Cynthia D. Witherspoon's Blog, page 2

The Earl of Brass: The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Book 1 - Kara Jorgensen

As a writer, there are books I read for fun. And then there are books I read to learn from. When I first started The Earl of Brass, I was expecting a fun ride. A steampunk adventure. I thought 'Hey, maybe I can learn a little something about the genre while I'm at it.' 

I got everything I asked for. A strong, solid plot filled with great dialogue and all the elements one requires in a steampunk novel. I also enjoyed Jorgensen's writing; so much so that there are parts of her book that I have marked to go back and read over again simply because I enjoyed them so much.

But there is more. The one thing I got from The Earl of Brass that I did not expect was inspiration.  As I read about the adventures of Lord Eilian Sorrell, I kept getting hit by what I call the 'wow' factor. This book made me want to sit down and work on my own steampunk series. 

Sure, there is action and drama and more steampunky goodness than you can shake a stick at. There are underlying conflicts created by the social structure which existed in 1890. And Jorgensen's characters work beautifully in the world she has created. For me as a reader, this was an enjoyable book that I will be returning to. 

But for me as a writer? This book was a treasure. A story so strong that I can only hope to match Jorgensen's grasp of the genre one day. I will be studying her work - and future stories - with the critical eye of a student, not just a reader or reviewer.


So if you are into steampunk, sci-fi, or just damn good stories, pick up The Earl of Brass. You will find yourself a story to come back to time and time again.


It's the best thing a reader can ask for.
.
Where to Find The Earl of Brass About the Author Kara Jorgensen is an author and professional student from New Jersey who will probably die slumped over a Victorian novel. An anachronistic oddball from birth, she has always had an obsession with the Victorian era, especially the 1890s. Midway through a dissection in a college anatomy class, Kara realized her true passion was writing and decided to marry her love of literature and science through science fiction or, more specifically, steampunk. When she is not writing, she is watching period dramas, going to museums, or babying her beloved dogs.

Sunday Scene - Blackthorne and Rose - Agents of DIRE - K.G. McAbee

Blackthorne & Rose: Agents of D.I.R.E.

Time: 1859. Place: London. Jonathan Blackthorne, stage magician, and his beloved Lady Rose Blakeney-Barrington, brilliant inventor, both members in good standing of the Damocles Institute for Research and Exploration, are embroiled in a dangerous and deadly adventure. It seems that the enmity between Captain Richard Burton and John Hanning Speke has resulted in a plot so dastardly, so devious, so, well, odiferous, that the entire Empire may well be at risk. Walking corpses are one thing; dismembered bits of these revenants, still with the spark of life, another thing entirely.  God Save the Queen!

 

"But, Captain Burton," said Mr. Faraday as he shuffled papers before him. "I have read Lieutenant Speke's file. He has no scientific background whatsoever. In fact," he chose a sheet and held it up, "his only interests seem to be hunting and collecting. He does not seem to be particularly intelligent."

"He's not," Burton said, pausing in his journey up and down the room. "But he's stubborn and willful and holds a grudge against all who, he perceives, have wronged him. If a man like that somehow gains the power to create an army of the dead, do you think he would not use it to exact the revenge he craves more than life itself?"

Well, now, I thought as I sipped my tea. We are in even more trouble than I thought.

"Where is Speke?" asked Rose, going straight to the most important question, as is her wont.

"At his cousin's place in Wiltshire, according to latest received information," Faraday said, consulting another sheet, "where he has been for the last month."

"I saw him in London a week ago," Burton said.

"We must find him," Rose said, "and question him."

An explosion shook the building.

An alarm bell went off, seemingly in my right ear. I dropped my tea.

"The cellars," Rose said calmly, gazing at a panel on the wall to her right.

I looked and saw the bell marked 'cellar' shaking up and down on its strip of metal.

"I think we'd best see what's happening, don't you, Jonathan?" she asked.

I knew that glint in her eye. "I think the guards should check it out first and give us a report, my dear girl," I said, but with a sinking feeling.

"Nonsense! What utter balderdash! Captain Burton, shall we?"

Well, naturally, I was having none of that! I rose and took her arm.

"Thaddeus, Captain Burton, shall we?" I said.

Of course, a trip to the cellars of the Damocles Institute—after a morning in the London sewers—was hardly what I wished to do.

But when duty—or Rose, which in my case may well be the same thing—calls, what can an Englishman do?

Rose, Captain Burton, Thaddeus and I galloped down the several flights of stairs, went through the several doors of stout wood banded with metal—and descended into chaos.

The infernal regions—twice in one day.

The cellars of the Damocles Institute fill an entire city block and more, spilling out under roadways and into surrounding blocks. One can hear the rumble of the digging for the planned subterranean railways on nearly any day. One can also hear the smooth flow of waters in the sewers on rainy days.

But one should never be able to hear what we heard when we finally reached a door leading into the first cellar.

Men screaming and fighting for their lives.

"Stop!" I shouted. "We need weapons!"

Rose, as is usual, was far ahead of me. She dashed towards a storage room down the hallway—really, the dear girl must have the map of the entire Institute engraved upon her pillow—opened it and began distributing pistols and long knives to the rest of us.

Five guards clattered down the steps behind us and began arming themselves as well.

And all the while, we were serenaded by the most frightful row from below.

"This door leads to a short flight of steps, then to another door," Rose said, looking like a pirate as she strapped a bandolier of knives about her tiny waist.

"And what are we facing, Lady Rose?" asked one of the guards with an impressive calm as he took swords from the weapons cupboard and distributed them to his companions.

"I fear it must be the walking dead," Rose said succinctly.

"Ah," said the guard, "thought it might be something like that."

"Thaddeus, stay close to Rose," I whispered, though I knew he would never desert her.

"To you both, sir," he said and winked.

Burton was at the door, positively bristling with blades. The scar on his cheek where an African assegai had pierced it gave him the appearance of a fiercer pirate.

I took a sword and a pair of pistols. I fear did not resemble a pirate at all, unless a rather timid and fearful one.

Thaddeus and the guards took stations at the heavy door. Rose flung it open and we dashed into the fray.

Chaos indeed! At the bottom of the long flight of steps, three of the walking revenants were devouring a gentleman who was thankfully past feeling any pain. The gas lights on the wall flickered, casting the most astonishing glow upon a scene straight from Dante.

Men sliced at revenants that clawed their way up through a rough hole which seemed to have exploded upwards from beneath the cellar floor. Other men shot the attackers, or hit out at them with axes or hatchets. Detached limbs moved about the dirt floor, fingers pulling arms behind them. I saw a head beside the hole, its eyes staring in a disinterested fashion at the melee before it; another sat beside it, looking equally uninterested.

"We must close up that hole!" Rose shouted, trying to dash forward—really, the girl has no fear!—but restrained by Thaddeus. "Look, they're still coming through!"

And indeed they were. If Mr. Speke were indeed to blame, he must have created dozens, hundreds of the revenants.

"An explosive grenade," said Burton as if he were asking for a glass of sherry.

"Here you go, sir," said one of the guards who accompanied us, digging one out of the pouch hanging from his shoulder.

"Thank you, Perkins," Rose said.

Burton held the tiny, deadly thing to the nearest gaslight. Its fuse caught and sizzled like a nasty snake. He held it just long enough for me to open my mouth to scream, then gave it a lazy toss. It headed straight for the hole, which I calculated was about thirty feet away.

It hit dead center of the darkness and disappeared.

"Down, all who can hear me!" shouted Thaddeus.

We all crouched down.

And waited.

And waited.

It seemed to be hours but could have only been mere seconds before a loud boom shook the ground. Bits of body parts erupted from the hole, slamming into support pillars and people.

"Another, if you please, Perkins."

Another boom.

More body parts. Some wiggled most alarmingly.

The hole began to collapse in on itself, taking some—but not all—of the revenants with it. Smoke and dust rose in a blinding cloud, choking those of us who still breathed but doing nothing to slow the advance of the dead.

"Here, over here!" shouted Rose.

At first I thought she was in danger, but I realized she was merely trying to rescue as many as she could. Indeed, two men—a guard and a scientist, from their attire, though both were so splattered in gore and dirt it was hard to ascertain more—scrambled through the smoke towards us. The guard made it.

The scientist did not.

A hand, pasty white, the nails yellow as ochre, reached out of the billowing cloud of smoke and seized the scientist by the shoulder. He gave one despairing shriek and disappeared into the cloud.

Silence, save for the sound of the crunching of bone…

"Out, I believe," said Burton, waving smoke away from his face. "I suspect the other doors have been secured. We must make sure this one is as well."

I waited for no more and hustled Rose and the others up the steps. We locked and barricaded the door behind us…
For the further adventures of Blackthorne & Rose, do visit Pulp Literature at

http://pulpliterature.com/upcoming-issues/issue-4-autumn-2014/ Where to Find More by K.G. McAbee About the Author K.G. McAbee has had a bunch of books and over a hundred short stories published, some of them quite readable. She takes her geekdom seriously, never misses a sci-fi con, loves dogs and iced tea, and believes the words 'Stan Lee' are interchangeable with 'The Almighty.' She writes paranormal, steampunk, fantasy, science fiction, horror, pulp, westerns and mysteries. She's a member of Sisters in Crime, Horror Writers Association andInternational Thriller Writers and is an Artist in Residence with the South Carolina Arts Commission. Her steampunk/zombie novella received an honorable mention in the 3rd quarter Writers of the Future contest, and her mystery ‘Dyed to Death’ won the Black Orchid Novella Award, sponsored by The Wolfe Pack and Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. For more information, email her at kgmcabee@gmail.com

 

The Dream Walker: Land of Mystica Series - Michelle Murray

I love fairy tales. I mean, what's not to like? You have wizards. Fantasy. Adventure. Magic.

What more could you ask for?

Murray hit all the high notes with The Dream Walker. This is a story based on a fantasy world - Mystica - that is quite easy to loose yourself in. And the reason is simple: this book reads like a fairy tale. I'm not kidding. Murray's use of language is what makes this book such a magical tale. 

You want to believe in the wizards. The Darkness. Even the Gophers. 

Remember how I told you this book read like a fairy tale? The chapters are short but it works so well that I had to go back to see if I was remembering this correctly. Murray is able to keep that fairy tale read by using this technique.

And it works. Oh so well.

Overall, The Dream Walker Land of Mystica Series is a strong fantasy read. It was easy, and I would have no problems recommending this book to anyone with a love of mythical beings, magical worlds, Murray's writing is strong, easy to follow, and works almost too well for this genre.

My rating? Highly recommended. If you love fantasy like I do, pick this series up. You'll love it.

Where to Find The Dream Walker: Land of Mystica Series About the Author  I am a married working mother of two young men. I enjoy reading, and of course writing. My oldest son shares my passion of books and we often suggest books for one another to read. We also bounce ideas off each other for our own books. My favorite aurhors include J R R Tolkien, Shakespeare, Mark Twain, and recently Coleen Hueck.

Sunday Scene - If I Could Be Jennifer Taylor - Barbara Ehrentreu

 If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor

Feeling my old hatred of gym, I glance across the locker room and see Jennifer in red designer shorts and a tight sleeveless shirt to match. She's standing in front of the only mirror in the room turning back and forth.

Becky and I slide into our loose camp shorts and a T-shirt, and once they're on, we race onto the gym floor. Always better to be early for gym the first day. You never knew what kind of teacher you'd have. My athletic ability is zero, so I don't take chances. Once I was a few minutes late, and the gym teacher in middle school made me run around the gym ten times. It took me the whole gym period.

Becky and I sit on the low seats in the bleachers, but Jennifer and her group saunter into the gym and choose the highest seats avoiding the rest of us. Miss Gaylon, the gym teacher introduces herself and gives us a few minutes until the last stragglers come from the locker room. For those few minutes, I almost feel comfortable. My breathing returns to normal. I hear giggles from Jennifer and her group, but I ignore it.

"Maybe it won't be so bad this year, Carolyn." Becky always tries to cheer me up now. This wasn't true a few years ago. I had to cheer her up a lot. Becky's brothers are just turning five, and they're both in kindergarten. Her mom remarried after being divorced for ten years. Becky was just getting used to her new stepfather when her mom got pregnant. I remember how miserable Becky was the first year of middle school when her mom spent so much time with her twin brothers and didn't have enough time to help Becky with her homework. Luckily, Becky's stepfather is a history teacher, so she got very interested in history and current events.

"Right, Becky, and maybe I'll learn to be a gymnast in ten minutes. Reality check, remember last year?"

"Okay, I'm hoping it won't be so bad."


"You mean like the dentist finding you only have one cavity and filling it the same day?"

"You're so lame, Carolyn. Since we're all older, maybe she'll treat us differently. People change over the summer you know."

"Look at her, Becky."

Becky turns to look over at the group at the top of the bleachers and then turns back to look me in the eye. "You know you have to put that stupid day behind you."

I pretend not to know what she's talking about. "What stupid day?"

Like I don't remember every detail.

"The zip line day."
"Oh, that day,"  I say with a combination grimace and smile. "The day I wound up having to climb off the platform. I wanted to bore a hole into the ground so I wouldn't have to walk past them but couldn't, and everyone screamed at me: 'Breathe, Carolyn, breathe'."

"You have to admit it was funny the way the gym teacher ran up the ladder like a squirrel to rescue you. Everyone laughed at how stupid she looked. Jennifer got the whole class going with that ridiculous 'breathe, Carolyn, breathe'."
Becky looks behind her to Jennifer. "You know I wanted to run over and punch her, but I couldn't because I was still on the platform, and it was my turn to go."

"Yeah, if I had a few more minutes, I would have been able to get up the courage to grip the zip line and hook myself to it. Stupid teacher didn't give me a chance. This not breathing thing when I get nervous really sucks."

Becky nods because she knows me so well.

"So then Jennifer started with that horrible chant, and of course, the whole class followed her, like always." My eyes fill with tears as I remember, and my breathing is getting worse by the minute.

"I thought it was a dumb idea to do ropes course stuff in school. We did it at my camp the summer before, and no one was forced to do it. Anyone could get nervous with Jennifer in front of them,"  Becky comforts me.

I continue talking as if I'm in a trance. "Remember how last year whenever I ran into Jennifer she would whisper 'breathe, Carolyn, breathe,' so no one could hear it except me. Once she did it just before I had to go up in front of the class in math. Sometimes she would do it in front of everyone and, of course, get a big laugh while I wanted to turn into a piece of furniture."

Becky grabs my arm.  "Do we have to go back over this again? You need to forget about it." She takes her hand away from my arm as I continue to speak.

"Becky, I can't. The thing is it's this bad movie in my brain looping the same horrible scenes. The funny thing is, most of the time, she would ignore me. I would never know what she was going to do. You have to admire someone so single-minded she managed to get to me at just the right time. You remember don't you? And today did you see how she wore the same outfit as me? It's spooky."

My funny breathing returns as Miss Gaylon tells us to line up on the yellow line alphabetically. I hope there will be someone to go between Jennifer and me. No luck. Jennifer is going to be behind me all year. I hold my breath. I couldn't stand more of the same this year. I pray for the day to end soon. A glance at my new watch shows me fifteen more minutes left of the period. Is Miss Gaylon's voice getting lower? What is that pounding in my ears? 

Jennifer turns to face me, and I hear, "Breathe, Carolyn, breathe." Then my world turns black. 

Where to Get A Copy of If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor About the Author

The 12 Indies of Christmas - Spellbound Christmas Review

 I was not expecting my response to this book. At all. I thought I'd read a few short stories about Christmas, maybe find one that I liked, and keep moving.

No. You can't pick just one. And you can't just keep moving. You have to learn more about the Spellbound world. 

Krys. Noah. Lachlan. 

Each of these characters have back stories. Each of them have characteristics that draw you in. You can't just let them go.

A Spellbound Christmas is a collection of three short stories; all based in the Spellbound universe created by Payne and Taylor. All three stories are easy reads, and they play with your emotions like nobody's business. 

As a reader, you can tell these two authors have their ducks in a row when it comes to their universe. Each character plays off the other - and each story - with an ease that is staggering. Their writing style is simple. Elegant. The dialogue, the narrative, all of it works to force an emotional reaction out of the reader whether it is desire, longing, or tears.

And yes, there were tears reading one particular story in this book. That' is not a spoiler. That is a fact pointed out in the Forward.

This is the first book I have read by Taylor and Payne, but it certainly won't be the last. I am now immersed in their universe, and I need to know more. There are bits and pieces that tease the reader. Those who have read their Spellbound stories will recognize them. Those of us who haven't?

It makes us want more. 

I would highly recommend this book to any reader old enough to read explicit romance scenes. These stories are perfect for the holiday. They put you in the mood for giving. They make you want to get that kiss under the mistletoe. But my favorite part? 

They put you in the mood for magic. I couldn't ask for a better gift than that. Where To Find A Spellbound Christmas



About the Authors

Alisha Payne is a Stay-at-Home-Mom with two wonderful children, a son and a daughter, and a husband serving in the United States Navy.

Her interest in writing started during her middle school years, beginning with poetry, and advanced to short stories. Later in high school, she enjoyed writing longer stories with a small group of friends, though none of their projects were ever finished.

Alisha is both an avid reader and, believe it or not, a video gamer. Her current favorites when it comes to games are Dragon Age, the Mass Effect series, anything Elder Scrolls related, Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic, and Fallout 3. She also likes a good hidden object style game and playing Skylanders with her son.
She owes her love of reading to her mother, who introduced her to the worlds of Pern and Xanth. She favors several authors and book genres but the following are among her favorite: Stephen King, Tolkien, Mercedes Lackey, Christine Feehan, J.K. Rowling, James Rollins, and Jim Butcher.


Nick Taylor enjoys writing as an outlet for her creativity. She is a video gamer by nature and enjoys watching movies and reading novels by Stephen King, Mary Higgins Clark, Scott Lynch, Tolkien and Michael Crichton among others. If it’s good, she’ll read it, whether it’s suspense, thriller, fantasy, horror, or illustrated storytelling. She also enjoys the outdoors, jogging with her dog, riding horses, and going to renaissance faires. Nick is currently working toward her nursing degree and is the mother of two beautiful children ages eight and ten.


 

The 12 Indies of Christmas - Short Story - One Last: A Sibyl Holiday Tale

Christmas in Los Angeles was not Christmas. I mean, sure. The stores took full advantage of the retail holiday in every sense of the word. There were lights. Decorations that look just as miserable as I do in the December heat. And sure, there was enough fake snow to choke an elephant. But despite all the attempts at creating a festive holiday, I wasn’t feeling it this year. 

“Eva. Eva McRayne, come in. Earth to Eva.”  

Joey Lawson snapped his fingers within inches from my nose to get my attention. I pushed his hand away with a smirk.  

“What do you want now, Joey?” 

“Did you hear anything Connor had to say?” 


"Sure." I nodded. "Every word."


"Then what did he just say?" Joey raised an eyebrow as he glanced around the table. We were in a meeting here at Theia Productions. And I hated meetings. Especially since Connor liked to call me out for doing something I shouldn't have done.

Connor Garrison. The executive producer of my television show, Grave Messages, was glaring at me from across the conference room table.  

“Um…” I tapped my fingers against the smooth wooden surface. “Ok. You caught me. I wasn’t listening.” 

“You are going to have a month off.” Connor spoke in a tone best reserved for those who didn’t speak English very well. “A vacation. Filming for the second half of the season will resume in January.” 

“Great.”  

I nodded as I glanced over to my co-host. Elliot Lancaster wasn’t paying attention to me. In fact, he was doing his best to avoid me all together. 

So far, he’d done a spectacular job. 

What are your holiday plans?” Joey grinned. “Are you guys going back to Georgia?” 

“No.” 

We snapped in unison then went back to ignoring each other. Elliot and I had been an item. Friends first, of course. Then it all went downhill. I still didn’t understand why, or how, our breakup happened. All I knew was that this was going to be the first time in over four years that I was going to be alone on Christmas. 

The revelation was horrible. 

“Are we done here?” Elliot picked up his tablet and stood. “I would like to get my vacation started already.” 

“Yes,” Connor nodded. “I will see you all back in the office during the first week in January.” 

“See you then.” 

I stayed still as Elliot and Connor disappeared out the door. Joey gave me a sympathetic look before he followed them. I wanted to go after them. I should have been excited. What other job would give you a full month off no questions asked?  

“Your heart is breaking, Little One. I can hear it from here.” 

I jumped in my chair and whirled around to see Cyrus step out of the shadows. Cyrus was my bodyguard. My mentor. My keeper. See, I was known as the Sibyl. Messenger of the Dead and Daughter to Apollo. Cyrus was bound to me thanks to the ancient mirror which had granted me my powers. I should have been grateful for his interruption. Instead, I was aggravated. 

“My heart is not breaking.” I snapped as I stood. “I’m just stunned. Who would have thought that Connor would give us so much time off?” 

“Right.” Cyrus drew out the word as long as he could before he stopped just short of where I was standing. “And your interactions with your former beloved have nothing to do with your foul mood?” 

“No.” I whispered as I willed myself not to cry. I wasn’t used to being ignored by Elliot. It hurt.  

A lot. 

“Tell me, what is the importance you humans put on this holiday?” Cyrus picked at the poinsettia placed in the center of the table until one of the petals started to fall off. “It seems to be nothing more than a display of decadence to me.” 

“It’s special.” I shrugged. “And I’m sorry, but weren’t you once a part of ancient Greece? You have no right to criticize a society based on its decadence, Cyrus.” 

“I was.” Cyrus nodded. “If you recall, I was a soldier. My extravagance came at the end of my blade, not through the spoils of war. Those went to the senators.” 

I started to reply when a knock on the door interrupted us. Cyrus faded into the background as a head poked through the crack. 

“Eva?” Jonathan Ford smiled when he saw me. “May I come in?” 

“Of course.” I smiled in return as I embraced the man who crossed the room with open arms. “What’s up?” 

“I wanted to ask you a favor, darling girl.”  

Jonathan pulled away with a tsk and I knew he was criticizing the sloppy ponytail I had worn to my meeting. He was my hairdresser when we were filming the show or when I had to make public appearances. Jonathan’s job was to make me look as perfect as possible. 

A job that was nearly impossible to pull off. 

“Ok.” I nodded. “You got it. Ask away.” 

“I wanted to see if you could contact my mother.” Jonathan breathed as if his words pained him. “She passed away last summer and she adored Christmas. I was hoping to say hello to her. One last time.” 

Remember how I mentioned my title Messenger of the Dead? It is exactly what it sounds like. As the Sibyl, I had been cursed with the ability to speak with spirits through an ancient golden mirror passed down from Apollo. It was an annoying ability since I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror without doing a mental ritual first, but it had come in handy in regards to the show. On Grave Messages, I traveled with Elliot and Joey to haunted locations, learned the history then used my ability to communicate with the spirits there. So I should have been able to grant this request for Jonathan without any hesitation. 

Should have been. Truth be told, I was scared to death every time I made contact with a spirit. They could attack me. They could possess me. Or worse still, they could show me things that would give me nightmares for weeks. 

Hell, I was still in therapy over what happened when we filmed our first episode in Black Hollow, Kansas.  

Jonathan must have noticed my distress because he held up his hands. “Listen, I apologize for asking, Eva. I know how strenuous such a request could be to you.” 

“No, it’s not that.” I stepped forward, took his hands, and squeezed. “I will do it. But please, Jonathan. Be warned. I’m not so good at calling up particular spirits. There is a chance I may not be able to contact your mother at all.” 

“Any hope will do, darling girl.” Jonathan gave me a brilliant smile as he nudged at my chin. “When are you free?” 

“When am I not?” I smirked. “Stop by the condo tonight. We’ll see what we can do so that you can say your hello.”  


                                                                                 *** 


"Remember your door. And don't stay too close to the mirror." 

I rolled my eyes as Cyrus kept reminding me of what I needed to do to protect myself from the spirits. I'd done this countless times already. I'd filmed it for television. I wasn't going to let anything happen here in the middle of my own living room. 

"Cyrus, you are a dear." I sat the tray of tea mugs down on my coffee table as I tried to ignore his pacing. "But really. What could happen? I'm going to call up some old woman whose son wants to see her." 

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you will call up an axe murderer who wants to eat your soul." 

"Ok, wow." I raised an eyebrow at my keeper. "That was extremely graphic." 

Cyrus stopped long enough to run his fingers through his dark hair. "Eva, I apologize. I just worry." 

"Well, stop worrying. You'll go gray if you keep this up." I grinned at my joke as the doorbell rang. "That has to be Jonathan. Do you have the mirror?" 

"I do." Cyrus nodded. "I have my sword too if we have any need of it." 

"Only if the ax murderer comes through." I called out over my shoulder as I bounded towards the door. I swung it open to find Jonathan carrying a very heavy case in his hands. "Hey." 

"Hello." Jonathan smiled as he lifted the case. "I've brought you a present." 

"I can see that." I stepped aside so that he could come in. Once he was through the threshold, he sat the case in the foyer as if it held the crown jewels. "Um, what is it?" 

"Hair products. Curling irons. Straighteners." Jonathan knelt down beside the massive thing. "I won't see you for a month. I do not want to come back to work to see everything I have managed to do since September destroyed." 

"I'll check everything out later, I promise." I tugged at his sleeve until he stood back up. "Right now, we are going to try something much more important than my hair." 

My friend offered me a shaky smile as I went through the pleasantries of being a good Southern hostess, even if I was living in California. He declined all of my offers for tea. Then wine. Then whiskey. 

"No, not yet. I may ask for the liquor when this is over, though." 

"Me too." 

I gestured for him to have a seat on the couch. When I joined him, Cyrus appeared with the mirror in hand. I took it with a sigh. This curse was my albatross. And the mirror was a physical manifestation of my feelings. It was as heavy as the weight on my shoulders. The gold carved with intricate scenes found in Greek mythology. On the back, a woman's face cut into my palms as I balanced the ancient relic. I knew without looking at her that she was screaming. 

I could relate. I wanted to scream too every time I was faced with such a request. 

"You've seen the show." I ignored the whispers which had begun to fill my ears. The dead were a desperate lot. They vied for my attention whenever I was close to a reflective surface. "You know how this works. What was your mother's name?" 

Jonathan nodded as he looked at the mirror in my hands. He was normal. He saw nothing more than the golden contraption in my hand. "Sylvia Ford." 

"Then I will get started." I closed my eyes, whispering a quick prayer to Apollo to protect me from the spirits who wished to harm me. Or block my communications. When this was done, I focused on the name Jonathan had provided. I chanted it in my head as the mirror came to life. 

Faces long dead flickered like white noise on a screen across the glass. Some tried to push through my chanting. Others passed by as a blur. Finally, the cloudy surface cleared and I was staring at a stranger's face. I knew at once I had been successful. This woman had Jonathan's eyes. His nose. She had to be his mother. 

"Sylvia Ford?"  

"Yes." Her voice echoed through my head. "What do you request of me, Sibyl?" 

"She is here." I glanced up to see Jonathan staring at the mirror in amazement. "Nothing, Sylvia. I request nothing. Your son is here. He asked that I call you forth tonight." 

"Jonathan?" The woman's face shimmered. "But why?" 

"He wished to say hello." I looked to Jonathan. "What else would you have me say?" 

"I," Jonathan seemed to be at a loss for a moment. Suddenly, his words tumbled out as if the dam had broken. "Tell her how much I miss her. Especially now. Tell her that I have her angel preserved on my mantel so I am reminded of her daily. Tell her I love her." 

I nodded, then relayed the words. The woman closed her eyes and if spirits could cry, I was sure she would be doing so.  Finally, she spoke. 


"Tell my son how much I adore him. Even here, in this place. Tell him to live his life. We will be together one day. I am grateful for his memorial to my memory. It will comfort me here in the Underworld. Give him my best during this most blessed of holidays." 

I watched as the spirit's face shifted back into the white noise created by the spirits. I closed my eyes, throwing up my mental door as Cyrus had taught me to do. When this was done and the whispers had gone silent, I passed the mirror back to my Keeper. 

"She is gone, Jonathan. Her soul has returned to the Underworld."  

I took his hands and told him what she had said. Within moments, we were both crying. Him for the loss of his beloved mother, and me for the loneliness that had returned full force.  We broke away from each other only when Cyrus cleared his throat. The tea tray I had placed down on the coffee table earlier was now stocked with tissues and glasses of whiskey. 

"Ambrosia of the gods." Cyrus offered me a weak smile. "Both of you, drink. Calm yourselves and remember the good, not the loss." 


"Oh, wise man." I sighed as I took the tissue box and handed it to Jonathan. "Whatever would I do without you?" 

"You would be lost in darkness, Eva." Cyrus shook his head. "I am sure of it." 


Jonathan downed his glass of whiskey before snatching mine up as well. When he finished and his eyes were dry, he hugged me. 

"I have no words for my gratitude towards you, darling girl. You - this ability - it is truly a blessing. You have given me the most wonderful gift anyone could ever ask for." 

"I am glad." I returned his hug. "If I can use this Sibyl thing to reconnect the living with their loved ones, then perhaps there can be some good after all." 

We spent the rest of the evening drinking Cyrus' whiskey. Jonathan told me stories of his mother. I told him of my heartbreak over Elliot. But as the hours passed, I forgot the loneliness. I forgot the reason for my sadness. I reveled in the good friendship sitting on the couch next to me. 

It was all I could ask for. 







Learn more about the adventures of Eva McRayne and The Oracle Series here. 


I hope you all enjoyed my holiday short story. Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful holiday!


Sincerely,


Cynthia

Kingdom of Clockwork - Billy O'Shea

You can be damned if you question the society you live in.
 
This was the message I walked away with after reading Kingdom of Clockwork. As I read this book, I felt as if I were reading a philosophical debate - which isn't a bad thing. I love stories that make me think. I love characters who question their worlds. Their surroundings.
 
And despite his upbringing, Karl Neilsen did just that.  
 
O'Shea's strength lies in his ability to use metaphors. The clocks in his story represented society to me. That society holds onto a strange power, which can be used to further your cause - or crush you. I loved the metaphors. I loved the philosophical questions he raised. But most of all?
 
I loved the language.
 
Writing is an art best judged by the reader. I strongly believe that. But it is the writer's job to ensure that reader gets the ultimate experience from their story. O'Shea did this for me. The elements of steampunk, the fascination with how cogs and gears worked - all of it tied into the underlying story of how a young man begins to question everything he had been taught as well as the fragile society he lived in.
 
For me, this is a strong read. It invokes thought. Questions. I would stop reading just to consider the concepts O'Shea was bringing to mind, then jump back into the story to see what the characters thought about the same theories. Was I right? Could there be a right answer? 
 
Overall, this is a great steampunk novel and it is deep. Really deep. Pick it up, but don't fly through it. Think about the questions raised by this intellectual read. 
 
And enjoy every minute of it.  
 
  Where to Find Kingdom of Clockwork About the Author At the age of 23, Billy O'Shea left Ireland to live the vagabond life, and after many adventures he arrived penniless and homeless on the streets of Copenhagen one icy winter day in the early eighties. Of the city, he says "It was unrequited love at first sight". Eventually he found work as a bar musician, and began to study at the University of Copenhagen, where after graduating he won the University's gold medal for a paper on translation and culture, and accepted the congratulations of Queen Margrethe. Since then he has mainly worked as a translator. He still lives in Copenhagen with his wife and three children. 

Of his writing, he says: "I have tried to create an imaginary world, a kind of parallel Scandinavia with a Renaissance-like culture, which relies on clockwork as its primary technology. The Renaissance was a very colourful and dramatic period in Scandinavian history - the time of King Christian IV and Tycho Brahe, of the Nordic Wars and the Stockholm Bloodbath. It is great fun to take some aspects of this world and play with it by adding airships, bicycles and clockwork computers - as well as some Byzantine court politics. It is a fun world to live in, in the imagination. And that, I suppose, is the ultimate ambition of any writer: to give the reader a world to live in."

If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor - Barbara Ehrentreu

I don’t want to be like Jennifer Taylor.  I want to be like Carolyn Samuels.

I knew what I was getting into when I picked up If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor. I knew it would be a high school coming-of-age story. And I knew there would be a great ending. What I didn’t know was how good the entire experience was going to be.

It was more than good. It was great.

What struck me most about the book was how easy it was to read. I started reading this book and did not put it down until I finished reading it. I am not exaggerating. This was a fun, feel good story; that is true. But it was more than that. This book deals with several heavy subject matters. Peer pressure, psychological disorders – and  Ehrentreu handles it flawlessly. All though the mind of a fourteen year old lead character.

Ehrentreu’s strength lies in her ability to make you relate to the characters she is writing about. Everybody who has ever been to high school knows what it is like to want to be the most popular person. But what isn't known is what those most popular people have to put up with to stay in their top spot. I recognized the need in Carolyn, but I sympathized with Jennifer. No matter how perfect her life seemed on the outside, it was gilded. And in a way, she was chained to the desire we all hope for ourselves.

To be accepted. To be the best. To be the champion.

Personally, I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys Young Adult fiction, but especially to kids who are around that high school age. There are some strong lessons here. This story is not a PSA by any means, but the underlying messages are too strong to ignore.

 Fantastic job. Fantastic story. Fantastic message.

What’s not to love?

Where to Find If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor About the Author Barbara Ehrentreu grew up in Brooklyn and moved to Queens. She has lived and taught in Long Island, Buffalo, NY and Westchester, NY as well as a year in Los Angeles, CA. She has a Masters Degree in Reading and Writing. Currently she is retired from teaching and living in Stamford, CT with her family. If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor won second prize in Preditors & Editors as Best Young Adult Book for 2011. It was inspired by Paula Danziger for her children's writing workshop at Manhattanville College. Her second book, After, considers what can happen to a teen when her father becomes ill with a heart attack. It is based on her own experiences when her husband had a heart attack and the aftermath of what she and her family experienced. She is preparing the sequel to If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor. Barbara also writes poetry and several of her poems are published in the anthologies, Prompted: An International Collection of Poetry, Beyond the Dark Room, Storm Cycle and Backlit Barbell. She has a blog, Barbara's Meanderings, and she hosts a radio show on Blog Talk Radio, Red River Radio Tales from the Pages once a month.

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

Vivid.

This is the first word that comes to mind as you read Gut-Check Green. Prasad's use of description is nothing short of magic. You want to be transported into another world? You want to escape reality and immerse yourself into someone else's fight?

Pick up this book. Now.

When I started reading this book, I felt like I was watching a movie play out in my mind. That same magic stayed with me throughout the entire story. But it's not just his writing style that grabs you. You feel like you become the characters. You feel like you are inside their heads; their addictions. And you want to pull for every character, even if you feel a little guilty by doing so.

But it's more than just the description or the characters that made this such a strong story for me. As a writer, I read not just for enjoyment, but to learn how to perfect my own craft. While I was reading Gut-Check Green, I was taking mental notes on how Prasad worked out his action scenes.  There were no wasted words. No fillers to make the story longer. Each word had its place to further enhance the story. Each line written can be used to make the reader feel like they are watching something they really shouldn't be seeing. But you can't look away.

And you can't quit reading.

Overall, Gut-Check Green is a great thriller. Once I started, I couldn't put it down. 


Neither will you.
Where to Find Gut-Check Green

About the Author

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 

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

A few posts ago, I mentioned that I totally judge books by their covers. Chance the Darkness was no different. The minute I saw the cover, I knew I had to read this book.


 Just look at it. It's gorgeous!


My theory proved right yet again. This book has got everything I long for in a good story. Great plot. Strong female lead. Mystery. Rituals. I could go on and on, but you get the idea.


L.A. Wild's strength lies in her use of description. Her prose is strong and her imagery in the scenes that play out in Summer Keese's mind make you question reality right along with Summer. And as you cheer for her? As you stand up and say 'get 'em'? You're wondering just who - and what - you are cheering for. 


The problem with this read is that you will want to sit down and finish it in one sitting. Which was a problem for me since I was at my day job when I first started reading it. Whenever I would finish a chapter, or have to put the book down, I kept going back over what I'd just read in my head trying to piece together the parts I'd read while trying to figure out what to expect when I picked it back up again.


Bottom line is this: Chance the Darkness was like crack to the detective in me. I felt Summer's madness...and her action scenes were amazing. When I reached the last page, I knew I'd be signing up for book two.


I can't wait. Where to Get A Copy of Chance the Darkness (The Dark Series #1)