Cynthia D. Witherspoon's Blog

The Lillian is FREE!!

🌟🌟 The Lillian is now #free on #Kindle !🌟🌟

https://www.amazon.com/Lillian-Daught...

Charlotte Kingston knew who she wanted to be. The popular girl. The daughter every parent wanted and every mother wanted their son to date.
Yet, when Charlotte turned to magic to make her wish come true, she initiated a tragedy that would set her on a path of her own making. She enrolled in college with no hope of becoming the girl she wanted to be.
Until the Lillian found her.
As their secret past as vampires unfolds, will Charlotte become one of them to fulfill her wish of perfection? Or will she accept herself for who she was born to be?

COVER REVEAL AND EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT OF THE SEER!

Today is cover reveal day for Book 3 in The Oracle Series! Here's the blurb:


The past will foretell the future.

Eva McRayne has seen a lot during her short time as the Sibyl. She's spoken to the dead. Fought against the Erinyes. But when she is faced by an entity no one dares to speak of, Eva must strike back or lose the only thing she has ever known.

Herself.

Excerpt: The Seer I ran as if my life depended on it. Somehow, even in this twisted nightmare of mine, I knew that it did. 

Branches snapped back against my skin as I pushed through them. Leaves were crushed beneath my boots. The silence was the most unnerving part. I could feel. I could see. But there was no sound whatsoever. 

Gone were the usual whispers which haunted my dreams. Gone were the voices of those long dead who clamored for my attention. 

I was more alone than ever. Abandoned and discarded by the gods and dead alike. 

I pressed against a tree in an attempt to hide long enough to catch my breath. My lungs were on fire. My legs ached from my run. Yet the moment I stopped, all hell broke loose. The silence was shattered as my hearing returned. 

Dogs howled as they closed the narrow gap I had managed to make. Men shouted words I couldn’t understand as they gave chase. Hooves pounded against the forest floor and I knew they were coming for me. 

This was it. The end. 

And it was all for nothing. 

I was convinced my heart was going to burst out of my chest as I resumed my flight. But to stop now would be my downfall. To slow down would be my demise.  

Even as I ran, I understood my enemies’ fear. I was an unnatural. A monster made by a vengeful god. And I had done something horrible. Unspeakable. I knew this. I could feel my victim’s blood stiffening my clothes as each minute passed. 

I just couldn’t remember what I had done. Had I struck out against Cyrus? Elliot? Joey? 

Impossible. I wouldn’t hurt them. Hell, I wouldn’t hurt anyone without justification to do so. 

Would I? 

Flashes of memory flickered behind my eyes in a blur that matched the trees I was passing. Cyrus’ golden sword slashing downward. Hazel eyes widening with surprise. The sword coming down once more before the life in those eyes diminished. 

I stumbled as a loud explosion knocked me forward. I slammed against the ground with a plea for mercy as dogs circled around me. The first rider slid his horse to a stop just short of where I had landed. 

“You will murder no one else in this land, Skinwalker.” 

Skinwalker?  I felt relief despite the fear gripping my heart. They were after someone else. Of course I wasn’t a murderer. I could be freed from this if the man would listen to me. 

“No, please.” I managed as the man pressed the muzzle of his gun against my temple. “You’ve got to believe me. You’re wrong. I am not a Skinwalker. I don’t even know what that is. I am the Sibyl.” 

“Either way, I will see you dead for what you have done.” 

The resounding shot was deafening until the silence returned and with it, an eternal darkness my soul was all too familiar with. 


                                                                              *** 

I woke up screaming. Grabbing for anything steady enough to make the shaking of my body stop. Before I could collapse into the tears threatening to overwhelm me, Cyrus pulled me into his embrace. 

“Hush, Little One. It was only a dream. You are safe.” 

I buried my face into his chest as I willed myself to calm down. He was right. There was no gunman here. No one was chasing me. I was secure in my condo on the outskirts of Los Angeles in the arms of a man who would go to Hades before any harm came to me. 

I knew this. I relished in the sweet security Cyrus provided. But now, it did nothing to stop the pounding of my heart or my head. I was still in the grip of my nightmare and it did not want to let me go. 

I had to get ahold of myself. I breathed in Cyrus’ scent of old liquor and counted to five. It didn’t help. All I could see was the man on horseback with his gun. 

“Here.” Cyrus pulled away just enough to press a glass between us. “Drink this. It should do wonders to calm your nerves, Eva.” 

“One, I am not awake enough for whiskey. And two,” I pushed the cup away. “I’m fine. Just a little rattled.” 

“Rattled, is it?” Cyrus put the glass down on my bedside table. “You’ve woken up screaming for the past three nights. Each time I end up having to change shirts because your tears have soaked them through.  That is not what I call fine.” 

I shuddered as he reached out to brush my hair away from my face. After a moment, Cyrus broke the silence between us.  

“The Erinyes?” 

“No. Worse.”  

I thanked Apollo that the nightmares of little girls with demon eyes had not made an appearance tonight. I could still hear them giggling over the fight I had been forced into over Elliot’s soul. I shook my head to get rid of the memory as I switched on the lamp beside my bed with a glance over to my alarm clock. It was just after six in the morning. 

 “Look, you know I’m no good at talking about things I don’t want to. Don’t push me, Cyrus.” 

“Will coffee help?” Cyrus gave me a crooked smile as he offered me his hand. “I bought a new bag yesterday for you.” 

“Coffee always helps.”  

I took his hand and let him lead me into the kitchen. Once Cyrus had deposited me at the table, he busied himself with my coffeemaker while I tried to forget the images trying to return to my head. 

Running through a forest. Chased down by men on horseback. The sound of the final gunshot. 

My nightmare was always the same. There had been no fluctuations to it over the past three nights. No break in the action. Cyrus had tried to calm me before by saying the bad dreams were nothing more than a workplace hazard. Images born out of the horrible stories of death I had to tell on my television show. But I knew better. What I was seeing wasn’t just the product of haunted houses. They were either memories or premonitions. 

And I didn’t believe in premonitions. 

“One mug with enough sugar to put you in a coma,” Cyrus sat my favorite yellow coffee mug in front of me. “And just enough coffee to give it taste.” 

“Bless you, Cyrus.” I cradled it in my hands. The warmth was soothing. The smell alone was enough to chase away the rest of my lingering fears. “You are the best keeper ever.” 

“I know.” He grinned. “I’m also your only keeper, so you better take advantage of it.” 

Cyrus switched from playful to serious in two seconds flat. He tapped his fingers against the tabletop as he spoke. “Come on, Little One. Talk to me. Perhaps we can find a way to put a stop to this dream of yours.” 

“It’s not just any dream.” I shrugged as I swallowed my drink. “Besides, can you even stop such a thing? I’m sorry, Stick, but I don’t think you can protect me from this one.” 

Cyrus awarded me with another crooked smile at the use of my nickname for him. But what I had said was true. As my keeper, Cyrus was bound to protect me from any spirit who wished to do me harm that I came in contact with as the Sibyl. That was his duty to Apollo just as mine was in using spirit communication to bring him followers. But dreams were different than ghosts.  

No. This was a battle I would have to fight on my own. 

“During my time, it was believed that there were two types of dreams.” Cyrus leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. “The insomnium, which could be interpreted, and the somnium which foretold the future. Do you believe this is a dream of prophecy?”  

“No.” I snapped before I could stop myself. I took a breath, muttered an apology, and started over. “At least, I hope to the gods it’s not.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it is horrible.” I muttered again as I stared into the remains of my coffee as if it had the answers. “I die, Cyrus. Shot in the head.” 

My keeper didn’t argue with me. He didn’t need to remind me that I had no need to fear death. As the Sibyl, I was an immortal until I chose to relinquish my role. But since I’d broken the ancient mirror used to pass the powers of my position from one girl to another, I knew there was no way I could ever be replaced.  

No, instead of arguing, Cyrus did the most annoying thing. He went silent. It was up to me to fill in the gaps as he waited for an explanation. I didn’t know why I couldn’t talk about what I’d seen. And I couldn’t explain my reaction to it. After all, it was just a stupid dream. So I gave in to his silent treatment and started talking. 

I told Cyrus everything; from the forest to the murder to the gunshot which never failed to wake me up. When I was finished, I glanced over to see that his expression had gone dark.  

“Well, oh wise one?” I took the final gulp of my now cold coffee. “What do you think? Is this some vengeful spirit looking to find the men who killed him? Is it indeed a prophecy and I am killed somehow? Or have I finally gone completely insane thanks to this whole talking-to-the-dead business?” 

“Alright, Eva.” Cyrus held up his hand to shush me. “I get your point. Yet despite your sarcasm, you may just be correct.” 

“That I’m insane?” 

“No, silly girl.” Cyrus clasped his hand over mine. “Remember, if you will, that even in your sleep the spirits can still contact you. It is when you are the most vulnerable. I do not believe that this is a nightmare at all. I think it is a memory.” 

“So do I. But who does it belong to? And why do I tell the shooter that he has the wrong person? That I’m the Sibyl?” 

“I do not know.” Cyrus shook his head. “I think we are asking the wrong questions though. I am curious as to what this monster is. What was it called again?” 

“A skinwalker.” 

“I will see what I can find out while you are in your meeting this morning. What time do you have to be there?” 

“Eight-thirty.” I stood and rinsed out my coffee mug. “Since we are finished with the contract negotiations for season two, Connor wants all the paperwork signed by the time Joseph gets into the office.” 

I was drying off the mug when Cyrus came up behind me. He took the dishrag away from me before putting his hands on my shoulders. My keeper turned me to face him before he wrapped his arms around me. I closed my eyes as my heart flipped at his touch. Say what you will about Cyrus, but he was good to me. And he had the most amazing ability to raise my blood pressure. I felt myself blushing as he brushed a single kiss of my ear before he whispered. 

“I will keep you safe, Little One. Monsters or no, you will have nothing to fear in this life.” 



~The Seer will be available March 1st, 2015~

Devil in Duke's Clothing - Nina Mason

Thanks to my personal life and feverishly writing, my book reviews have taken a backseat. But I'm still reading. And Devil in Duke's Clothing was at the top of my list.

If you've been on Facebook recently, you couldn't have missed the massive media campaign Mason has conducted for this book. And you know what? Although the pictures are hot, and the historical tidbits she posts are great, they don't even begin to touch this book.

Ok. Ok. So now onto the review, right? I love historical fiction, and I'm not a massive fan of erotica. But Mason is changing that for me. Her characters are twisted. Her story? A great beginning to the Royal Pains series. But her greatest strength lies in her sexy scenes. You want a man like the Duke of Dunwoody in your life. He's exciting. He's devoted. But most of all?

He's hot. Really, really hot.

Overall, I enjoyed Mason's writing style. I think she did a fantastic job with her characters, her dialogue - even the historical tidbits. This book may not be for everyone, but for those who enjoy a good story with spice? 

This one is right up your alley.


About the Author: 

Sunday Scene - Chance the Darkness (The Dark Series #1) - L.A. Wild

The constant caress grazing my neck intensifies. His solid arm slides around my waist, holding me a little too tight.

Imperturbable fingers sift through the layers of material to lift up under my torn T-shirt, brushing the hot, damp skin across my tattoo. Teeth nip at the soft place between my shoulder and décolletage. Sharp electric pulses shoot into my toes.

Silk slides across my jugular—razor-sharp like a samurai cutting through fresh snow. I shudder with pleasure, pain, and anticipation. I surrender to him.

A small, mellifluous voice of reason protests somewhere in the recess of my mind, but the pacifying language from my stranger lulls me away. Even the voice from behind the reinforced steel remains quiet. Where To Find Chance the Darkness

Sunday Scenes - Gut-Check Green (Sonoma Knight #3) - Peter Prasad

Summary: 

Enjoy a controversial, fast-paced climate fiction thriller set in California wine country.   Gut-Check Green dances with diabolic characters and an action-packed plot to explore the future of veterans’ services and our food supply.  It raises disturbing questions about the drift toward over-dependence on fertilizers and GMOs.  Here is a conspiracy so plausible it will rattle your dinner plate and change the way you sip chardonnay.  PI Jake Knight goes undercover to chase environmental terrorists. 

GUT-CHECK GREEN: Chapter 2
Just over the vineyard-clad Mayacamas Mountains, twilight descended on wet meadows.  Roving coyotes lurked beyond the murk and gloom.  They crept closer and sniffed the wind, hackles alert, fixated on the scent of new birth. 


Jake Knight, an Afghan vet, former US Army Ranger, and licensed P.I. with a sheep cheese operation, watched for their bright yellow eyes and slinking shadows.  He worried about his new crop of baby lambs. If he dozed, a bold coyote might snatch a new kid for dinner and tear its throat out with one snap of its jaw.  Well-oiled and close, a sawed-off shotgun rested at the ready, loaded with rock salt.   


The broken-down brown rocking chair Jake sat in tortured his rest.  No matter how he did it, rocking hard, rocking easy, one leg over the elbow rest or bent like a yogi, nothing worked.  He was exhausted.  His eyes begged to sleep and his haggard brain refused, buggered if he knew why.


 He twisted in the junk-pile reject rocker at the entry to the feed barn, doors swung wide to clear the odors of alcohol, blood, fluids, iodine and manure.  The rain-wet breeze curled up the hill pasture and brushed at his dank hair.  A lone compact bulb dangled overhead, keeping the damp dark out, too weak to damage his eyes stuck on night vision. 


The diabolical rocker mocked him.  He swore its woven-cane seat was shrinking, the legs too short, seat too low, arm rests splintered and squeezing in.  He cursed the blind man who built it for an extremely short idiot.  Further confounding him, the goddess of sleep beckoned just beyond the pale arc of light on the wet earth.  She taunted him with her diaphanous dance no matter how he pleaded, refusing to cradle his head, instead torturing his brain with fatigue.       


Exasperated, Jake grinned at himself, then at it everything in his universe, then he chuckled, gone giddy and flooded by the absurdity.  He knew sensory deprivation can trigger dream quests; sleep deprivation worked too.  He wrenched his thick shoulders, double-cracked his neck and filled his lungs. Flummoxed, a groan escaped his lips and gusted over his itching, unshaved chin.  His grin tipped sideways, fell from his face and raced away chasing a yellow beam back to join the crescent moon.


Hell bent for relief, he ripped lose with full-throated laughter to echo off the warped redwood planks above.  His brains wanted to tumble out his ears as bland infant pabulum.    His laughter helped wick away his exhaustion.  He was miles past the last threads of his tether.  A man wasn’t meant to birth one hundred baby lambs, even when they cleaned up pure-cuddly and snow-white soft.


Behind him, his brother Wally raked a spot where a mother ewe had delivered twins.  He carried the bloody straw to an industrial composter.  He wore headphones, mouthing vocabulary from a Farm Journal CD, How to Assist at Sheep Births.  Jake had memorized every word and added a few of his own.  Then Wally called out in a fever, “Holy shit, Jake!  Come quick.  This birth is going way wrong and I don’t know what to do.” 

Where To Find Gut-Check Green About Peter Prasad

Peter Prasad is pen name for a San Francisco writer for 40 years.  Prasad means ‘divine food’ and he intends his stories to be fun, entertaining fiction.  With a degree in journalism from University of Florida ’72, he spent ten years as an advertising and travel writer in Johannesburg and Tokyo.  Stateside, he managed a retreat center for a Buddhist group, helped launch a dozen high-tech companies and became a green energy expert.  He earned an EPA Energy Star in ’04. A father with two daughters, Prasad is a Florida native, a diver, kayaker, trekker and traveler; solar champion, workshop leader and speaker; husband and Boy Scout in recovery.  Now he writes crime thrillers full-time, and is working on his next novel set in Florida, VOTE VEDA – The Tea & Crackers Campaign. 






Prasad enjoys dialog with pro-active readers and emerging writers. 

Email: PeterPrasad.SF@gmail.com

Sunday Scenes - The Dream Walker - Michelle Murray

Shadow traveled throughout Mystica, following the tendrils of shadows he had sent out to seek his brother. The shadows led him to cities and fields filled with people and animals. There seemed to be no purpose in their destination. They did not seem to be leading him to his long lost brother.

He was starting to wonder if he was in charge of the shadows, or if the shadows were in charge of him. He decided to experiment. He would hide and wait for a lone traveler. He tried to swallow the lonely traveler in his shadows. The shadows went right past the lonely traveler, and instead headed to a band of musicians and jugglers making their way to the city.

Everywhere he went, it was the same. The shadows coasted toward multitudes of people. They would grow bigger of their own accord. They were destroying people, towns, and crops.

Can Miranda save Mystica from the Darkness? Read the Dream Walker Returns to find out!

Where To Find The Dream Walker

Sunday Scenes - The 11th Percent T.H. Morris

Jonah closed his eyes and recited the alphabet with three breaths in between each letter. It was a trick he started in elementary school. It always worked wonders for making time pass, and better yet, he rarely EVER finished. It was sure to work. Sure enough, before he had even reached the letter P, Langton called, “Alright, my friends! The workday is now completed! I would like to thank you all for being troopers. Remember, you are helping ALL of us keep our jobs! Good evening.”

Jonah packed his laptop gratefully. That tactic worked every time. He headed for the door, grateful to hear the exit signal’s rhythmic chimes.

It was on the third chime that it happened.

Jonah blinked, a natural occurrence that he had done a billion times. Only in this momentary closing of his eyes, he opened them to bear witness to a very strange phenomenon. The world around him—the office, the parking lot, the cars, everything—looked blue.

They were perfectly normal in every other regard, but it seemed someone had shaded his vision with cerulean. Alarmed, he glanced around and blinked hard. It made no difference. The blue veil remained.

His eyes shot up to the sky, which now had an even darker hue because of the blue veil over his eyes.

What the hell is going on? he wondered wildly. What had happened? Had he damaged his eyes? Had he suddenly contracted some rare disease that had polarized his eyes and resulted in a permanent tinge of blue?

“Jonah Rowe,” said a voice.

He whirled around. A woman stood there, swaddled in what looked like fading lights. Her hair was dark, made darker by the bluish tinge. Her eyes were wide-set and full of fear. She might have been pretty if she didn’t look so horrified and desperate.

“Jonah Rowe,” she repeated again.

“What is going on?” demanded Jonah. “Why is everything blue? Who are you?”

“Jonah Rowe,” she said for a third time. Her voice was as strange as her appearance; it sounded like a two-or three-part harmony. She also sounded like she spoke to him from several yards away, though she stood right in front of him. “You must help us all. You have the power. Help us. Please.”

Jonah was more confused than ever. “What power? What are you talking about, lady? And tell me why everything is blue!”

“You are the one,” said the woman. “You must help us cross on. He has blocked the path.”

Jonah backed away from her. “Lady, I don’t know who you are, or who he is, and I don’t know anything about any paths! Now tell me what’s going on!”

“You must help us! Please, Jonah Rowe! You have the power. Please—!”

She disappeared. It looked as though it had been against her will, like she’d been yanked into thin air. The silence left in her absence seemed even more frightening than her disconnected voice.

Then a cat’s meow whipped Jonah around once more, almost like his body was moved in response to the sound.

He now saw, if possible, an even stranger sight. A calico cat stared at him while pawing at the shin of a tall man that Jonah swore had not been there moments before. He looked to be in his late thirties, and was as calm as could be. He looked like this scene was entirely normal. Although the blue color shaded everything, Jonah could tell the man had a ruddy complexion and brownish black hair. His penetrating eyes looked like they could be grey. He had aquiline features and a demeanor that was almost regal. His casually dressed and cloaked form appeared to be shrouded in lights, just like the woman’s form had been.

“Yes, Bast,” he said quietly, “I see now. It is indeed him. You have done well.”

His eyes rose to Jonah. “Jonah Rowe,” he said in an ominous tone, “I will be seeing you again. Go home now. Do not leave. I know who you are now.  Unfortunately, he does too.”

Jonah stared. Was this some kind of joke? Who was this man? What was the deal with the cat? Why was the man talking to it? And where did he get off telling Jonah to go home and stay there?

“Look, man,” he said, fear and incomprehension blending to form a high pitched voice most unlike his own, “I don’t have a clue what’s going on—”

“You do not,” interrupted the man. “But you will, son. You will. Heed my warning.”

Jonah opened his mouth to retort, but the man disappeared in a swirl of light. The calico gave him one more look of appraisal, and then dashed into a nearby alley. Jonah blinked again.

Everything was normal. The deep blue sky was the only thing that was that color as the late afternoon gave way to evening. Incoherent chatter, passing cars, and bustling people once again dominated the scene.

 Jonah looked around. There was no weird woman, no cat, and no tall, regal-looking man. He blinked again, just to make sure, but nothing had changed. Normalcy was evident in every detail of his environment.

“Um, Jonah,” said an annoyed voice, “If you don’t mind, some of us actually have lives to live.”

Jessica was behind him; he was blocking her path. With a jolt, he realized he was back at the threshold of the office, at the exact spot where the weirdness had begun. How was he back where he started? He had moved at least five feet from the door when the world went blue, yet here he was like nothing had happened at all.

“Jessica,” he breathed, “Didn’t you see that? Didn’t you see that blue?”

Jessica rolled her eyes and pushed past him. “I don’t know what you’ve been using, Rowe, but the only thing blue out here is my car.”

She headed to her car, leaving Jonah bewildered and confused. He had barely even registered her snide comment. The only thing blaring in his mind was one question:

What the hell had just happened?

Where To Find The 11th Percent

Happy New Years, Dear Readers!

A Book A Day will resume on January 2nd. Thank you for your support so far, and here's to another great year in indie books!


Come on, 2015! We're ready!


Cynthia

Last Heartbeat - T.R. Lykins

Romance is a genre that seems to be dominated by sex. Most books classified as 'romance' use their entire plot to get the main characters to sleep with each other.


T.R. Lykins Last Heartbeat is not like that. And I loved it.


There are some pretty heavy themes throughout this story and Lykins masters them with grace. Terminal illnesses, organ transplants - a lot of authors would show their characters as they battled for their lives. But Lykins' Last Heartbeat doesn't focus on the battle during. It focuses on the battle after. This is what made Lykins debut novel so great and so refreshing. We get to see what Alexia and Phillip go through as survivors - sometimes strong, sometimes remorseful, but always true to themselves.


Lykins' strength lies in her character interactions. The reader truly believes in the romance between these two. There are parts that make you want to cry, laugh - but most of all? 

You start taking a look at your own relationships and wonder what you can do to make them better. After all, we are only one heartbeat away from never seeing them again.  



Overall, Last Heartbeat is a solid read, a sweet romance, and a story that grabs the reader and won't let go. Be prepared for the emotional response you have, because you will have it for days. I will admit, when I finished reading, I found myself thinking about life. My connections to my own loved ones.


Grab this book. Read it. Love it. But be warned: it won't let go easily.  Where to Find Last Heartbeat About the Author

Distilled Spirits - Loni Lynne

I love a good ghost story. In fact, ghost stories were the first tales I remember being told as a child. I'm sure there were others - I distinctly recall a Little Golden Book with a dog on it - but they didn't stick with me. Not like the ghost stories.

Why? Because ghost stories work to connect us to our past. It doesn't matter how much we study history, there is always a disconnect with time. Space. Fashion even. But with ghost stories, we get to interact with the past. We get to experience the forgotten.

We can fall in love with it.

Distilled Spirits takes that basic premise for ghost stories and turns it into a tale of love. Love of the past. Love of history. What Lynne does best throughout this book is that she uses romance not just between characters. She uses it to show a love of place and the history it holds.

As far as writing style, Lynne does a fantastic job with the interactions of Millie and Sean. I loved that she wrote this in third person, which meant we got to see Millie's (the spirit) side of things. Another strength? The tension between these two. There is a scene in particular where I was like 'Remember that girl is a ghost....even if you don't want her to be."

Ultimately, Distill Spirits is a strong ghost story. There is mystery and sexual tension. There are clique elements that all ghost stories have. But they work well here to enhance the background Lynne was working with. This is a fast read; one you pick up for fun until you realize there is a very deep message hidden within these pages.

We should hold onto the past. Embrace our history. Advancement and progress be damned. Where to Find Distilled Spirits About the Author Born in north-central Michigan, Loni Lynne still loves the quiet woods, lakes and rivers in Otsego County and the Victorian era bay side houses of Little Traverse Bay. But after decades of moving around the country as a child and twenty-five years of marriage to her personal hero, she calls western Maryland her home. 


Serving in the United States Navy didn’t prepare her for the hardest job ever, being a stay at home mom, to her two wonderful daughters. After years of volunteering as a scout leader, PTA officer, and various other volunteer positions, all while still writing snippets of story ideas, her husband decided it was time for her to put her heart to finishing a story. He gave her a laptop, portable hard drive and his blessings to have a finished manuscript, ready to be sent out to the masses in one year. He created a writing monster. 

Immortal Heat was her first idea six years ago and has gone through many revisions since then. In the meantime another story took hold, Wanted: One Ghost and it became her first published book in 2013. Now with the help of her friends, family and friends of the romance writing community, she’s pursuing her love of telling stories written from her heart.