeyed depth of her mouth, his groan emanated from deep within.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Ella responded by wrapping her hands around his neck and running her fingers through his hair. Slipping her tongue inside his mouth, she met him with courage and passion. Her tiny feminine cry of surrender gave him confidence she enjoyed him. His hands slipped lower to cover her derriere and pull her tight against his pulsing cock, wondering if she understood the intense desire emanating from him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">He accepted all of her; teeth, tongue, lips, pressed together in an age-old rhythm. Taking her inside himself was heaven on earth. For a moment he pulled away, needing to see her eyes. Her face, flushed with pleasure, enticed him and his mouth found hers once more. Never wanting this to end, his kiss became urgent, and she responded with so much passion he wanted to bury himself deep inside her warmth. For today and this moment the kiss would have to be enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">A sudden sharp pain shot across his back. “Stop this, Drake Montgomerie.” Another whack hit him in the buttocks and another. “Stop. Unhand Miss Ella before I let my sword slip from its hiding place.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial";">KEYWORDS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial";">Historical, Romance, Regency, England<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="border: 1pt none; font-family: "arial"; padding: 0in;">http://christineyoung-romancewriter.blogspot.com/</span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-67026714407067958952018-08-15T00:01:00.000-07:002018-08-15T00:01:01.752-07:00#WhereAllPastYearsAre<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: Where All Past Years Are<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: Joseph Allen<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-399-2</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Family Life<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Key words: </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">generational fiction, family, saga, family ties, LGBT, strong marriages, Americana</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Excerpt Heat Level: 1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Book Heat Level: 2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Price: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Where-all-Past-Years-Are-ebook/dp/B07G67SY85/ref=sr_1_fkmr2_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1533915348&sr=8-2-fkmr2&keywords=WHERE+ALL+PAST+FEARS+ARE+JOSEPH+ALLEN" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-past-years/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Read first chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">TAGLINE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Saga of the sprawling Chadwick clan from 1954 to 2015. Highly emotional and affecting, the family will make you laugh and break your heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Starting on Thanksgiving Day 1954, the Chadwick family encounters wars, financial crashes, 9-11, and the Great Recession. As a family with a WASP history they discover the wider world that is America, marry across religious, racial and ethnic lines, live, love, laugh and celebrate Thanksgiving and Independence Day at the Old Home on the shore of Lake Champlain near the Canadian border in New York. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The love of husbands and wives, the closeness of relatives who are an increasingly rainbow-like group, the touching beauty of the Old Home on the Lake as some family members move back to the property into new cottages – all are major themes. Children running a three-legged race watch the young man, Gray Chadwick, drop to his knees to beg his pregnant girlfriend, Melissa, to marry him. Births, deaths, burials, 4th of July fireworks, boating and bass fishing, and the strengthening power of love lead to a final surprising and unexpected reunion of two branches of the family for the first time in over three hundred years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As he headed back up the stairs from the basement with the first of three cases of a good St. Estephe, he could smell biscuits cooking, and chattering women’s voices. When he got to the top of the stairs he could smell coffee too, and in the warm hallway with the excited sound of voices in the kitchen, he thought to himself that it was at moments like this that he really loved being who he was and being there in the Old Home with the genially snobby but sweet-natured Chadwicks; even Pop, who had a sour side, but looked forward to holidays with the eagerness of a child waiting for Santa. It was as though he pumped himself back up and lost at least ten years driving up from Manhattan—which was a long, boring drive for most people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He put the wine by the door to the dining room and went back and hauled the other two up, one at a time. Then he went back downstairs and finally found a case of Puligny Montrachet; a dry white for those who didn’t drink the hearty reds, especially the meaty, chewy St. Estephe. Then he staggered exaggeratedly into the kitchen and the women handed him a basket of biscuits and a mug of hot coffee. There were three kinds of jam open on the butcher-block table: marmalade, a reddish berry that was probably raspberry, and a dark one that almost had to be grape jelly. All home-made. There was something about Thanksgiving that dictated home-cooking and homemade everything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">It couldn’t last, he thought with a touch of sadness. This house, this time, this group, had more in common with the past than with Ike’s America. All but the children had been through the Depression and at least one World War, maybe two. There was actually a surprising mix of political opinions in the family (mostly Republican, spanning the spectrum), but everyone was agreed that Ike was the right man at the wheel. They learned from Truman, who couldn’t resist a war in Korea, that no one could keep the United States out of war better than Ike, who commanded the troops in World War II. And, he thought with the beginning of a smirk, Ike and the Chadwicks had one thing in common—a wife who at least seemed to be slightly tipsy a lot of the time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">There were no Christmas decorations, because usually there was no one here at Christmas other than the caretaker’s family. The winter around Lake Champlain could be severe, and since there were no mountains, there was no skiing. The house was used a lot in the summer, with Rich and Lizzie keeping a calendar of family members who wanted a week on the lake. There was an optional family gathering for the Fourth of July, with fireworks over the lake, but Thanksgiving was more or less mandatory. He looked around at the beautiful dark wood molding that ran along the tops of the walls, the enormous Persian carpets, and the probably hand-made Chippendale dining table and twelve chairs. Like a movie set. A world on the way out. It would be ruinously expensive to maintain a house like this, but fortunately Pop seemed to have an endless fortune.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Penny for your thoughts,” a voice behind him called out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He turned to see Jane smiling from ear to ear. “Just thinking how lucky we are to be here, year after year, and wondering...” He turned away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“How long it will last? Me too. Pop is the one who keeps it going, and he’s certainly not young.” She put her hand on his forearm, kissed him lightly on the cheek and led him back toward the kitchen. He gestured at the cases of wine and she smiled again and took his arm. “Biscuits and jam in the kitchen, and you can help singe the birds.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Maybe Rich will step up when Pop gets too old,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Or you,” Jane said, holding his arm with her free hand. “Maybe you’ll step up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The bottle of vodka was gone. He peered into the parlor as they passed the door, and a couple of the guys—Connecticut cousins—were sitting on a couch with tumblers of tomato juice. Good for you, he thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">There were two big turkeys to be roasted, and two big hams. Pies were baking in the two ovens, and the cloying smell of mincemeat floated in the air. He looked over the first turkey to see where the pinfeathers needed to be burnt off. He found a stack of newspapers in the butler’s pantry and spread some of them on the back porch, shivering a bit at the chill. Then he rolled up about an inch of newspapers into a torch and lit the end with his lighter. As it flamed up, he passed it over the areas of the bird where the little hairlike feathers were, and they disappeared as the flame went by, with an unpleasantly pungent smell. Ugh. He tamped out the newspaper torch, took the carcass back into the kitchen and grabbed the other one, repeating the process. He was a little like Lizzie, he thought, a consort rather than a family member. Meant he had to work harder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“What’s next?” he asked the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Take a breather,” Jane said. “If we need help, we’ll yell.” There were too many cooks in the kitchen, but these women didn’t get to talk to each other often and they never ran short of news or breath. The youngest was about twenty, he estimated, and most of the worker-bees were, like Jane, closer to thirty. Two of the older women were punching bread dough on a flour-covered plank sitting on the counter. Looked like a <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>cover. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He ambled into the parlor and grabbed a newspaper. Premier Mendes France had struck a deal with Habib Bourguiba for Tunisia to be independent. He was set on getting rid of the French colonies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He had agreed with Ho Chi Minh after the massacre at Dien Bien Phu to withdraw French troops from Vietnam and turn the government over to the locals. Of course he was a Jew, everyone knew that—he looked like a Jew, too—but he had been a fighter pilot in the war and the French liked him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The French were always unpredictable. They had owned most of north Africa and he was just giving it away, back to the natives. Well, not natives like in the movies, you know, but the locals. Camel drivers or whatever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Well, Britain was starting down the same path, from the greatest empire the world had ever seen, to a small island with some trade agreements with places they used to own. Look at India. Look at Burma. That Nehru, he was almost British, about as good as India was going to get.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Where’d you get the tomato juice?” he asked the two men on the couch. “Hi, I’m Ted Semple. I’m here with Jane.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“In the kitchen,” the blond one said. “I’m Eric Chadwick, and this is my brother Antony.” They stood up and the ritual of handshaking was taken care of. “We met a year or so ago, here in this room, I think.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I’m sorry, there are so many people here at Thanksgiving, and my memory of names from last Thanksgiving is faulty. I’ll try to be better.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Most people call me Ricky, and everybody calls him Tony. Don’t worry about it. We have an advantage. We’ve been coming to Thanksgiving here all our lives, so we grew up knowing a lot of the people here. Even so, I have a hard time remembering some people—even people I recognize. Just the names go away. We’re from the Massachusetts side of the family. Jane is the Virginia side, or what we call the Virginia side, even though she and her parents and grandparents and probably great-grandparents at least were all born around here. They’ve been living around New York City since before the Civil War.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ted smiled and nodded. An advantage, he thought. You bet. The advantage is being a Chadwick and being rich. Who was it said the rich are different from the rest of us? Fitzgerald. And Hemingway said, yes, they have more money. That gets to the bottom of it. He quick-walked back to the kitchen and one of the women poured some tomato juice into a tumbler from a quart can she took out of the refrigerator that had been opened with a churchkey. He headed back to the parlor and asked “Do you have the vodka?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ricky shook his head and looked puzzled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Oh, sorry. There was a bottle of vodka sitting on the buffet earlier and it wasn’t there anymore. I just assumed when you were drinking tomato juice that you’d picked up the bottle,” Ted said. He looked at the tomato juice and though, hmmm, I don’t even like tomato juice, tastes metallic. He took a swig. At least it was cold. He wandered back to the dining room and looked around. No vodka. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Looking for this?” It was Sam, and she was holding the vodka bottle. She was always pretty and looked especially fetching with a ruffled apron on and her hair in a bun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Thanks,” he said, holding his glass out to her. “I was wondering if I would have to drink this plain.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Say when,” she said and started to pour. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“When,” he said. “Just a blessing, not a real drink. I don’t want to be drunk and I would be if I started drinking this early.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">She wrinkled her forehead and he realized what he said had been awkward.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">She smiled and wiggled her nose and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. We’re all drinkers, especially at the holidays. Comes with the genes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I smell pies,” he said. And craned his neck around the corner toward the kitchen. The table by the kitchen window was covered with pies. He counted eleven pies. “Help me escape from the mincemeat; there’s something about it.” He shook his head with a shiver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">She tilted her head back and laughed. “Me too. Problem is you have no idea what’s in it, yesterday’s meat or last week’s meat, and could be anything. And so sweet and spicy. That’s why there are so many spices in it, and the raisins and the brandy, because otherwise it would stink. Here, have a dividend,” she said, and held the bottle out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He poured more into the remaining tomato juice. “Just this once,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Right,” she said. “Just this once.” She opened the cabinet door in the center of the buffet and put the bottle inside. “If it’s gone, I’ll know who took it.” And she swept back into the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">There was a sound of feet running in the hallway above the dining room, and then Lizzie appeared at the top of the stairs. “Help me,” she stage-whispered. “I can’t get Pop to wake up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-88720510184153877902018-08-09T07:36:00.000-07:002018-08-09T07:36:01.895-07:00#StonePonies #Crime #Mystery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: Stone Ponies<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> John Howard Novel Book Four<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: Ronald C. Paxton<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-371-8</span><b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Mystery/Crime</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Excerpt Heat Level: 1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Book Heat Level: 4<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Price: 3.99<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Stone-Ponies-John-Howard-Novel-ebook/dp/B07G2JVXQB/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1533133109&sr=8-1&keywords=STONE+PONIES+RONALD+PAXTON" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon,</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/stone-ponies-ronald-paxton/1129209090?ean=9781724629197" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Barnes and Noble</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-page-stone-ponies/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Read first chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">TAGLINE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Howdy Doody is out of prison and gunning for the man who ruined his life. John Howard knows he’s coming, and he’s ready.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">BLURB: Stone Ponies<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A threatening letter in the mail shatters the fragile tranquility of John Howard’s world. The note is unsigned, but the meaning is clear. Howdy Doody is out of prison and gunning for the man he blames for ruining his life. John was the one who caught Doody cheating at a major rodeo event and got him kicked off the national circuit. He was also the one who hired and then fired the disgraced cowboy when he caught him stealing from the Wild Pony Ranch cash box. Fifteen long years have passed, and now Doody was back. When a trusted employee is murdered John knows it’s time for him to find and stop the former rodeo cowboy or die trying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">EXCERPT: Stone Ponies<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">John glanced at his watch as he left the parking lot. He was getting used to the drive. It was long enough for him to organize his thoughts and prepare for the day ahead, but not so long that he was tired by the time he reached the ranch. Sometimes he and Sarah Jane talked; sometimes they made the trip in companionable silence. This felt like a silent day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“We need to talk.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">John groaned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I’ve told you before, Sarah Jane, those are four words no man ever wants to hear.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“You’re not getting any better, John. I thought the move to the lake would help, but it hasn’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I’m fine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He flinched as Sarah Jane’s hand slammed the dashboard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“You are <i>not</i>fine, John! You think I’m blind? The nightmares haven’t gone away. As soon as we get within five miles of the ranch, you start to tense up like a twelve-year-old boy trying to talk his way out of a poor report card.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“It’s not that bad, Sarah Jane.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Not that bad? Not that bad? It’s gotten to the point that you don’t want to leave the house once we get to the ranch. How long has it been since you took JB out for a ride? That horse misses you, John. The men miss seeing you too.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I’m in my office working, Sarah Jane. I don’t have the time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“You’ve always made time for the horses, John, and the men. That’s what you’ve always been about.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">John remained silent. His stomach began to churn, and he could feel sweat forming under his arms despite the weather. The truck was eating up the miles. There was little traffic on the road this morning. The ranch was twenty minutes away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I want you to see Linda Smythe. Maybe she can help.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Who is Linda Smythe?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“You’ve met her. Jason gives her private lessons. She usually rides Tulsa.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">John shook his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sarah Jane sighed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“She’s a drop dead gorgeous blonde in her late thirties with big breasts, full lips, and a perfect ass.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Oh,<i>that</i>Linda Smythe,” John said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“That’s right, smartass. She’s a psychologist. You need to talk to someone about this, John.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Fifteen minutes to the ranch. His pulse started to gallop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Fine, set it up. <i>Now</i>can I have a donut?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sarah Jane smiled and touched his arm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“No, but I’m glad that’s settled. You have an appointment late this afternoon. We’ll stop by her office on the way home from work.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">His cell phone interrupted a smart remark that was on the tip of his tongue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“It’s Jupiter. He says it’s important.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">John slowed the truck and pulled onto the shoulder of the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“What’s up? We’re on the way in.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sarah Jane watched her husband. She could read John like an open book with large print. The news was bad. She fought to maintain a neutral expression.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“We’ll be there in ten.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He put the phone away and eased back onto the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“John?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">His hands felt clammy on the wheel. The perspiration under his arms was running freely now. He drew a deep breath and looked at his wife.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“We’ve got trouble.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">KEYWORDS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">southern mystery; suspense; thriller; horse ranch; cowboys<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">SOCIAL LIINKS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Website URL: www.ronaldpaxton.webs.com</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Blog URL:</span><span lang="DE" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"></span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">www.ronaldpaxton.wordpress.com</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-40951643506468056582018-08-01T07:51:00.002-07:002018-08-01T07:51:22.767-07:00Feathers #YA #Fantasy<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Title: Feathers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Author: Courtney Rene<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">ISBN: 978-1-62420-385-5</span><b><span style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Genre: YA/Fantasy</span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Excerpt Heat Level: 1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Book Heat Level: 2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Price: 3.99<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FMFWJRV" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial";">, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-feathers/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Read first chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">TAGLINE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">What happened to the angels that fell from heaven? Do they still live among us? Gracie is about to find out, whether she wants to or not. </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">BLURB: Feathers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">Feathers, brings you into the world of fallen angels. Orphaned since birth, sixteen-year-old, Grace finds her teenage world crumbling around her. Her home is burned to the ground. Her foster siblings and housemother are killed. Her life falls apart and there is nothing she can do to stop it. Her dreams have become dimensions where she can be hunted and hurt. Words like fallen angels, halflings, and nephilim are tossed around without explanation. When Grace sprouts a pair of wings, things go from bad to worse, as the fallen angels believe she may be the key to them returning to the side of God, but only upon her eradication.</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">EXCERPT: Feathers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">We made it to the wireless store and quickly found the cells we were looking for. After being talked into a basic phone with full keyboard and a card for one hundred minutes, we were out the door in less than half an hour, cell phone set up and ready to rock. I was a bit lighter in the purse, but seventy-five dollars for the lot sounded pretty good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“I wonder how long a hundred minutes will last?” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Tory smiled at me and said, “Well, you’ll find out soon enough. Hey, what time is your curfew?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Eleven.” I looked at my watch. It wasn’t even ten yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Want to get something to eat before we head back?” Tory asked as she pointed across the street at a pizza place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Sure,” I said. Before we could cross the street though, I felt it. He or it, whatever it was, had returned. I felt their stare. The hard feel of it firm against my skin. Goosebumps lifted along my arms. I looked over to see if Tory noticed it. She didn’t seem to, so I pretended I didn’t either. I didn’t even try to locate it that time. I ignored it. Completely. If they wanted to spend their Friday night staring at me, fine. Let them waste their time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“You should come over tomorrow. We can go through my clothes. See if we can find you anything to add to your…wardrobe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Hey,” I said and gave her a friendly shove. “My wardrobe isn’t that bad.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Yes. It is.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Yeah, it was. “I wish I could, but I work most of the day tomorrow. I could on Sunday? After church.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“You go to church?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I laughed. “Mrs. Brown’s rules. Church every Sunday, no excuse, unless you’re dying or dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Okay, how about…Jesus! Gracie, look out!” Tory screeched.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I turned to see what had made her eyes widen to the size of saucers and grab my arm in a grip as tight as a cinch. Two blinding lights were barreling down on us. A car, a big one, was headed fast, right to where we stood, in the center of the crosswalk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">A heavy weight hit me from behind with a hard-smacking thud. The impact pushed the air from my lungs in a woosh. I flew through the air to land in a sliding grinding halt on the sidewalk in front of the overcrowded pizza place. Every eye right on me as I lay in a heap on the ground<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Ow,” I said, trying to hold back tears of pain as I got slowly to my feet. Blood ran down my arm where it had rasped against the concrete. My knees stung. I most likely skinned them as well. My shoulder ached. I had a feeling it took the brunt of my weight on the walkway when I landed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I saw Tory in the same condition next to me. “Tory? You all right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Yeah. What happened?” she asked as she tried to smooth her hair back into a semblance of order.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Before I could answer her though, I was roughly grabbed around the upper arms by a huge dude. He lifted me up to dangle with my feet off the ground and shook me like a rag doll.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“You stupid…girl!” he shouted right in my face. His dark blue eyes sparked in anger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Hey!” Tory yelled and shoved him from behind. “Get off!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">He whipped around to stare down at Tory. His long straight blonde hair flew around his shoulders like a cape. “Don’t,” was all he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Tory’s face turned white and she took several quick steps back. With a shaky voice she said, “Gracie?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">My feet finally back on the ground, the guy shoved a finger almost in my face and said with such quiet anger that I felt the blood wash out of my face as well, “Get home where you belong. Now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I looked at Tory and shrugged at her. Who the hell was he? I was shaking in my sandals, but something made my back straighten and my pride set in. I slowly but firmly shook my head at him and said, “No.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I watched as disbelief and maybe a hint of rage crossed him face. I stepped quickly around him and grabbed Tory by the hand and made to go inside the restaurant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Grace Ann,” he growled. “Don’t push me anymore tonight. Go home, where you are safe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">How did he know my name? I glanced at him once more. He was tall, well over six feet. He was stocky with muscles and bulk, but not quite huge and overwhelming. It was his face that drew me in though. It was beautiful. Even as angry as he was, he was lovely. Big dark eyes surrounded by long full eyelashes snapped at me with anger. His eyes, they pulled at me. Spoke to me. With surprising effort, I pulled my gaze away from those eyes and stepped inside the pizza place. The dark shadowed interior wrapped around me like a blanket and hid me within its depths.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Is he gone?” Tory asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I tried not to, but I couldn’t help but glance outside where he’d stood, to see if he was still there. “I don’t know. I don’t see him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“Who was that?” she asked as she craned her head around me to do her own looking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">“I have no idea.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">Angles. Nephilim, Fantasy, Young Adult, Religion<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="border: none; font-family: "arial";">Website: http://www.courtneyrene.com/<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="border: none; font-family: "arial";">Blog: http://ctnyrene.blogspot.com/<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook page: </span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span lang="FR"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/Shadow-Dancer-and-more-by-Courtney-Rene-164433473646449/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">https://www.facebook.com/Shadow-Dancer-and-more-by-Courtney-Rene-164433473646449/</span></a></span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: "arial";">: </span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">ctnyrene</span></div>
Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-5022283626738539902018-07-16T00:01:00.000-07:002018-07-16T00:01:15.529-07:00#TheCradleOfDestiny #Sci/Fi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: The Cradle of Destiny<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Th Sy’Arrian Legacy Book One<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: Gregory D. Current<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-366-4</span><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Science Fiction</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Excerpt Heat Level: 1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Book Heat Level: 1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Price: 4.99<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FCSPWQD" style="color: purple;">Amazon</a>, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-cradle-destiny/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Read first chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">TAGLINE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">A usurper’s relentless pursuit, the return of a forgotten race and a legacy reborn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The ability to mold each of the four elements to perform extraordinary acts in defense of others has been limited to one race alone, the Sy’Arrians. Through the course of time, Sy’Arrians have noticed it is the inherent will of the individual utilizing Akasha that is key in understanding its unique course from one lifeform to another. Whether good or evil is based solely on the practitioner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">“The abomination,” it growled. “Where is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">Bayne cocked an eyebrow. “An interesting descriptor. You are a day late, I’m afraid.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">“You lie!” The being’s eyes grew wider. “I detect two Sy’Arrian scents; the abomination’s is quite potent.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">Bayne found the budding dialogue intriguing. Maintaining the being’s focus not only provided more insight into their intellectual capacity but an opportunity to continue searching for the one who had stepped outside their ranks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">“Smell?” he probed. “Some odors last longer than others. A residual effect, I suspect.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">“It is the Source I smell! It permeates everything; a stink coursing through your kind’s veins.” The being sniffed, swaying to the left and right, an indication to Bayne the situation was about to get ugly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">Interesting. Lourous alluded to the possibility they could somehow sense us. This “source.” Could it be…?</span></i><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">“Akasha.” Bayne stated flatly, noticing the being’s eyes grow wider once again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">“Yes!” It hissed. “The abomination’s taint is especially pungent. He must be hiding nearby.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">“I can assure you,” Bayne paused, noticing subtle movement at his right periphery, “that is not the case.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">Before a retort came, Bayne reacted to the threat encroaching on his position. Akasha flowed effortlessly, burning through his being to reach out and reshape the elements. Sand erupted underneath the creature, attempting to slither towards him, forcing it to reel upwards. Bayne extracted nearby ocean water to mix and bind the granules, quickly crafting an earthen spear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">“Tisk, tisk,” he waved a forefinger at it sternly. “I do not appreciate being stalked.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">Bayne perforated the being’s chest, delivering a critical blow with a forceful thrust. It exited the creatures back, a dark purplish fluid spewing from its mouth to coat the sand beneath it. He savagely ripped the weapon from the creature’s chest; sounds of crunching bone and tearing flesh echoing in the wind. The seasoned warrior quickly elevated its broken body and tossed it callously at the larger group. They fanned outward, a dull thud and shower of sand signifying its final resting place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">The group looked at their deceased comrade, its remaining life force spilling outward to create blood cakes in the sand. In unison they looked skyward, necks stretching to produce an earsplitting yowl. Bayne winched slightly, noting it to be a combination of both a howl and high pitched screech. It lasted mere seconds; their focus now back on him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">A cry of unity. I have not seen such an act for several hundred years. They are not who they appear.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">“And here I thought we were establishing rapport,” Bayne kept his tone purposefully flat. “You were receptive to courtesy, but resorted so soon to this underhanded attempt to remove me from the equation. No, no, no; this will not do.”<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">“The time for talk is over! Now we fight!” Their hands opened wide, claws springing from fingertips.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Bayne remarked calmly, leveling a scowl in their direction. He bolted upward, allowing the wind’s natural course to carry him effortlessly. He folded into a ball, slowly stretching outward upon reaching the zenith of his ascent. Ocean air filled his nostrils, salty and fresh serving to rejuvenate his senses; he hastened his descent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">The ground cracked and groaned when he landed behind them, the vastness of the sea acting as his backdrop; sand and water sprayed outward. The two substances quickly crawled up his body, churning between liquid and solid states. Bayne felt them work with his own chemistry, molecules binding with one another to eventually form a breathable, clear and hardened exoskeleton. It was smooth and flexible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">Fully aware the entire action had taken less than two minutes, Bayne knew his foes could sense Akasha, so logic would dictate they would be aware of surges in its use. If he intended to remain sufficiently ahead of their counterattacks, both timing and a degree of fearlessness must be utilized. Before he finished the thought, they were upon him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">Bayne tucked outer extremities closer to his body, avoiding the outright severing of an arm or leg. Darkness enveloped him, the sheer mass of their bodies dousing all light and straining his muscles. A flurry of claws slashed, glancing off his protective shell; a carapace he knew would not last long if he did not act swiftly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">I need to rid myself of a few passengers.</span></i><span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">Crystalline spikes sprang from the protective shell, skewering three of the beings instantly; gurgling of blood filled lungs signaling to him the desired effect had been achieved. While the bodies slumped to the ground, Bayne noticed how quickly the remaining group spread out to form a perimeter not wanting to suffer the same fate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">He stood to full height just in time to face two of them already too close for a truly effective countermeasure. A cestus forming a solid anvil shaped armament completely enclosed his left hand. Bayne lowered the weapon slightly before bringing it full force to backhand the being square in the face, crushing it instantly. The resulting force sent its limp body cartwheeling several meters towards the warm embrace of the sea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">In one fluid motion, Bayne spun toward his right side to address the second threat. The being’s clawed hand missed the flesh of his left check by centimeters, removing a sizeable chunk of the old warrior’s hair instead. He swiftly snapped the beings lower leg at the knee with his foot, forcing it to howl in pain. Bayne brought the cestus upward to smash the being’s face before delivering a finishing blow to the back of its head. The force of the downward impact buried it head first up to its shoulder blades in the sand; the body quivered a few seconds before expiring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">Sensing doubt in his opponents, Bayne opted for a more offensive approach to help thin their numbers further. It was a calculated risk, one he knew from experience would drain his energy and could rightly end with his demise if it were not executed perfectly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">Heels planted firmly in the moist earth, he divided his attention between the ocean before him and the air carrying its briny aroma inland. Akasha augmented every muscle fiber and nerve ending in his body, allowing the Sy’Arrian to utilize each element in its raw form.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">Sand to his left began to move due to a slow and steadily increasing wind, a smattering of granulated clumps beginning to splatter against the beings faces; attempts by them to block it ended in futility. The wind swiftly transitioned from eye watering gusts to a small, isolated sand storm forcing granules into every orifice. Elongated fingers clutched their throats, grit filling lungs and caking eyelids. Bayne narrowed his focus even further, sending funnels of sand directly into their mouths.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">While the creatures to his left began to slowly suffocate, an oceanic wave six meters in height and width rushed at him. A force all its own, it veered off before crashing into him, swooping toward the threat to his right. The creatures attempted to leap to safety but were hit full frontal, the sheer force nearly crushing their skeletal structure. The wave split itself into sections, forming individual tendrils that coiled around their victims. Each tendril acted independently, swinging their prey wildly in the air before violently slamming them into the ground three times in rapid succession. Twisted and broken, four of the creature’s limp bodies were cast several kilometers out to sea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">Bayne released his grip on Akasha, its empowering effects trickling away, while the forces around him returned to their former state. As expected, he felt weary but considered the maneuver successful. A canvass of the immediate surroundings supported his assessment; the four lying dead to his left, partially buried under a blanket of sand plus the four thrown out to sea came to eight. In total, sixteen of the original twenty were neutralized, including the one subdued prior to this fight. Strength waning, he turned to face the remaining four.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">“Your power has left you, old man,” the largest of the four uttered in a throaty voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">Bayne’s protective shield melted away, the breeze immediately cooling exposed skin. He stepped back towards the shoreline, stopping in a spot where his feet remained submerged up to the ankles. The four beings moved in slow controlled movements, closing the gap between themselves and their quarry. They fanned out to cover his front, right and left sides.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #00000a; font-family: Arial;">“Well then,” he articulated calmly, motioning them to come closer, “do not keep an old man waiting.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">KEYWORDS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Science Fiction, Action, Adventure, Akasha, Sy’Arrain, Four Elements<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">SOCIAL LIINKS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-50284705837587407322018-07-15T13:46:00.001-07:002018-07-15T13:46:32.439-07:00#FaceYourFears #LGBT #GeneralFiction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyx0xvk4UP8YqIAQdd_KGyd0HPJ0J_tyoXNn75BvDELZAjkol03qKSOIZ1ojVeUPmK-gTEBwg5sY41TNcv6qqaFU7WojebGiNn2FO7h1o0DaI6_Zgur8mNXMBWTJaNhMF5Eu_r2Ibl2A/s1600/Face+Your+Fears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyx0xvk4UP8YqIAQdd_KGyd0HPJ0J_tyoXNn75BvDELZAjkol03qKSOIZ1ojVeUPmK-gTEBwg5sY41TNcv6qqaFU7WojebGiNn2FO7h1o0DaI6_Zgur8mNXMBWTJaNhMF5Eu_r2Ibl2A/s1600/Face+Your+Fears.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: Face Your Fears<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: Bill Mathis<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-365-7</span><b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: LGBT/General Fiction</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Excerpt Heat Level: 1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Book Heat Level: 4<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Face-Your-Fears-Bill-Mathis-ebook/dp/B07F5CSRN2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1530478500&sr=8-1&keywords=books+by+bill+mathis" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">, </span><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/face-your-fears-bill-mathis/1128999149?ean=9781721937837" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Barnes and Noble</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-face-fears" style="color: purple;">Read first chapter<o:p></o:p></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Face Your Fears shows how normal comes wrapped in different packages, yet inside each package, people are the same, whether able bodied, disabled, black, white, brown, green or LGBTQ+.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Face Your Fears</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">is filled with vitality as it </span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">challenges the traditional concepts of normalcy, family, disability and love. Nate is a quadriplegic with cerebral palsy raised in a family of achievers. He must be fed, dressed and toileted, yet has unique skills and abilities he gradually becomes aware of. Jude is able-bodied, one of 10 children raised on a hardscrabble Iowa farm. He can change diapers, cook, fix equipment, milk cows, and discovers his vocation as a physical therapist. Both experience tragic teen-age losses, navigate family tragedies, and come to peace with who they are individually as gay men, and eventually together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"> This book shows how normal comes wrapped in different packages, yet inside each package, people are the same, whether able-bodied, disabled, black, white, brown, green or LGBTQ+.</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Eve leans over and whispers to Mikey and me. “They’re getting into the spirit so someone will get healed tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mikey tries not to giggle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">His mom pokes her elbow into his side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I’m confused. I don’t understand this getting in the spirit stuff. Why is everyone crying if someone’s going to get healed? Wouldn’t they be happy? How do they know who’s going to be healed? Besides Mikey, am I the only disabled person here? I kind of wish I wasn’t one right now. That way, I could stand up and look around to see if anyone else is. Does it hurt when you get healed? Would it be like one big spazz, then you’d be all better? What would it be like for Mikey? Would he feel his muscles get all strong again?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I wish Dad was here. He’s good at explaining things. He doesn’t go to church much. He says, “I’m a holiday Catholic, Easter and Christmas is enough, especially after twelve years of nuns and priests.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The other day, I heard him tell Mom she was taking this borned again stuff too seriously. This morning at breakfast, he got upset when Mom told him she and Judy were taking us to a healing service.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Dad hardly ever gets upset, but he pushed his chair back hard and almost yelled. “Krys, this is going too far. He’s fine just the way he is.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I thought he was going to say more, then he looked at Mikey and marched outside to the pool and started getting it ready for winter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I wish Mikey could get healed. He’s the one who will get worser and worser, then die. I’ll have some surgeries and get a little better. I’ll probably live a long time in my chair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">After lots more singing, some people talk with weird words, Eve whispers they’re speaking in tongues. I hear a man ask anyone who wants to be healed to come down front. My wheelchair is back by the coat rack, so even if I wanted to, how was I going to get down there?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mom leans over Judy and Mikey. “Nate, do you want me to get you in your chair and take you down front?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I jerk. My eyes get big. I shake my head back and forth lots. I want to say hell no, but I don’t. “No,” I whisper kind of loud. “I’m not going anywhere in front of all these people.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mom sits back down. I think she looks sad. I feel bad, maybe I should have let her, that’s what she brought me here for.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">An old man pushes an old woman in a wheelchair by our pew. She’s wrapped up in a blanket. Her head flops to one side. Her eyes are kind of funny and her lips have got spit bubbles coming out. Her feet stick out in front and she has pink fluffy slippers on. The healing man prays real loud and talks about the stripes of Jesus healing her. I hear him say he’s anointing her with oil. He repeats everything all over, but louder. Next, he asks if there is anyone else who needs healing. I’m not sure the old lady got healed, ‘cause she didn’t come back up the aisle walking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">All at once, Eve stands up and points down at me and Mikey. Part of me wants to head butt her for pointing us out. Part of me is scared as heck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Pray,” Eve hisses. “Close your eyes and pray hard. You too, Mikey. Pray!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I put my head down and close my eyes. How do you pray? Does it have to be out loud? That would be crazy with other people next to me, especially Mikey. So, I think about walking and running and swimming by myself and not being in a wheelchair. I guess that would be nice. And then, no one would have to wipe my butt or feed me, that would be good for my family. But they don’t seem to mind, they never complain. It all seems regular to us. Mom’s the only one who wants me normal, but it’s not ‘cause she’s tired of helping me. I think she feels sorry for me, or sometimes guilty, which I don’t understand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Someone touches me and I jerk. I open my eyes and the healing man is leaning over us. He’s old and fat. His shirt button behind his tie is popped off. He’s got stains on his tie and shirt and suit coat. He says all the same things over us he did for the old woman. I get tired after a while, especially the louder he yells.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I peek at Mikey. He won’t look back, which is probably good. We might start laughing. He looks a little scared and worried.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">His mom sits straight as a stick. She looks upset and don’t even look down at us, just stares out at nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I can’t see my mom, but I can hear her. She’s whispering and crying real quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The man dabs some oil on my forehead and my arms and legs. “Everything is in God’s timing, so be prepared for a miracle at home,” he says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He does the same to Mikey and goes back up front. They take an offering. At last they sing the last song, another long one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The service is over, and my butt hurts from sitting on the hard seat. I don’t think nobody got healed. No one is talking about it. I think if I was healed, or Mikey, everyone would be excited for us. He tried, the preacher healing man really did try hard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Judy lights a cigarette as soon as we get out the door. Mikey says she only smokes outside and when she’s nervous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mom straps me in the car and loads the chair. She kisses me, then asks in a croaky voice, “Nate, honey, do you feel any different?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I think a minute. I know she really wants me to feel something different. I tell my brain to tell my left hand to move, but it only jerks a little, like it always does. I wiggle my toes, or try, as usual, they don’t do much, instead my legs and body spazzes. I look at her and shake my head. I look away, so I don’t see how she looks, but I think it’s sad. I feel bad, but I can’t tell her something when it ain’t true, that’s lying. Once she washed my mouth out with soap for lying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mom closes my door and goes over by Judy, who’s smoking by her door. Mikey climbs in and leans over close to me, his face almost touches mine. “I think that man was crazy! I was scared you’d get healed and I wouldn’t. Then you could walk and everything and make new friends, normal friends, and not have time for me. That’s why I didn’t look at you in church. Are you mad because I wasn’t praying you’d be healed?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I kiss his cheek. “Mikey, you’re my bestest.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He joins in, “And bestest and bestest friend in the whole universe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We giggle, he slides over and hooks his seatbelt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mikey’s door is still open, and he can see our moms. “They’re hugging. I think they’re both crying a little. Your mom’s saying she feels guilty ‘cuz it’s her fault you’re handicapped.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“It is not! Some cord was wrapped around my neck when I got borned. She didn’t do it on purpose. What’s your mom saying?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“That she’s scared I’m going to die young. She doesn’t think church or God will heal me and it makes her mad.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He puts his finger up for me to stay quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Nate, your mom is saying she doesn’t understand why God didn’t heal both of us tonight, especially after all her praying. Maybe we’ll get healed at home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He waits some more, listening to our moms. “My mom said she isn’t going to hold her breath and your mom shouldn’t either. Now they’re hugging tight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We’re quiet. “Mikey, I’m scared you will die young, too.” Mikey reaches over and touches my shoulder. I think he’d like to slide over and give me a hug, but he’s buckled in and getting tired out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I’m okay. You’re okay. Dad says we have to take it one day at a time. I think that means not to worry. So, I’m not.” We don’t talk anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Judy closes Mikey’s door and climbs in the front seat. Mom gets in and starts the car. It’s cool when the car starts, it’s got a big engine. It’s an old Jag with a stick shift, but it’s in good condition. Mom’s always getting it washed and waxed. Sometimes Mom jokes she should have been a race car driver instead of a CPA and owning her own accounting business. Both our moms have tears on their cheeks, but they don’t seem as sad anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Judy wipes her eyes, turns and looks back at us. She smiles extra big, like she’s making herself happy. “How are you boys doing?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mikey looks over at me, shrugs his shoulders and winks. I don’t know what he’s going to say, but I’m ready to laugh. In a deep voice, he says like he’s an announcer or something, “Well, Mrs. Howard, I found that to be an interesting way to spend a Sunday afternoon. Almost better than watching the Bears.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He and I giggle. Both our moms look like they want to laugh and cry at the same time. Judy stretches her arm between the seats and pats Mikey on the leg. “Oh, Mikey, you always see the humor in everything, don’t you? I like that about you and wish I was more like you instead of worrying all the time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mikey pats her hand back, then looks out the window for a while. It’s quiet till Mom turns on orchestra music, real low.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">After a while, Mom clears her throat. “Nate, are you feeling anything different happening? Are you all right?” Her voice sounds shaky, but not as much as before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Ma.” I say Ma when I want to tease her or get her attention. She doesn’t like me calling her that. “Ma, I’m fine, at least I’m not worse or anything.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“That’s nice, honey. I’m…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Hey, Ma? That man’s breath smelled really gross. Maybe he was constipated or needed to brush his teeth. I thought I was going to pass out before I could get healed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mikey looks at me like he doesn’t know what to do. Judy snorts like she sucked milk up her nose. “Oh my God! Krys, you look like you’re going to lose it. Pull over someplace. Quick, there’s a McDonalds.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mom whips the Jag into Mickey D’s, puts the shift in neutral and yanks up the parking brake. She and Judy burst out laughing so hard tears run down their faces and they can hardly breathe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Oh my God, Nate. What cabbage plant did we find you under?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I’m glad I got Mom to laugh hard. I hope she forgets about getting me healed. My bony butt still hurts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Disability, Family, Romance, Able bodied, LGBT<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Website URL: www.billmathiswriteretc.com</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Blog URL:</span><span lang="DE" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"></span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook page: Bill Mathis Writer Etc</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter handle: @billmathiswrit1</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-44174934382696057352018-07-01T00:01:00.000-07:002018-07-01T00:01:05.307-07:00#TheEmeraldCave #Action #Adventure<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: The Emerald Cave<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Ramsey Series Book 3<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: James McPike<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-361-9</span><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Action/Adventure</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Emerald-Cave-Ramsay-Book-ebook/dp/B07DSRKWR1/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1529780309&sr=8-1&keywords=The+Emerald+Cave+James+McPike" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-emerald-cave/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Read first chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">TAGLINE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Renowned Ministry investigator Vince Ramsey returns for his biggest mission yet. To hunt down a dangerous arms dealer who is after the Holy Grail.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">BLURB: The Emerald Cave<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Ministry of Jerusalem calls in their top investigator—Vince Ramsey—to track down a shadowy arms dealer whose last known whereabouts were in a reclusive village in France. It soon becomes clear that the arms dealer was after a fabled treasure—something so powerful that it could be used as the ultimate weapon. Ramsey enlists the help of April Fulton, an expert in rare antiquities, to aid him in his whirlwind quest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> April traces clues to a controversial physics lab in Switzerland, led by a mysterious figure. Hunting down another lead, Ramsey travels halfway around the globe to a decommissioned military base in the most remote place on earth—Antarctica. There he must battle the dangerous elements and a ruthless team of mercenaries in a race to find the treasure in time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">EXCERPT: The Emerald Cave<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The door opened with a pitiful creak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Wasting no time, Ramsey slid his mask back on and darted in, gun drawn. There was a long hallway with two doors on his left and three to his right. He swiftly checked the closest one to his left, ducking in and sweeping the room from side to side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Nothing but an empty bunkbed and an unsightly disarray of clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Erstad reluctantly followed a few steps behind, sticking close to the walls. For the first time, he was looking a little unsure of himself as if it was a grave mistake to come here. But he kept his mouth shut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ramsey moved smoothly and expertly, operating in stunning silence. He checked the next room. Nothing but miscellaneous storage goods. He quietly moved on, checking room after room with expert precision and impeccable timing. Each one turned out to be empty until he reached the last one on his right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">It happened to be positioned straight across from the front entrance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">There was a desk in the room with a radio for communications. Someone was sitting there with a pair of earphones on while chowing down on a sub sandwich. The guy immediately whipped his head up, startled at first, then he quickly recovered and reached for something by his side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A shotgun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ramsey flew into the room with dazzling speed and knocked the weapon out of his hand. Then he spun the man’s chair around to face him and jammed the muzzle of his Jericho pistol into his forehead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Nice to meet you,” Ramsey said with a wicked snicker beneath his mask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The man’s face suddenly drooped in fear as he slowly raised his hands up. He’d reached for the shotgun so fast that he’d dropped his sandwich, leaving a disgusting stain all over his sweater.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Oh, maybe you didn’t hear me,” Ramsey went on to say as he knocked the earphones off the man’s head. “I said, nice to meet you!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The man was shaking all over. “Uh...who are you?” He spoke in a distinct Chechen accent and had pronounced cauliflower ears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Don’t worry about that. Just tell me what you’re doing here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I’m...” the man paused and gulped, trying to figure out what to say. “I’m a geologist conducting my research. Did you know the main mineral resource here is coal? But the best of all is the untapped oil and natural gas reserves that lie offshore.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Thanks for the geology lesson,” Ramsey replied with an absurd sigh, not buying it. For the first time, he noticed all the different maps of Antarctica displayed in the room. There was a dizzying amount of charts and correlation studies attached to each one. He’d almost forgotten about Erstad who was hanging back in the hallway, looking uncertain he wanted to be any part of this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ramsey gestured toward all the empty space in the room. “It’s okay. You can come in.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Erstad attempted a feckless smile, looking as if he didn’t have a choice in the matter, so he tentatively stepped in, saying nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ramsey focused once again on the man in the chair. “What’s your name?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Razan Kadyrov.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Okay,” he said as if they were off to a good start. “I’ll call you Raz for short. How’s that? I just have a few questions to ask, and then I’ll be on my way. Depending on how you answer them will ultimately decide if you get out of here or not.” He paused, letting that monumental bit of significance sink in. “So, let’s begin, shall we?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The man nodded, but hesitantly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Do you know someone by the name of Cordoba?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ramsey studied his reaction as the man seemed to rake his brain for an easy answer. After what felt like too long, he finally spoke up, saying firmly, “No.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ramsey took a step back while keeping his gun trained on him, a look of sheer disappointment concealed beneath his mask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“All right then. Next question. Do you know anything about a treasure that the Nazis hid out here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Despite himself, Raz laughed at the ridiculousness of the question. “You’re kidding, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ramsey’s storm-blue eyes regarded him with deadly intensity. “Not at all. I’ve flown halfway around the world to find out. So, do you know anything about it or not?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Raz gave a shrug of indifference. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, man. I just run a research station here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ramsey sighed most regrettably. He could tell that this person wouldn’t be as forthcoming with info as he thought. That was too bad. He’d have to resort to more extreme measures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“All right. Let’s try something else.” He made a show of returning his gun to his holster as if coming to friendlier terms with the man. “Maybe I was a little rude at first. What I should have done is this.” He swung his fist and punched the man squarely in the face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“What the hell!” Raz croaked as his head snapped back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Erstad stepped further into the room, growing wary. “Maybe we should just leave,” he suggested.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Not a chance,” Ramsey told him incredulously. “We just got here.” He wrapped his left hand into a tight coil around the collar of Raz’s nice wool sweater. Then he slowly reared back his other fist in the air. “Shall I try this again?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“You’re fucking crazy!” Raz scolded him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ramsey smacked him again, only much harder this time. The crunching sound of cartilage breaking was awfully painful to hear in the confines of the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Ow! For chrissakes!” Raz unleashed another outburst as blood squirted from his busted nose. He clamped his hands over his bruised face, trying to contain the torrent of blood. He looked pleadingly over to Erstad for help. “Tell your boy to stop!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Erstad sighed in a disgruntled manner, hating the position he was in. He held up his hand as if maybe this had gone far enough. “I think you made your point.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ramsey settled back, looking sympathetic for only a fleeting second. “Find him a towel or a rag, would you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Erstad obliged, rushing back to another room and returning a minute later with a dishrag. He handed it to Raz who immediately snatched it up and held it like a sieve to his broken nose. Ramsey gave him a couple minutes to regain his composure, standing off to the side with his arms casually crossed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Feel any better?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Raz nodded angrily as the outpour of blood began to subdue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Well, that’s good,” Ramsey said as he drew closer. “Feel like talkin’ yet?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Raz clammed up, his bleary eyes filling with malice as he held the bloody rag to his face. He spit in hateful defiance toward the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Really?” Ramsey asked him as if he were not the least bit surprised. “You still don’t want to cooperate? Hmm...” He gazed around the room, pondering on what else he could use.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">There was a long metal survey pole that looked tempting. Ramsey grabbed it and wound his arms back like he was a slugger in the batter’s box.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Okay, okay!” Raz frantically protested, his voice badly garbled and distorted through the rag. He raised one trembling hand, hoping to fend off any more debilitating blows. “You don’t know what kind of trouble you’ve just put yourself in,” he told Ramsey with a newfound confidence and swagger. He glared at him through red-speckled eyes, issuing a crude laugh. “The people I work for are going to come after you. Cordoba is one of them. We’re here searching for that Nazi treasure just like you. Cordoba is out looking for it right now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Do you know how far away he is?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">KEYWORDS: </span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Emerald Cave, Action, Adventure, Mystery, Thriller, Antarctica<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">SOCIAL LIINKS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Website URL: </span></b><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">jamesmcpike.webs.com</span></div>
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<b><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook page: </span></b><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">https://www.facebook.com/james.mcpike.94</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-6915602378904973302018-06-25T08:14:00.000-07:002018-06-25T08:14:03.677-07:00#BorrowingAMooseHeadFromColePorter #FamilyLife<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiMTBhenjvr7goEZqR5-nT7Jm1onUFLRIBZbDc1wQX1DzxsN-XmW_cUss7jH47w31vgnl_TPmUkGKNHQTYdG_IE5-YCZU_LLRGgN03alDkyi2lmA4Dpr7BaOXF0JUH0269Qivxj3upcw/s1600/Borrrowing-a-Moose-Head-from-Cole-Piorter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiMTBhenjvr7goEZqR5-nT7Jm1onUFLRIBZbDc1wQX1DzxsN-XmW_cUss7jH47w31vgnl_TPmUkGKNHQTYdG_IE5-YCZU_LLRGgN03alDkyi2lmA4Dpr7BaOXF0JUH0269Qivxj3upcw/s1600/Borrrowing-a-Moose-Head-from-Cole-Piorter.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: Borrowing a Moose Head from Cole Porter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: G. Lloyd Helm<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-370-1</span><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Literary Fiction/Family Life</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DRXGR2P/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1529181398&sr=1-1&keywords=borrowing+a+moose+head+g.+lloyd+helm" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">, </span><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/borrowing-a-moose-head-from-cole-porter-g-lloyd-helm/1128946266?ean=9781721533015" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Barnes and Noble</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink" style="color: blue; text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">I had a bad feeling about Indiana from the first instant I heard we were going to be stationed there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk516422637"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">In our time as members of the US Air Force we had lived in many places and gone through many things. We didn’t expect that being stationed at Grissom AFB in Indiana would be the trial it turned out to be. We were leaving Germany, a foreign place, to come to middle America, supposedly home, but Grissom certainly didn’t feel like home.<o:p></o:p></span></a></div>
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<span style="color: windowtext; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Between the circus that seemed to run the town of Peru, the god-awful weather and the hostile locals we felt like we had moved into a war zone. But, military families make the best of what they are dumped into so we did our best.</span><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We started <i>Barnum </i>meetings/rehearsals the following Thursday, at the Ole Olson Theater building on the edge of Peru. It was just a big warehouse where lots of stage sets were stored and a piece of floor could be tape marked like the Peru High School stage. Rehearsals would take place there on the improvised stage. The production would actually take place in the high school auditorium/theater.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We were given scripts and notified what parts we would play. As I thought, the main characters were all townies who had been connected with Ole or the circus for a long time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">First night rehearsals were a real trip. We had clowns, jugglers, riggers, fliers and high wire walkers. Most came prepared to perform so there were juggling clowns, balancing acts, and tumblers all over the place. One of the clowns seemed completely ready to work. He was a good deal larger than me, meaning over six feet, made up with white face and red wig, stripped pajamas and floppy shoes. He kinda reminded me of Bozo but not exactly. He did remind me of the Jimmy Stewart character in the movie <i>The Greatest Show on Earth. </i>You know, the clown who never took off his make up because he was hiding from the cops? Anyway, this hulking clown was in full make up, and I wondered if he was hiding from the cops as well. Gave me an itchy feeling which increased when he said hello to Mitch. They seemed to know one another, and that didn’t make me happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When I got close enough to ask I said, “You know that clown, Mitch?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Yeah, and so do you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I looked at the clown again and said, “I do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“It’s Big Mike from Church,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">From church and from Our Gang.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Damn. I didn’t even recognize him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Well, the clothes make the man,” Mitch said, with a grin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Smart ass.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He laughed and went back to talking with Mary who was over by the piano.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I watched them and looked over at Big Mike a few times and had thoughts, but like an idiot, I put them away for later consideration instead of grabbing Kathy and Mitch and running for the base. Instead, I calmed my queasy feeling and looked around at the mess of people there for the first <i>Barnum</i>meeting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I was fascinated by one girl who rode a unicycle. She was a beautiful young high schooler who spent her waiting time that evening hopping her unicycle up a movable stage prop staircase. She would hop up one step, regain her balance then hop up the next step. The stair was only four steps high, but when she got to the top she would lift her arms in victory, turn and bounce back down the steps. I said, thinking out loud, “How the hell can she do that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sam Grant who was not only the piano player but also the musical director said, “My daughter, Linda. She started doing unicycle when she could barely walk. Now she is the national youth champion.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“There is a competition for unicycle riding?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sam laughed. “There is a competition for everything if you look hard enough. Get a Guinness world record book.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Yeah, I guess.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“She won a scholarship to Clown College and a thousand-dollar savings bond.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Clown College? You’re kidding me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Absolutely not. Clown College is sponsored by Barnum and Bailey Circus and several other circuses worldwide. If you graduate from there you can go clown at any of hundreds of circuses around the world.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Hum. Well, she is good at it for sure. Amazing to watch.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sam smiled a proud fatherly smile and said “That’s my girl.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I let it go at that, but I still wasn’t exactly convinced so, being an information geek, I looked it up and it was for real. I found out later that many of the kids who participated in the Peru Circus went on to life in circuses around the world including Barnum and Bailey. Where some students might talk about going the University of Indiana or Ball State a lot of kids around Peru talked about going to Clown College in Florida with perfectly straight faces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Indiana, Peru Indiana, Kokomo Indiana, Circus, Grissom AFB<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="border: none; font-family: Arial;">Facebook page: Ghelm@facebook<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="border: none; font-family: Arial;">Twitter handle: glhelm</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-76214509741728713562018-06-15T00:01:00.000-07:002018-06-15T00:01:01.511-07:00#Strange #Mystery #Suspense<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUfAselNL0yL5hlZ27FRAWF4EJMHX9g3PuXCauwTkq8a-aL9F6Exc4GQo40wrNFtCFUfaS2XTxiY0OYFZVH0jbXRHrr6lAk6aCLS3SHYd3ispCPnBAnJAj0m3-PJBtBG_McNjDDkJ7g/s1600/Strange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUfAselNL0yL5hlZ27FRAWF4EJMHX9g3PuXCauwTkq8a-aL9F6Exc4GQo40wrNFtCFUfaS2XTxiY0OYFZVH0jbXRHrr6lAk6aCLS3SHYd3ispCPnBAnJAj0m3-PJBtBG_McNjDDkJ7g/s1600/Strange.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: Strange<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: G. L. Didaleusky<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-364-0</span><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Mystery/Suspense</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DKHKDP2/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1528305888&sr=8-1-fkmr0&keywords=strange+by+d.l.+didaleusky" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-strange/%20%5F" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Read first chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A doctor’s frightening dreams, deathbed children waking up cured, and an archeologist’s deciphering Mayan ancient hieroglyphs seems to be intertwined with a twelve-year-old hospitalized patient. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Frightening dreams night after night are afflicting the chief of pediatrics, Adam Stafford, at Ocala Regional Medical Center. Will there be a conclusion of his dreams or will he succumb to a death spiral before he can awake? At ORMC, Adam attempts to understand why deathbed children on the pediatric floor at ORMC awakened cured without any medical explanation? In a near-by town, an archeologist, Lisa Douglas, is searching for the meaning of ancient hieroglyphs on various Mayan relics recently discovered in a cave along Mexico’s Yucatan peninsula. There seems to be a possibility that all these scenarios are intertwined with a twelve-year-old male patient, Arius Turner, at Ocala Regional Medical Center. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Arius Turner lay supine on a long rectangular table outside the opening of the MRI’s cylindrical chamber. His arms pressed up against the side of his small, medium-build body. Two Velcro straps laid horizontal across his legs and mid torso; his head was wedged snugly between a foam head support. He laid motionless on the table. The twelve-year-old patient hadn’t said a word of dissatisfaction or showed any frightening emotions when the MRI technician secured him to the table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Alan Stark, the MRI technician, stood to the left of Arius. The technician, a stout, middle-aged man about six-foot tall, wore a long, blue lab coat. He peered up to his right at a computerized panel of multicolored lights and digital numbers. A moment later, he turned his head downward and to the left toward Arius. “We will be starting the machine soon. Like I said earlier, there will be a loud and rapid tapping noise coming from the machine. So, don’t be afraid. You won’t feel any discomfort or pain.” He paused. “Would you like ear plugs to block the noise? Or maybe you’d like to wear some head phones and listen to music during the procedure?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I’m not scared or worried,” Arius answered confidently. “I know no harm will be done to me. Unless I have a heart pacemaker or some other type of electronic device implanted within me. And, no thank you regarding the ear plugs or headphones.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Alan frowned with a puzzled expression. “You must’ve had this procedure done before?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“No. I’ve never had an MRI,” he answered with a hint of insolence in his voice. “Besides, <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489100062">I try to read about anything that may harm my body and mind.”</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Well excu-u-u-se me,” Alan blurted out jokingly. “I didn’t know I was speaking with The Shell Answer Man. Of course, you’re too young to know what I meant by that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“You would be surprised to what I know, <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489100153">Mr. Technician Man,” he answered with a grin. </a>“He was a fictitious character on a TV commercial many years ago, who would answer questions regarding automobiles and gasoline products.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I guess there aren’t too many things I can get by you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Arius frowned with puzzlement. “I wasn’t trying to intimidate you. I was reciprocating your statement.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Alan smiled. He turned around and directed his attention across the room toward a glass partition in the wall. Behind the partition sat a middle-aged, oriental woman in front of several monitors. He gave the woman the “thumbs-up” sign. She reciprocated with the same gesture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Returning his attention toward the MRI’s panel to his right, he reached out and placed the tip of his index finger on a green button on the MRI panel. He looked down toward Arius. “Here we go, young man,” he said with a monotonous, programmed tone of voice. <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489100258">“The table will slide into the cylinder and stop. </a>The scanning will occur several seconds afterward. It’s very important you don’t move during the entire procedure.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489100306"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“I understand the procedure,” said Arius.</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Alan pushed a green button. The MRI’s rectangular table slowly moved into its coffin-like cylinder. A few moments later he pushed a red button. The table stopped. “The procedure will start...now,” said the technician.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A high shrilling noise shrieked from the MRI machine. <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489100419">The noise then stopped</a>. All the previous lit buttons on the panel went out, as if someone or something had pulled the plug, disconnecting all functions of the MRI machine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Alan Stark jumped backwards a couple of feet during the MRI’s piercing screech. It appeared all the blood had drained from his face, leaving him with a pale, ghost-white appearance. His eyes appeared like small white saucers as his mouth gapped wide open. He finally shouted, “What the hell happened?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Alan turned toward the woman at the control monitors. She shook her head back and forth while shrugging her shoulders. He peered down toward Arius. <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489100539">The twelve-year-old patient laid still, motionless</a>inside the cylindrical chamber. He couldn’t understand why this young boy wasn’t moving or crying out?“Are you all right, little man? Are you still with us?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">No verbal response. Not even the slightest twitch, from the twelve-year-old patient’s body<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489100650">. A few seconds passed, “I’m fine.” Arius’s voice was calm.</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A deep sigh of relief came from Alan. “I’m glad you’re all right. You had me worried for a moment.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I assume something went wrong with the MRI machine?” Arius said matter-of-factly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489100843"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“It lost all power without warning,” he answered. “</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">I’ve never seen this happen before.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489100931"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“Since there isn’t any power to the MRI table,” </span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">said Arius, “I assume you’ll have to manually move the table?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Yeah. You’re right.” He seemed surprised by Arius’s intuitiveness. “Hang in there. I’ll have you out in a few moments.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When he was about to engage the manual lever to the table, the door leading out to the hospital corridor burst open. He spun around. Coming through the doorway was the transporter, Caleb, who’d brought Arius down from his room, and behind him were a few other hospital employees. All of them expressed concern on their faces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“What<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489194440">in heaven’s name was that horrible noise coming from </a>this room?” <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489194287">Caleb asked anxiously. “The shrilling noise </a>sounded like you and your patient were being attacked by a million bats.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“The sound you heard came from the MRI machine,” Alan answered, “and I don’t have the foggiest idea what happened. <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489194847">It just crashed</a>.” He turned back around and started to move the table out from underneath the MRI’s cylindrical opening. In less than a minute<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489194910">, the sliding table was out from underneath the cylinder</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Arius looked up at the technician. “Thank you. You’ve been very kind.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Alan smiled. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re all right.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Caleb, who was now standing a few paces from the end of the table, asked: “Are you going to restart the MRI?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I don’t know how long it’ll take to fix it,” answered the technician as he shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. Since you’re here, you can take our young patient back to his room.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Alan reached down and removed the Velcro straps from around Arius’s legs and torso. He next spread the head support allowing his young patient the freedom to sit up. To his surprise, he noticed Arius didn’t have a single bead of sweat across his forehead. Most children would’ve been yelling “bloody murder,” <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk489195022">or they would’ve been crying hysterically until they were pulled out from under the MRI machine.</a>But not this patient, he was composed and unaffected throughout this frightening ordeal.<i><u><o:p></o:p></u></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Caleb returned with a wheelchair. “Hop aboard mate. Your ship is sinking.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Arius frowned. A moment later a smile appeared. He now apparently understood what the transporter had meant by his statement. He slid off the MRI table and sat in the wheelchair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The transporter said goodbye to the MRI technician, turned the wheelchair around and headed out of the MRI room. On their way back to the pediatric floor,<b></b>neither of them said anything of significance nor anything about what could’ve happened to the MRI machine.<b></b>Caleb dropped Arius off in his room and left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">KEYWORDS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Mystery, Suspense, Mayan Hieroglyphs, Strange Dreams, Mysterious Caves, Miracles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Website URL: www.gregdidaleusky.com<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/G.-L.-Didaleusky/e/B003P6MDN8/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-56199130980642614102018-06-08T00:01:00.000-07:002018-06-08T00:01:12.142-07:00Hunter: The Serpent Mounds by C. L. Hagely<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9qK0wvLSxs01a_dShus8fyFFlywEh-YQ7dZ6AR3k7Fb71-LXB02hB6_EHpErxgKX-CSh_VXRlw7vgdhmoWMflVD9xQOi4iautyjyh6XhR4FzNDP4AetrRTqmzcrCcBpr3u82im3o7g/s1600/Hunter+The+Serpent+Mounds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9qK0wvLSxs01a_dShus8fyFFlywEh-YQ7dZ6AR3k7Fb71-LXB02hB6_EHpErxgKX-CSh_VXRlw7vgdhmoWMflVD9xQOi4iautyjyh6XhR4FzNDP4AetrRTqmzcrCcBpr3u82im3o7g/s1600/Hunter+The+Serpent+Mounds.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: Hunter: The Serpents Mounds<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A Lian Hunter Adventure<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-293-3<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: C. L. Hagely<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: YA/Sci Fi</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Excerpt Heat Level: 1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Book Heat Level: 2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-hu%C9r-serpent-mounds" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Read Chapter One</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DFXY2JQ/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1527866562&sr=1-1-fkmr0&keywords=Hunter+the+serpent+mounds+by+c.+l.+hagley" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink" style="color: blue; text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Barnes & Noble</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">TAGLINE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Bones and more bodies are found in a serpent-shaped mound—is it a connection to the reptilians or a new predator feasting on students’ hopes and dreams?</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial;">It’s sophomore year. Lian Hunter and his side-kick and best friend Gabriel were hoping for an uneventful and normal school year at Tri-Asterisk Academy in downtown Los Angeles. But Fate has once again strategically placed gigantic problems in their paths.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial;">When bones and more bodies are found in a serpent-shaped mound, is it a connection to the reptilians or is a new predator feasting on students’ hopes and dreams? An ancient enemy has also arisen on Nibiru to stake their claim on Earth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">This second book of the Lian Hunter Adventures series takes Lian and his cohorts to the brink of death again. Continuously drawn to this dark world he knows so little about, Lian watches more skeletons from the Hunter closet brought to light.</span><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lian pressed his face against the glass, using his sleeve to clear a circular patch off the condensation covering the windows. He looked out at the mountainous terrain as the rain was coming down in sheets. Black plants painted the landscape, and in fact, much of this area’s vegetation was singed from the recent fires, all fanned by the Santa Ana winds. The rain made the area much more dangerous, creating a larger chance for mudslides and flash flooding. Lian watched water pour from a particular shelf of rock that jutted out, resembling a huge spigot gushing brown water over a section of road. This huge barrage of water crashed onto the highway, flooding the lanes and closing it off to traffic, before innocently flowing down a hill to the ocean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lian ran his hands down the front of his jacket across the Tri-Asterisk emblem, mentally visualizing the triangle and the words<i>Academiae…Artes…Astronomicas</i>as his fingers slid over the embroidered symbol and letters. The car started to slow down as it made its way around a curve in a slow downward spiral. He leaned in closer to the glass. A lone figure stood in the rain staring back at him as the car passed. There was nothing around but barren land, and the rain seemed to have no effect on the man, as he stood there gazing back at the passing cars. Something disparaging and interesting about this homeless man had Lian squinting his eyes to get a clearer view of him, even turning his head to follow him as the car proceeded forward. As the man was moving out of Lian’s view through the side door glass, Lian suddenly saw something, and found himself pushing his face even harder against the glass trying to get a better look at the man. He was now peering at what seemed to be a large hulking green figure instead of the homeless individual. His heart immediately started thumping, and he shifted completely around to look out the back window. A surprised Lian moved his head back at what he saw. The green figure was gone, and the homeless man was the only thing in view from the rear window.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lian slowly turned his body around to face forward and slid down the seat, looking down at his hands. He felt them slightly trembling, but he had to check, just as he had to check if a reptilian actually stood on the side of the road. Did imagination once again take over his common sense? Lian started to wonder if this year was going to be driven with more incidents of his wild imagination and larger-than-life predicaments. His whole body jerked from its slumped position in the seat when a beep sounded and a small screen came down in the middle of the car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Lian.” Gabriel was smiling, his face now lit up on the screen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lian put his hand on his chest. “Jeez, Gabe. You scared the heck out of me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Start of the sophomore year shakes?” Gabriel was grinning, his smile creeping up one side of his face. “Hey, I’m just calling to tell you I’m sorry we couldn’t ride in together. I’ll meet you in front of the school in a half hour.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Alright, see you then.” Lian sat back against the seat and inhaled a deep breath as the screen slid out of view. “Great. I’m already shaken up. I’m seeing things, and I haven’t even reached school or started any classes yet.” he muttered to himself. “Yep…this is going to be some year.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The rain started coming down harder, making the visibility even harder for him to see out the side window. The car approached the on-ramp, and Lian leaned forward to look out the front window. He was checking to see if the homeless lady was still there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">Nope, looks like we won’t be seeing our little ol’ friend today.</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;">He watched the cars merging into the ongoing traffic. Other homeless people still gathered under makeshift tents near and under the overpass, their faces hidden by hoods pulled up over their heads. <i>Well, things could be worse, I guess.</i>Lian put his head back and closed his eyes, his hand now resting on his backpack next to him. The car’s motion along with the sound of the rain almost lulled him to sleep. He rubbed his eyes and looked out as the car slowed and the gate opened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Tri-Asterisk Academy, sir,” Fila announced as the car edged forward.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lian quickly went through the identification process at the gate, sticking his head out the side window until his face came up on the monitor. The car moved forward and into a long procession of other vehicles lined up in front of him. He looked out to see if he could spot Gabriel. His eyes moved toward the three statues, still there marking the entrance to the academy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“My old friends,” he said while looking up at the familiar figures. The rain and grey skies somehow made the three statues seem even more eerie with flashes of lightning reflecting off each one as they stood frozen in their triangular positions. He shifted his eyes as the car crept up closer, looking at the reptilian head on the one statue. The rain dripped slowly down its bronze face, almost making it appear like tears were running from its eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lian turned his head away quickly. Again, his thoughts turned to just wanting to have a normal school year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Pull over right here, Fila. With the rain pouring down, this is about as close as we’re going to get for a while, it appears.” Lian grabbed his backpack as the car stopped and the door opened up, his seat belt sliding off. He held the bag over his head as he ran toward the front door, the rain pelting around him. He peered out at the dark clouds looming over the academy, low and deep thunder grumbling in the background.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Hopefully this isn’t a bad omen.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Hey, Lian.” Gabriel grabbed his shoulder, holding an umbrella and pulling Lian under it with him. “You gotta be prepared for these monsoon rains.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lian smiled, relieved to see him. It was always a comfort just knowing he had his childhood friend with him in such a foreboding place. He still couldn’t shake the feeling of not fitting in at the academy. Most of the time, Lian couldn’t tell if he wanted that situation to change or not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Keywords: <span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #222222;">Young Adult, Science Fiction, Mystery, Dystopian, Serpents, Los Angeles<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Website URL: </span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">www.clhagely.com</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter handle: </span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">CLHagely</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-59451785003984924062018-06-01T00:01:00.000-07:002018-06-01T00:01:09.207-07:00The Coterie:Domination #YA #Dystopian<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: The Coterie-Domination<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-362-6<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: Richard C. McClain<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Young Adult/Dystopian</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Coterie-Domination-Richard-C-McClain-II-ebook/dp/B07D93CDXD/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1527603876&sr=8-1&keywords=THE+COTERIE%3A+DOMINATION+BY+RICHARD+C.+MCCLAIN" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Rogue Phoenix Press</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">, Amazon, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-coterie-domination/%20%5F" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Read First Chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Murder, mayhem, and misgivings threaten seventeen-year-old Dakarai Holt’s resolve. With the help of six capable students, he must squelch The Coterie’s conquest of the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Convinced he can find the person(s) responsible for murdering his roommate while blocking The Coterie, who have effectively destabilized the world’s economies, seventeen-year-old loner, Dakarai Holt, will need the help of six other skilled students. Together, they form the clandestine group TRC. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Dak’s emotional inquietude makes him vulnerable to others. Pursuit of concurrent romantic interests Tasi and Lilac decelerates when he counteracts TRC’s wishes and hounds The Coterie to accept him into their clique. His excitement changes to fear when he’s obliged to execute a directive that includes eliminating Tasi. To ensure Dak’s compliance, The Coterie hold Dak’s parents hostage and torture Lilac. <span style="color: #330099;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Hope that his ingenious hacking abilities will obstruct The Coterie while saving everyone in the process backfires altering his perception of life.</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lilac takes the board from me. The tremor in her right hand loses control. Starved of forethought, I reach over and steady it. Rivers of tears stream from both eyes wetting our hands and the board.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">“Brody…”</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;">she struggles to write.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I turn my head, but hers is lowered, staring at the board. I wince at the words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">“He took advantage of me….”</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;">another pause.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My mind wanders, conjuring its own scenarios, nothing more horrible than what Lilac must’ve lived through. A perilous transformation takes place as she confirms my suspicions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Inside, a rage I never knew existed roars violent. Visons of death preoccupy my thoughts. I don’t want to hurt Brody. I want him removed from this earth. If fate would allow, I want to be the person who signs his death warrant, administers justice, and hammers the first nail in his coffin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Her hand scoots across the board, smearing the words. Gut wrenching sighs now spasm her body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">“It’s okay,” </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;">I mouth, lifting her chin, forcing her to look at me. <i>“We’ll get through this. I promise you.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We sit in quiet, attempting to enjoy the rest of the ride.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Unlike my first drive to Ossipee, I see none of the flowing magnificence that captured my attention. Our bus stops at a designated bus bay. The R.A.T. SQUAD bus supposed to be following us is conspicuously absent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ten minutes of twiddling my thumbs in these claustrophobic conditions is as much as I can take. I stand and, to the amazement of the others, leave the bus. It’s not long before they follow. At Lilac’s urging we step back from the group and surreptitiously disappear amongst the smattering of cafes, bookstores, art studios and high-end shops...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">“You’re flirting with fire,”</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;">I mouth after Lilac touches my arm for a second time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">“Need to get rid of this com unit. Come on,”</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;">she mouths back.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Using two fingers, Lilac’s train blasting whistle solicits the appearance of three taxis. We take the first to arrive and wait as the driver deciphers the message she’s written on my board. He whisks us off to a bantam airfield. Even up close, the small planes are tiny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A dilapidated building appears before us. Blanched in red writing on the side are the words ‘skydiving school’. I understand now what Lilac has in mind. Queasy at the prospect of jumping, I applaud the wisdom of considering other options. My silent plea is disregarded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Fifty jumps have been credited to Lilac. In quick order, she schedules us for a tandem jump, promising I’ll be fine without the compulsory lessons. The idea of taking a small plane in the air and parachuting fifteen thousand feet screams ludicrous. Take your hand, stick it to your ear, remove the earpiece, throw it on the ground, stomp on it; simple if you ask me. Unfortunately, no one did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lilac dons her gear, careful to assist me with mine. Confidence I may have displayed before donning my gear no longer sits in my camp. Any halfwit can do something as simple as jump from a plane. That’s what I tell myself. I believe the lie up till the moment the rickety plane lifts off. At that moment, I learn a powerful truth about Dakarai Holt. I’m yellow through and through. Lilac tosses me a glance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“You okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Rapid successive nods followed by a fake a smile does an injustice to the full-blown terror burgeoning throughout my body. The cross-country snow skiing and flag football activities I pooh-poohed weeks ago, in retrospect, seem thrilling options.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The plane levels off at fourteen thousand feet. Lilac and I prepare to exit the plane. My eyes widen in fear as she opens the door. An arctic cyclone invades the plane. I stand near the edge of the door, my knees shaking while I grip the handle. The cold numbs my body, and the flow of blood stops. Wishing away the world below only works with closed eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">If I can’t see it, then it can’t be real. If I can’t see it, then it can’t be real. If I can’t see it, then it can’t be real.</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">It took Dorothy three clicks of her heels to return home. Is it possible her mantra will work for me? When nothing happens, I give it a fourth try. <i>If I can’t see it, then it can’t be real</i>. Jelly knees, and I realize I’ve no choice except to wimp out. I turn to face Lilac and inform her of my decision.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“It’s not for everybody,” she says smiling She unhooks straps freeing me. I take a deep breath, grateful for the stay of execution. “I’ll tell the pilot to land.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">“Thanks.”</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;">I mouth and move toward her. Her gentle hands encircle my body. Breathless, I reach my hands out to hold her when the plane tilts and her body leans into mine. Powerless to brace myself, I convulse with terror as I fall through the open door into obscurity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Millions of tiny air pellets pummel me at once. Around Lilac’s waist my legs grip hard as my hands flail like a bird on takeoff. Lilac forces her arms inside my legs and in a violent move extricates from my deadlock hold. I drown in a sea of air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">An obtrusion of wind pressures my body into a debilitating spin. My body twirls out of control and I know I’m going to lose consciousness. The blur of green, brown, blue, and white combine into a single nebulous shade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My heart races so fast it becomes a steady elongated tempo. I resist the urge to vomit because I don’t relish the thought of the fetid slime caking to my face and hair. I yell for Lilac to help me. She will never hear my unspoken screams. It is at this moment as I plunge to my death I realize my mistake in trusting her. I should have listened to Tasi and the others. How could I have been so stupid? These are my last thoughts before I die.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">KEYWORDS Dystopian, hacker, torture, hostage, young adult<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Website URL: </span></b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">richardcmcclain.com<b></b></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Blog URL: </span></b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">thedreameffect.tumblr.com</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Facebook page: </span></b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Richard C. McClain</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Twitter handle: </span></b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">@richardcmcclain</span></div>
Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-1713421840355311872018-05-22T00:01:00.000-07:002018-05-22T00:01:16.642-07:00GottaHaveFayth #HistoricalRomance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: Gotta Have Fayth<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Twelve Dancing Princesses Book Six</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: Christine Young<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-373-2</span><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Historical Romance</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07CCHQT4R/ref=as_li_qf_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=achristay-20&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B07CCHQT4R&linkId=7d3bb68b5b1842d9e683b8b483b9630e" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter_gotta-fayth/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Read First Chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Fayth Graham unexpectedly meets a man with sparkling gray eyes and an infectious grin, Jarret Kingsley, who gets more than he bargained in the beautiful debutant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A regal beauty with raven hair and piercing blue eyes, Fayth Graham is unwilling to parade herself in front of the wealthy Lords of England during the season. Seeking a means to dissuade any man wishing to wed her, she seeks a way to ruin herself for marriage. When she <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk513560341">unexpectedly meets a man with sparkling gray eyes and an infectious grin</a>, she decides this is the man who will keep her from agreeing to obey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He returned from six months at sea, looking for a few nights of pleasure with a willing lass, but Jarret Kinsley got more than he bargained for when he met a beautiful debutant who responded to his kisses with a wild innocence that touched his heart. Yet the obstacles looming between them might rip them apart. Both had vowed never to marry, so when consequences of their dalliances got in the way, Jarret would have to choose between the life he's always desired and the woman he loves more than life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Their attention once again was directed to the entrance. A young woman stepped through the door. Jarret’s mind centered on her face; she was so beautiful he couldn’t keep his jaw from dropping. She could have been the largest woman he’d ever seen, but her face seemed angelic. Gorgeous. Stunning. Yet she was petite with coal black hair, intricately coiffed with a few tendrils framing her cheekbones. She wore a travelling dress that had seen better days, but it didn’t distract from her slim delicate figure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He swallowed hard and his breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure he could speak. “I want her. Gotta have her. Tonight.” <i>Maybe my fortune is changing for the best.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“What did you just say?” Logan turned to stare at Jarret.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“My wishes for this evening have just been answered. This is the woman I’ve been waiting for. The next lady who will find my bed and enjoy all the pleasure she deserves.” Jarret rose, striding to the enchanting vision.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He reached her, feeling for the first time he could remember, tongue-tied. The air around her was filled with the scent of lemons. “Can I help you?” He touched her elbow, gently guiding her to the corner of the room where he’d been sitting. He couldn’t resist her aqua colored eyes or the tilt of her chin. When she moistened her lips, all he could think was that he had to taste them, breathe in their essence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">She stared at him, appearing a bit bewildered. “I...”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I...” One eyebrow rose and the smile inside him grew realizing this woman, whoever she was, would be his next affair. All that remained was convincing her. He didn’t think that would be too difficult.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I need directions.” She said, her voice assuming a note of command, yet at the same time breathless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“You entered a tavern for directions?” he queried skeptically. “Then direction you will have.” His heart pounded in his chest, a sudden heat sweeping through his body. More than willing to give instructions to the captain’s cabin of his ship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">She let him lead her across the floor and pulled out a chair for her. “This is...” he began, only to shift his attention from his friends to this gorgeous lady.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Fayth,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">"And I'm Jarret Kingsley."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">An easy peace swept through him. <i>Gotta have Fayth. </i>He touched the top of her hand with his. Its softness sent a warm shimmer spiraling straight to his heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Fayth, a beautiful name,” Logan said, grinning at Jarret as if he knew his intentions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Jarret slanted him the best <i>hands off</i>look he could manage. Logan appeared to receive the message, and Drake downed his second pint, signaling for another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Kingsley, if I haven’t missed the clues, I believe your wishes for tonight have been granted.” Drake told him. Guess you won’t be going with Logan and myself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">Now I just have to convince my lady</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;">. “Don’t the two of you have somewhere to go?” Jarret asked, nodding his head in the direction of the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Fayth slipped her hand from beneath his and placed it on Jarret’s arm. “I came in here for help. Can you help me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Of course, directions where?” Jarret asked, knowing where he wanted her but still trying to figure out the details.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“To my new lodgings. I’ve been travelling for days and I’m confused. I’ve never been in London and I thought...”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“No fears. I’ll make sure you get where you want to go.” Jarret had every intention of taking her wherever she pleased but only after he knew her better, intimately.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The pint of ale Jarret had ordered for her appeared. She licked her lips and stared at the glass. “I don’t know if I should drink that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Only if you want to. I can get you water or wine. The water is horrible, but the wine might be better if it comes from Logan’s vineyard in Bordeaux.” Jarret ignored the conversation between his two best friends. Without listening, he knew what it was that they talked and laughed about and he didn’t care, knowing he was smitten he wasn’t about to deny the emotion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I’ll try this.” She sipped the cold brew, a strange expression appearing on her delicate features.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“What do you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Good.” She licked her lips, and he wanted to follow the path of her tongue with his fingertip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Historical, Romance, Regency, England<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk498762609"><span lang="FR" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt; padding: 0in;">http://christineyoungromancewriter.com/</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt; padding: 0in;">http://christineyoung-romancewriter.blogspot.com/</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-7300078583417310822018-05-08T00:01:00.000-07:002018-05-08T00:01:01.667-07:00The Key of F by Jennifer Haskin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: The Key of F<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: Jennifer Haskin<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-358-9</span><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: YA Fantasy</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Book Heat Level: 4<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: Amazon, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/first-chapter-key-f/" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Read first chapter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Being trained as a warrior is all Fale ever wanted, but when she starts having visions, evil forces threaten all the lives she loves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial;">Though Fale has never discovered who murdered her parents and left her orphaned as a child, she attempts to lead a normal and peaceful life. After all, she is training to be a peacekeeping warrior under the direction of her adoptive father. But, when she starts having strange visions that predict the future on her 18th birthday, it turns her life into anything but ordinary. Alongside her best friends and the man who rejected her three years ago, Fale must discover the truths of her past to achieve her true destiny. Can she harness her inner warrior to save her people? And can she prove that she is no longer an innocent child to the man she loves along the way?</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">It wasn’t the moon’s coming red-sky eclipse that drove Fale so quickly inside; it wasn’t even the spring chill. She had dreamt of a war; one beyond her lifetime, yet she’d been there. She had led the army. Killing the boy in the dream troubled her. Today she wanted to be around people she knew and trusted. She <i>thought</i>her city was safe. Still, tingles ran the length of her arms, warning her of something sinister waiting. She shook her limbs to ward off the tremors of edgy nerves and pushed through the glass door of the pub. Immediately she felt the thump of a low and steady bass guitar, as a musical lament rang through the smoky antechamber. A torrid blast of heat hit Fale in the face as she entered the main room of the pub during its lunchtime press. <i>This place is like a sauna</i>, she thought as she scanned the room looking for her party. Her friends were hard to find in the boisterous crowd. She sidled down the bar to the back booths and found them, waving and calling her name over the noise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Fale!” Izzy twisted in her seat. “Hurry up; lunch is almost over.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Fale smiled brightly at Izzy, and ignored Keron as he stepped out of the booth for her to slide in. The seats, once a vibrant red leather, were now dull and cracked with wear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Sorry I’m late, Izzy.” They hugged briefly. “How were your morning classes?” she shouted above the noise of the deafening table next to them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Brutal.” Izzy rolled her eyes. “It’s crazy in here today. You should be glad you’re late; the guys have been arguing the whole time. Keron had a bad morning, and now he’s just plain pissy. It’s so loud and hot; I’m almost glad to go back to class,” she said, not caring if the guys heard her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Fale shook her head, laughing. “Liar. Not even I am so sadistic. Don’t you have Industrial Instrumentations this afternoon? Nobody likes that class.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Not all of us had the benefit of an advisor like you did,” Izzy pouted. “Having a drink?” She lifted her glass half full of amber liquid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Fale turned to her other side. “Keron, would you pass the pitcher?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He looked at her tiredly and set his icy drink down. “Got a glass?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“I guess I forgot to grab one from the bar on my way over,” she said, rising.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Keron sighed. “I’ll getcha one,” he grumbled, pushing her arm back into the seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">Odd; he really must be having a bad day</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Keron rose as fluidly as a swimmer moving through a pool, despite having a mechanical arm and leg, but he didn’t get far. The booth next to them, a round booth, was packed full to overflowing with a group who called themselves the Rowdies. Trouble was their companion, and Fale had heard, mostly from her friends, they participated in underground fighting which was as deadly as it was illegal. Most people gave them a wide berth. That day they felt the need to harass Keron. It wasn’t unusual for fantocci, bondsmen marked by their metal limbs, to be the object of ridicule. They were glorified servants who had needed a limb or an organ replaced with metal parts and were now locked into lifelong service to pay their debt. Keron was passing their table, going to the side bar, when the leader taunted, “Hey metal man! Are you half metal everywhere? What about where it counts? Betcha can’t please the women, eh?” The other Rowdies laughed as one of them grabbed a handful of his pants at the crotch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Keron growled down at them, “Mind your own damn business.” His hands curled into fists.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Head Rowdy, dressed in black leather, jumped up to stand nose to nose with Keron and said, “I’m making it my business.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Other Rowdies stood, cocking their heads in interest, shifting their weight from foot to foot like skittish wild animals. Fale felt a familiar tingling down her arms and body. This time, pictures flashed through her mind. Vivid scenes of blood and danger, telling a story, played in her head and she knew what she needed to do. Instinctively, she snatched Keron’s mallet and knife from their place on top of his toolbox and hid them under her bag. Fale looked around to make sure no one had noticed her acting strangely. An uneasy feeling made her reach back to put his tools where she’d found them, but she froze. Her vision had shown her this was the right decision. She covered them with her bag and watched, no matter how painful it would be to sit there and do nothing, to see if this would work itself out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Rowdy threw his first punch. Keron deflected but was momentarily dazed when he looked back and couldn’t find his mallet or knife to use as weapons. Keron held his fists up to fight back; he swung at the head Rowdy and connected with his jaw. They wove around each other in a fighter’s dance, each looking for the best blow. One of the Rowdies had slipped behind Keron wielding the hooked end of a pry bar and tripped his metal leg. As he fell, the head Rowdy threw his next jab. Keron’s head hit the table, and his eyes rolled briefly. Keron fell heavily to the floor, and the head Rowdy moved to kick him, but Keron rolled and punched the side of his knee cap. The Rowdy screamed. Keron was on his feet in seconds and glanced back at the seat for his weapons, but Fale kept them hidden. With every punch, Fale felt a twinge of pain. The fight was elevating. She had to stop this before someone called Control. No one else would dare help a fantocci in trouble, but she hated to imagine what fate might befall a fantocci caught fighting in public. There would be no mercy for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Fale, do something.” Izzy pushed against her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Fale slid from the bench seat and jumped in between the men with her arms raised. She turned to Keron, watching his chest rise and fall as he glared above her head at his opponent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Leave it,” she pleaded, attempting to push back Keron’s arm with his fist held high. “He’s not worth it.” Bar patrons gathered to view the spectacle, and the bouncer was shoving his way toward them holding a baton.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Please,” she whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial;">warriors, magic, romance, fighting, YA fantasy</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Website URL: www.jenniferhaskin.com</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Facebook page: www.facebook.com/FreedomFightTrilogy</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Twitter handle: @Haskinauthor</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-83073760866965360982018-05-02T07:47:00.000-07:002018-05-02T07:47:16.293-07:00The Banshee by Henry P. Gravelle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Title: The Banshee<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Author: Henry P. Gravelle<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ISBN: 978-1-62420-348-0</span><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Horror</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Excerpt Heat Level: 1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Book Heat Level: 2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Banshee-Henry-P-Gravelle-ebook/dp/B07CLMRQCT/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1524671109&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Banshee+by+Henry+P.+Gravelle" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/the-banshee_first-chapter/%20%5F" style="color: purple;">Read first chapter<o:p></o:p></a></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">TAGLINE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;">Satan worshippers raise the spirit of a witch who brings a demon to complete her vow of vengeance against the town that executed her three-hundred years earlier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">BLURB: The Banshee<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">David Raferty awakes from a troubling dream to find he is travelling to his Uncles rural town, a place holding many memories. Still confused why he is there he begins to recall faces and places all the while discecting clues to a brutal murder. As more victims appear David, his Uncle, the sheriff and an unwitting priest search for the source of a childhood tale believed to be terrorizing the town... again. </span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">EXCERPT: The Banshee<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">David Raferty lay in bed while the lightning storm raged outside. Heavy droplets of wind driven rain pelted the window. His eyelids squeezed closed, as tightly as possible, as if his mind would seep out through the sockets if he let up, even a little.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">The pupils moved under the lids, back and forth, searching the darkness. It was a troublesome and exhaustive sleep bringing perspiration to his brow, moistening his curly hair and dampening the pillow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">His fingers pulled at the sheets, forming fists, tight and white knuckled. His body and limbs ached as though he had run a marathon, his mind a blur, suspended in blackness, not falling nor rising for there was no wind on his face or draft from behind. He felt a strange sensation of tumbling with arms outstretched and legs apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">A human cartwheel was what he imagined. It confused him and his mouth opened wide, bellowing a scream that followed him through the darkness, until he saw the light. It grew in his subconscious from a mere shadow to a blistering white star burst as though he had emerged from the earth’s bowels to daylight. Then his eyes opened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">Joanne was beside him, wearing her favorite mint green nightshirt. It covered most of her torso, but the dislodged bed sheet exposed one creamy thigh and leg. His eyes followed his wife’s lean form down over the knee past the shin to the painted toenails. He was happy lying next to her in the comfort of the warm bed, listening to the torrential downpour, and her breathing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">Thunderous detonations of thunder boomed near, so near the pictures on the wall rattled. One crashed to the floor, shattering the glass. Joanne mumbled something incoherent then returned to her dream. He watched her breath for some time, her breast rising and falling mechanically. Her lips slightly parted, her eyes void of pain, loneliness, or worry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">The passion he held for her moved through him, arousing desire, tingling...He rolled onto his side, bracing his head with the palm of his hand, the other reaching to touch her softness and caress his young wife’s creamy flesh. The scent of her long fire engine red hair drifted into his nostrils. It smelled clean, with a tinge of raspberry aloe. She was so close he dared to run his fingers through it and watch the velvety way the hair dropped back into place, but his hand stopped inches from her. He could not proceed, could not go closer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">Joanne sighed and slowly turned onto her side, eyelids still closed comfortably, breathing rhythmic and calm. One arm folded under her pillow, the other by her side near the knee. She was so beautiful. David smiled. He missed her. Joanne’s eyes fluttered open. They gazed briefly into each other’s souls until she realized she had awakened. Lightning flashed by the window; its booming roar shook the house and illuminated the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">“Jesus Christ!” She leaped from the bed, her legs caught in the sheet, causing her to roll off the side of the mattress. She stood quickly, frightened and confused.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">“Joanne...” his hand reached out to her. She took a step back, away from the bed, her hands shaking, together under her chin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">“No, it can’t be,” She forced the words from her parched throat and fell to her knees, tears streaming across her cheeks. Another loud boom of thunder concealed her scream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">David was beside himself; she was so close it was surreal. If only he could touch her and kiss her, make love to her again. Then it began, as it always did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">The soft edges of Joanne’s figure turned gritty, abrasive, almost metallic, like so many pixels forming a photograph. Her arms blurred then dissolved, falling apart, followed by her torso and breast bobbing freely under the fading night shirt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">Her entire image dissolved, then the furniture, the bed, the sheets, walls and ceiling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">David cried out, “No, damn it, no!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">He was back in the black void, outstretched. He watched his feet dissolve. The flesh on the toes turning to paper then crinkling until powder replaced them. Then everything turned to powder and vanished; flesh, bone, blood, sinew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">His memory was on full throttle, careening out of control, running rampant, sending images across the screen in his mind of things remembered. Images on fast forward fluttered for him to recall of a farm house, him climbing a cliff, him running through a forest, a priest, a cemetery, a little girl and a kite, a police car, a grave and an explosion and...and...then it was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">The unclear pictures also dissolved leaving his memory blank. His face began to melt, his eyeballs dried turning to dust. He tried to scream through a collapsed throat and then awoke, on a bus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial;">Author Bio: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Henry P. Gravelle is an Author, Screenwriter and Playwright who's catalog includes nearly fifty short stories, several novellas and novels including <i>The Bamboo Heart, Pug, Hobo</i>and <i>The Fort Providence Watch </i>and <i>The Banshee</i>. Also a western series, <i>The Doc Jacobi Adventures</i>and a paranormal detective series, <i>The Buddy Sands Cases</i>. His screenwriting includes several feature and short film scripts as well as a collection of short plays. Henry resides along the south shore of Massachusetts.</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Banshee, ghost, purgatory, witches</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Website URL: http://www.henrygravelle.com/</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook page: </span><span lang="FR"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Henry-P.-Gravelle/e/B004ROF2JE/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 9pt;">https://www.amazon.com/Henry-P.-Gravelle/e/B004ROF2JE/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1</span></a></span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2191267765989256524.post-57426857154090272272018-04-12T00:01:00.000-07:002018-04-12T00:01:12.296-07:00The Rixey Files: Hugh Williams<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial";">Have a problem recovering an item? Miller Rixey will go anywhere to recover your lost item, no matter what it is...provided the fee is generous enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Buy at: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Quest-Caesars-Medallion-Rixey-Files-ebook/dp/B07BYSZY4S/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1523136152&sr=8-1-fkmr0&keywords=The+Rixey+Files+by+Hugh+Richard+Williams" style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial";">, Barnes and Noble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: "arial";"><a href="https://roguephoenixpress.com/quest-caesars-medallion_first-chapter" style="color: purple;">Read first chapter</a></span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">EXCERPT: The Rixey Files Book One<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">I poured a cup of coffee and fixed it the way I liked it and decided to read the file, Hitler in Argentina 1945-1964 first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">I flipped to the first page and saw a very primitive looking Top-Secret coversheet. It had a description of what the item was, in this case, a letter. The number of copies, which was two, the date the document had been created, September 1, 1945, and a description of the topic of the document: HITLER ESTABLISHED BASECAMP. There was a to and from that were very troubling names: Harry S. Truman was the receiver of this report and J. Edgar Hoover was the was the sender. Under the checked out to list I saw two signatures that didn’t ease my mind, Allen Dulles and John Dulles. Allen Dulles had been the head of Swiss Operations for the OSS during World War II. His job involved gathering intelligence on the Germans and as such developed a cozy relationship between himself and several high-level Nazis such as Martin Bormann. He later became the first civilian Director of the CIA, serving from 1953-1961. His brother, John Dulles served as Secretary of State under President Eisenhower. These two were definitely players in the American intelligence field.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">Both men held Anti-Semitic views and were suspected of being pro-Nazi. The men saw Nazism as a better alternative to Russian Communism. Pre-WW II saw the explosion of German sympathizer groups like the German-American Bund. This thinking was not merely restricted to the common man. Such American luminaries like Joseph Kennedy, the father of a future President, Charles Lindbergh, and Walt Disney all held similar views. I remembered back to one of my history classes. My professor said had it not been for Pearl Harbor, Germany might have easily won World War II. I suspected she was right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">The report had not been declassified, I double checked for that. I wondered how Willard managed to get me a copy of it? I knew Willard had friends who worked in the intelligence field. It was something I would have to ask him about the next time I saw him. The letter, more of a memo actually was short and to the point:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">“Mr. President:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">This is to inform you that Adolph Hitler has been safely ensconced in the Eden Hotel. It is located in the town of La Falda which is approximately four hundred and fifty miles from Buenos Aires. He is secure there as the hotel is owned by the Einhorn family. <i>Herr</i>Hitler has been very helpful with our plan to gather up the top scientists, their research, and whatever advanced weaponry. This program is being carried out under the auspices of Operation Paperclip. For the time being, the fact that Hitler committed suicide in Berlin continues to be accepted by the world and offers his best chance for safety. Further updates will be provided in person by me. This is much too sensitive of a matter for any more communications in writing. If you have questions concerning this matter, please contact me and we will discuss your concerns in person. You will be informed in writing of any other new developments. Only you and your successors will be cleared to have knowledge about this operation. Allen and John are coordinating the project overseas and I am handling the project in America. I realize you may have some concerns on Operation Paperclip, but its continuation will help America defeat the Red Menace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">S/ J. Edgar Hoover”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">There was a second letter. It was dated October 1, 1945. It too was labeled Top Secret. It was addressed to President Truman again and had been sent to him by Allen Dulles with notification that a copy had been sent to J. Edgar Hoover. This one briefly outlined the escape of Hitler from Germany. The title for this was HITLER’S ESCAPE DETAILS FROM BORMANN DIARY.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">“President Truman:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">As to how Hitler and his entourage escaped Germany, they were able to escape their bunker to a private airport that had no yet fallen under Russian control. The billions of dollars in money, precious metals, gems, and artwork that were appropriated by Germany had been sent off to Argentina weeks earlier when it became apparent to Martin Bormann the war was lost. ‘I arranged for a false weather report to be sent to Allied intelligence which created a situation that grounded their flights. This allowed the three planes carrying Hitler and his entourage to easily fly to Spain. Once they arrived in Spain, they used two U-Boats for the rest of the journey.’ This report has been taken directly from Martin Bormann. Please note, we have been greatly helped by both Juan and Evita Peron. Without their help, we would have never been able to place Hitler in Argentina. We need to do our best to keep them if not in power, close to the power. Please let me know if you have any other questions. I will be able to arrange a meeting at your convenience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">S/Allen Dulles”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">There was one final letter that was dated 15 December 1964. It had been addressed to Lyndon Johnson and had been sent from John A. McCone who was director of the CIA. It was also acknowledged that Allen Dulles and J. Edgar Hoover had read the letter. It was entitled: HILTER EVACUATION.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">“Hitler had to be moved to a Bavarian-styled mansion at</span><i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";"> </span></i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inalco" title="Inalco"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; text-decoration: none;">Inalco</span></i></a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">, a remote and barely accessible spot at the northwest end of</span><i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";"> </span></i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nahuel_Huapi_Lake" title="Nahuel Huapi Lake"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; text-decoration: none;">Lake Nahuel Huapi</span></i></a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">, close to the</span><i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";"> </span></i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chile" title="Chile"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; text-decoration: none;">Chilean</span></i></a><i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";"> </span></i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">border. It was the only facility we could find that would offer much better security, had room enough for his labs, and the large number of his entourages and scientists. We are certain that this area is indeed secure and don’t envision any more security problems from this location. Security was broken by a captured Nazi war criminal who confessed Hitler’s location to the Mossad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">S/ John A. McCone.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">If this is really true, I thought, I could see why no one would want this out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">Mystery, Conspiracy, Operation Paperclip, Action/Adventure</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial";">SOCIAL LIINKS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">Website URL: https://www.facebook.com/hughauthor/</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">Blog URL:</span><span lang="DE" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">www.hughwilliamsauthor.com</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/The-Rixey-Files-417831578574738/</span><span lang="FR" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter handle: @hrw97</span></div>
Christine Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04009319154924162270noreply@blogger.com0