Cynthia A. Morgan's Blog, page 64

The Ebon Leviathan – #Poetry of #Dreams and #Oceans

Upon the Sleepy tide of Night,
With Indigo Shade upon my Sails;
A Thousand Diamonds cast their Light,
While the Ebon Leviathan sweetly Exhales.

The Celestial Galleon gently Sways,
Weaving Her way ‘cross Sappharine Seas;
Through the Sparkling ‘scape, Hyperion Plays,
While the Ebon Leviathan rhythmically Breathes.

My Gaze entreats the Crystal Expanse,
Seeking the Sojourner brightly Ablaze.
Intoxicating Venus, he Parades his Dance,
While the Ebon Leviathan, Smitten, Obeys.

The Rigging Whispers an Ancient Tale,
Echoes Lost in the Unfathomable Deep.
I Stand Entranced, Trembling and Pale
Watching the Ebon Leviathan Sleep.

~Morgan~
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Beautiful Image found on Pinterest

Annoyingly Effervescent – The #InternalDialog Vs. #External #Challenges

Someone told me the other day, (believe it or not), that I should be a bit more quiet, tone it down, reel it in, (shocking, I know!), and I was left staring at “said person” in utter amazement, not to mention bewilderment.

It’s difficult for me to explain how inane a suggestion this truly is, unless you know me, then you completely understand, but suffice it to say that this is like suggesting to a vegetarian that they should try hamster BBQ because they really might quite like it! I’m not saying that I’m in any way one of those persons who suffers from excessive personality (syndrome), not at all. I’m sure you know the type, one of those who shows up 20 minutes late even though they appear to recently have ingested, at the very least, enough caffeine to fuel the next flight to the moon; and I certainly am not one of those that shows up and shows out, licks everyone’s elbow, pats every bum, and generally makes a showy noise of themselves..nope, not me at all. I beg to differ. Quite the opposite, really.

However I do confess to a particular cheekiness (or impishness) that some less than cheerful souls might consider irritating, exasperating, even confusing; particularly because I simply love to throw a smile and a giggle in for good measure when I can see it’s the last thing in the world the person I’m conversing with would normally do. (You know how deviously satisfying it is to be excessively pleasant to someone who is exceedingly disagreeable, I know you do!)

Yep, Architect of Antics, that’s me! Prompter of Playfulness. Instigator of Insanity (comparatively speaking) After all, if you can’t laugh, why live? Why breathe? Why look at this goodly frame, the earth …this most excellent canopy, the air,… this brave o’erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, …(if all you are willing to see is)… a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. (Yes yes, Hamlet again… but I promise I won’t digress any farther, it just illustrated my point so well!)

Now, I will admit that I do have the ability to prattle on about nothing in particular with little or no contribution from anyone else, and (as I am sure you are already very well aware) I can write about anything or nothing the day long, but, in all honesty, it isn’t because I’m flighty, preposterous, or feather-brained (“Sometimes people without brains do an awful lot of talking, don’t they”)(No that wasn’t Hamlet, THAT was The Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz, silly!) or because I simply like to hear the sound of my own voice…no, I have a brain, I assure you, honestly, trust me, (but the internal mechanics and knowledge of my mind are yet another post…)(Did I hear you shout amen?!)

I simply prefer to be happy.

I prefer to share the joy of living that overflows inside me; to give someone a smile for no apparent reason; to step even slightly out of my way to bestow a kindness, if only to see how they react with amazement or bewilderment and then smile back because happiness is, in actuality, infectious. Why not? Doesn’t it beat the alternative: waking up in the morning with a growl (ok, unless it’s before 5am, then growling isn’t necessarily the only thing I’m apt to do), arriving at work with a snarl (again…unless it’s before 5am!) and spending the foreseeable future, for all intents and purposes, mating with maliciousness?
So for someone to suggest that I should put a damper on that buoyant side of my nature is like trying to suggest to the wind that it really ought not blow in a certain direction, or for the tide to simply not rise or fall.

I’m Bubbly, ebullient, vivacious, perhaps even somewhat sagacious….ok and maybe, potentially, ever so slightly, annoying effervescent.

~Morgan~
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Images found on Google Image search

#Words – One #Writer’s #Passion

Words

They are inescapably diverting. They distract me in the most intoxicating manner imaginable; they hold me hostage like a prisoner trapped within a cage of my own making where I pace, tiger-like, undeterred by the tide of day into night and night into day, where I can spend hours surrounding myself with them without saying anything at all.

Words

They fill my heart with yearning. They spread through my mind like a waking dream, impossible to ignore and as captivating as warmth on a freezing day, and I stand enthralled by the indescribably hypnotic sight of my thoughts and dreams taking visible form, filling my mind with ever increasing tides and torrents of relentless phrases.

Words

They touch the deep precincts of my mind. They betray the hidden secrets of my heart, speaking boldly for any who will listen what it is that my spirit longs to attain, to satisfy, to provoke, and I have no more control over the inevitable prophesying than one might have over the wind, blowing where and when and how it will.

Words

Like a drug I am powerless to resist, they send me into spiraling, dizzying, abstraction where I wait, transfixed and smiling like a Cheshire Cat, unabashed in my revelry, unhindered by convention, until the wave crests and crashes.

Words

Trivial or Tantalizing, Poetic or Lurid, I hear them, see them, feel them, taste them. They send me into irrational, inexplicable fits of splendor that only I seem able to experience. And yet, when those words are spoken by You, I see a mirror, a reflection; evidence of something more than just

Words.

#Rain – A #Poets View of #Weather and #Life

Rain.

It is a beautiful thing. There are so many types of rain, really, and I couldn’t tell you which sort I prefer more (unless we are including the fluffy, white, frozen variety that I love most of all, in copious quantities, as frequently as possible.)

There’s the light, misty kind that I tend to envision whenever someone talks about Great Britain. That type of drizzly, foggy rain that hangs over the landscape, penetrating every crevice, enveloping whatever it touches in a hazy shroud, and leaving ten thousand beads of incandescent diamonds in its wake that sparkle and scintillate when the light reappears. (Sounds divine, doesn’t it?) Oh, it’s also that deceptively inconsequential form of rain that doesn’t look like much until you walk out in it without your bumbershoot.

There’s the freezing drizzle, or frizzle; that sinister variety of rain that usually arrives overnight and surreptitiously transforms the garden path, car park, or the front steps into a skating arena suitable only for Olympic athleticism. It’s that quirky classification of rain that warps and blurs everything into unrealistic, Photoshop-worthy deviations of reality that makes most of us grab our camera’s (ie. Phones) to record and share the surreal, Dr Suess-iness of it all. This category of precipitation doesn’t initially impress either, so you generally disregard it until you have to go out and then promptly wind up on your arse.

There are a myriad classifications of thunderstorms as well. Those that pop up in the middle of a sweltering, summer day just long enough to make us all run for cover; the kind that create a lot of noise for 20 minutes and then disappear into a haze of steam. There are those that roll overhead in the hiatus of evening, fast and furious, full of sound and fury, (signifying nothing?) that do little more than make a mess, generally. And then there are those magnificent, cacophonous, tempests that jar you from sound sleep in the middle of the night with ear-splitting thunder and shocks of lightening that leave you wondering if you couldn’t hide under the bed with the cat.

There’s also the awe-inspiring, stop-you-dead-in-your-tracks kind of rain that makes you stare out the window in astonishment, forces you off the road in your car because you can’t see one inch ahead or behind, and makes you wonder for a fleeing, transitory moment if there isn’t an arc being built someplace nearby that you perhaps ought to be booking passage on: those torrential downpours of cats and dogs (and monkeys.)

Then there’s the steady, pervasive, day-long kind of rain that sweeps over the earth, softly falling hour by hour, never flooding, never rumbling, never wreaking havoc. This is the kind of rain that looks like a painting by Monet or Van Gough; that smells so sweet you inhale the scent of it deeply and can’t help sighing. It’s also that sort of precipitation that makes you want to pull off your shoes like a child, go out and splash in the puddles.

We can’t control the rain; what kind of rain it is, how hard it falls or for how long, but we can control how we respond to it so that we neither wind up soaking wet wishing we had protection from the rain, staring in dumb-struck wonder at the rain fearing what might happen next, nor landing on our arses because the unanticipated variability of the rain caught us completely off guard. Rather, we can stop to enjoy the rain, inhale deeply, and allow ourselves to be refreshed and renewed before we plod on.

~Morgan!
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Images found on Google

Mea Culpa – #MusicandMuse- #Poetry set to #Music

Enigma

Mea Culpa

The Liquescent Chanting…. Ancient, Alluring, Hypnotic.

The Male Voice in all its Splendor…. Echoing, Entreating, Inviting.

The Heartbeat of Resonant Bass…. Rhythmic, Repeating, Intoxicating.

The Lurid Conjuring Suggestion….Captivating, Controlling, Paradoxical.

The Tribal, Primitive Longing ….Persistent, Perpetuating, Inescapable.

~Morgan~

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The Music and Muse category by Morgan shares Poetry and the Music which Inspired it.

When Hope and Treachery Collide – A Glimpse into Celts and the Gladiator by P.C Darkcliff

Life is short and cheap in Nero’s arenas. A single stab might cause the death of humanity.  

Rome, 54 AD: In a dazzling twist of fate, Rawena becomes a gladiator, vanquishes an impossible opponent, and infuriates the emperor. Cursed to start a plague when steel pierces her heart, the Celtic woman fears that Nero’s wrath will force her to trigger a catastrophe.

As she fights against her destiny, arrogance, treacheries, and intrusions from magical realms hamper her at every turn.

Then a fellow gladiator, a young, love-struck Briton, promises the unimaginable. His oath and devotion fill Rawena with hope for the future.

But nothing will be clear until the ultimate combat.

A multi-award-winning author, P.C. has always had a vivid imagination.

When he was in kindergarten, he convinced his classmates that his grandma was a tribal shamaness. Then he learned his letters, and kidding his friends no longer seemed adequate—so he started writing fantasy.

P.C. has published two standalone novels and a series. His latest project, Celts and the Mad Goddess, is the first installment of The Deathless Chronicle. The sequel, Celts and the Gladiator, is coming out this summer.

His stories have been featured in various publications, and ‘A Poisoned Gift’ received an Honorable Mention in the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest. He is Spillwords Author of the Year 2020.

CELTS AND THE GLADIATOR by P.C. DARKCLIFF
CHAPTER ONE – A FREE Snippet ……
As she paraded in front of the vicious crowd, Rawena wondered who of her
‘family’ would try to kill her today.
The spectators filled the amphitheater to the awnings, ready to see her fight.
Nobles, consuls, and priests sat in the first two rows, wrapped in togas against the cool
February air. Behind them, plebeians shouted and placed bets while they watched
Rawena and her familia—the fighters from her gladiatorial school—tread the sand of
the arena. Slaves stood in the back, chatting and enjoying their freedom until the end of
the games when they would carry their masters back home in litters.
Since her enslavement six months ago, Rawena had fought with blunted swords
and pointless spears in a practice arena near the amphitheater. Although she had often
won, bruises covered her body like a mosaic. Today would be her first combat with
sharp, deadly weapons.
None of her familia were aware that a curse hung above her, protecting her from
their weapons and exposing them to deadly peril. She could only be killed by fire or
beheading. If her heart was pierced, though, it wouldn’t be Rawena but everyone around
her who would face death.
Trumpets pealed and cymbals clashed as a horde of guards led the gladiators
past the orchestra and to a projecting podium reserved for the emperor, the senators, and
the veiled Vestal Virgins. A breastwork surrounded the podium to protect the emperor
from wild beasts—although most Romans thought the emperor was the wildest beast of
all.
Nero reclined on a couch inlaid with mother-of-pearl. He wore a purple tunic
and a cloak embroidered with gold. Although he was only twenty-six, he had been
emperor for ten years, and he looked much older. Rawena found him ugly, with a fleshy
neck that connected his spotty face to his narrow shoulders, and with weak, thin legs
that contrasted with his prominent belly.
At the guards’ order, the gladiators knelt in the sand. There were a hundred of
them, all barbarians, and mostly men. Rawena was one of five gladiatrices, or female
gladiators. They all wore breastplates over their tunics, but they wouldn’t get weapons
until the combat.
“Hail Caesar!” they said in unison, as they had practiced before every training
session. “I vow to endure to be burned, to be bound, to be beaten, and to be killed by the
sword.”
Scared of fire, Rawena winced as she murmured the word burned.
Nero yawned and popped a plump date into his mouth. Then he waved his thin
hand, and the gladiators stood. The guards marched them to a large waiting chamber
that had long benches and tables with cups of water and heads of garlic.
Rawena took a few sips from a wooden cup, but she was too tense to sit. So were
most of the others. They fidgeted and looked around as if they tried to guess who had
been chosen to fight against them. According to the veterans, nearly a quarter of the
gladiators lost their lives during each games. Rawena feared that a spear or a sword
would make her an immortal cripple…

Join P.C.’s VIP reader club to get his debut novels for free

Find him everywhere in one click

CELTS AND THE GLADIATOR is available for preorder for just $99! Click here to grab your copy!

The prequel, CELTS AND THE MAD GODDESS, is discounted on Amazon

.

~Morgan~

Pennies for Every Occasion – #MeditativeThinking for #ChangingTimes

Pennies for Every Occasion

Like Chinese water torture, the steady drip, drip, drip of thoughts in my mind is inescapable, inevitable, irrepressible and yet, I cannot imagine life without the unceasing narrative that runs the (hamster?) wheel of my mind. It doesn’t really matter what I see: good, bad, beautiful, ugly, frightening, funny, or Hallmark-worthy tear-jerking, the window of my imagination opens and the gale force bluster of my thoughts comes rushing in, scattering the gloom of the mundane like inconsequential pages.

Often, I hear the echoes of Shakespeare, words I hold so dear, (but I promise I won’t subject you to again,…not yet) repeating, repeating, repeating with unrivaled dramatic flare. Other times it’s the annoyingly simplistic verse of a song I can’t quite recall, so I keep getting stuck at the quintessential moment and am forced to repeat, repeat, repeat whether I like it or not. (You can relate, I know you can!) Most of the time, however, I’m submersed in the spell-binding thespian exploits of one of my favorite actors, (that moment when the actor steps beyond his customary offerings and reveals something far more indescribable than you ever anticipated) and suddenly I find myself cast adrift on a sea of words and poetic phrases. It’s at that moment that I have a choice. I am forced to either press pause/ignore what’s happening on the big screen, grab a pen/pencil/or reach for my keyboard and scribble/type furiously before the inspiration is lost, or I kick myself later for not having done the latter.

These little treasures of thoughts would fill coin purse after coin purse if I had collected them all as such. Unfortunately however, (and I’m sure you are familiar with this predicament) I’ve kicked myself more often than I’ve jumped out of bed, paused the DVD, or thrown my hands over the mouth of person I’m talking/listening to. Nevertheless, I always have a few pennies lying about somewhere for every occasion and the following is a brief offering…(since brevity is the soul of wit) (sorry, yes, I know I promised, but it’s nearly as impossible for me not to incorporate Shakespeare into what I’m talking or writing about as it is for me to keep the window of my imagination closed and block out the wind!)

Words are spoken, heard, seen, performed, felt and dreamed.

Family is treasure. Gold is just metal.

Love is the most desirable source of pain.

Soul mates know each other, even before they meet.

One is two halves existing together in perfect harmony. Half of one is the loneliest number.

Inspiration mirrors breathing, it happens without you ever thinking about it and is equally as vital.

Giggles breed.

Shadows lurk beneath even the brightest illumination.

Friends don’t let Friends fall down alone.

Loss is just an opportunity for gain.

A child’s laughter is a language every person on Earth understands.

(Please share YOUR Pennies for Every Occasion in the comments cup below

~Morgan~
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Image found on Google

When – #Poetry of the #NaturalWorld

When ‘last the Light Escapes night drear,
Tis then Morn’ Stands upon the Mountain
And Jocund Day Waits, tiptoe, for Intent;
While Promise ‘pends upon the Balance.

When Yore consumes the Unsullied year
With rash and tainted Fervor,
‘Tis then foreboding haunts the darkness
And Muses Wait upon the Morrow.

When Twilight ‘parts with Fleeting shadow
And dark descends like the Immortal cowl,
Then my Soul Sighs Deep and Long
For the loss of all it once Held Dear.

~Morgan~
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Beautiful Images found on Pinterest.  Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original photographers.  Thank You.

Sleeping with the “Enemy”- A Thought About #ChangingPerspectives

Sleeping with the Enemy

Let me begin by saying that I am arachnophobic. Always have been, always will be. I’m that person that goes into an unparalleled fit of screaming, shaking, and running in the opposite direction whenever those creepy-crawly eight legged monsters are around. I’m the person who wakes up in the middle of the night and strips her bed to the bare bones to make sure there isn’t one or millions of those hairy, spindly, multi-legged freaks somewhere amongst the covers. Or under the bed. Or on any of the coordinating furniture. Or lying in wait on the drapes until I go back to sleep, so it can then descend on me in the darkness of night to send me into the aforementioned paroxysm. I’m also the person who once had to single-handedly dispatch a gargantuan, tarantula sized, octoplet-limbed creature of terror who had taken up residence in my bathtub!!! (insert frenzied shrieking here!)

Fast forward now, from that ghastly day, to this morning where you will find me (hypothetically speaking) lying in my bed, dreaming sweet dreams without care; dozing the morning away because it’s finally a Saturday and I don’t HAVE to get up early. (and the congregation shouts AMEN!) I wake up, lazily search for the clock, realize it’s not even 8 AM, smile triumphantly, roll over and promptly resume my reverie. My mind drifts aimlessly through wisps of dreams still clinging to my memory; lingers over musings of hazy imaginings and teeters on the pinnacle between conscious thought and transcendental hyperbole.…until, at last, I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling… you know the sensation…trying to remember what planet I’m on.

My thoughts shift from mystical to rational, (darn it!) I begin to strategically plan out my day, workout and the subsequent primping and preening that follows, breakfast, errands, financial concerns, laundry…yeck! Oh To sleep, perchance to dream! (sorry, snuck some Shakespeare in there on ya!) But this fair thought, now ended; I must rouse myself to the full and stumble on…( that part’s not Shakespeare, that’s me being “poetic”. Shakespeare always merits Italics) So, up I get and up gets the cat (his name is Little Orange Pooz, but that’s yet another post). I turn to make up the bed and then I SEE IT! A black, fuzzy, eight-legged beastie fully the size of a quarter (OR for my British friends, a one pound coin) sitting on my curtain just above my pillow !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Typically, this is the instant where the heebie-jeebies take over, the moment when rationale goes out the window and an inescapable spasm of insanity runs riot over me. I stare in dismay, but to my utter bewilderment and astonishment, I neither freak nor flee. Rather, although I have no comprehension of why, I stand there, LEAN CLOSER, and gaze at this little furry monster more intently. I can see he’s not moving; he’s almost curled up, and for half of a fleeting second I almost smile!!! He’s sleeping! Is he dreaming? What does a spider dream about, I wonder paradoxically. Does he dream about dropping down from the ceiling in the middle of the night onto unsuspecting, sleeping young women to send them into riotous fits of irrational fear all for the sheer hilarity of it?

Who cares!!!! I shake myself…it’s a spider!!! In any other situation, I would instantaneously grab the nearest shoe and start screechin’ n’ swingin’! But, instead, I find myself walking calmly (albeit briskly) to the laundry cupboard, retrieving a duster (a long handled one to be sure!), and returning to the scene of the crime to patiently coax this denizen of hideousness onto the fluffy fibers of his waiting conveyance so I can carry him (once again, at a BRISK pace) to the door and deposit him on the first green growing thing I can find.

Ok….what’s the deal? How can this be? What alternate reality did I wake to this morning that would find me inquisitively regarding and then effectively sparing the life of my lifelong nemesis and archenemy? Is there some lucid explanation for this, otherwise, inexplicable deviation from the norm? I spend the next several hours musing over the possibilities. It could be simply that I hadn’t yet had a sufficient intake of caffeine, was still half asleep and not thinking clearly. Or it could be, perhaps, that I was so surprised I didn’t have time to think about it, really, completely. Or my body could have been taken over by aliens in the middle of the night and I was under some form of extra-terrestrial manipulation!

No, I guess not.

I guess the most likely, if least appealing, explanation is that I’ve changed somehow, in some way as yet not quite realized, or at least not quite realized until this morning, and I’m left to wonder… Is it possible that change isn’t as tedious and complicated as we always think it will be? Perhaps, every now and then, change comes quietly, when we least expect it, like a furry, not so little, spider tiptoeing into our room without us even noticing it. Curling up beside us while we’re not paying attention, it lies, waiting to be discovered and, ultimately, it transforms us into someone we barely guessed we could be.

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~Morgan~

When #Life, #Death, #Mortality and Forever Tangle – #Heavensgate – A #5Star #DarkFantasy Series

Every living creature’s experience of reality is unique; therefore, life and death can be imagined in an infinite number of ways. In Heavensgate there is no line between life and death and no veil between the immortal and mortal. However, not every character realises this essential fact of their existence and those that do are quick to take advantage.

Heavensgate: Faith (Book Three)

Where the line between life and death is erased.

In the presence of Seraphim sent to despatch her violent husband’s spirit, Faith delivers a daughter – Mercy – whose miraculous birth triggers an ancient prophecy, forcing Heavensgate’s inhabitants to seek sanctuary in the high sierra.

The newborn is snatched on Lucifer’s orders, transforming the happy widow into a vengeful mother with immortal powers. Abandoned by the Creator, Faith threatens to destroy belief in both Heaven and Hell unless her lost child is returned.

The desperate search for Mercy, and the battle between good and evil, love and hate, threatens the lives of many creating conflict between the immortal sisterhood, Hope, Joy and Faith.

Only Jake’s redemption can save them… but first, he has to save himself

My 5 Star Review:

If you haven’t partaken of either book one or two, Heavensgate book three: Faith will probably leave you as muddled as its main character(s) Jacob/Jake. He’s one man, but two distinct people. One ‘good’, one, well…not so good. I wont say evil, because honestly, I like Jake. What am I saying, I love Jake! He’s the perfect, imperfect bad-boy that you love to hate, hate to love, love to love. Now, this review isn’t going to give you a bunch of spoilers because like any reviewer worth their salt, I want you to pick up these books. Talk about hidden gems! If you enjoy a great brain-twister, a hint of sex, lust, horror, romance, and good ol’ fashion ‘What-in-the-name-of-Harry-Potter’ is going on here, then you’ll find this little-known series as tantalizing as I have.

Book Three, Faith, dives right in…so don’t cheat yourself….read Hope and Joy first!!! Faith opens with a few beautiful verses about love, motherhood, and the blessing of birth- then plummets you into the tortured, vengeful mind of Jake. He’s the powerful, virile lead and alter-ego of main character Jacob. Like most split personalities, they were traumatized when they were young and have grown into two VERY different people, each aware of the other and strong enough to drive the story forward in ways that entangle the reader into their chaos and confusion.

This story delves into that confusion and chaos, spiraling everyone into a unique and entirely unforeseen variant of the traditional Good vs Evil fable. Characters find themselves on the brink of eternal damnation as well as the bliss of sweet rapture while taking readers on a demented, wild ride that will leave you breathless….for more than a few reasons!

Now, don’t be fooled. This story is about far more than a love-struck, sex-addicted man with delusions of demonhood and immortal goddesses led astray by the aforementioned rogue. Author Kane cunningly weaves the abstracts of morality and virtue into this relentless, head-spinning parable by ingeniously personifying those concepts into relatable characters readers will understand and connect with, find entirely confusing and incomprehensible, out-and-out hate, passionately adore, and, ultimately, never-ever forget!

WANT MORE?  Read on!

Jake – An Insight by Author Leo Kane

The immortal sisterhood of Hope, Joy and Faith become entangled with the key protagonist, Jake, an inimitable personality of Jacob Andersen, a shattered soul suffering from multiple identity disorder who is unable to ground himself in a single reality. Jake’s strength births a charismatic, highly sexual, psychopath who, perversely, serves evil whilst seeking redemption for both real and imagined sins whilst wreaking havoc in the lives of everyone whose path he crosses.

My beloved readers often say that crazy Jake is their favourite character. Who doesn’t love and hate a bad boy in equal measure? However, I am especially fond of the Angel Gabriel – Gabi to his friends. The androgynous, ditsy, dramatic, deceptively dangerous Gabi is a wonderful being who cannot seem to decide whether to smite Jake or kiss him. Gabi and his companion Ruby, the Angel of Redemption, are bright and fearsome Seraphim with the sharpest tongues in Creation.

Books are allegedly created by writers and my name is certainly on the covers. However, Jake often seizes the pen or wakes me in the small wee hours to bully me into writing scenes I never planned. All the sex scenes are his idea. I am too shy to contemplate putting such filth on a virgin page, therefore, I cannot say that any such scene is a favourite, they are all shameful.

Jake lives amongst angels, demons, ghosts, humans, a sweet and unappreciated husky and some downright weird characters. However, he holds special places in his dark heart for the immortal sisterhood of Hope – he hates her; Joy – he adores her and Faith who… Well, I think it’s best you find out for yourselves what he does to her because, quite frankly, I am shocked.

By the way:   If you are in any way offended by Jake’s irreverent shenanigans please remember that the Creator loves a good joke.

Heavensgate: Hope  by Leo Kane

When Jacob is a child, a mysterious girl comforts him at the funeral of the family he accidentally killed.

Years later, grieving for his lost wife and son, Jacob is at Heavensgate. He strongly believes that the dead should stay dead, but sees things other people don’t see.

Even worse, Jacob is besieged by his alter ego: the taunting, foul-mouthed, sex-crazed and dangerous Jake. A personality with a twisted sense of fun and no conscience.

Jacob battles for his sanity and soul, surrounded by supernatural enemies and allies, as he struggles to free the Keeper of the Forbidden Book and ignore the menacing pink Cadillac that drives by his lakeside lodge every night.

Wherever Jacob goes, people die, and the cops are moving in when a terrifying and seductive presence arrives on the frozen lake.

Now, Jacob will discover that even hope has a dark side.

My 5 Star Review of HeavensGate: Hope

I began reading this book with an advantage.  I had recently hosted a Character Interaction between Jacob and Jake on my blog, so I had some idea what to expect; however, as the story began to unfold, its complexities and multi-faceted layers wove a web of intrigue in my mind I could not ignore.  In fact, I could barely put the book down (though I had to) and I found myself more and more curious about the main character…or main characters, perhaps.

The authors approach is both mesmerizing and, like any hypnotist worth his/her salt, equally confusing.  Many times I had to stop and re-read, searching for the meaning behind the meaning; seeking truth where there, perhaps, wasn’t any to find.  I felt the turmoil of the characters and was drawn into their psychosis with frightening clarity.

Hope is a tale not only of Hope, but of trauma and darkness and the slippery slopes of the human psyche.  It kept me thoroughly beguiled and Im looking forward to book two of the series.

My 5 Star Review of Heavensgate: Joy

A Tumultuous tale about tortured souls.

I shall begin by saying that this is definitely not a standalone:  If you haven’t read Heavensgate Hope and think you can jump into the story in this second book, your thoughts will end up more twisted than the main characters.  Yet having stated that, I will also say that Leo Kane has written a masterful sequel to her initial story, filling page after riveting page with confusion, disarray, and enough steam to power a locomotive from the character you love to hate and hate to love: Jake.

As the story delves deeper into the incursions and capitulations of the main character, Jacob, and draws in the new, haunting character of Joy, you are lead down an increasingly twisted avenue into the darkness, connecting you in an extremely powerful way to the tortured soul(s) about which Leo write.  You begin to THINK you understand; then the carpet is pulled out from beneath you, leaving you re-reading frantically trying to figure out just what you missed.  But the truth is, you didn’t miss anything and that is the Brilliance of the author’s writing which allows you to experience the inescapable chaos of the main character(s).

I found myself emotionally and mentally drained after reading this second installment, yet thirsty for more!  Bring on Book Three, Leo…I’m ready….I think.

You can connect with Leo Kane at:HGleokane@hotmail.comTwitterFacebook Heavensgate Website Amazon Author Page

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You can read more about the characters of Heavensgate through a recent Character Interaction I hosted between Jacob and Jake. 

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~Morgan~