Heather Marie Adkins's Blog, page 4

I Washed My Car Today

I washed my car today.

Sure, that’s an entirely innocuous thing. People wash their cars everyday, whether they suds it down in the driveway with a little bit of elbow grease, or they run it through an automatic wash and let the machines do it for them. It’s normal. Usual. Life maintenance.

But I spent all of 2015 as a prisoner in my own mind, the culmination of several years descent into depression. Normal, everyday things didn’t get done. I didn’t clean, whether it was my office, my altar room, or my car. I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was sleep, safe in my blanket fort and dream world where my emotions couldn’t destroy me. Everything was hard, and I really needed easy to survive.

I’m two months medicated now, and the results have been staggering. I’m a different person. No, scratch that, I’m not a different person – I’m the beginnings of the old Heather, my sharp, painful edges smoothing out, watercolor-melting into the masterpiece that is the real me, the me recently trapped inside by the depression monkey on my back. I’ve seen it happening in bits and pieces: a feeling here, a laugh there, an old desire or dream surfacing from its dormant state.

I sat in my car alone.  Content to be alone, to listen to Gaelic Storm sing about “one more day above the roses” as the suds covered my windshield in a cotton candy layer. The soothing whoosh of water spray, different octaves on different areas of the car, stirred a memory.

I remembered twenty years ago, twenty-five years ago, sitting in an automatic wash with my momma as she kept her police cruiser clean. She did that a lot; Momma’s always been one for appearances, for making sure her cop car stayed clean, her uniform pressed, her behavior moral and ethical and professional. As a young woman in law enforcement, she had to hold to a higher standard, to prove she could operate on level with the men in a male-dominated career.

Here I was, the same age as she was back then, washing my car and enjoying the sights, the sounds, the same as I had back then with her. And I felt real joy. True joy, as I had as a child. I smiled and soaked in every moment of that wash and felt like a little girl again.

I felt like me.

Do I wish I’d gotten antidepressants sooner? Sure. But I wasn’t there yet. You can only go so far with support; you have to help yourself. Life is about you and only you. You have to give yourself permission to feel and permission to try again.

Pills aren’t a magical, perfect solution. I still have bad days when I want to retire to the blanket fort and forget everything. Those days are fewer now, and they’re shorter. The meds are taking me 60% of the way, but that 60% is everything to my world right now.

60% drives me to write.

60% allows me energy to run my business.

60% gives me five blissful moments in a car wash to relive the innocence, joy, and unbridled creativity of my childhood. To feel that magic and know that little girl isn’t gone. Not completely. She’s 60% of the best of me, and she’s come back.

Paranormal After Dark

Now available at Amazon! FREE to read on Kindle Unlimited!

Twenty bestselling titles from masterminds of the paranormal genre.

$50 gift card giveaway for copying your Wiccan Wars review to this collection!

Scroll down for more info.

Included in this collection:

Noree Cosper – A Dose of Brimstone

Gabby and the Van Helsing family must stop a drug that enable demons to possess humans from spreading across New York or it will be Hell on Earth.

Kim Faulks – End of Dreams

A young pregnant woman and a hard-bitten detective are trapped in the middle of a paranormal war they never knew existed.

Heather Hambel Curley – Haunt

Death is not the end. Adelaide is used to battling souls, but when the Civil War begins, something evil wakes up. And this time, It wants her.

Ann Simko – Dark Crossings

Dying for the right reasons is better than living for the wrong ones.

Calinda B. Headspace: Seattle. 2052

When everything the activists and naysayers predicted comes true – global warming, planetary resources stripped, disease, pollution – the ravaged city of Seattle is left in chaos and disrepair.

Susan Stec – The Other F Word

Wandermere is not your typical fairy forest kingdom; think mouthy teen fairies in skinny jeans, texting on smart phones, driving bugs, and getting high on honey.

Rachel McClellan – Unleashed

Claire discovers a man close to her has ingested a stolen drug, unleashing his dark and evil alter-ego. Now he’s determined to make her just like him. Like hell.

Stacy Claflin – Hidden Intentions

Her supernatural secret could doom their love…

Aimee Easterling – The Complete Bloodling Serial

Wolfie Young is a bloodling, a rare shifter born in wolf rather than in human form. Can he ever find acceptance in a pack despite his differences?

Kyoko M – She Who Fights Monsters

Seer Jordan Amador and her husband the archangel Michael hunt down a serial killer with the help of their archenemy, the demon Belial.

Sarah M. Cradit – St. Charles at Dusk

Set amidst the lush and vibrant backdrop of New Orleans, this is the story of Oz and Adrienne. Of forbidden love, and startling heartbreak.

Madison Sevier – Wicked by Nature

When Selena realizes her life has been one big lie, she’ll have to decide between saving her town and embracing her wicked destiny.

Marissa Farrar – Underlife

Thomas Young must head into the mile of abandoned tube tunnels and stations beneath London in a bid to save his son’s life.

Eden Ashe – Dragon’s Redemption

The one female he isn’t supposed to want, is the only one he’s ever needed.

Grae Lily – Milan’s Return

He’s haunted by his troubled past; she’s desperate for a fresh start. When their worlds collide, everything will change.

Conner Kressley- The Breakers Code

Where were you when the world ended? 

MR Graham – The Medium

Lenny is a vampire who can never kill, but even the most peaceful man has a breaking point.

Heather Marie Adkins – Wiccan Wars

Cade and Ever come from two worlds, but a common enemy forces their opposing covens to unite – and their love to ignite.

Katie Salidas – Carpe Noctem

Becoming a vampire is easy. Living with the condition is the hard part.

Nicole Zoltack – A Question of Faith

If Crystal can’t control her magic abilities, she’ll lose more than her faith, her boyfriend, and her mom. She just might start the apocalypse.

***

If you’ve read Wiccan Wars and reviewed it online, if you cross post your review to the collection on Amazon, and then email me a link heathermariewrites@gmail.com showing me the new posting, you’ll be entered to win a $50 prize.

Fallen Sorcery Collection 2016

One of the single most exciting things to happen to me this year is the Fallen Sorcery Collection.

In October, I was accepted for inclusion in this exciting new paranormal/dystopian romance collection. Details are hush-hush right now as the sixteen authors involved write and prepare for the 2016 release. But if your thing is paranormal or dystopian, and you love magick and romance, you MUST sign up for this newsletter!

The first Fallen Sorcery collection features USA Today Bestselling authors Rebecca Hamilton and Apryl Baker, as well as Jo Michaels, Noree Cosper, and Conner Kressley.

Don’t miss out on the hottest new releases of 2016… SIGN UP FOR THE FALLEN SORCERY NEWSLETTER NOW!

Wiccan Book Club Review

Back in August, I attended a locally run Wiccan book club to speak about my books. It was an absolute blast. Everybody had great questions for me, and I hope I made a couple of new fans!

This is a short but sweet review written by Debbie Hess, coordinator of the book club, for our local Samhain newsletter. As the newsletter has now disbanded, I am reprinting this here with her permission.

 

* * *

 

Heather Marie Adkins

an Interview Review

by Debbie Hess

 

“Mena’s character comes directly from my time working in law enforcement. Our agency handled the paperwork side of domestic violence, so the stories I heard and the training I had made her character. The book is heavy in themes of her personal strength and the resiliency of women to survive in the face of adversity.”

~Heather Marie Adkins

 

“My writing is my baby,” or so the author says. Such devotion, she expresses, requires that for a couple of days, she  goes without bathing or paying attention to things other than her writing work. This is how an artist often creates. Despite her new adoption of outline use, much like life itself, the work comes to her in a flourish. Her husband stands proud of her, a story she tells often, extending it to include how, on initiation of their relationship, she told him that her writing will always come first. She’s been writing stories since age 11; now 20 years later, she has 17 titles available, including short story anthologies, in addition to Mother of All, which we discussed in August at Wiccan Reads. Wiccan Wars is her latest series starter, launched in January 2015.

Enjoy Heather Marie Adkins’ work in print or online.

 

Self-Publishing is a Business

I’m seeing a lot of whining lately among authors on social media.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I can do my fair share of whining. Everybody can because, well, we’re human and human beings aren’t infallible. Or inflatable, but that’s neither here nor there.

Everybody has their ups and downs. Everybody has been through hard times where it was too difficult to see through the tears and believe something good would come at the end – I’m still there, though I am trying my damndest to fight through those tears and aim for that happy ending.

Everybody has a sob story. Everybody, unless they are the 1%, has been through hell and lived to tell the tale. But that has no bearing on your professionalism as an author when it comes to the process you use to publish books.

I have been self-publishing for five years. I have scraped by, unable to pay bills, and have had to hold down a terrible day job for the majority of those five years because my royalties are so minuscule to even use the word “royalties” is laughable.

I bitch about that all the time. OH MAN, how I can bitch about that. My poor husband goes cross-eyed during those bitch sessions – I’m a hack, I’m a loser, I’m never going to make it, I suck as a writer, I’m never going to publish another book, How have I been doing this for so long yet can’t even buy more than dinner and a tank of gas on my books?

But I try to keep those conversations among friends and off the internet, because frankly, who cares? Nobody but me. I am my own success; I set that bar, and I keep reaching, even when it feels like the distance is further than I could ever make it in a lifetime. Yes, I do complain about my mental illness on this blog, but that’s because our public is too damn silent about mental illness and I don’t believe that’s the way to get help.

But I don’t complain about my sales or my career.

My frustrations don’t mean I give up, either. I throw every penny I have into my books. I hire great cover artists to give beautiful faces to my work. I hire kind but firm editors who aren’t afraid to tell me NO, THIS ISN’T WORKING. TRY AGAIN. I painstakingly format every one of my novels to ensure they’re laid out beautifully. If a reader were to pick up one of my novels and compare it to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, they would find no inconsistencies.

My books are just as professional as any put out by a big publishing company. (Though I will admit, my blog is seriously overdue for a face lift. Too busy writing.)

Why are my books professional? Because I’m proud of them. I take tremendous pride in ensuring they look their best. In September, I paid $450 dollars for editing I couldn’t afford – almost two weeks late to my poor editor because when she billed me, I had pennies to my name and bills to pay. I cried over it. It terrified the piss out of me. But I did it anyway. And I’ll do it again. OVER AND OVER. Until something sticks.

Because publishing is a business, and that’s what you do.

You don’t make cover art in Microsoft Paint and call it a day.

You don’t “self-edit” and let your grade school English teacher who earned her education degree in the 80s “proofread.”

You don’t slap a Word doc into KDP and expect the Next Great American Novel to emerge from the other side.

You don’t tell everybody who will listen how you did all of the above, and you don’t care because you can’t justify spending the money on books that won’t earn it back.

How about you ask yourself WHY you believe your books will 100% never earn that money back? Because maybe the problem isn’t your sales; maybe it’s you.

And you sure as heck don’t go on social media and act like everybody else is picking on you because editing is “too expensive” and your life is “too hard” to spend money on events or ensuring your product is high quality.

Expecting the public to reward you with sales and a living when your product is low quality is not professional. Nobody owes you a living.

Businesses do not blossom overnight without up-front costs and heavy work loads. That’s why a saddening amount of small businesses don’t make it – you have to be willing to put in the time and effort and money involved in competing to be as professional as the best in your specific field.

In the four years I’ve paid taxes on my books, I’ve never made money when all is said and done. I throw everything I have into getting exposure – putting my books out there in public physical events, purchasing ads, jumping onto giveaways and online events where you might give away more than you’ll earn back at the moment. My day job funds my writing career, and honestly, that’s how it works for every successful author out there in the years before they finally hit it big enough to become a full time author.

The more you put in. The more you care, the more you learn, the more you begin to treat your books as a business and strive for as close to perfection as you can reach, the more likely your chances of success go up.

Persistence + Hard Word + LUCK = success.

If you put out crap, you’re gonna get crap back. The law of equivalent exchange might come from one of the greatest anime series of all time, but it’s also true.

I haven’t hit my lucky stride. And yeah, that hurts. It hurts every day, and I won’t pretend it doesn’t. But the thing I DON’T do is give up or cut corners on my books. If it means I don’t get a new pair of tennis shoes or a dinner out, so be it. I’d go without cable, internet, or even ELECTRICITY, before I’d publish a book that is less than the industry’s expectation.

So for those authors out there seeking reassurance that you can get away with amateur covers, Great-Aunt Maudie’s shaky red-line editing, and your ten-year-old’s Microsoft Word file, I don’t have that for you.

Self-publishing is a business, and it should be treated as such whether you’re making thirty cents or

thirty thousand a month.

So what I do have for you is DO BETTER. Be better. Go read Joe Konrath’s blog. Put in exactly what you want to get from your books, and eventually – maybe not today, tomorrow, or next year, but eventually – it is going to reward you. And if you aren’t willing to put your time, money, effort, blood, sweat, DNA, and tears into being the best, then this isn’t the business for you and you’re not going to make it.

I honestly could not say it better myself, Nike.

 

Self-Loathing

I know it isn’t healthy to live with this amount of self-loathing.

It isn’t normal. Normal people don’t look in the mirror and want to punch the glass, crack the reflection so they don’t have to see it anymore. Normal people don’t choose to stay home in their PJs in bed because they think everyone hates them, and it’s just better if they don’t drag their fat, ugly asses into public. Normal people have no problem adjusting or fitting in with their friends and family.

Apparently, I’m not normal.

The good news is I know what’s going on inside me isn’t normal. Don’t they say crazy people don’t know they’re crazy? So I have that going for me.

It was easier to ignore these feelings when I was younger and life wasn’t as stressful. But once the financial stress, career stress, lack of talent and ambition began to pile on, and my dreams began to fail and seem colorless and unattainable, the innate issues I’ve always suppressed became harder to ignore. The more shit you pile on, the bigger the pile gets.

This worthlessness inside cuts deeper than any knife could. The voice in my head tells me I’m useless. I’m worthless. I have no real talent for living; everything I try to do, I fail. Everybody hates me, as they should because I hate myself. I’m unlikeable. I’m not pretty. Nobody wants to see me. Nobody wants to be around me. I’m just a downer, a piece of crap, unloveable and irrevocably broken.

I know a lot of the people in my life don’t, and can’t, really understand what I’m going through. Honestly, I don’t even understand it, not in the way you understand a lesson in history class. I’ve written about depression on this blog before, so this post isn’t so much about depression or statistics, and more about me trying to tell people,

“I’m sorry I hate myself; please be kind to me.”

It sucks to have to hide these issues and pretend everything is “FINE.” Everything is not fine, and I hate that our society is so hung up on sweeping mental health issues under the rug. People live in this beautiful padded room where depression and suicide don’t exist, where ignorance and denial entwine to keep them in their happy bubbles. If they don’t hear about it – if they ignore it – it doesn’t exist.

Well, depression and suicide and the hard mental issues exist. Pretending they don’t doesn’t make it any less so. And no I can’t just “get over it” anymore than a coma patient can “just wake up.” It isn’t a “look on the bright side” situation or “stop being so negative.” That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works.

Depression isn’t self-taught. It isn’t a choice. Believe me, someone fighting this self-loathing, this gaping maw of sadness, did not choose this battle. When I wake up in the morning, I don’t just put on pants and go. I have to shrug into armor and choose a weapon as if I were going to war. 

That is what battling depression feels like. Going into war every single day and coming out at the end alive but bruised, bloodied, wearied, and one step closer to giving up because the war is neverending.

I am nothing but broken glass inside, and all the pieces are irregular. It is an impossible task to piece them together to make me whole again. I can’t do it. The people who love me and understand what I’m dealing with can’t do it, no matter how hard they try. The people who love me but don’t understand can’t tell me anything that will make me feel better. In reality, those platitudes usually make me feel worse, like I’m some mutant creature that doesn’t belong in this world. Doesn’t deserve help.

A very hard part of going through this is knowing how it looks from the outside. It probably looks like I’m selfish. Self-involved. I turn down going out and having fun. I break plans more often than I should with friends and family. When I finally get a few hours free time in between working upwards of 60 hours a week, if not more, I choose to lay in bed and binge watch Netflix or read a book. Because just the very act of existing is incredibly hard. When I disappear for weeks at a time, it has nothing to do with not wanting to see the people I love. It has nothing to do with anybody else whatsoever. It is all me, all me and that broken, inky blackness inside me that no one can see. And every time this happens – and it happens often – I hate myself more.

It’s easy to internalize all of this. To not share it with anyone. In fact, it’s easier not to tell anyone or open up about my battle with depression. The coward’s way out. If I don’t talk about it, no one can tell me they don’t care. No one can make me feel worse than I already feel.

A simple google search for images to break up this monotonous wall of text proves to me I’m not alone. There are a lot of memes out there on self-hatred, most of them tied very securely to depression and mental health. Living with this disease is a lot like standing in front of a full-length mirror, except the glass is distorted, and your reflection is fragmented, and behind you is your version of hell. People only see the outside, the shell that walks, talks, and lives a life that might seem pretty good. In reality, depression is a cancer eating away at one’s tissues, exposing muscle, sinew, bone, until everything is raw and your heart aches just being awake.

Never judge a book by its cover. You don’t know how terrifying the tale is beneath.

I guess maybe at this point in the post, I want to make it known that anyone who follows me and resonates with this – you are not alone. You are not the only broken one. Recently, the #medicatedandmighty hashtag went viral, and I cried when I read about it, as I scrolled through tweets from girls who look just like me and who probably hurt just like me. Going on medication feels like giving up; like saying well, I’m too shattered to handle this on my own. So I’ve abhorred the idea for so long.

But I’ve reached a point in my battle where I am at my darkest. I don’t want to fight anymore, and I don’t want to cry and hate myself and simply exist beneath a cracked exterior on the verge of collapse. This is not living. I have lost myself, lost the girl I used to be, lost the will to do anything that once made me happy. My disease is cutting me off from the people I love and the things I enjoy. And it’s only through the power of the internet that I can feel like being broken like this isn’t the end of the world, because there are so many of us fighting this fight.

 

I leave you with an eloquent Buzzfeed post that really sums up living with depression.

 

 

Call for Submissions – Jingle Spells

In my spare time (what little I have of it), I run an ebook and print-on-demand formatting business. CyberWitch Press is almost five years old and has been the second love of my life beyond writing for as long.

Now, I’m branching out into publishing short fiction anthologies! My first anthology call for submissions is posted. Please help me spread the word!

Visit my CyberWitch Press website to learn more!

I am the Daughter of a Suicide

Nothing I do feels the same as it once did.

There’s so much repetition in our lives. We wake up and go to bed every day. We drive past the same scenery to get to work, where most of us do the exact same things every day, week to week, to earn a paycheck. We see the same people, eat a lot of the same foods because they’re our favorites, and we go to all the same places for leisure because of the same reason. So much sameness everywhere.

But the impact of losing one’s parent to suicide casts shades of gray over the normalcy. You’re still getting up, still driving, visiting places and friends, eating foods you love, but through it all, you know nothing is the same and it never will be again. Those same people, places, and things have lost color. You wonder if the real world was the rose-colored rainbow of life before suicide, or if this hazy, over-exposed image, like the brilliant negative painted on the sky by an atomic bomb, is the way life really is. Maybe their suicide opened your eyes to an alternate world. One where you’re different and always will be because of a gun shot you didn’t make.

Grief isn’t a choice. It’s a passage. It’s the one true sign that you loved deeply and still do. No one is immune to grief, and there’s no “wrong way” to grieve. Everyone does it differently; everyone experiences it on different levels. People will tell you don’t let your grief define you; don’t take up residence there and stay. I think they have it backwards: grief takes up residence inside us. Once it’s in your heart, it’s there to stay: a bittersweet flavor to everything you’ll experience every day thereafter. Grief DOES define us. Losing someone we love never goes away. It’s finality. It’s forever. It changes us on levels we don’t understand. I’ve lost grandparents. Great-grandparents. Cousins. But nothing ever prepared me for losing a parent.

I never knew until that October day that suicide grief is different. It’s like a club that you never wanted to join, but once you have, you realize how true that statement is. Death is inevitable. I will die one day. Everyone I love is heading on a straight line towards death. It’s the natural order. Maybe it will be a disease, maybe it will be an accident, or maybe it will be a sleep that never ends. Either way, it will happen.

Suicide is none of these things. Suicide is harsh and cold. It’s that a person you loved with all your heart CHOSE to leave you. A person you loved with all your heart hurt so bad they couldn’t imagine living any longer. It’s an abandonment, but it’s like a whole fucking new level because it wasn’t that they ran away. They extinguished their own existence because their light was too dim in the darkness surrounding them.

There’s so much anger in this club, and it’s not anger at death. It’s not anger that human bodies are fragile or that your version of God took them away too soon. It’s anger at the person you love. And you hate yourself for being so mad at them. You cry for their death, but you cry for how mad you are, too. Because that isn’t fair to them. You can’t stay infuriated when the pain they must have felt makes your chest ache.

It’s an abandonment you have to understand. An abandonment you have to forgive because you love them too much to hold onto the fury.

Suicide grief is such a layered thing. The questions haunt you endlessly. Did he think of me and my brother and my mom before he did it? Did he love me? Does he know how much I loved him? Was I a horrible daughter? Did I contribute to the demons he could no longer fight? Does he know how proud I was to know him? To be his daughter? How proud I STILL am, knowing now the darkness and inner pain he faced in silence? Did he hurt? Did he cry? Did he pause, did he consider staying at all?

Does he regret it?

This isn’t a game show. No smiling host is going to reveal answers and compliment my perceived notions, my desperate guesses. I don’t win anything for guessing correctly.

I will spend the rest of my life with these questions. Strange bedpersons.

From the outside, it might look like I’m moving on. I’m working. I’m writing. I took a vacation where I laughed and played with my husband as if we hadn’t a care in the world. I shower and do chores and shave my legs. But I’m not ‘moving on’ so much as I’ve contorted my heart and soul to fit his suicide and my grief into the fissure where it will live forever. I’m learning to live my life with the grief instead of letting it control me wholly. When I smile, the grief is there just behind the action where it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. When I laugh, it’s there in the tightness in my chest: the rock hard knot of grief and pain right where I imagine the bullet ended his life. I go through the motions, but he and the grief he left behind are always a physical ache inside me. They live behind every single thing that I do, every word that I say.

I’ve adjusted my existence to allow for those shades of gray. The veil of his life and sudden death; the questions, the hurt, the anger, the love I will always have for him, the pride of being his daughter and making sure his memory is honored as the great man he was, not that final moment or that final decision made in the depths of his despair.

It’s a particular tattoo that brands me eternally the daughter of a man who committed suicide.

I’m not ashamed of it. I’m not ashamed of him. No one should EVER be ashamed of this. You do not know the pain that lives inside others; you do not know when your OWN actions bring pain to others. Be kind. Be compassionate. Love others, flaws and all. I am blessed with a large family. I have three parents left who love me and who I love more than anything – more so now than I ever thought possible. Not everyone is so lucky, so we should all be good to each other.

And if you are in pain, please reach out. I will spend the rest of my life wishing he had asked for help, wishing that we’d been given a chance to heal him. Don’t make your own loved ones suffer this same fate. There are so many programs out there, so many people willing to take your hand.

Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind.

Or forgotten.

Wiccan Wars Release!

Wiccan Wars, Book One in the Wiccan Wars Trilogy

Ever O’Connell prides herself on being a good Wiccan, and her coven follows the path of the Goddess with love and light. But the “dark” witches in school—the BlackMags— keep pushing her toward the edge, until Ever finally finds herself at war.

Cade Bourdain inherited his father’s thirst for power, drawing him into darker areas of magick. Despite his dislike for the “Fluffy Bunny” Wiccans, he feels an unearthly connection to Ever.

When the two strike up a secret relationship the real magic between them is ignited, generating a power that a dangerous warlock yearns to take for his own. Ensnared by the warlock, Ever and Cade’s conflicting covens must work together despite their differences—or else be destroyed by a common enemy.

The line between light and dark has never been so unclear.

Available now for only 99c!! The price raises this weekend, so grab it while it’s cheap.

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Kobo

 

 

 

Jingle Bell Book Hop!

Happy Holidays from CyberWitch-Land!

I’ve joined forces with about thirty other rockin’ authors to offer free ebooks and chances to win swag and goodies – INCLUDING A KINDLE FIRE. So it’s like holiday gift-giving online! And it’s FUN.

If you leave me a comment below with a December memory (maybe your favorite present of all time, or something fun you did with your family, etc.), I’ll send you a free ebook of HEAVEN BELOW.

Seventeen-year-old Kelli McNeil wishes her only problems were what to wear and who to date. But she also has recurring nightmares about dying.

In every dream she sees Sebastian, and feels a love that echoes across the ages.  As the dreams intensify, Kelli suspects they are not imagination, but memories of past lives. While these memories hint at an ancient prophecy and the fate of an entire race, they reveal a dark danger for her.

In every life, Sebastian is not only her true love – he is her murderer.

Other free books by me/including me you can pick up:

Underneath

The Holiday Collection

The Apocalypse Collection

Other than the free ebook you already get by leaving me a December memory, I’m also running a giveaway for assorted swag and a signed paperback of HEAVEN BELOW. In order to be entered for this, you have to stalk my website. Tell me in your comment the name of one of my books, either released or coming soon, and IT CAN’T BE THE SAME AS ANYONE BEFORE YOU.

Also feel free to head over to Facebook and send me a friend request (not required). Be sure to tell all your friends about the hop!

Don’t forget to enter the rafflecopter for the huge giveaway, and be sure to visit the other authors on the hop for a chance to get even MORE free ebooks!

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway