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Blog Blitz with Author Matt CampbellChristmas in July, un...

Blog Blitz with Author Matt Campbell






Christmas in July, unwrap a summer ebook blog blitz, welcomes Matt Campbell : Darr has the ability to hear the disembodied voices of the spirits. Unfortunately, the spirits have nothing useful to say. A young, inexperienced Spirit Summoner, Darr often wonders at the purpose of such a useless ability. When an unnatural fire sweeps through his village, Darr sets out on a mission of self-discovery and curiosity.

As a Spirit Summoner, Darr learns he can enter the spirit realm. There he has access to the elemental magic contained within the Sephirs, legendary artifacts that once promised balance for a world turning towards chaos. Now, the Sephirs’ powers are dwindling since their untimely disappearance, and Darr is at the center of the quest to find and recover them. Suddenly, Darr’s curiosity is a whirlpool threatening to drown him, but his compulsion to see things through locks him into a journey attracted to disaster.

For the Sephirs do more than restrain the primal forces of magic. The Devoid, an evil long caged and hungry, has begun to loosen the bars of its prison. If the Sephirs fail, the Devoid will escape and feed on the Light of the living until nothing remains.

And the Devoid knows Darr’s lack of confidence is the key needed to free itself completely.


THE CHOSEN OF THE LIGHT: SPIRIT SUMMONER is an epic fantasy novel, coming in 2013 from Wild Child Publishing.


Some thoughts from Matt:Do I Really Need A Reason To Write Fantasy?

For some people fantasy is a waste of time, a distraction from the present and concrete facts about the world around us. For others, fantasy is the blood that flows through our veins, infiltrating every little aspect of our lives. Some remain indifferent to fantasy yet indulge in similar diversions. So why do I write fantasy when I’m only appealing to a small target audience? Stephen King has part of the answer in his book On Writing:

“Writing isn't about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it's about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well.”

Ok, so I write fantasy (or anything for that matter) in order to enrich the lives of my readers and myself. Sounds simple enough, but like I said, King has provided only part of the answer.

Fantasy writing provides an outlet for imagination It’s no secret that writing is therapeutic. Journaling can be a great source of stress relief for many of life’s troubles. Writing helps to organize our thoughts and get them out into the world, even if it’s onto a piece of notebook paper or typed into a blog post. Fiction writing in general (and reading as well) provides a similar release. For me, writing fantasy is a necessity. I’ve always had an overactive imagination filling my head with a multitude of worlds, characters, and ideas based in another reality. Writing has been the only way to focus my imagination, and the fantasy genre seemed to be the only place I could put those ideas to use. The real world sometimes has no solutions There’s no doubt the world we live in seems crazy sometimes. As individuals, human beings are filled with conflicting thoughts, beliefs, and ideas. As a society, groups of individuals also have conflicting thoughts and ideas. What seems like a perfectly logical or necessary course of action to one person might be completely abhorrent to another. Oftentimes, it’s frustrating or even offensive to another to argue your point. I believe most of us simply try to live our lives as quietly as possible, rolling with the punches as best we can and making small differences where possible. Not everyone has the power or the voice to make those small differences though, but I’ve found that writing fantasy provides a way to do so. If our fantasies are a distorted reflection of our reality, then the problems of reality come along equally distorted. In my experience, writing about fantasy worlds allows me to explore solutions to the very real problems around me, which in turn, allows my readers a chance to explore my point-of-view. Possibilities and dreams Along the same thread, fantasy writing allows my readers to explore the possibilities of the real world. Of course, anything is possible, but maybe not probable. That’s where dreams come in. Dreams are like automatic imagination, and imagination is fuel for fantasy writing. When I’m writing about one of my worlds, where healing can be done with a single touch or skills are transferrable through inanimate objects, I’m not only exploring possibilities in our own world. These are my dreams of a world not brought into reality…yet. Which brings me to my final reason for writing fantasy… It is real Specifically, it’s real to me. I write fantasy because the stories I weave are as real to me as the trees around me, the roof over my head, and the family supporting me. I learned early on in my life that the reality of my stories were transferable to others. By writing down my ideas and sharing my words, my readers can find that same reality. Is that insanity? No. But it might be a little crazy, though no crazier than anything else.
In the end, King had it mostly right. We write to enrich the lives of our readers as well as ourselves. For me, writing fantasy is a little more than that. It’s about sharing my imagination, realizing the possibilities or our small world, and dreaming of the extraordinary. I can only hope my readers feel the same.
Author Bio:
Over the last twenty years, Matt Campbell has been putting his love for fantasy down on paper. He began writing at the age of 11, but he has been telling stories long before then. With interests in writing, woodworking, parenting, comic books, movies, and video games, Matt always has something new to write about and to inspire him.

Matt’s passion for wonder and love for the fantastic inspired him to write his debut novel, The Chosen of the Light. At a staggering 400,000 words, Matt was forced to split his novel up into three books, the first of which, Spirit Summoner, is due later in 2013.
He lives in Western Washington with his wife, Jen, and son, Jacobi.

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Critters at the Keyboard . . .

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Shadows of the Past

Audrey Cuff

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Blog Blitz with Author Carmen Stefanescu

Christmas in July, unwrap a summer ebook blog blitz, welcomes Carmen Stefanescu 
Anne's relationship with her boyfriend Neil has disintegrated. After a two-year separation, they pack for a week vacation in hopes of reconciling. But fate has other plans for them.

The discovery of a bejeweled cross and ancient human bones opens a door to a new and frightening world--one where the ghost of a medieval nun named Genevieve will not let Anne rest. This new world threatens not only to ruin Anne and Neil's vacation but to end all hopes of reconciliation as Anne feels compelled to help free Genevieve's soul from its torment.

Can Anne save her relationship and help Genevieve find her eternal rest?
The twists and turns in this paranormal tale keep the reader guessing up to the end and weave themselves together into a quest to rekindle love.

           Fantasy Fiction the Trendy Genre?
            A study at the end of the year 2012 indicates a decline in reading books: 28% of the people reply they don't like to read and 26% say they have no time to do it. Of the few who say they are fond of reading, the vast majority, say that they enjoy reading - fantasy fiction.            From Game of Thrones by G.R.R. Martin to Harry Potter by J. K. Rowling the bug of fantasy fiction has become viral. The name of J.R. R. Tolkien is more known than those of stars in show business. Hunger Games and Suzanne Collins rocketed to the sky especially after the first volume of the series was screened. There are people who say, "If you want to get rich write fantasy fiction."            There may be some truth in it if we consider J. K. Rowling is richer than the Queen of England.            We speak of a phenomenon that can't be denied and is obviously reflected in the book sales: our society favors fantasy fiction.            Why isthat? In my humble opinion, fantasy fiction offers its readers something that targets a part of themselves - the child within each of them. A child who dreams that one day he'll walk through the enchanted forest, sit at the table with the fairies and perhaps find the never ending youth.            Escape from reality or "Scheherazade syndrome", call it as you like, theexplanation for the success of the genre can be easily explained. This type of literature allows us to be free. It creates a world without boundaries or limitations, a world where nobody can force you to do something you don't want or like; a world in which there's no "impossible" and the good character usually wins through, if only in the long run.    Imaginary worlds, magic, supernatural phenomena are fundamental elements for fantasy fiction, and make believe is the basic defining word for this most beloved genre of literature. In fantasy, we may go to a simpler time and world - the world as we wish it might be.            And yet, the advent of fantasy fiction started not with the above mentioned famous books, but way back, with The Epic of Gilgamesh, The Beowulf, Mahabharata and The One Thousand and One Nights, as myth and legend have been an important part of humanculture since its beginning. Literature began with these stories which can be read at ease by a 10 -year-old as well as by an adult.             My novel Shadows of the Past, released by Wild Child Publishing on 4th December 2012, displays elements that can include it in the fantasy genre: ghosts, magic and witches. Psychic powers is added as a bonus, allowing the characters to foresee upcoming events or guess if the person in front of them is a "good" or "bad" one.
Please check out Cartmen's Latest book, Shadows of the past, and enjoy this excerpt.
"Come, we should leave at once," she said and glanced nervously over her shoulder. "Something terrible happened after you left for town. I think the Abbess found out about us. Our meeting in Uncle Ryan's cabin is no longer a secret. We have been overheard. For all I know someone spies on us even as we speak. I think the Abbess, or one of her 'friends,' is hovering somewhere nearby and listening to every word."Andrew pulled Genevieve to his chest. "Do you regret you've come with me?" Passion smothered Genevieve's doubt and guilt. "Never," she answered, aware of her body's response to his touch, and she succumbed to his embrace.Calming the gnawing unease in her mind and the thought of Sister Dominica guessing she was the dough of a sinner, Genevieve repeated, "Never." With her eyes closed and their bodies touching she became, for the very first time, simply a woman. She melted in his embrace in spite of the invisible vicious threat breathing around them. Aware they might never be alone again, she fought hard to silence the voice of conscience berating her. "Oh, God. Please forgive me," Andrew muttered under his breath when he bowed his head to kiss her. Their lips met in a passionate first kiss. Genevieve's spirits fell and her heart skipped a beat when, a couple of seconds later, she opened her eyes and her gaze fell on a knot strangers.                            … . . .
 Tears welled in Anne's eyes, blurring her vision. She couldn’t explain them, or the sudden sadness seeping into her heart. This should’ve been a moment of happiness or, at least, contentment. She was with Neil again, and the outcome of their trip together should, very likely, bring their reconciliation. Why then did she seem detached from where she stood? Anne shivered. Why the deep feeling of having seen this place, this forest before? And why the eerie sensation of being present here only in the body, while her mind was far away? Away from the forest. Away from Neil, the man who'd betrayed her trust and her love.            An onrush of sensations unfamiliar to her followed. Dizziness and a malevolent feeling of unreality suffocated her.Anne edged cautiously closer to the rim of the bare cliff. Her foot tapped the edge. It seemed solid. She stared into the darkness of the abyss at her feet. It echoed the shadows in her heart.  An unusual curiosity took hold of her. Should she step ahead? What was down there? Other human bones? Another mystery? The presence of evil, creeping up and enveloping her, became almost palpable. The vines of fog folded around her, dragging her to the depth. Her throat turned dry, and she gasped for air.Megan's face contorted, the voice no longer pleasant. A hoarse gurgle, spluttering distorted words, "Yes, come... I'm waiting... I've been waiting for you for such a long time..." 
 Author bio:               Carmen Stefanescu was born in Romania, the native country of the infamous vampire Count Dracula, but where, for about 50 years of communist dictatorship, just speaking about God, faith, reincarnation or paranormal phenomena could have led someone to great trouble - the psychiatric hospital if not to prison.
               Teacher of English and German in her native country and mother of two daughters, Carmen Stefanescu survived the grim years of oppression, by escaping in a parallel world, that of the books.                She has dreamed all her life to become a writer, but many of the things she wrote during those years remained just drawer projects. The fall of the Ceausescu’s regime in 1989 and the opening of the country to the world meant a new beginning for her. She started publishing. Poems first, and then prose. Both in English.

Author, Carmen Stefanescu's Site

Trailer: Shadows of the Past

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Critters at the Keyboard . . .

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The Esposito Series by J.M. Griffin

Please welcome J. M. Griffin to Critters today, J.M. will be awarding Tea and Chip Nuts to three randomly drawn commenters (US/CANADA ONLY) during this tour and her  Reviews Tour .   Be sure to leave a comment for your chance to win.                                                               The Esposito Seriesby J.M. Griffin
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Esposito Series Box Set:
Now you can own the first three books in the sassy and suspenseful Vinnie Esposito Series by J.M. Griffin!


By day, Lavinia (Vinnie) Esposito is a criminal justice instructor at a college in Rhode Island. By night Vinnie is an amateur sleuth, solving murders while trying to avoid getting yelled at by her Italian father, her hunky protective boyfriend Marcus Richmond, and her sexy upstairs tenant, the mysterious Aaron Grant.
For Love of Livvy (Book 1)
Vinnie investigates the death of her beloved aunt, and a mysterious box is left on her doorstep.
Dirty Trouble (Book 2)
Someone is stalking Vinnie and that’s just the beginning of her troubles.
Dead Wrong (Book 3)
Vinnie is out to save her brother from being framed after a valuable painting is stolen.


Please enjoy this excerpt:
The front door knocker rapped twice after the door bell rang. I hustled from the rear deck of the gargantuan house to answer the summons. Someone seemed impatient, and I was curious as to who it was. My watch read just after eight o’ clock. I swung the heavy door open to find my prospective visitor absent.
It was so quiet, the town ghostly in its seemingly deserted state. Sundays were always lazy days in Scituate, once church was over. With a glance up and down the street of the small historic Rhode Island village, neat colonial homes stretched along the sides of the road in both directions. No one came into view.
On the doorstep, a package addressed to my recently deceased Aunt Livvy sat wrapped in brown paper. Again, I gawked up and down the street, but only empty sidewalks and barren roadway appeared in the waning light. The idea of a jaunt along the main drag entered my mind. I figured it would be senseless since the street was visible for about two hundred yards in either direction. Whoever had left the package was gone, long gone.
An eternity passed, or so it seemed, while my gaze locked onto the square, little box. Reluctant to touch it, I decided to call the local fire company to come take a gander. Call me paranoid, but as a criminal justice instructor, a recent audit of a class on bomb components remained fresh in my mind.
I quickly stepped to the living room and grabbed the phone. I dialed the private number of the fire station up the street. A grunt came across the phone line that could only be Bill MacNert.
“Hey Nerd, its Vinnie,” I said. “A package was just left on my doorstep, could you come down and check it out for me?”
“Sure, you got a secret admirer or somethin’?” He cackled, as only senior men can.
“Not likely, but you never know. This package is addressed to Lavinia Ciano, not Lavinia Esposito and is wrapped in brown paper. Nobody’s here to accompany this little surprise either.”
“I’ll be right down, Vinnie, don’t touch it.” He warned.
“Okay.”
Anxious, I paced back and forth across gleaming hard wood floors in the spacious living room of my newly acquired colonial. My fingernails tapped the enamel on my teeth as I wandered to and fro. As irrational as it seemed, I finally leanedagainst the door jamb inside the entry to wait for MacNert to arrive.
It wasn’t long before the limber old guy came into view as he hot footed down the street with a stethoscope in his hand. This particular piece of equipment wasn’t quite what I’d expected, but then he wasn’t a bomb expert either.
When he arrived on the doorstep slightly out of breath, he glanced at the parcel, and then turned toward me.
“This was just delivered, you say?” MacNert squinted toward me with wizened brown eyes that twinkled all the time. It was as though there was a private joke going on inside his head.
“Yeah, someone knocked on the door, and when I got here to answer, there was nobody around. It didn’t seem prudent to mess with it, so I called you.”
“You just finished that bomb class, eh?” He chuckled and then sobered quickly. Since 9/11, everyone took stuff like this with a serious attitude. While he chuckled, I knew MacNert was no different.
The stethoscope ends plugged into his ears, Bill laid its diaphragm on top of the package. Removing it, he gingerly set it against the sides and listened again. I didn’t make a sound as he stood and glanced up.
“There’s no tickin’ but that doesn’t mean it’s not an explosive. You should probably call the state police barracks up the road. Have them send their bomb guys down for a lookie see, just to be on the safe side.”
“Geez, I hate to do that. I’ll feel stupid if it’s a joke,” I whined.
“It’s up to you, but if you were nervous enough to call me, then you should call them. It’s just my opinion, Vin.” He stepped over the box and wandered into the entryway. “Got anythin’ to eat? Wifey’s out of town visitin’ her sister and I’m starved.”
Bill didn’t seem over concerned, but then again, he hadn’t recently taken a bomb class either. My eyes never left the box as I answered him. “There’s food in the fridge, help yourself.”
I’d known thehomely man and his family for years and respected his opinion. Tapping my fingers against my lips, I called after him, “You’re right. I’ll ring the state police now, but stick around okay?”
Unwilling to be nailed as over-dramatic by the staties, I reluctantly punched in the numbers. It was bad enough that the local cops had bugged the shit out of me for the first month after Aunt Livvy’s death. They still stopped by now and then, annoying me even more with stupid questions. Questions to which I had no answers.
After the trooper covering the desk answered, I explained what I’d found on the doorstep. He seemed unconcerned until I mentioned my name and address, and then he stated someone would be down momentarily. The swift change in his manner piqued mycuriosity. I wondered why he’d suddenly capitulated when his initial response had been of disinterest.
In the living room, I paced while awaiting the arrival of the state police. Within minutes a sleek, grey Crown Victoria pulled up to the curb out front and a tall, lean trooper got out. Broad shouldered and well built, he walked with assurance and a certain amount of swagger. I stepped into the open door entry and watched him saunter through the front gate onto the walkway. He stared at the package and then at me.
“Did you call about this box, ma’am?” Keen hazel green eyes traveled over my face and down my body.
Craggy features, sculpted from granite, faced me and I felt my blood run hot as the breath caught in my throat. What was this about? I gazed at him admiring the neat package wrapped in the trim uniform.
“I did. Bill MacNert from the fire station thought it would be a good idea since it was mysteriously left on the doorstep. He checked to see if it was ticking, but it isn’t.”
“Are you Lavinia Ciano?” The trooper’s glance strayed from the name on the wrapper to me as his eyes showed a glint of humor and his mouth twitched.
Could that humor be over the name? I wondered, as I said, “No, my name is Esposito. Livvy was my aunt.” Our eyes held and my heart pounded. I licked my parched lips and then glanced away.
An oversized van idled up behind the patrol car and the trooper glanced back. Two men stepped from the vehicle dressed in heavy gear and acknowledged him. He turned to the lead man, mumbled a few words and then stared at me again. If this was an action film, I would have expected Bruce Willis to jump out of the truck announcing he was about to kick someone’s ass. This wasn’t an action film, but a real life situation instead.
The two guys angled through the front gate and hitched their gear as they hauled a peculiar looking lidded barrel toward the front door. By this time, a few neighbors had taken notice of the activities. Several people straggled along the sidewalk across the street to watch.
You’d think it was a freakin’ sideshow. I smiled and waved. Nobody responded, they just continued to gawk. A little excitement for them on an otherwise dull Sunday, I guessed. The trooper stood aside and watched the crowd, but said nothing.
The overdressed bomb guys corralled the box between them. With delicate finesse they lifted and stowed it into the metal container, loaded it into the truck and drove off. I stared in disbelief. Hell, I wanted to know what was in the package. I had a right to know, didn’t I?
The trooper turned to leave and I stepped forward.
“Uh, I’d like to know what’s in the box, if it’s not too much to ask.” My hand snuck up to my hip as my cocky Italian attitude slid into place.
Tall and Curious stiffened at my tone and turned to stare at me. It seemed he wasn’t used to being spoken to in this manner, which wasn’t any big surprise. Women tend to respond differently to men in uniform, especially a man such as this luscious creature. Well, not this chick. I teach guys like him all year long and the “I’m so wonderful” thing gets old fast.
“I’ll be sure to let you know, Miss Esposito. If we have any questions, you’ll hear from us right away.”
I gawked amoment and my eyes narrowed. His opened wide in contrast and he waited, his body tense. Maybe he thought I’d pitch myself off the steps onto his perfectly toned frame and pummel the daylights out of him or something. It was a thought, but I really wanted to know what was in the package. Besides, his muscles were bigger than mine.
In an effort to change tactics rather than be handcuffed and dragged off to jail, I smiled and spoke in as nice a manner as I could muster.
“I’d appreciate any information you could give me officer, since the package was left in such an alarming way. Should I call headquarters tomorrow?”
His look narrowed. I suspected he was unsure of where this was headed. There was a moment’s hesitation before he answered the question.
“Sure, that would be a good idea.” He gave a nod of the stiff brimmed campaign hat that covered cropped brown hair.
“All right then. I’ll call the colonel first thing.” My voice remained light and sweet, and the smile was charming, at least I hoped it was.
The colonel runs a strict police force and is a tough disciplinarian with an intense dislike for any impropriety, implied or otherwise. I’d gleaned that much from the cops in my criminal justice classes.
A tight lipped smile crossed his face. I figured he couldn’t decide whether I really knew the colonel or if this was a ploy. To be truthful, I lied by omission. I hadn’t said I knew the colonel, I just said I’d give him a call.
“That won’t be necessary ma’am. As soon as there’s any information, I’ll get in touch with you.” With a nod of his head, he turned and left.
Don’t you hate that ma’am thing? It makes me feel old. I know I’m thirty-something, but really.
Bill MacNert stood near the doorway sucking down a sandwich filled with sausage and peppers. My mother had sent the food home with me the day before. The smell of richtomato sauce and fragrant sausage tantalized my taste buds.
“Guess it wasn’t that serious then?” Slurp noises preceded a sauce blob that dripped down his uniform shirt.
 I glanced at Bill’s shirt, snagged a tissue from my pocket and dabbed at the drip.
“I won’t know until tomorrow, but if I’m the town laughing stock you’re in for it and don’t forget it. By the way, did you leave me any food?” I chuckled at hisexpression.
Bill’s guilt ridden grin assured me that he hadn’t, but he swore that he had. He handed me the empty plate before he headed toward the fire station. I watched the stethoscope bob up and down from the back pocket of his pants. He trotted up the street, and I felt sure the story would make the rounds since Bill was an avid gossip.
The crowd had dispersed, and I was alone again. Livvy would have had a fit over the whole affair had she been alive, but I figured there was no sense in being stupid. I act that way often enough, thank you.
Mystery still surrounded Livvy’s non-violent death. While the police weren’t forthcoming with information, the state troopers’ attitude on the phone caused me to reconsider the promise to my father to not investigate on my own. I wandered through the house deep in thought over the situation.
Darkness had descended as I headed toward the bedroom. Changing into a t-shirt and boxer briefs, I climbed into bed with a notebook. The troopers’ attitude niggled at me. I leaned back against the pillows scribbling notes about the package delivery. Words ran across the page as the scene and the trooper came to mind. The trooper’s name wasn’t on his badge, but I remembered the badge number.
The pad propped against my knees, my mind drifted over the parcel and the officer’s attitude. Warm hazel green eyes along with the trooper’s cool manner had drawn my interest. It wasn’t really just his bearing that caught my attention either and it was a struggle to stay focused.
Intense eyes sat above a strong, chiseled nose and firm jaw. I sketched the features onto the pad of paper. His lips weren’t thin, not too wide, but just right for kissing. Wondering what it would be like to taste those lips, I gave myself a mental head slap. A cop is the last thing you want or need, my inner voice echoed. This voice always echoed dire warnings through my head. It had a bad habit of doing so at the worst possible moment. Just stay focused on Livvy, I lectured myself.
Snuggled under the lightweight blanket, thoughts about Livvy and our life played in mymind. Muscles relaxed, and I realized I needed to talk to her tomorrow. The graveyard was about two blocks away from the house. I often went to her grave for a conversation when I’d become involved in one issue or another. That’s what my life consisted of, one issue or another. Most of the time the issues were huge, never mundane, not ever.
I sighed, sniffed the sweet summer scents that wafted through the open window and wondered how this summer in Rhode Island would be. The pillow slipped lower and so did I as my mind wandered over life, the package and my aunt.
.


AUTHOR Bio and Links:
As a humorous, cozy mystery writer, J.M. adds a touch of romance to every story. She believes in fairies, doesn't believe in coincidence, and feels life is what you make it. Believe in yourself and look at the positive, not the negative, to bring about success. AND. . .never stop trying.
J.M. lives in rural New England with her husband and two very mysterious cats
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Bugs or an exotic dance . . .

This is part of the Absolute Write June blog chain.
This month's prompt: Bugs
Yep. Bugs. Simple and easy. Prose, poetry, play. Fiction, nonfiction. It's all good, all bugs.
Bugs.  Creepy crawly bugs.  Well, not really, they are crawly, and I don’t love them, as in pick them up and play with them.  But I was never one to be freaked out by them.  Little bitty bug, big human, swat or squish, as the case may be.  Except spiders.


Spiders get trapped and set outside, or let live indoors depending on the sort of spider that they are.  It’s bad luck to kill a spider, so out they went, and still do.  I always hated the hard body, yucky, spiders in the barn, they always made a web where you had to walk through them doing the crazy dance—me doing the crazy dance, not the spiders, though I always thought they were shaking in their webs dancing just to get me.  I used a broom to go through the barn door—so, we got along okay.
I grew up mostly in Wisconsin.  You might not think of Wisconsin as a state big on bugs—other than the mosquito (it’s the state bird!), but living in a small town, at 6 years old, we would go to the A&W for a once in a while treat.  I’d sit next to the window and watch the June bugs hit the window and crawl along the sill—they always creeped me out a bit, I mean, isn’t that what they make fly tape from?  It’s the right color and the darned things stick to you just as well.  Get either one in your hair and you’ll never get it out!
One July, after moving into a different house, we went back to my parent’s farm to get a washing machine we had stored in the granary.  Now, picture this, old fashioned stairs, the narrowish open sort, no railing of any kind, just rough wooden steps going up through a hole in the floor.  We got the washer tothe top of the stairs and somehow I ended up on the bottom walking backwards holding my end, the top.  We got abouthalf way down and it shifted . . .
Apparently there was water inside, it has been sitting under a leak in the roof.  What I didn’t expect was that it was also full of June bugs.  Yes, full of the big fat, fly tape colored, June bugs.  And guess where they ended up?
You got it.  All over me, in my hair, down my shirt, at least I wasn’t wearing a bra or they’d of been in there as well . . . Everywhere that a June bug shouldn't be even on a third date, much less on a first one!  I had nowhere to go, stuck on those steps, drop the washer and it would end up on top of me, so had to endure those bugs until I got to the bottom.  The washer got dropped and I ran out of the granary, pulling off my shirt and batting those bugs off me, trying to get them out of my hair. 
I ran across the barnyard and turned on the hose, and started spraying myself with it.  Those bugs flowed off me in a wiggling sea of brown.Relieved, I turned off the water, only then realizing that all he farm hands were sitting on the cement stock tank taking a break.  Glad I could entertain them, maybe I should have made it an act . . . Scratch that.  June Bugs.  Shudder.  Fly tape would have been better, at least it would have offered some coverage! 

These days, I am mostly blind, and I can bat a June bug outathe air at 2 ft (the length of my arm) by the sound alone, that’ll show you—you creepy things!
Please visit the other posts for this months prompt:
Participants and posts:
Participants and posts:
orion_mk3 - http://nonexistentbooks.wordpress.com (link to post)
Diem_Allen - http://mindovermistakes.blogspot.com (link to post)
Ralph Pines - http://ralfast.wordpress.com (link to post)
articshark - http://www.drslaten.com/blog (link to post)
Lady Cat - http://randomwriterlythoughts.blogspot.ca (link to post)
U2Girl - http://ancatdubh.org (link to post)
MsLaylaCakes - http://www.taraquan.com/ (link to post)
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Takes if the Zingari The Wizard's Heart

TALES OF THE ZINGARI: BOOK 1: THE WIZARD'S HEART$5.99Available Today!"The old one will come. When he comes, his one true wife must carry within her a child of the old one who would be king. Only then can the heart be found and the evil of the world kept in its bounds." –The Prophecy of the Land

Sorann is the queen's daughter and training to be an empathic healer. Javert is a member of the wandering tribe called the Zingari and their future king. When Sorann's failed healer's magic test brings them together, they discover the prophecy governing the land is false. In order to prevent magic, and the Zingari, from being wiped from the land, Sorann must become Javert's wife and leave everything behind that she once held dear.

Tricked by demons, and followed by the queen's soldiers, they must find the fabled Wizard's Heart in the frozen Winter Valley.

What sacrifices will they have to make along the way, and will Javert ever discover the true meaning of the Wizard's Heart before his people and the love of his life are lost?

This is the first book in the fantasy series Tales of the Zingari.
Genre: Fantasy/Light Romance
Book Length: Novel
Word Count: 83,699
Pages: 260
Price: $5.99
Formats: PDF, HTML, ePub, Mobi, PRC, Lit

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