Karen Swart's Blog, page 24

Book Blast & Giveaway: Fly Me To The Moon by @Bev_Elle

BOOK INFORMATION

TITLE – Fly Me To The Moon SERIES – N/A AUTHOR – Bev Elle GENRE – Contemporary Romance LENGTH (Pages/# Words) - 124 PUBLISHER – Bev Elle Press COVER ARTIST – Amy Queau - Q Designs

BOOK SYNOPSIS

Ticketing agent Jessamy Taylor has been in a dating slump exacerbated by moving her sickly mother into her home. The truth is she's never gotten over the quirky Dr. Griffin Sanderson whose Obsessive Compulsive Disorder drives her crazy, despite his excellent bedside manner.

Fly Me To The Moon is a love song covered by many, the most memorable being Frank Sinatra. Griffin whistles this tune incessantly, but that's just one of the many odd quirks Jessamy Taylor either loves or hates about him. Since their ill-fated love affair two years prior, she's found no one to replace the good doctor.

A date with a self-absorbed jerk goes awry for Jessamy, and somehow the night ends with her in Griffin's arms. Will the changes he's made be enough this time, or will secrets tear them apart?

BUY & TBR LINKS

AMAZON KINDLE US – AMAZON KINDLE CA – AMAZON KINDLE UK – AMAZON PAPERBACK – BARNES & NOBLES NOOK – BARNES & NOBLES NOOK UK – BARNES & NOBLES PAPERBACK – ITUNES – GOODREADS

EXCERPT

“Look!” Kyla said. “Griffin’s holding the Fowlers’ baby. Now doesn’t that make your ovaries want to explode?”

Jessamy turned her head slowly, knowing the sight would slay her. Griffin never held babies. She took it all in as if in slow motion. Mark was holding their toddler in place as Jenny was cleaning up the sticky popsicle he was covered in, while Griffin was holding the four-month old. He cradled her a bit nervously at first, then he seemed to get his baby-holding legs under him and finally began to smile and talk to her.

Jessamy and Kyla could hear her baby giggle from where they stood. “Aww!” They said in tandem. “Now that right there ought to earn a man another chance,” Kyla said.

AUTHOR BIO

Bev Elle is the author of sweet and spicy, contemporary romance. She's a lover of books - those already written, and those she harbors in her very active imagination. Writing is a passion she's had for many years, but was unable to act upon. Until now. Bev Elle is the mother of three human children and two canines. She is also the lover of one husband. When Bev isn't writing in her spare time after work, she is thinking of doing so.

AUTHOR FOLLOW LINKS

AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE – WEBSITE / BLOG – FACEBOOK – TWITTER – GOOGLE+ – PINTEREST – TUMBLR – GOODREADS – LINKEDIN – TSU – INSTAGRAM – NEWSLETTER

  GIVEAWAY

$15 Amazon Giftcard

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Book Blast & Interview: Empathy by @carolyn_wren

 

Empathy

Emotional Chains

Book 1

Carolyn Wren

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Secret Cravings Publishing

Date of Publication: 23rd March 2015

ISBN: 978-1-63105-537-9

Number of pages: 229

Word Count: 74,918

Cover Artist: Dawne Dominique

Book Description:

What if you could sense the emotions of everyone around you? What if you fell in love with someone you’d never even met?

Oliver Lord belongs to one of three special families, empaths who feel emotions as a physical sense. Quiet and reserved, and accustomed to keeping his abilities hidden, Oliver is drawn inexorably to a woman he’s never met. The woman who made his brother’s last year of life so happy.

When Zoe Daniels, talented sculptor, loses her fiancé before their wedding, she can’t imagine finding love again, until she meets Jasper’s unknown brother, a man so different, yet so achingly familiar to the man she adored. What is Oliver’s secret, and why is he so determined to keep her at arm’s length?

A violent kidnapping and murder forces the empaths from the shadows to seek justice for one of their own. Oliver turns to Zoe, needing her comfort and love. Can she accept him for who he is?

Oliver and two powerful empathic friends need to track down the kidnappers before they strike again, but how do you solve a murder, when your only clue is emotion?

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/BH-4RtXcE3k

Available at Secret Cravings ARe Amazon BN

 

She sighed and leaned forward. “I’m about to tell you something. I would appreciate it if you’d listen with an open mind, because it’s going to shock you.”

Mike mirrored her position, leaning his elbows on the table. “Very little shocks me these days, Miss Baron.”

“I prefer Meredith, or Merri.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “If you have information on this case, I need to hear it.”

She fiddled with the spoon from her chocolate. The first non-confident move he’d seen her make. “I think Freddy may have been killed because of abilities he had.”

“Abilities?”

“Freddy was empathic. He could feel emotions as a physical sense.”

Mike sagged, fighting a keen sense of disappointment and a growing anger. He thought they were on to something, but no. She was one of those loopy new-age nut jobs—a very beautiful new-age nut job.

“You don’t believe me.”

Mike shoved his coffee cup aside. “No, I don’t believe you, and if you’ve finished wasting my time, I have real work to do.”

“Wait,” she said as he stood.

“I’m a busy man, Miss Baron.”

“What happened in the alley?”

Mike hesitated with his palms flat on the table. “Nothing.”

“Liar. You had a panic attack.”

“Fine. I had a panic attack. I work ninety hours a week on a good week. I don’t eat or sleep properly, and I see a lot of terrible things. Sometimes the stress gets to me, okay?”

“I did it.”

“Bull dust.”

“This would be so much easier if you just believed me, but I see I’m going to have to prove it.”

“Prove what?” A rush of pure erotic heat raced through Mike’s body and headed straight between his legs. He sat down with a thud as those same limbs turned into wet noodles.

She leaned further across the table. “It’s funny, isn’t it, how we accept some emotions as a normal part of our daily life? Fear, pain, worry, anger, anxiety, guilt? We put them down as a standard occurrence caused by traffic jams, a suspicious person in our peripheral vision, a horrendous story on the evening news. You know what I mean, all sorts of things. But, sexual excitement? Desire? Lust? Arousal? Those we can’t explain away quite so easily, can we, detective?”

Her voice was a husky edged blade running over his skin. Heat. His whole body was a mass of pulsing aroused heat. Mike fought the almost uncontrollable urge to jerk his hips forward and sink into soft firm flesh. I’m having sex. Jesus, I feel like I’m having sex. All of the sensations were there. A series of highly carnal scenarios ran though his mind like a movie. Supple limbs wrapping around his, warm silky skin rubbing against him, moist lips panting with hot breath, fanning his face. His erection pressed against his zipper, and even that was unreasonably erotic. Mike was lost in a sensual storm, held captive by luminous blue eyes. The pressure built in his lower back, culminating in a blast of sensation, a tightening of his groin. Christ, I’m going to come.

Meredith broke eye contact, relaxed back in her chair, and picked up her hot chocolate.

Mikes impending orgasm, and all the associated sensations, vanished. He slumped against the table, heaving in great lungful’s of air. “Jesus Christ!”

“Nope. Just me.”

He gaped at her, his fingers curled into claws against the solid wood, and heart beating in double time. “What are you?”

The look she gave him was a mixture of exasperation and annoyance. “I’m not a what. I’m an empath. What do you say? Are you willing to listen to me now?”

“Yes,” he said, through a clenched jaw.

“Good.” She slid a gilt edged business card toward him, before standing and hitching a leather bag on her shoulder. “My place at eight tonight, address is on the card. Be prepared to listen. Oh, and Stone, drink your coffee. You look like you need it.”

Author Name:  Carolyn Wren

Did you always wanted to be a writer? If not what did you want to be?

It probably sounds crazy, but I fell into writing accidently.  I was lying awake one night in 2009 and a phrase popped into my head.  The next morning I wrote it down, and just kept on writing. It’s the strangest thing.  My husband thinks I’m possessed. Thankfully he doesn’t seem to mind.  My working history is in finance, numbers and spreadsheets, which is something I always enjoyed.  I loved making things balance and numbers are so logical and straightforward.  Consequently, you can imagine the strange looks I got from friends and family when I announced I was writing a fiction book.

When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?

After scribbling madly and filling up folder and folder of stories, I bravely submitted an entry into The Emerald, an unpublished authors contest run by the Romance Writers of Australia.  When I got to the second round, I was excited.  When I got the final round I was stunned. When I won, and was standing up on stage in front of three hundred people holding a trophy…that was when I first considered myself a writer.

How long did it take to get your first book published?

Two years and four months from writing that first phrase.  I submitted a letter for one novella for a contemporary Romantic Suspense to Secret Cravings Publishing when I received my finalist announcement for The Emerald.  After I was lucky enough to win, I sent another letter offering them the entire series.  I was completely thrilled when they said yes.  Between October 2012 and December 2013 I had eight book releases.  It was a giant learning curve.

Do you do another job except for writing and can you tell us more about it?

I always worked in finance, but in the years before I started writing I needed to look after my Dad who had Alzheimer’s so I reduced my hours and did mainly contract accounting work for multi-national corporations.   It was only three months after Dad passed away that I started writing, maybe there’s a connection there. Maybe my grieving mind needed an outlet.  If so, it found it in words. 

What is the name of your latest book, and if you had to summarize it in less than 20 words what would you say?

Empathy is the first book in my new Emotional Chains series.  A summary would be –Three friends from three special families  who can feel emotions as a physical sense must hunt down a killer. 

Who is your publisher? Or do you self-publish?

Secret Cravings Publishing has been my publisher from the beginning of my writing career.

How long does it usually take you to write a book, from the original idea to finishing writing it?

It really depends on the book.  I wrote the original draft of Empathy in three months.  My Romantic Suspense series The Protectors consists of eight books and I wrote the entire series in less than six months.  On the other hand, I have another paranormal series called The Stolen Ones, that I’ve been writing for over two years, but then that one is over 550,000 words long –so far.

What can we expect from you in the future?  ie More books of the same genre? Books of a different genre?

I have so many story ideas in my head I can’t keep up with them.  My current priority is the sequel to Empathy called Perception which is due for release in August.  Then I have an outline for another brand new Romantic Suspense series I’d like to toy with…as well as finally finishing my mammoth WIP paranormal series. 

What genre would you place your books into?

Paranormal.  Urban Fantasy.  Romantic Suspense.  Mystery , and I even published a little bit of erotica in a Christmas ghost story called Ghosts of Grace Cottage.  I have a lot of trouble sticking to one particular genre.

Do you have a favorite character from your books? And why are they your favorite?

Choosing a favorite is always tricky.  Meredith Baron from Empathy is someone I really like because she’s so strong minded , cheeky and independent with a wicked sense of humor.

Do you have a certain routine you have for writing? ie You listen to music, sit in a certain chair?

I always write in my office at my messy desk with my very old, but very comfortable computer chair. I’ve tried numerous times to play music as a writing aid.  It never works.  I tend to concentrate on the song, instead of the story I’m trying to create.

Do you read all the reviews of your book/books?

When a book is first released, I get very nervous waiting for the first review.  If it isn’t too bad, I’ll read the rest.  But I try not to obsess about them.  The simple fact is, not everyone will like my stories and I have to accept that. 

Do you choose a title first, or write the book then choose the title?

I write the story first and think of a name as I go.  Sometimes it’s easy, sometimes I don’t have a title until the very end.  When I submitted Empathy to Secret Cravings, I had to think of a series name while I was writing the submission letter.

How do you come up with characters names and place names in your books?

Character names can be difficult.  I have a system where I visualize the character and imagine someone calling their name out loud.  If it ‘fits’ then I keep it. 

Do you decide on character traits (ie shy, quiet, tomboy girl) before writing the whole book or as you go along?

My characters tend to have a mind of their own.  Sometimes I’ll be writing and I think I know what traits a certain person will have, then they’ll surprise me by doing something totally different.  It’s one of the things I love about writing.

Are there any hidden messages or morals contained in your books? (Morals as in like Aesops Fables type of "The moral of this story is..")

In Empathy I created a family quote ‘We find who we’re meant to find’ The quote isn’t real, but I like the concept of it.  It’s nice to think that somewhere in the world there’s that special person for us, so we should never stop looking.   

Which format of book do you prefer, eBook, hardback, or paperback?

I love to read, and I love the flexibility of the various formats today, but my preference is always for paperback.

What is your favorite book and Why?  Have you read it more than once?

I have to say Jane Eyre.  I can’t even remember how many times I’ve read it.  I think I like the overriding theme of a heroine who appears unassuming, but who has the strength and determination to save the flawed hero and give him back his life.

Do you think books transfer to movies well? Which is you favorite/worst book to movie transfer?

Some book/movie transfers are brilliant, others are cringe worthy.  There have been a few dreadful film adaptations of my beloved Jane Eyre in the past! And some great ones too.  I know I’m going back a few decades, but the 1943 version with Orson Wells and Joan Fontaine is an absolute classic. 

Your favorite food is?

Easy question. Chocolate

Your favorite singer/group is?

Tough question as it changes from year to year.  At the moment, my music player has a lot of Queen and Muse on it

Your favorite color is?

Pink.  I love pink.  My laptop is pink.

Your favorite Author is?

For classic books - Bronte and Austen.  For current releases – JR Ward, Nalini Singh and Larissa Ione.

 

 

 

Carolyn Wren is the award winning author of a seven part romantic suspense series called, The Protectors. Having spent her working life as a book-keeper and finance officer for international companies, she discovered a passion for fiction writing in 2009. Assuming it was some sort of mid-life crisis, she kept it a secret for six months. In an impulsive move, she entered The Emerald, a prestigious writing contest for unpublished authors run by the Romance Writers of Australia. Much to her utter shock, she won it. This was followed shortly after by a finalist placing in the International Daphne Du Maurier Awards for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense.

Carolyn received a seven book contract with Secret Cravings Publishing in 2011. Her debut published work Diplomat’s Daughter won the RWA ‘Ella’ award for novella of the year.

To date, The Protectors series has received four award nominations, resulting in two trophies.

Carolyn’s other works include a very naughty ghost erotic novella Ghosts of Grace Cottage that she wrote during a stormy winter day. Her new series, the murder mystery urban fantasy Emotional Chains is her latest obsession.

She writes full time now, enjoys every minute of it, and loves hearing from readers.

www.carolynwren.com

www.carolynwrenauthor.wordpress.com

www.facebook.com/carolynwrenauthor

https://twitter.com/carolyn_wren

Book Blast, Giveaway & Interview: Silence Is Broken by @YMikell

Presented by Sparkle Book Tours





Silence Is Broken by Yvonne Mikell

Audience: 16+ - Genre: Romantic Suspense - Format: E-book and Paperback - Publisher: Ink to Press Publishing  - Cover by: Amygdala Design - Editor: Judy DiCano - Pages: 368 - ISBN: 978-0615892092 - ASIN: B00IR33RX4 - Date Published: November 29, 2013     Business Executive Khloe Spencer is surrounded by love, love of the most unusual kind. The love of family, the love of a man, and love of friendship. All of which is not what it seems.


Amazon / Goodreads / Nook    
 

I cannot see. I have been straining my eyes, trying to dissect the darkness in the hopes of discovering a slither of light. I have not found any. I cannot move, not even shift my posterior in this hard rock chair. I am covered in rope from my neck down to my feet. I am not simply tied down, I am hog-tied! My neck and feet seem to be connected by a single rope. Every time I move the line tightens and digs into my skin, burning like the dickens. My neck feels as if it is going to snap. My knees feel as if they are about to pop out of their sockets. Screaming for help only brings about more pain, my tongue lies against the driest of cloths.
I guess I should be thankful for what I do get, two meals and two glasses of water a day. Let me stop lying to myself, I am not thankful. I am in this chair all day long. I am forced to relieve myself right where I sit, downright embarrassing. They have not told me what this is about. They don’t say anything. They just shove spoonful after spoonful of food in my mouth. I have no idea of the time or the day, the last day I remember was October 10th.
The door opens. With it comes the coolest of breezes, the temperature must be in the 40s. Winter will be here soon. I am cold because they have taken all of my clothes. They have stripped me bare including my shoes and socks. I do not smell any food, what I do smell is cologne, very loud and pungent cologne. Do not know anyone who wears that fragrance. Not sure of who they are, they are not one of the regulars. It is someone new. New can be a good thing, maybe I can get some answers. Who am I kidding, new is not good at all. New means a change has arrived or is on the way real soon.
“What do you want with me?”
“Personally I don’t want anything from you. The people who hired me, they want something.”
“They want what? Why am I here?”
“You are here because they want to remind you of all the dirty deeds you have done.”
“This does not sound good at all.”
“No it does not.”

link: http://youtu.be/muP6ZbEpGS0  

 



   


    The story of Khloe Spencer and Xavier Davidson-- http://youtu.be/muP6ZbEpGS0  


The story of Kiera Smith-- http://youtu.be/p43wiDL3XAo


  The story of Stephanie T. Brown - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GHBR-KKrgRY&feature=youtu.be  

Character Name: Khloe Spencer

Character Bio: Protagonist, young professional in her mid 20s, Vice President of Nite Owl Conveniences, Inc, African American-Asian descent

 

 

Describe yourself what is your worst and vest quality?

My worst quality pertains to my family and friends—taking what they say at face value. I never consider that what they are telling me could be a lie. Maybe it’s because I want to believe the best of everyone…

What is the one thing you wish other people knew about you?

I wish people realize that I have insecurities too. I am not always confident.

What is your biggest secret something no one knows about?

My biggest secret is Danny McGuiness. He is so sweet and sensitive…I love him, and I love Xavier too.

What are you most afraid of?

Breaking Xavier’s heart, I don’t want to break his heart…why can’t I have them both?

What do you want more than anything?

To run this company as successfully as my father and grandfather did.

What is your relationship status?

Single, but engaged to a rather sexy man.

How would you describe your sense of fashion?

I could stand some improvement. I tend to favor professional clothes as if I don’t have a life outside of work.

How much of a rebel are you?

Never considered myself a rebel until I met Danny.

What do you considered to be your greatest achievement?

Becoming vice president on my own merits.

What is your idea of happiness?

I used to think Xavier was all that I needed, now I know better. I’ll have to say that my idea of happiness lies within me. It is up to me make myself happy, no one else.

What is your current state of mind?

Under pressure, Xavier and I are going to New York to elope except I can’t get Danny out of my mind. Sweet Danny…

What is your most treasured possession?

Regis, my Golden Retriever puppy. I loved him the moment I saw him.

What is your most marked characteristic?

I’ll have to say my almond-shaped eyes. Everyone compliments me on them, they also say I look more like Saki than Sharon. I have to agree with them. 

What is it that you, most dislike?

Coldness, which is what I get from Xavier when he returns from his business trips. He is cold and rather mute for about a week or so, then all of sudden he returns to himself.

Which living person do you, most despise?

After the conversation I had with my mother, I would have to say my father.

What is your greatest regret?

I wish I had met Danny first.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

I like a man who is open, willing to share some aspects of his work.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

I like women who are confident, and aging beautifully.

Who is your favorite hero in fiction?

Between work, Xavier and Danny, I don’t have time to read.

Which living person do you most admire?

Saki, my godmother, she has always been my idol. She’s so easy to talk to, very classy.

If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?

When it comes to matters of the heart, not be so naive.

What is your motto?

Believe what your eyes are showing you.

         
a Rafflecopter giveaway  

I began my writing career five years ago by accident. My young son was sick and I could no longer work full-time as a nurse. He needed me. It was during this time that God sat me down and showed me the path that was destiny. I was destined to be a writer. In five years I wrote five novels.
Two have already been published, Getting Roosevelt–a homeowner’s nightmare and Silence Is Broken.
My son is much better now, Praise God, and I have a new career. When I am not spending time with him I like to crochet and sketch, and trying new recipes.
My stories focus on life in Philadelphia. They are fiction based loosely on fact. Philadelphia is a major city with a suburban feel. However, the lifestyle of its citizens can rival New York, Chicago, Los Angeles and Washington, D.C. Intrigue and suspense coupled with mystery are the genres I write.
In addition to writing fiction, I write for the online magazine Examiner.com. My focal point is Autism/ Special Needs Children, Frugal Living, and the Philadelphia Family. I also host the book review site called Olivia’s Cup of Tea as well as the opinion paper Expression of Views.
Website / Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads / Amazon / Pinterest
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Book Blast, Giveaway & Interview: Never Cross A Warlock by @MarilynVix

 

Never Cross A Warlock

Beware of Warlocks

Book 3

Marilyn Vix

Genre: paranormal romance

Publisher: Shadowcat Publishing

Date of Publication: March 25, 2015

ISBN: 9781310845635

ASIN:

Number of pages: approx. 45 pages

Word Count: 15,000

Cover Artist: Melody Simmons

Book Description:

Can two warlocks be too many?

Yes, if one happens to be your ex-husband trying to kill you for a witch divorce.

The other, a sexy Aussie that makes you forget all the rest.

That’s Catherine Bank’s warlock problem. She will have to choose between the two of them. Will she marry either, or end it all in a spell battle that will bring Las Vegas to its knees. Only time will tell.

No one knows the mind of a witch better than herself. Unless, she falls in love.

Available at Smashwords Amazon Kobo BN

 

I slid out of my bar chair faster than I’d ever made an exit. I had to regroup. Nothing like a quiet bathroom stall to clarify your thoughts.

I made it through the bathroom door and stumbled into an empty stall. Sitting on the toilet, a stream of tears burst forth. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I let it happen. Nothing like a good purge to get some sense back into a girl. Was I really ready for a life with Jeff? I felt the soul binding telling me he was the one to stick it out through thick and thin. But then, I thought so with Rich, too. But he’d never done the soul-binding spell. Just the marriage spell, and then we went on a shopping spree, buying houses, cars, and anything else that he thought my money, and now his, could buy. I was so stupid. He was such a cock suck up.

I heard a knock on my stall door. “You okay in there?”

I snuffled, using some toilet paper to clean up the snot from my nose.

“Yeah. Men suck.” I wouldn’t say warlocks. This was a mixed club.

“I agree with you there, girl. Just let me know if you need something.”

I blew my nose a couple of times, wiping off any excess, then stood, straightened my dress, and flushed all the tissue down the toilet. There. My man tears were spent. Time to move on and try to make a decision. I opened the stall door and saw the attendant ready to hand me a towel.

I added a quick “Thank you” before dabbing at my streaked make-up. I was going to have to do some reapplying.

“Sometimes this is the best place to come and let it all out, dear,” added the attendant.

“I’m totally embarrassed,” I said as I tried to make something out of my raccoon eyes. I’d just gone old-fashioned tonight. No added spells instead of make-up. I liked going all natural, as I called it. I really didn’t need spell enhancing, and was proud of that. Not every witch could claim to have a spell-free appearance. I started going through my purse for items to reapply and make better the mess on my face. My brown hair kept flopping in front of my eyes. It was getting distracting.

“Don’t be. I get a lot of woman crying out their man problems in here.”

“Hear any good solutions?” I started to reapply some liner, giving up on the mascara. I figured just adding more base and rouge would make me presentable again.

“Yes. Most of the answers involve kicking the scoundrels out of their lives, or forgiving them. I’m guessing one of those options might fit yours.”

“It does in one case.” I laughed. Throwing Rich out of my life would seem fit, if I lived through his retaliation. “I think getting rid of him is the best option.” I smiled at the thought of it.

“Oh, girl, two men. That’s always a problem.” The attendant smiled, leaving me to my make-up repairs. Just then, a toilet flushed and the stall opened. In the mirror, I recognized the woman exiting. It was Cassandra.

I wasn’t sure how much she’d heard. She came up to the sink next to me, rinsing her hands. My lips pursed, and I tried to play it coy. I looked in the mirror to touch up my rouge, but I saw my cheeks were plenty red without it. Maybe she wouldn’t notice it was me.

“Cat?” Her voice actually sounded surprised.

Shit. “Cassandra?”

Character Name: Catherine Banks

Character Bio: Catherine has had everything. She has money, went to a good college, and married a fabulously gorgeous husband. She’s an ordinary California girl, except for one thing. She’s a witch. Bad side, not a very good judge of character. Between shopping and indulging her wild side, she missed the fact that her husband was paying a lot of attention to her best friend Cassandra. So much so, that it was a shock when she found them.

 

 

Describe yourself. What is your worst and best quality?

My worst quality is sometimes I’m not the best judge of character. You can tell by my ex-husband. Had I been a better judge of character, I would have run to the hills when he proposed. My dumb fault. He was after my money more than me.

My best quality is that I have lots of friends. I’m so thankful for them. A good friend is hard to come by. You’ve got to hold onto the ones you love.

What is your biggest secret something no one knows about?

My biggest secret is that I’m a witch. My mortals friends know nothing about the secret world I’m a part of. They most likely couldn’t handle it.

What are you most afraid of?

 I’ve had several close calls with creatures that feed off of witches. I had an incubus almost kill me recently. And then there are vampires. They are sexy bastards. They are really hard to resist, but I got burned by a few in the past, literally. I try to avoid them. They tend to hold grudges far too long. Werefolk are not much to my taste either.

What do you want more than anything?

To be happy. Really, with my new husband, anything is possible now.

What is your relationship status?

Currently married again. I found my true love and married him in Vegas.

How would you describe your sense of fashion?

I’m a fashionista. I am most at home when shopping. My favorite designer right now is Michael Kors. A mall is like a church to me.

How much of a rebel are you? 

I’m always a rebel. Keeps me original.

What do you consider to be your greatest achievement?

 I’m the first witch in my family to graduate from a mixed witch and mortal university. Kind of proud that I have a degree in the occult. I should go back for my doctorate.

What is your idea of happiness?

Being on the dance floor with a drink in hand is one way of describing happiness. Or enjoying a nice spa day. I like to keep my mind relaxed and then party hard.

What is your current state of mind?

Flexible. I’m open minded about a lot lately. But most of all, enjoying my new life with Jeff, the Aussie husband in my life now. Who knows? Maybe it’s time to go buy a house in Sydney.

What is your most treasured possession?

I have one of my favorite Barbie dolls from when I was a kid. She had long hair, and I would dress her up in tons of styles, sometimes clothes I would make myself. I guess that’s why I love fashion so much. I started young.

What is your most marked characteristic?

People have told me I’m a little ditsy. I miss the obvious. I’m going to try to work on that. Constant improvement of self is always good.

What is it that you, most dislike?

Right now, My ex-huband Rich. He’s the top of my sh*t list right now.

Which living person do you, most despise?

See above. The ex-. I really pissed him off recently. I’m sure he’s not going to let it go.

What is your greatest regret?

Not realizing how much of an a-hole Rich was right from the start. I’m a little mad at myself for being tricked by him. I want to make sure I don’t fall for something like that again.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

Caring, listening, and tentative.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Listening, supportive, shoulder to cry on.

Who is your favorite hero in fiction?

It’s more of a writer really. Jane Austin. The woman knew how to lead on a man in all of her stories.

Which living person do you most admire?

Lady GaGa. She has the balls to be herself.

If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?

Nothing. I like the way I am. Things I’ve done in the past I might want to change really. But I figure, I’ve done it. Too late. Time to move on.

What is your motto?

Stand by your man. But find a good one first.

 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Marilyn is a paranormal romance novelist. She enjoys the characters that just don't fit in. From witches to time traveling researchers, she is letting her imagination soar to share her experiences with her readers. Marilyn has traveled to Paris, London, Sydney, Amsterdam, Las Vegas and Munich. She loves to include these in her settings as much as possible. Best of all is letting her reader enjoy them through the perspective of a character. She currently lives in Northern California with her husband and cat. The cat, of course, is the center of attention.

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Website: http://marilynvix.com

Book Blast & Giveaway: Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever by @lv_lewis

BOOK INFORMATION TITLE – Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever SERIES – The Ghetto Girl Romance Quadrilogy AUTHOR – L. V. Lewis GENRE – Contemporary Romance LENGTH (Pages/# Words) - 286 PUBLISHER – Jungle Fever Press COVER ARTIST – Kristy Charbonneau at http://Covermecreative.com BOOK SYNOPSIS FIFTY SHADES OF JUNGLE FEVER Keisha Beale, a street-wise Chicago south-sider two years out of DePaul University, is a quarter million dollars in start-up capital away from realizing her dream of owning a recording studio/record store. She takes the place of her more business-savvy partner in a meeting with Tristan White himself, the venture capitalist they've targeted to fund their business. A bi-racial--African American and Brazilian--woman with a troubled past, Keisha has been so focused on her business pursuits that her love life has been non-existent. Tristan White is the devastatingly handsome, 32-year old CEO of White Enterprises, the firm he built using only the inheritance his mother left him to prove to his father he had the mettle to do it alone. He comes from a long line of wealth, and lives the life of a "one-percenter" on Chicago's Gold Coast. Tristan is accustomed to controlling every aspect of his life given his birth into a world of white privilege. 50 Shades to the 2nd Power... When Keisha and Tristan's worlds collide, sparks fly, and a fever is ignited in them both that they have never experienced before. It turns out they each have secrets, but together, in the unorthodox arrangement Tristan proposes, they discover passions they never knew they had. ... Meets Keisha From The Block! The Ghetto Girl title is, in all truthfulness, a misnomer. Keisha Beale is a highly-educated young woman who just happens to have been born on the other side of the socio-economic tracks. She embraces all of who she is, and navigates almost effortlessly in both worlds. Erotic, amusing, and in places hilarious, the Ghetto Girl Romance Quadrilogy is a parody with a new take on a Fifty Shades type story that will take you even further into the BDSM world, and promises to make the vanilla original Fifty Shades more colorful. BUY & TBR LINKS AMAZON KINDLE US – AMAZON KINDLE CA – AMAZON KINDLE UK – AMAZON PAPERBACK – BARNES & NOBLES NOOK – BARNES & NOBLES NOOK UK – BARNES & NOBLES PAPERBACK – SMASHWORDS – ITUNES – GOODREADS EXCERPT

“Speaking of our association, how long are we talking here?”

Tristan leans against the building, folds his arms casually, and props one jean-clad leg behind him. “You anxious to get rid of me, Ms. Beale?” He deflects with questions better than anyone.

I fold my arms, not allowing him to stare me down. “I asked my question first.”

“If I were to answer based on past associations: a year. Two max.”

So, my shelf life was the equivalent of a fiscal year or two if I looked at it from a business perspective. Could I even survive that long?

“And just how do your, er, associations usually end?”

“I or my submissive will allow it to come to a conclusion organically.”

“Meaning, you or she will indicate it’s not working and exercise your right to dump or be dumped?”

“Yes, but it’s usually very amicable.”

Struggling to look impassive, I chew on by bottom lip despite myself. “You’d better be glad you didn’t meet the twenty-one-year-old version of me.”

“Why is that?”

“That Keisha didn’t take forced endings too well. She was fond of super gluing sensitive body parts of ex-boyfriends.” I have no idea why I admit this to him. I suppose it isn’t as much to let him know I’m nobody’s fool but to get a rise out of him.

Tristan doesn’t react. We are both wearing dueling poker faces. “As I’ve said before, you’re not a woman who should ever have to play host to the green-eyed monster. Never let anyone usurp your confidence. Not even me.”

It doesn’t surprise me that Tristan is wholly self-contained and keeps his emotions close to the vest. If I hang around him long enough, I could learn some things. “Thanks for the . . . advice.”

AUTHOR BIO L. V. Lewis is a married, mother of four who lives and works in the Florida Panhandle. Early in her career Lewis decided stories like Fifty Shades of Grey needed a little more diversity and comedy. She penned Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever as a parodied response to those wildly popular books from a woman of color. A voracious reader since kindergarten, Lewis loves nothing more than to curl up with a good book and a glass of wine. Now that Lewis has young adults who think they don't need their parents anymore, she has taken up the second career of writing. Her love for writing is only eclipsed by her love for her family. AUTHOR FOLLOW LINKS AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE – WEBSITE / BLOG – FACEBOOK – TWITTER – GOOGLE+ – PINTEREST – TUMBLR – GOODREADS – LINKEDIN – TSU – INSTAGRAM GIVEAWAY $20 Amazon Gift Card a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Book Blast & Interview: A World Apart by @writermama

 

 

A World Apart

Shades Below

Book One

L.J.K Oliva

Genre: Urban fantasy

Book Description:

"There are things that go bump in the night, Mr. MacMillian. It's my job to bump back."

Private investigator Jesper MacMillian was sure he'd seen it all. After all, in a city like San Francisco, strange is what's for breakfast. Following a long recovery after a horrific accident, his life is finally the way he wants it- or at least, close enough. The only monsters on his radar are the ones that keep him awake at night.

All that changes the day he meets Lena Alan.

Before MacMillian has a chance to brace for impact, Lena drags him into a world where monsters aren't just real, they're hiding in plain sight. Suddenly, everything he knows is suspect, starting with his current case. For Lena, a medium since childhood, it's just another day at the office.

For MacMillian, it's the beginning of the end of everything he thinks he knows.

"I should hex the IRS."

Lena set down the receipt she was scrutinizing, and stared at the woman across the table from her. "You're not serious."

The woman blew a wisp of dark brown hair out of her face, tugged off her plastic-frame reading glasses, and stretched. The movement made her deep violet lowlights shimmer. "Why not? It might distract them for a while, and we could take a break from sifting through all this bullshit."

Lena snorted. "Hey, I said you didn't have to help me. My business, my-"

"Responsibility. Whatever." The woman rolled her eyes. "We both know you're shit with numbers. Hand me that calculator."

Lena bit back a grin, and obediently passed it over. "Have I ever told you you're like some kind of occult superhero? Georgia Clare: bookkeeper by day, badass biker witch by night. Seriously, you should put that on your business cards."

Georgia scowled, but her sharp green eyes twinkled. "Well, as your bookkeeper, I'm hereby suggesting you set up a network for this place. Are you kidding me with all this paper? If I didn't know your family, I'd swear you were Amish."

Lena shrugged. "I'll get to it."

The bell above the door jingled, and a small posse of women trekked inside. Lena flashed them a smile. "Welcome! Take a seat anywhere. I'll have someone right with you." She set down the receipt she was holding and stood. "I need to go find Connie. Thanks again, Georgia."

Georgia was already tapping away at the calculator. She waved without looking up.

Lena left their table in the corner, wove around the other tables and scooted behind the counter. The women were ogling the scones and tiny cakes in the pastry case. Lena nodded to them, pride warm in her chest. She pushed open the swinging doors and stuck her head into the kitchen. "Hey, Tiburcio! You seen Connie back here?"

Her head chef popped up from behind one of the stainless steel counters. "No, señora, not yet. Do you know when Jimmy is coming in? He was supposed to take a look at the stand mixer."

Lena's good mood immediately deflated. "I'm afraid we won't be seeing Jimmy around anymore."

Tiburcio's eyebrows went up, and she prayed he wouldn't press her for answers. Mercifully, he merely gave a single, short nod. "Qué pena. Nice guy."

She swallowed hard. "Yeah. Yeah, he was."

With Connie nowhere in sight, Lena backed out of the kitchen again, and turned to the group at the counter. This time, her smile felt tight. "Sorry about the wait, guys. Just pastries today?"

She forced herself through the motions, and heaved a sigh of relief when they finally headed out the door, already picking bits of scone from their crisp white paper bags. Lena allowed her gaze to wander to the park across the street. Maybe she'd head over there for lunch. For some reason, the shop felt smaller than usual. Some fresh air would be nice.

Maybe it would help dislodge the painful knot from her throat.

She was still staring into the park when a dark green, classic-looking car rolled up to the curb. The throaty engine rattled the shop's windows, then shut off. A tall, dark-haired man climbed out. He paused, turned, and looked directly at her. The bottom plummeted out of her stomach. Lena shook herself. Of course he wasn't looking at her.

He was looking at the shop.

Sure enough, he squinted at the sign, slammed the car door and started across the street. He walked with a barely noticeable swagger, his well-built body encased in a dark gray suit. She looked closer. No, not quite a suit: instead of a blazer, he wore some sort of belted military jacket.

She braced herself. The bell above the door chafed her already strained nerves. The man filled the narrow doorway. Lena swallowed hard.

She knew a wolf when she saw one, and this man was definitely a wolf. He stayed in the doorway for a moment, then started towards the counter. His gait swayed, and she realized what she'd thought was a swagger was actually an injury. An old injury, judging by the practiced grace with which he wielded his curved black cane.

Lena relaxed slightly. A wolf was bad news, but a wounded wolf? That, maybe, she could deal with.

He reached the counter, and leaned against the glass. Lena frowned. "Can I help you?"

His eyes took a quick tour of her body, then he straightened. "Maybe. I'm looking for the owner of this place."

"You found her. I'm Powonia Alan." Lena crossed her arms. "If you're looking for a job, I'm afraid we're not hiring at the moment."

The man blinked. "I'm not here for a job. I'm looking for a friend of mine. His parents told me he'd been working here."

Something started to ache in the pit of her stomach. "Is that so?"

The man arched an eyebrow. "Jimmy Vaspurkan. You know him?"

She didn't know what made her open her mouth. Maybe it was the man's eyes, too heavy on her face. Maybe it was the way his voice reached deep into her gut and made her insides quake. Maybe she just needed to talk to someone.

Whatever the reason, she was answering before she could stop herself. "You're a little late. He's dead."

Character Name: Jesper MacMillian

Character Bio: Private detective. Budding paranormal investigator. Wayward Romani and newly appointed Rom Baro. The irony is not lost on him.

Picture provided by author.

I sit back and study the man in front of me. I'm not sure how to answer his question, because I honestly have no idea. I decide to treat it as rhetorical, instead glance around the tiny coffee shop where he instructed me to meet him.

LJKO: So, how are things with the family?

MacMillian shrugs.

JMM: Things went fine.

LJKO: 'Went'? It's all settled, then?

MacMillian shrugs again.

JMM: As settled as they ever are.

He flags down the waitress behind the lunch counter. She takes in his broad shoulders, the dark scruff coating his jaw, and approaches warily. Then her eye falls to the hooked black cane propped next to him. She visibly relaxes. Her forehead wrinkles in an unmistakable expression of pity.

Waitress: What can I get you, sugar?

MacMillian forces a smile. It comes off vaguely sinister.

JMM: Coffee, black. Two of them.

I debate telling him I'm trying to cut back, but then he turns that sinister smile on me. I shut my mouth.

The waitress nods, and leaves without touching the notepad in her apron pocket. The instant she's out of earshot, MacMillian blows out an irritated breath. He motions to the slip of paper on the formica table between us.

JMM: Those the questions? Let's get this over with.

I nod. No problem there. This diner is making me itch.

LJKO: First off, we should thank Karen Swart for having us on her blog today.

JMM: Thanks, Karen.

LJKO: Now, first question. Describe yourself.

MacMillian gives me a strange look.

JMM: What, like, physically?

There's plenty to describe there, but I shake my head.

LJKO: No, like, what are your best and worst qualities?

MacMillian presses his lips together. I groan out loud.

LJKO: Jesus, you and Darius both. It's like drawing blood from a stone with you two.

JMM: There's this thing called "privacy"...

LJKO: It's the Age of the Internet. Privacy is dead. Now are we going to do this, or not?

JMM: Fine. Best quality, my doglike tenacity. And my smile.

I roll my eyes. He politely ignores me.

JMM: Worst quality...maybe I'm a little defensive sometimes.

LJKO: About your leg, you mean?

MacMillian scowls.

JMM: Yes. About my leg. Ask another question.

LJKO: What's the one thing you wish others knew about you?

MacMillian's face hardens.

JMM: I'm not a cripple. Just because I walk with a cane, doesn't mean I need people to baby me.

The waitress chooses that moment to return with our coffees. I keep my eyes on MacMillian as she sets the mugs down, and wait until she leaves before continuing our conversation.

LJKO: Or pity you?

JMM: Especially pity me.

LJKO: Next question. What is your biggest secret? As in secret secret. Something no one else knows about.

JMM: Nice try. Next question.

I debate pressing the matter, but I already know it wouldn't do any good. I move on.

LJKO: What are you most afraid of?

JMM: Next—

LJKO: Uh-uh. No way. You get one pass, and you already used it. Answer the question, buster.

MacMillian arches an eyebrow.

JMM: Buster?

I lean back and cross my arms.

JMM: Fine. Jesus, you're pushy.

He thinks for a moment. A strange look crosses his face.

JMM: Nothing.

LJKO: Goddamnit, MacMillian...

JMM: No, seriously. I can't think of anything. -He looks unnerved by the revelation.- Kind of makes sense though, doesn't it? I mean, no reason to be scared if you don't have anything to lose.

It's an unexpectedly astute observation, one that makes my chest ache a little. I clear my throat and quickly move on.

LJKO: What do you want more than anything?

MacMillian stomps his prosthetic foot. His leg rattles under the table.

JMM: Two meat feet would be nice. And a Lambo, I guess, as long as we're talking wishes.

I shake my head.

LJKO: You are such a punk.

JMM: Said the pot to the kettle.

I give him that.

LJKO: Okay, here's a fun one. What is your relationship status?

JMM: Single, as you well know. Remind me how this is fun?

LJKO: Oh, please. Do I have to spell it out for you? That whole thing with Lena at the end of your book—

JMM: Stop. Seriously, stop. It was...that was...nothing. Nothing happened.

LJKO: You are so full of shit.

JMM: We worked together once, and it was weird as fuck. I'll probably never see her again.

LJKO: Never say never, Don Juan.

He blushes. Actually blushes. It's delightful.

JMM: What's the next question?

LJKO: Fine, you big chicken. How would you describe your sense of fashion?

JMM: What the hell kind of...? I don't have a sense of fashion.

I purse my lips and study him. Button-down shirt, belted military-sort-of jacket, dark slacks, heavy boots. He definitely has something, but I don't know that I would call it "fashion".

LJKO: A grievous oversight on my part, but I'm sure I can fix it. Maybe I'll give you an ascot in your next book.

JMM: Don't you dare.

The look he gives me is pure murder. I cough.

LJKO: Right, which leads us to our next question. How much of a rebel are you?

JMM: You know me. Che-fucking-Guevara.

LJKO: You kind of are, aren't you? A lone wolf? I mean, how long were you on your own? Away from your family, your traditions, the kumpania...?

JMM: Five years. And it wasn't exactly my choice.

LJKO: Maybe not at first, but you could have gone back. What made you stay away?

MacMillian blows out a breath.

JMM: You're not going to let this go, are you?

It's my turn to shrug.

JMM: Of course you're not. -He pauses.- I guess I just...shit. I couldn't go back. After the accident, I was this pariah. The One Who Survived. And I shouldn't have. I mean, I was the one driving that night.

He looks away, and I resist the urge to reach out to him. He would only interpret it as pity.

LJKO: You didn't cause the accident.

JMM: No, but I've been paying for it anyway. You know my mother still won't look me in the eye? How am I supposed to go back to that?

I don't have an answer. In light of the sudden turn the conversation's taken, my next question seems in painfully poor taste.

LJKO: What is your idea of happiness?

JMM: Why? You buying?

LJKO: If I can.

He looks me square in the eyes.

JMM: One night to have a few drinks and shoot the shit with my brother.

My stomach wrenches. I wish I could give him that. We both know I can't. I pick up the paper off the table.

LJKO: We still have a lot of questions to get through.

It feels like the fight has gone out of both of us. MacMillian leans back with a sigh.

JMM: Shoot.

I read them rapidfire.

LJKO: What would you consider your greatest achievement?

JMM: Walking again.

LJKO: What is your current state of mind?

JMM: Invidious.

LJKO: What is your most treasured possession?

JMM: My Fury.

I raise my eyebrows. He clarifies.

JMM: As in Plymouth Fury. My car.

LJKO: Right. What is your most marked characteristic?

JMM: If I had to guess, I'd say probably the metal leg.

LJKO: What is it that you most dislike?

JMM: Personal questions.

I ignore the jab.

LJKO: Which living person do you most despise?

JMM: Detective Mark Durbin.

LJKO: That wouldn't have anything to do with his getting to Lena first, would it?

JMM: That's low.

He's right. I change the subject.

LJKO: What is your greatest regret?

JMM: Pass.

He's already used his pass, but I don't have it in me to fight him over it.

LJKO: What is the quality you most like in a man?

MacMillian blinks.

JMM: Excuse me?

LJKO: Not sexually.

He gives me an exasperated look.

JMM: I know that.

LJKO: Great. So...?

JMM: Same things I like in everybody, I guess. Perseverance. Honesty. Resilience.

LJKO: How about in a woman?

MacMillian doesn't answer right away. He taps his finger against the tabletop. It's remarkably distracting. When he does speak again, I jump.

JMM: Confidence. Kindness. The ability to see beneath the surface of things. I like a woman who can look life right in its ugly face and still find something beautiful.

He stares past me. I clear my throat.

LJKO: You realize who you just described?

MacMillian doesn't say anything. Abruptly, he swings his legs out from under the table, grips his cane and pushes to his feet. He reaches into his pocket for his wallet, pulls out a few bills and tosses them next to his still-full mug.

JMM: Time's up.

I start to tell him I still have questions left, but it's no use.

He's already on his way out the door.

 

 

 

 

 

L.J.K Oliva is the devil-may-care alter-ego of noir romance novelist Laura Oliva. She likes her whiskey strong, her chocolate dark, and her steak bloody. L.J.K. likes monsters... and knows the darkest ones don't live in closets.

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Book Blast, Giveaway & Interview: Desire Denied by @layne_macadam

Desire Denied

Desire Series

Book 2

Layne Macadam

Genre: Erotic Contemporary

Publisher: Liquid Silver Books

Date of Publication: April 6 2015

ASIN: B00V2IBUGW

Number of pages: 380

Word Count: approximately: 101,000

Cover Artist: Liquid Silver Books

Book Description:

Ex-SEAL Zach Buchanan can sum Beth Carmichael up in two words, trouble-magnet. Ever since his kid sister, Loretta, befriended the girl she had been in and out of trouble, and Beth a constant thorn in his side.

For six years and a multitude of reasons he’s fought his feelings by avoiding Beth, but when she telephones out of the blue from Columbia with the news Loretta has been abducted, he is forced to confront Beth again along with his demons.

To rescue Loretta, they must put aside their history and start afresh, because the ransom terms are specific: Beth must make the delivery. Simple enough until things turn sour and they are forced on a journey through thick jungle and mountainous terrain.

Thrown together, Zach’s eyes are opened and he learns some home truths about himself: could he have misjudged Beth all theses years?

Available at Liquid Silver Books



Bright and early next morning Zach, wearing cargo shorts, runners, an open neck shirt, and a chirpier disposition, tapped on Beth’s door. Havoc’s words were balm, and he was going to start afresh, put the past behind him. Tomorrow was going to be hellish. Today he planned to be calm and relaxed. That would rub off onto Beth too; put her more at ease, God knows she must be scared witless.

“Morning Zach, come on in.” She stood aside and he breezed in closing the door behind him.

“Hi, how did you sleep?” he asked as she walked over to the bed.

“So so. What about you?” She glanced up from stuffing things into her backpack.

“So so.” He flashed her his pearly whites.

She returned his smile and then went back to her task. It gave him the opportunity to study her face. The smudgy dark circles under her eyes were a dead give away. She hadn’t slept a wink, but it didn’t mar her beauty. She’d put on weight since their last encounter, her bottom was rounder, her breasts bigger, more lush. He watched with lust and envy as they jiggled and swayed beneath her shirt, his fingers itching to fondle the delightful flesh as she continued packing.

“All done.”

Beth caught him unawares as she turned toward him and raised a brow, her lips pursing. The goofy grin slid from his face. Yeah, she’d caught him gawking, but what was he, dead?

He cleared his throat. “If you’re ready, we’ll head downstairs to join the others.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She smirked, and with her pack slung onto her shoulder trounced out the door leaving him to shadow her to the lift.

The down button was jabbed with a pointed finger. The lift arrived, and they stepped into the small box that felt infinitely smaller with just the two of them than it did the night before with the addition of Hawk and Havoc.

When the doors opened on the ground floor it was Hawk, chatting with the concierge, who first came into view. He was hard to miss. Apart from his size and red hair, he was dressed in kickass boots, baggy shorts, and a Hawaiian print shirt that was so loud it screamed tourist. And funny enough, he blended in, just another American college kid down south taking in the sites.

Havoc, in faded khaki pants, a common garden-variety polo shirt, was also inconspicuous despite his size and the Akubra he held in his hand. He was at the front desk checking out when Beth, and he walked up to him.

“You eaten?” Zach asked.

“Yeah, in my room how about you guys?”

“Same here,” Zach replied. “How about you Beth?”

“Yep.”

“Morning all, what a beautiful day.”

Hawk joined the group, chirpy as a lark in spring. “Wasn’t that the best breakfast ever Beth? I swear I’m so full I might just have to skip lunch.”

“Yes Hawk, breakfast was really good, but let’s not get crazy.” She laughed.

Zach stiffened. His mouth descended into a thin line and his hands fisted. He wanted to hit something, more specifically—Hawk’s face.

“Are we set to go then?” Havoc asked slipping his wallet into his back pocket.

“I checked out earlier, and I’ve put the rest of my gear in storage for a week. Do you think that will be long enough?” Beth asked of no one in particular.

“You’ll be back in New York sipping cappuccinos in less than a week love.” Havoc was optimistic.

“Jeep should be waiting out front. I asked the concierge to organize it,” Hawk told them with a grin.

“What do you want a medal?” Zach snarled and received a thump in the chest from Havoc with the back of his knuckles for his trouble.

“Huh.”

“Right then, if we’re all ready let’s move it.” Havoc led the way to the front of the hotel.




Did you always wanted to be a writer? If not what did you want to be?

No, I wanted to be a school teacher of all things.

When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?

When I typed “The End” on my first book, Desire Unleashed. Then of course the rejections came so I truly didn’t call myself a writer until that first contract was signed.

How long did it take to get your first book published?

I think all up from writing the first draft to publishing it was about six years.

Do you do another job except for writing and can you tell us more about it?

Yes, I juggle a few jobs. Apart from being a wife and mother I work full time doing admin type work interpreting legislation.

What is the name of your latest book, and if you had to summarize it in less than 20 words what would you say?

The title is Desire Denied. He believes she’s a trouble magnet, but has he misjudged her? Action, adventure, and burning passion await them in the Columbian jungle.   

Who is your publisher? Or do you self-publish?

The Desire Series is published by Liquid Silver Books, Wolf on Wheels, Book 1 in the Heritage Series is published by Syn Publishing, and Obsession Down Under is published by Soul Mate Publishing. Star Crossed Lovers is self published.

How long does it usually take you to write a book, from the original idea to finishing writing it?

That’s difficult as my books range from approximately 38,000 words to 105,000 words so the time factor varies considerably. Sometimes I might dash out eight or ten chapters in two or three weeks and at other times life gets in the way and it could take me three weeks to write one chapter.

What can we expect from you in the future?  ie More books of the same genre? Books of a different genre?

I have two possibly three more books to complete in the Desire Series and three or four in the Heritage wolf shifter Series.

What genre would you place your books into?

All my books are romance with a HEA. The Desire Series and Obsession Down Under are contemporary, the Heritage Series is Paranormal and Star Crossed Lovers is sci-fi.

Do you have a favorite character from your books? And why are they your favorite?

I adore all my leading men, they are like real people to me, but I do have a soft spot for Whip McGregor in Obsession Down Under. He is hot, amazing, generous, and funny.

Do you have a certain routine you have for writing? ie You listen to music, sit in a certain chair?

I have my special recliner chair, my laptop on my lap, and my mug of tea by my side!

Do you read all the reviews of your book/books?

Definitely! At least all the ones I know about.

Do you choose a title first, or write the book then choose the title?

A bit of both, really. All the books in the Desire Series had their titles before they were written. Obsession Down Under was originally called The Perfect Rose, and Star Crossed Lovers started out as Super Nova Princess. I try and title the books to reflect what’s inside and sometimes I don’t know that until the story is complete!

How do you come up with characters names and place names in your books?

It depends on the story. Some books call for traditional names, others more modern names, and some call for the unusual. Desire Denied, the hero is Zach Buchanan while Whip McGregor is the protagonist in Obsession Down Under, both contemporary books so choosing their names was easy.

Danikyle is the hero in my sci-fi Star Crossed Lovers so a bit more unusual. For him I just combined Daniel with Kyle. Caleb Grayson is the hero in Wolf On Wheels. Caleb is an old name most likely from Hebrew meaning “dog”. I thought that was appropriate as Caleb, being a wolf shifter, is very old and wolves and dogs are considered to be part of the same family. As for places, again it depends on the story.

Which format of book do you prefer, eBook, hardback, or paperback?

eBook

What is your favorite book and Why?  Have you read it more than once?

Pillars of the Earth. I love the history, the architecture, and the intricate way Mr Follett has interwoven the characters and how good prevails over evil.

Do you think books transfer to movies well? Which is you favorite book to movie transfer?

Yes and No. I’ve seen some good ones and I’ve also been disappointed. The Harry Potter Series transferred very well.

Your favorite food is?

Italian, French, Thai—I like them all!

Your favorite color is?

Red
 

 

 

 

 


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Layne lives with her husband, two dogs, and a cat on the mid-eastern coast of New South Wales, Australia. In addition to being an author she has a degree in history and holds down a full-time job.

She has always been an avid reader and voraciously consumes all types of fiction, but she particularly loves a happy ending, so writing romance seemed a natural progression for her. But as she sat at the computer one day — staring at a blank screen — it all seemed rather daunting. Yet once she finally started tapping on the keys, the words kept flowing, and what was meant to be a short story turned into a full-blown novel, Desire Unleashed, the first book in the “Desire” series.

Layne writes contemporary romance, paranormal, and sci-fi. With her passion for travel and a love of history an historical romance is not outside the realms of possibility.

When she’s not writing, you might find her tackling a craft project, walking by the lake, or in the kitchen creating some culinary delights.

Website : http://www.laynemacadam.com

Blog: http://laynemacadam.blogspot.com.au

Twitter: https://twitter.com/layne_macadam

Book Blast: The Creator’s Eye: Mover of Fate, Part I by @RNFeldman

 

The Creator’s Eye: Mover of Fate, Part I

The Creator’s Eye

Book I

R.N. Feldman

Genre: Science Fiction/ Fantasy

Date of Publication: November 26, 2014

ISBN: 978-1501083617

ASIN: B00O705KD6

Number of pages: 270

Word Count: 58,401

Cover Artist: R.N. Feldman and Caroline Miller

Book Description:

On a hidden archipelago, people known as Movers manipulate matter with their minds while strange Folds in space transform the landscape into wondrous and often deadly anomalies.

When a young Mover named Michael Edwards discovers that he is descended from a long line of beings who can not only Move matter, but actually Create it, he finds himself at the center of a cosmic struggle for power.

Manipulated by friends, family, and an ominous prophecy, he allies himself with a host of strange creatures and characters as he fights to become Mover of his own destiny.

Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/o8-NsFjl7dA

Add it to your Goodreads Shelf

Available at Amazon

 

CHAPTER I DISCOVERY DAY

Michael took a deep breath as he watched another seizure wrack his mother’s body. It was a small one, but he dutifully laid her on the floor just in case it became violent. He stood nearby as she twisted and shivered. He had to remind himself not to interfere— to let the attack run its course. The seizures always caught him by surprise, but the procedure to deal with them had become almost banal— lay her on the floor, make sure she didn’t hit her head, then wait until it was over.

After a few moments, she lay still and stared vacantly at the ceiling. Michael helped her sit up. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her to a chair at the dining table. Her wiry brown hair tickled his ear. It was the same color and curliness as his, but no amount of combing seemed to keep it in place anymore. He could barely recognize his own face in her sallow cheeks and sunken eyes. He looked more like his father anyway, with his golden skin, green eyes, and broad shoulders. His mother, meanwhile, had grown thin and frail, but when he lifted her up, her limp body felt as heavy as a sack of wet dough.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked as he arranged her in her chair. Her dull, dark eyes stared ahead blankly.

“Mom, do you want to eat?” he asked, although he didn’t actually expect a reply. It had been years since she had articulated a full sentence, but he didn’t like treating her like a vegetable. Once in a while she was lucid enough to grunt a response, but this time, she did not even move.

“I’m going to make dinner now,” Michael told her, tentatively leaving her, hoping she would not fall or have another seizure the moment he turned away.

He went to the kitchen sink where he had only just finished washing the vegetables when he had been interrupted by her collapse. He sliced the sweet, white ghost carrots— a summertime favorite of his town— into big chunks and put them in a pot with the other vegetables. He covered them with stock and turned up the heat on the stove. The pilot clicked a few times, but there was no whoosh of flames springing to life. Michael grumbled at the malfunctioning burner as he set the pot aside and lifted the enameled stove lid. The firebox was out. The small carton of rocks that usually glowed red with potential heat were instead an ashen grey.

Michael had boiled some water for tea that morning, so he knew that they should be working. Usually when they died, they went out slowly, becoming weaker over the course of a few days, but these had just inexplicably lost their oomph. He wondered if he had accidentally spilled something on them. Regardless, he would have to light them, but he didn’t hunt for matches. Instead, he took it as a chance to practice his Moving.

He set the kitchen timer for five minutes, rolled up his sleeves and pointed his finger at the small cluster of stones. He stared at them, or actually focused his eyes on an imaginary point beyond them. He would make them catch fire. According to the books his uncle Sefu gave him, he should not hope, need, want, or pray for the fire to manifest. He had to imagine it was already there. Anything less merely affirmed his lack of will. It was a small nuance, but made all the difference.

Michael focused his thoughts like a beam of sunlight, pushing all foggy doubt out of his mind that what he was doing was impossible. His mind wandered occasionally, but he kept bringing it back to its goal, to the reality that he required— that there was already fire in the firebox. His concentration reached a frenzied tension and his vision blurred.

Unable to hold his thoughts anymore, Michael relaxed his stare. His vision re-focused and to his satisfied surprise, a small spray of sparks issued from his fingertip. It surrounded and warmed the firestones. Without stopping his Moving, he checked the kitchen timer. Two minutes had elapsed. It was not a personal record, but Michael acknowledged that there was at least merit in consistency.

The dull stones crackled, catching fire on their own. Michael ceased his Moving, lowered the stove top, and replaced the soup on the revived flame. While waiting for it to boil, he chopped garlic and parsley. Even though his mother was about as responsive as the firebox was a moment ago, he did his best to make her meals taste good. He hoped that a well-cared for meal was somehow healing or imperceptibly uplifting to her spirit.

Michael added some herbs and salt, and when the vegetables had softened, he turned off the flame and crushed the whole concoction with a sturdy slotted spoon. It was kind of a shame to mash it up, but lengthy chewing was beyond his mother’s ability.

“Here you go,” he said, serving her a bowl. “Eat it while it’s hot.”

At first it seemed she hadn’t heard, but a ghost of awareness flitted across her face. She dipped a spoon into the beige puree and after a slow moment, dragged it to her lips. Michael watched her mechanically eat for a while. He listened to the clumsy clink of the metal spoon against her teeth and the sloppy glug of her throat. Once he was sure that she was underway, he got up to wash the dishes and perhaps find a moment to pour himself a bowl. But before he took a step, he heard the rustling of packs at the front door. His father was home.

Michael hurriedly opened the door for him. His father was still rifling through his pocket for his keys. “Ah, thanks!” his dad, Simon, smiled through crow’s feet and a thick salt and pepper beard.

Michael took his father’s bags.

His dad stepped into their living room, shutting the door behind him. “So?” he asked as he peeled off his coat and slung it over the sofa. “Is your mom okay?”

Michael described her recent seizure and added with measured assurance, “I think she’s fine now.”

“Was that the only one?” his dad asked, but did not sound particularly concerned. “No, she had a series of them a couple hours after you left. She’s been mostly

absent since then. I had to stay around the house the past couple of days keeping an eye on her.”

His dad nodded aloofly and patted his belly, which along with a slope to his shoulders, had grown more pronounced since his wife took ill. He strode over to the stove and ladled himself a bowl of soup. “Is this all there is?” he asked disappointedly.

“Um,” Michael began, a little frustrated by his father’s dissatisfaction, “I think there’s some phoenix in the ice box from last night,” he suggested.

Phoenixes were a fiery-colored, long-plumed fowl commonly raised in the region, but lacked any of the powers of resurrection borne by their mythological namesake.

Michael’s father wrinkled his nose at the prospect of cold bird and glumly muttered, “I’ll stick with the soup.”

Michael tried not to make a face and instead asked how his trip was. “Interesting,” Simon began as he took a seat at the far side of the table away from

his wife. “This was an exciting one.”

Michael’s father worked as an assessor for the government’s environmental insurance agency. Arimbol, the island chain on which they lived, was full of unexplained natural phenomena colloquially called folds. They were places where nature and physics would bend. Most folds were so subtle that unless you were paying close attention you could pass through them without notice, but others were beautiful, miraculous places.

Michael had heard of some where water flowed uphill, optics went awry, or wind burst from the ground with the force of a hurricane. There were also folds that were quite dangerous, that could make you sick, crazy, or even kill you. Most folds were relatively small though, only affecting an area the size of his living room, while the largest engulfed the entire Arimbolean archipelago.

Michael had never had the chance to travel, so loved to hear stories whenever his dad returned from one of his many trips. He had seen more of Arimbol than anyone else in their village, so knew a great deal about its flora and fauna, most of which existed nowhere else on Earth. Some were widespread across the islands and were even farmed. Besides the phoenix and summer ghost carrots, their town of New Canaan was particularly famous for the blue wine squeezed from coastal cobalt grapes grown on the surrounding hillsides. East of Canaan, towards Alexandria, was miles of black wheat.

While the hills around Canaan were called the Blue Mountains, that area was sometimes referred to as the Burnt Plains.

Some plants and animals were less widespread. They were so specifically adapted that they might inhabit a single pool of water. His father had told him about the white thorn fish that clung to the slippery rocks of a single stream north of Urgench, or the roaks, the giant birds that nested on the tallest peaks of the Morningstar Buttes. Michael’s father told him that they were so large that they could easily carry off hesats— the shaggy, one-horned buffalos that grazed on the southern grasslands.

Michael was anxious for his father’s story. He sat down with him, keeping an eye on his mother to make sure she was still eating. “So what did you see?” he urged.

“Well, a few days ago, a farmer in Skarra claimed that a long chasm had opened in the ground and green fire just shot out of it, destroying a huge swath of his crops. But when I arrived, the fields were burned, but there was no sign of a fold. For all I knew the farmer had lit the fields on fire himself while burning leaves. But upon closer inspection, there was a series of cracks running down the center of his land. It looked like the ground had unzipped like a pair of trousers.” He gave a sharp snort then slurped back a spoonful of the thick stew. “Hmm, needs salt,” he said, reaching for the shaker across the table before going on. “I told the farmer, ‘Look, I can fill a report out, but there’s nothing indicating that a fold did this. For all I know, you just got drunk and did something foolish.’”

“The guy looked offended and exclaimed, ‘It’s happened more than once! Just stick around tonight and you’ll see!’” Michael’s father sighed. “I didn’t particularly want to stay there any longer than I had to, but he seemed sure of his tale. Plus, in my job, I’ve seen stranger things than fire shooting out of the ground, so I agreed to spend the evening there. He and his wife were hospitable and offered me dinner, but I couldn’t take it, of course. Regulations, you know. I fortunately had the sandwich you packed for me.”

Michael nodded, glad his cooking had been of some use.

“I waited there until midnight, but nothing happened, so I got up to leave. The farmer begged me to stay just a little bit longer, but I was tired from the trip and wanted to go back to the inn. Just as we stepped out onto his front porch, I noticed a green glow coming from the field. We stood there watching as the ground began to hiss and jets of green fire streamed from the earth. It followed the jagged slit I had seen earlier, but it cracked wider. The crops around it caught fire, and the line jutted quickly across the field. It ran straight for their house.”

“What did you do?” Michael asked, leaning in.

“We were dumbfounded at first. I mean, we just sat there with our jaws hanging open like a thirsty hesat. It was probably only a couple of seconds, but the fire moved quickly. I got my wits about me and yelled at the farmer and his wife to get inside and go out the back.”

Folds rarely appeared in places people had inhabited for a long time. Usually his father was called in to examine some place that people had wandered into while traveling. It was his job to categorize and map them, and to file claims for people if they were injured or lost property, but this was unusual that he had to rescue people himself.

“I ran out into the field and the damn farmer followed me. There was an irrigation ditch running nearby. I quickly Moved the ground with blasts of energy until I carved a trench running to the fissure. The water flowed through it and made the flames die down a little, but the ground was still cracking and burning and running for the house. So, the farmer and I built up a huge mound of dirt to bury the rift.”

“For a moment, it seemed like we stopped it, but then it just shot straight through the mound. A few seconds later, the farmer’s entire house was gone— just burned to ashes. The fold finally stopped just short of the tree line at the end of their property.”

“Was his family okay?”

“No one got hurt, but it’s a hell of a mess for the agency. We don't know if the land will be safe to live on, or even their neighbor's land for that matter. I’m going to have to go back with a crew and run a bunch of tests on it. For now, the farmer and his neighbors are staying with friends, but we're going to have to find somewhere permanent for them. It’s going to cost the crown a lot of money.”

“What a mess!” Michael added.

“But we'll solve it,” His dad said confidently as he got up to drop his bowl into the sink. “I’ll probably have to go back there next week. Are you okay with watching your mom again so soon?”

“Sure,” said Michael, his willingness buoyed by his father’s heroism. “But I was wondering if you could do me a favor tonight? My friends have been back from college for the past few days and I haven't had a chance to see them, plus tonight are the Discovery Day fireworks.”

Michael’s father sighed and rubbed his temples. Michael could feel the refusal coming on.

“It’s been a long couple of days, son. I could really use a night to relax…”

“But I haven’t seen them in almost a year!” Michael implored. It had been a while since he had used such an insistent tone with his father, but his friends were back for summer from the Moving Academy in Alexandria and he was dying to catch up with them.

His dad grimaced, “Alright, just come back in time to help me get your mom upstairs.”

Michael was elated. He thanked his father and set about finishing his chores so he could hurry to see them.

•••

It was evening, but the sun was still high in the summer sky when Michael left the house. He lived near the edge of town, so the trailhead was not far away. The wood- paneled ranch houses of his neighborhood were spread some distance apart, separated by large, wild gardens. Despite the remaining daylight, birds chirping, and the buzz of summer insects, the few street lights in his neighborhood were already on, as if in anticipation of the night's festivities. Kids waved sparklers and tossed poppers in the street while young couples walked hand in hand towards the center of town. At the intersection, a few neighbors loaded a donkey cart full of jubilant toddlers to take to the festival.

Instead of following the procession, Michael turned left at the intersection towards the outskirts of town. He could see his three friends waiting for him at the end of the street. James, a tall, slim boy with dirty blond hair tucked under a red bandanna leaned against a lamp post, smoking one of his fastidiously rolled cigarettes while the other two boys appeared to be in a heated debate. The stockier one with curly brown hair was Jake. From the distance, Michael could see him gesticulate widely as he tried to make his point. Meanwhile, Sam, who was short, round, and black-haired, smiled patronizingly at him and shook his head. Michael recognized the bright yellow chevron with the letter “A” emblazoned on the front of his shirt as the emblem of the Academy of Alexandria.

James saw Michael approach and ground out the cigarette with his foot. “Hey, Michael!” he announced. They embraced each other with hearty pats on the back.

The other two stopped bickering and welcomed their friend. “Good to see you, old chum!” said Sam. “Looks like you've been taking good care of the town while we were away.”

Michael laughed, “You probably thought it would fall into the sea without you.” “I bet it hasn't been much fun without us,” speculated Jake.

“That's for sure!” Michael agreed. “I haven't done much since you guys left. It’s been downright boring.”

Jake asked if he hung out with any of the kids from the class below them. “Sometimes,” Michael replied, “but honestly I spend most of my time taking care

of my mom.”

“She's not any better?” asked Sam, caringly. He was always the most sensitive of his friends.

Michael shook his head.

“Well, I’m studying medicine,” said Sam. “Maybe I'll find something.” “Don't count on it,” chortled Jake. “Sam is last in his class!”

“I'm not last!” Sam scowled and barked at Jake.

“You're not winning any races though,” Jake prodded again.

“Stick it up your round brown!” said Sam, making a crude gesture with his thumb and forefingers.

“Aw, I miss you guys bickering,” said Michael with a sarcastic smile. “You sound like an old married couple. But seriously, Sam, I appreciate that you want to help.”

“You're welcome,” he said, clapping Michael on the back. “Honestly, I think watching you take care of your mom is what made me want to study healing.”

Michael was about to ask him how his program was going when James cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt,” he said, “but we really should get going if we're going to return in time to see the fireworks.”

Michael and the others concurred and followed James onto the trail. It passed through farms and vineyards, whose trellises were lined in neat rows adjacent to the path. Blue grapes appeared pearlescent against the leaves curling in the summer heat. Jake stopped to pluck a few ripe ones and popped them in his mouth.

“I've missed these!” he slobbered.

Michael grabbed a few as well. The juice was sweet and tart. “If you still lived here, you could be having these all the time,” said Michael, spitting out a few small seeds.

“Yeah, right!” snorted Jake, with blue juice staining his lips. “Like I would ever quit the Academy!”

“Is it great?” Michael asked enviously.

“It’s amazing!” he beamed, oblivious to Michael’s tone. “I never liked school much before, but learning how to do these things— how to Move— it’s fantastic!”

“What have you learned?” asked Michael, no longer salivating just over the

grapes.

James waved anxiously at them from further up the trail. “Hurry up!” he called. They were lagging behind their ever punctual friend. They grabbed a few more

grapes for the road and picked up the pace.

“Well,” said Jake, “we’re really just learning the basics. Like for Moving class, we've been working on increasing and decreasing energy.”

“Like Moving energy to power a home?” asked Michael who had been practicing on the lights in his house at night once his mom fell asleep.

“Psh!” scoffed Jake, “Are you kidding? This is beginning Moving! We started by heating and cooling a glass of water, but for our final exam we had to Move the air to lift a sheet of paper off our desk. I was first to do it— top of my class!”

“That's awesome!” cheered Michael, impressed by his friend who was not such a star student in high school. However, Michael found it odd that lifting a piece of paper was perceived as an outstanding accomplishment. The book his uncle gave him had him gusting his bedroom into a pigsty by the second chapter. He was only able to rouse the tempest for a moment, but a big blast was not so different than Moving something much smaller. Even his text said that. Michael didn’t want to insult his friend though, so he beckoned him to continue. “What else are you learning?”

“Well, I’m taking applied metaphysics and philosophy of Moving. Those are our required classes. And then for my elective I’m taking beginning engineering.”

“What's that?” asked Michael as they trotted along the trail, trying to keep up with James’ long legs.

“That’s where you use Moving to build things— you know, machines, architecture. I mean, we're not making anything like that, yet. Just small clockwork objects, making water flow uphill, small self-powered lights. It’s really cool— I'm even thinking of majoring in it.”

“Nice!” said Michael. “My dad uses some of that in his job. There’s a lot you can do with it.”

“Sam is studying healing, of course, and James is taking an environmental studies

class.”

“That makes sense,” said Michael. “He’s always been a nature boy. I bet he

knows more about these hills than anyone else.”

“Probably,” agreed Jake, “but they're teaching him about all the plants and animals unique to Arimbol. There’s all kinds of uses for them, you know.”

The four young men had now passed beyond the farms through a golden, rolling meadow shaded by great, gnarled oaks. At the end of the field, the trail met a small stream and turned upward, following the flowing water into the hills. Soon they were huffing and puffing as they ascended the winding trail. They could hear the burble of the stream throughout their climb.

“Whew!” gasped Sam as he struggled up the hill. “This trail used to be so easy!” “It still is easy!” James called back from further ahead. “You've just gotten soft

from all that greasy dorm food. I bet Michael's doing okay, aren't you?”

“Uh-huh,” Michael agreed, but was not so sure. He hadn’t had much time to hike in the last year either.

“I'm just looking forward to some fried cheese sticks at the festival,” Sam drooled. “It'll be a reward for this long walk.”

“If you keep rewarding yourself with cheese sticks we'll have to roll you to class from now on,” laughed Jake, wiping sweat off his brow.

“Actually I prefer if you and James carry me on a palanquin. You should also address me as King Sam the Magnificent.”

“I'm going to call you the Stench King,” joked Jake, batting his hand in front of his nose. “I don't like walking down wind of your sweaty rump.” He then charged past Sam and the other two, jumping over rocks and tree roots as he ran. James and Michael took off after him.

“Aw, come on!” griped Sam, falling into a lumbering jog.

The trail wound back and forth through the trees before leveling out at the ridge. Here the creek bubbled out of the ground forming a shallow pool only a few inches deep, but it flowed steadily enough to feed the long stream down the hill. The spring also had a fold around it that made the water glow blue when the sun went down. Most people believed that it was that blue water that gave the local grapes their special hue.

No one quite knew how they worked, but as folds went, this was a pretty small and harmless one. The best guess was they were a fold in time and space, or between other dimensions that allowed strange physical anomalies to occur. Regardless, this one was always a beautiful sight when paired with the Discovery Day fireworks far below.

Beyond the pool was Roak Rock, a large outcropping of stone that overlooked a forested canyon below. Jake and James climbed up the crag while Michael knelt by the burbling stream. He drank a few handfuls of water before running some through his wavy

hair. It was blissfully cold and refreshing after the sweaty hike. He admired its subtle blue glow as it dripped off his hands.

Sam finally came chugging up the hill. “Sweet lord, I think I'm going to throw up!” he gasped. “Why do you guys always have to run?”

“Have some water.” Michael suggested.

Sam plopped down and stuck his face right into the stream.

“Criminy!” called Jake, stretching his legs on top of the rock, “You're gulping like a horse!”

Sam pulled his dripping face out of the water. “I wish I was one! Maybe then I wouldn't be so winded.”

Once they had their fill, Michael and his sopping friend ascended the outcropping.

Roak Rock was pitted with convenient footholds eroded by the rain, but was still steep and tall enough to get Michael and Sam's hearts beating again by the time they reached the top.

“Magnificent view!” pronounced James. “Completely worth it,” Sam panted in agreement.

While the rock rose no more than thirty feet above the ridge line, its face towered above the ravine. From their perch, the boys had a panoramic view of the countryside.

Ahead of them they could gaze across a great sea of rolling hills. “That’s where the Academy is,” said Jake pointing northeast.

“Yup,” said Michael. “And to the west of there is Palmyra Forest. That’s where my uncle Sefu lives.”

Sam turned around and exclaimed, “Check out the sunset!”

Behind them, over the hill they had just climbed, was their town, and beyond that shimmered the Atlantic Ocean, with the sky and clouds above it burning a glorious orange. The house lights of their town were just flickering on as the sun sank into the sea. They could hear the distant pop and whistle of small fire crackers, children playing, and dogs barking.

Discovery Day was Arimbol’s biggest national holiday. It celebrated the settling of the mid-Atlantic archipelago some twenty-eight years before. Michael learned in school that it was founded shortly after World War II when a group of scientists were commissioned to research a navigational anomaly noted by supply ships heading to Europe. The anomaly turned out to be the Shield Fold that surrounded, hid, and protected the island chain. From the outside, the fold flattened the archipelago into a thin strip making it appear as only a fraction of an inch wide and visible only from certain angles. Meanwhile, the interior remained completely three-dimensional. Anyone wishing to travel to Arimbol needed to approach with specific bearings guiding them straight into either end of the thin fold, or else be forced to sail around it.

With support from the U.N., the researchers established the first colonies, but due to the islands’ isolated nature, the colonists soon broke off and established a monarchy, headed by King Leyon, one of the lead scientists. Under his guidance, they constructed the first cities and Moving schools, and began recruiting people to move to Arimbol in greater numbers.

Michael’s own family was from the U.S. as were most of his neighbors, but he knew people from all over the world. Sam’s parents came from Japan and Germany and James was part Argentinian. While Arimbol’s first inhabitants were largely scientists,

government officials, and urban planners, the second wave of immigrants were nick- named “wounded doves” as they tended to come from hard situations. Sam’s father escaped poverty and oppression in East Berlin. He found himself hungry and alone in West Germany before being invited to Arimbol. Meanwhile, Jake’s dad lived on the streets of Chicago and James’ mother lost both of her parents and sister in a car accident forcing her to grow up under an abusive aunt. Michael also knew a handful of refugees from poor or war-torn countries. They all immigrated to the islands with dreams of a better life, a chance to forget, or an opportunity to start over.

The Shield Fold allowed only minimal contact with the outside world, and imports of foreign goods and technology were largely banned by the crown on the grounds that they corrupted the unique nature of the islands. However, the folds and Moving provided a gratifying alternative for most everyone invited to live there. Life in Arimbol was not without its challenges, of course, but it was considered a relatively utopian place to live.

Michael was proud of Arimbol’s history and he appreciated Discovery Day as a chance to celebrate new beginnings. He unfortunately knew little about why his mom and dad opted to move to Arimbol. His father was always vague on what trauma, if any, brought them there. Regardless, Michael loved their adopted homeland and felt lucky that they opted to immigrate.

With a contented sigh, he turned away from the view of New Canaan, knocked the trail dust off his jeans, and sat down on the edge of the ravine. There was a cool breeze blowing up through it. He felt at ease and was glad to have his friends back. It was a pleasure to joke around and think of something besides his obligations. He had not had the opportunity to act like a kid for some time.

The other three sat down next to him. “So you guys have left out something very important from your stories,” Michael posited.

“What's that?” asked Jake.

Michael gave them a cockeyed look and cleared his throat, expecting them to know what he was talking about, but they just stared bewilderedly at him.

He threw up his hands, “The girls, of course! What are the girls at the Academy

like?”

The three of them laughed. “Aw, that’s where you're really missing out!” grinned

Jake. “They're gorgeous!”

“Too bad you can't get any of them,” James mocked Jake. “Hey,” Jake argued, “I went out on a date just last week!”

“That wasn't a date,” laughed James. “She was helping you study!”

Sam whispered to Michael, “Jake has been pining after this beautiful blond girl, for the whole term.”

Jake gave Sam an icy look. “First of all, I was helping her study. And second, it was too a date! She even gave me a kiss afterward.”

“There is no way she snogged you!” James gibed. “She's like the hottest girl in school!”

“Yeah, I heard about that kiss,” snickered Sam. “You made a pass at her in the library and she rejected you.”

“Go chew a pinksnake!” snapped Jake, red in the face.

Michael smiled and turned back to the view. A flock of birds took off from the ridge to their north. He could hear dogs barking in that direction, louder than those from the distant town. “Do you hear that?” he asked.

“Hear what?” asked James.

“The dogs,” he said. “I think they scared those birds.”

“So what?” snipped Jake, still irked. “It’s probably someone out for a walk.”

“I just thought that's weird,” Michael shrugged. “I didn't think anyone came here except us, especially during the holiday.”

“Not everyone likes a party,” Jake replied.

“Well, it does sound like they're getting closer,” Sam observed.

They listened as the barking became louder, moving through the trees and chaparral toward their perch on the rock. It sounded like there were at least two dogs and they were pretty agitated.

“I’m going to go check it out,” said Michael. He climbed down the rock with James and Jake after him.

“I’ll stay up here,” said Sam, warily wringing his hands, “Those dogs sound pretty ticked off.”

Michael, James, and Jake reached the bottom of the rock and stared out across the haunting glow of the spring into the thick bushes. It was becoming quite dark and Michael’s eyes could not pierce the tangle of grass and brambles. The dogs were quite loud now.

“Someone’s coming,” announced Sam unexpectedly from right behind Michael, making him jump. He had panicked standing alone and joined the other three.

They could hear the frenzied steps of someone crashing through the bushes. Snapping twigs and tromping shrubs, a figure emerged. He stood across the water, panting heavily, arms held out from his sides. His clothes were ragged and torn and a hood covered his head. His face was dark beneath it, but the cerulean light of the fold glinted off his eyes. They looked terrified.

“Please!” the man begged through tattered breath, “Please help—,” but before he could finish his thought, a barrel-chested dog with a gnarled face and shaggy black mane burst from the undergrowth. It vaulted against the man's back, knocking him face first into the stream. With another swift flurry of black fur, it clamped down on the back of his neck and shook him violently.

The boys stumbled back in shock. The dog twisted the man’s neck as a second hound came snarling out of the bushes.

Michael wasn’t sure what made him the first one to react. Maybe it was seeing the man fall that reminded him of rushing to keep his mother from hitting her head whenever she suffered a seizure. Whatever it was, he knew from the dog’s fury that he had mere seconds to save the stranger.

Michael looked to his side and saw a pair of branches lying on the ground. He grabbed one in each hand and ran into the stream. He jabbed the thinner, pointier stick like a spear at the first dog’s head. It let go of the man’s neck and snapped onto the end of the branch, holding it with its teeth and trying to tug it away. Michael whirled the other, heavier branch and smashed it down on the dog's skull with all his might. As the dog stepped back yelping in pain, the second one lunged for Michael. He sidestepped the attack, but slipped on a rock and fell into the water. With ferocious agility, the beast turned and was snarling over him, its white fangs and red gums bared against its broad black snout. Michael tried to scramble to his feet before those teeth could sink into his throat, but the rocks were slick with algae and he couldn’t lift himself up quick enough.

As the growling beast dove upon him, Michael saw a flash of green foliage and heard a fleshy whump as Sam slammed a branch across its nose.

The hound doubled back in surprise. James charged next, hurling a rock at its head, which missed by a fair distance. That gave the dog a moment to collect itself. It lunged at Sam, catching him by the ankle with enough force to wrench him off his feet. Sam screamed as he collapsed against the rocks.

Michael managed to get to his feet and realized that he was somehow still holding one of the branches. He swung it like a golf club, connecting with the dog's lower jaw.

The beast yelped as Michael brought the branch down for a second blow to its cranium.

The hound was thoroughly jarred and ran back to the far edge of the stream where it was joined by the first beast. They furrowed their snouts and stared irately at the young men. James threw another stone at them, which also missed. The first dog took a tentative step forward and growled as if to attack again. But then Jake hurled a stone, which glanced off its side, and then James threw yet another that connected firmly with the second dog’s face.

Michael beat his club against the rocks and stream, splashing luminous blue rivulets every which way. “Come on!” he challenged the dogs to attack, but they seemed to think better of it, turned, and padded back into the bushes. With a rustle of chaparral, they were gone.

Michael knelt beside Sam who was still lying in the spring, breathing heavily. “Are you okay?” Michael asked.

Sam stared up at the sky for what seemed like a long while. “I think so.” He sat up with a groan and examined his leg, which was bleeding through his sock. “I can’t move it,” he observed with curious calmness. “How’s the other guy?”

James was already turning the stranger over. “He’s not breathing! Give me a hand!” he called.

Jake splashed through the stream and helped him drag the limp man to the bank while Michael helped Sam hobble over. They laid the stranger out in the dust of the trail.

“Is he alive?” asked James.

Jake searched the man for signs of life. “I think his neck is broken.” He pulled back the man’s hood and gasped.

“What is it?” James asked. Then seeing what was wrong, dittoed the exclamation, “Woah! What’s wrong with his face?”

Michael turned to look and was shocked to see a pair of short, curved horns protruding from the top of the man’s completely bald head. One of them ended in a stump that was half jagged and half smooth as if it had been sawn part way then snapped

off. The man’s features otherwise looked human, but Michael could tell even in the low light of dusk that his complexion was awry. He was a dull, grayish-green. Red rivulets flowed from his throat and ran in a dark trail through the gravel to the blue river fold.

“He must have stumbled into a fold,” guessed Jake.

“A fold that turns people’s skin green, makes them grow horns, and sends vicious black dogs after them?” asked James sarcastically.

“My dad has seen folds do a lot of strange things,” said Michael kneeling by the dead man. He picked up a limp green hand. The skin was already growing cold. “It’s not impossible, but that is a pretty unlikely combination of effects…and it definitely doesn’t explain the dogs.” He pointed at the man’s clothes. “Have you ever seen anyone wear something like these?”

“It looks like armor,” observed James.

The man was indeed wearing a leathery-looking chest plate with protective sleeves of thick, black leather. A red star was emblazoned on the front of the chest plate and on each shoulder. He also wore tall black boots that looked more appropriate for combat than jogging through a forest.

“What do we do with him?” asked Jake. “Should we go back to town and find

help?”

“We can’t leave him here,” Michael asserted. “Those dogs will come back as soon

as we’re gone.” He asked Sam how he was holding up. “Um, I’m okay, but my leg is bleeding pretty badly.”

“Do you know any healing techniques?” Michael asked him.

“Yeah, but I’ve never used them on people before. They don’t let first years do

that.”

“Ok, now is probably not the best time for you to try it out,” said Michael. “We

need to wrap up your ankle then.”

“You can use my bandanna,” said James, proffering the sweaty piece of cloth.

They didn’t have anything significantly cleaner, so Michael took it and wound it tightly around Sam’s wound. His ankle was twisted like it could be broken as well.

Michael tightened the bandage and helped Sam onto his one good foot. His friend draped an arm around Michael’s shoulder to support himself.

“Can you guys carry the body?” asked Michael, bracing himself against Sam’s heftiness.

“Are you kidding?” Jake whined. “We barely made it up here just carrying ourselves!”

“Come on, Jake,” said James patronizingly, “It’s downhill almost all the way. We can’t leave him here to be eaten by dogs.”

“Yeah,” added Michael, “and my dad needs to see his face so he can find out where the fold is that did this.”

“Alright,” Jake grumbled, “but I get to carry his feet.”

•••

Despite their adrenaline, it took a long while to descend the mountainside. The wan crescent moon slipping behind the hills did little to light their path as they made their

way through the fields just outside of town. Michael helped Sam hobble along while Jake and James bore the horned man behind.

As they reached the oak tree, Michael’s ear perked up. He could hear dogs barking in the distance, coming from the forest beyond the fields.

“We have to hurry,” he said.

They picked up the pace. Sam limped as fast as he could, groaning with each step. As they reached the vineyards the barking was clearly closer and Michael could tell from their cacophonous calls that there were more of them.

In a sweaty panic, James and Jake overtook Michael and Sam, sprinting as fast as they could with the heavy body. Michael could see the streetlights of his neighborhood not far away. Beyond that, the first fireworks exploded into the sky, signaling the start of the Discovery Day celebrations. The sound of their bursts mixed with the wild clamor of the advancing dogs.

Michael knew that just beyond the farms were his parents and neighbors. The street lights meant safety. People could see them there— people who might come out to help. But there was no time to get there. The dogs were approaching fast. Their raucous howls seemed right behind them.

Michael dragged Sam faster, but the hounds were quicker. Michael was exhausted and covered with sweat. He turned to his friend whose leg was streaming with blood and his face was streaked with dusty tears. They were so close to home, but weren’t going to make it at this pace. Suddenly, it seemed idiotic that his friends were carrying a dead stranger’s corpse instead of Sam. He called out to them to put the body down and come back, but they didn’t hear him. They were too far away or perhaps delirious from exertion.

“Sam, you’re going to have to sit down,” Michael said. “No,” wheezed his friend.

“Sit down,” Michael commanded as calmly as possibly.

Sam looked terrified, but allowed Michael to lower him to the ground. “Michael, we have to run! You have to run!”

Michael ignored his friend and turned around to see a pack of five, black-maned dogs bounding down the trail. Michael bent his knees, and put out his arms, standing as if he was going to push a heavy block. He focused on the dogs in his mind while his eyes blurred, staring into the middle distance. He took a deep breath. He would have liked to take many more, but there was no time. Just as he had practiced that morning over the stove, he imagined a burst of light and flames issuing from his palms, but larger, massive, and powerful enough to stop the snarling horde racing upon them.

“Michael!” Sam begged. “What are you doing?”

But Michael wasn’t listening. He concentrated on his body filling with energy, Moving from his mind to his feet and back again, then imagined all of that energy flowing into his hands, building up to a mighty force. He drew his palms back then thrust them into the air ahead of him. As he did so, he imagined the dogs smashed apart by a blast of fiery light.

Michael returned from his mind’s eye and stared awestruck at the result of his intention. A radiant orange flash was subsiding. His fireball had struck the pack of dogs and sent them flying in a cloud of smoke and flame. But one last dog leapt through the carnage, unharmed and undeterred by the shattered pack.

Michael crouched again, ready to hurl another ball of flame, but he knew there was no time. The dog was already springing through the air. Michael couldn’t think about what he wanted. He couldn’t bring his mind to focus upon the breath and the controlled Movement of energy he needed to save his life. All he could see was the wide pink maw and gleaming white fangs flying at him through the blackening night. He shut his eyes and held them tight.

 

 

Mover of Fate is the first novel in The Creator’s Eye series by author and artist R.N. Feldman. Feldman lives and works in Los Angeles, CA where he teaches at Otis College of Art and Design and spends as much time hiking through the local mountains as he can. Art, metaphysics, useless scientific trivia, and extensive backpacking treks throughout the world have all been major influences in his work.

Follow him on Facebook at www.facebook.com/thecreatorseye

You can also see his latest paintings on www.RoniFeldmanFineArt.com

Website: http://www.rnfeldman.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/thecreatorseye

Twitter: @RNFeldman

Book Blast, Giveaway & Interview: Circumstantial Evidence by @LisaClarkONeill

 

 

Circumstantial Evidence

The Sweetwater Trilogy

Book 3

Lisa Clark O’Neill

Genre: Romantic suspense

Date of Publication: February 26, 2015

ISBN: 1508605998

ASIN: B00U1FH2L4

Number of pages: 475

Word Count: 95,000

Cover Artist: Brian Koch

Book Description:

As Chief of Police in Sweetwater, South Carolina, Will Hawbaker has seen more than his share of violent crime. But none of it has prepared him for the aftereffects of a young boy dead at the hand of his mother’s boyfriend. And when the suspected killer turns up dead himself, it raises more questions. Could this crime which has already shaken the town be even more sinister than it appears?

Camellia Abernathy has seen her own share of heartache following the violent death of the husband she only thought she knew. In returning to Sweetwater, her childhood home, Cam hopes to pick up the pieces of a shattered life for both herself and her young son. One piece of that life includes Will Hawbaker, the man who not only launched the investigation which uncovered her husband’s double life, but with whom she’s been in love since they were teens.

A rapid fire series of events turns both Cam and Will’s lives upside down, drawing them together even as they find themselves in the crosshairs of a killer.

Available at Amazon BN Smashwords

The fog was so thick you could slice it with a knife and serve it up a la mode.

Will Hawbaker scrambled over fallen logs, wading through a sea of saw palmettoes as deep as his waist. The maritime forest was nearly impenetrable, with boggy patches of ground to catch the unwary in its earthen grip, sucking the boots right off your feet if you weren’t careful.

Will paused, shining his flashlight around, the beam a feeble weapon against the moonless night. It was hours yet until daybreak, when the sun would burn off the fog like the wispy vestiges of a bad dream.

And this was definitely a bad dream. One Will wished he could wake up from.

Even at this time of night the air felt like a slow cooker, baking him from the inside out. Sweat rolled down his temples, his back, causing his shirt to cling and his hair to drip salty tears on the fanned leaves of the nearest palmetto. Mosquitoes droned just outside the protective zone of the repellent he’d applied, black clouds swirling through the white.

Nearby, an owl hooted.

This was an uncomfortable environment for an adult, even one who was accustomed to putting himself in danger.

For a child, it had to be terrifying.

“Sam!” Will called out, listening as his voice seemed to be absorbed by the soup-like air.

He heard barking, but couldn’t tell if it was coming closer to him or moving away. The team from the Sheriff’s Department with the bloodhounds had set out at the same time he had, but they’d all headed in different directions.

They had a lot of forest to cover, and not a lot of time. The twenty-four hour window, that critical time after an abduction, was closing fast.

Hearing something – had that been a whimper? – off to his left, Will turned the flashlight that direction.

“Sam?”

Even though no response was forthcoming, Will began moving toward the sound. If the child was hurt, he may not be able to answer. If he was frightened – and why the hell wouldn’t he be? – he may be too terrified to make his hiding spot known.

“Sam!” Will called as he shoved a small sapling out of his way. “I know you must be scared, buddy, but I’m here to help you.”

And because the kid probably didn’t believe jack shit coming from adults right now, especially adults he was supposed to be able to trust, Will didn’t bother to mention anything about being a cop. That wasn’t quite the vote of confidence it once was, anyway. Better to try something on the boy’s level.

“I hear you like dogs,” he said, his voice radiating calm even as he viciously kicked at a vine that wanted to tangle him up in its thorny grip. “Do you hear the dogs barking? They’re looking for you, too.”

Fingers of fog tickled the back of Will’s neck, teasingly cool against his overheated flesh.

Mother Nature was definitely female, Will thought sourly. Soothing and confounding at the same time.

“I like dogs,” Will said conversationally, because what the hell. If nothing else, maybe the boy would get sick of hearing him yapping and tell him to shut up. “You hear those bloodhounds barking? They’re out here looking for you, too. Kind of like Timmy and Lassie.” Will paused, wondering if the kid even knew who that was. Given that this was the age of animated sponges living in undersea pineapples, probably not.

“That was an old show I used to watch, about this awesome collie that was always saving this kid Timmy’s butt. I thought it would be cool to have a dog that could get help when you did something dumb like fall down a well, but I couldn’t have one when I was a kid. My mom didn’t want one. She thought it would mess up the house and was too much responsibility.”

His mother didn’t particularly want him or his siblings either, for much the same reason. But that was beside the point.

“Your mom told me that you’ve been asking for a dog.” Will stopped, shone his flashlight toward the base of the enormous oak tree off to the right. Was that a flash of red he’d just seen?

“But that you two had been debating about that responsibility thing, too. And that line about a boy who can’t even pick up after himself not being responsible enough to take care of a dog? I heard that one too, and it sucks. But the thing is, your mom is kind of right. I think she’s willing to give you a chance though. She told me that when you get back home, safe and sound, she’s taking you to the pound, first thing.”

“Liar!”

Will froze. It had been the merest whisper of sound, ephemeral as the fog itself. He half thought it was wishful thinking on his part.

“Now, I’ve got no reason to pull your leg about that, son. Dogs are a pretty serious business. A lot more serious than putting away your Legos and getting your dirty clothes in the hamper. You’ve got to make sure you feed them and water them and take them for walks… but maybe you’re not ready for all that responsibility.”

“Am too!”

That was definitely no figment of his imagination.

Covering his relief with a look of exasperation, Will followed the voice with the beam of his flashlight.

Nine-year-old Sam Bryant peered back at him from one of the branches of the oak tree.

“Pretty good climber, are you?”

The kid looked terrified, but defiant. “Yes. But my mom…” his voice trembled on the word “tells me that I’m going to fall and break my head.”

“Your head looks pretty hard to me.”

“She’s dead.”

“Excuse me?”

“He…” the kid’s whole lower face started to quiver. “He said my mom was dead. So you’re lying about the dog.”

Will swallowed the curse he wanted to say, but silently wished all the seven plagues to be visited upon the man in question. Hopefully while he was naked. And staked out on a fire ant mound. Why the hell would he say such a thing?

“He lied,” Will told the boy. “He’s the liar.”

He was Matthew Hastings, Sam Bryant’s mother’s boyfriend. After a particularly nasty argument over Hastings’ belief that Sam’s mom was coddling him too much because she was squeamish about Sam learning to hunt, Hastings decided to take the kid out into the woods anyway while his mom was at work. He’d abandoned him there, with no food, no water, and little hope of finding his way out. Apparently this was meant as an illustration of the importance of developing survival skills.

Luckily they’d managed to track Hastings car to this area, a stretch of uninhabited woodland used primarily for a hunting club.

Hastings seemed to have abandoned his car along with the boy, which meant he was in the wind somewhere. But the important thing was that they’d found Sam, alive and in one piece.

At least he looked to be in one piece.

“Sam, I need you to listen to me, okay? Your mom is fine. She’s worried sick, but she’s fine. But I need to know if you’re hurt anywhere.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll just bet.” The kid had been alone in the woods for almost eighteen hours. Given the fact that it was August in South Carolina, dehydration was a given. Will pulled a bottle out of the pocket of his cargo pants.

“Lucky for you I brought some water with me. Now, I have to contact the other people who are looking for you, so that everyone knows you’re okay. Can you climb down from there, or do you need help?”

“I can do it.”

“Good man.” But because Will didn’t want to take any chances, he moved closer to the base of the tree even as he thumbed on his radio. “Found him,” he said, and gave his approximate coordinates. “I’ll give you a status report on his condition just as soon as I have a chance to check him out.”

Fog swirled, obscuring his view of the boy, the tree, and Will moved his flashlight around in an attempt to see through it. “Sam?” he said, but received no answer.

“Sam?” he said again. “Be careful climbing down.”

That would be just what they needed at this point, for the kid to fall out of the tree and actually break his head.

Concern niggled. “Sam? Maybe you should just stay put, buddy, and let me help you.”

Will closed the final distance to the tree, but he tripped over an exposed root near the base and nearly went sprawling.

“Some help I am,” he muttered. “Pretend you didn’t see that,” he called out. But still the boy didn’t respond.

“Sam?” Will aimed his flashlight toward the branch of the tree where he’d last seen the kid sitting. Empty. He started moving the beam lower.

“Sam!” he said one more time when he saw no sign of the boy on any of the branches. The nerves that had so recently calmed began to jump beneath his skin. Shit. Had the boy fallen? He shone his flashlight at the ground, the boiling fog making it nearly impossible to distinguish shapes, around the side, back toward that root he’d tripped –

“Oh Jesus. Oh no.” Will stumbled the two steps that would take him to where the boy lay, dropping down on his knees beside him. How could he have fallen without Will hearing a thing?

“Sam?” Will reached out, turned the boy over.

And felt the blood drain out of his head.

The boy hadn’t fallen. He’d been shot.

And he’d been dead for quite some time.

 

Did you always want to be a writer? If not what did you want to be?

I started off wanting to be a professional ballerina, and then ended up wanting to be a professional artist, which I actually was for a number of years. But my heart wasn’t in it, and if your heart isn’t in your creative endeavor, you should probably do something else.

When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?

After I typed “The End” on my first manuscript.  Nothing quite beats that feeling.

How long did it take to get your first book published?

Around five years.

What is the name of your latest book, and if you had to summarize it in less than 20 words what would you say?

My latest book is called Circumstantial Evidence. Twenty words, huh? This is worse than Twitter… Okay, here goes: Small town police chief becomes embroiled in the most sinister case of career & falls in love with high school crush.

How long does it usually take you to write a book, from the original idea to finishing writing it?

Three to four months, although one book took six. We won’t discuss that, as the main character and I are still annoyed with each other. 

What can we expect from you in the future?  ie More books of the same genre? Books of a different genre?

Now that I’ve completed the Sweetwater Trilogy, I am jumping back to my Southern Comfort series and have quite a few books up my sleeve. You’re probably always going to get romantic suspense with a dash of humor from me. It’s the way my brain is wired.

Do you have a favorite character from your books? And why are they your favorite?

My favorite character is Declan Murphy from Nemesis. He was such an ass in the first Southern Comfort book in which he appeared, and I had to know why. Over the course of his book I discovered that answer and fell in love with the vulnerable young boy inside the body of the cynical man.

Do you have a certain routine you have for writing? ie You listen to music, sit in a certain chair?

I’ve learned that I write much better if I go to Starbucks or another coffee shop. I can tune out the music/noise/people because they’re not my circus, not my monkeys. Writing at home is far more difficult because the people there actually expect me to respond to things like: What’s for dinner?

Do you read all the reviews of your book/books?

I probably shouldn’t, but I do. Curiosity is my downfall. I’m sure I’m through seven of my nine lives by now.

Do you choose a title first, or write the book then choose the title?

Book first, always. I try to have the title repeat a line or at least represent an aspect of the story.

How do you come up with characters names and place names in your books?

In totally random ways – signs I pass, names I overhear, looking them up online. There’s no consistent pattern.

Do you decide on character traits (ie shy, quiet, tomboy girl) before writing the whole book or as you go along?

I do almost everything as I go along. The characters reveal themselves to you if you allow them to do so.

Which format of book do you prefer, eBook, hardback, or paperback?

I used to be a hardback diehard, but Amazon’s one click makes it so, so easy to love eBooks.

Do you think books transfer to movies well? Which is you favorite/worst book to movie transfer?

Some adaptations do a wonderful job, and some miss by a mile. I’ve enjoyed the movie versions of Tolkein’s work, in particular, and think the current Outlander TV series is doing a tremendous job with a very complicated book.

Your favorite Author is?

This is such a difficult question for me. I can’t pick just one, although Karen Rose, Sandra Brown, Jennifer Crusie, Diana Gabaldon, Nora Roberts, Dean Koontz and Julia Quinn are the frontrunners. Oh, and Susan Elizabeth Phillips and Suzanne Brockmann. And JR Ward. And…

 

 

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One fine day in the not-too-distant past, Lisa Clark O'Neill left Wittenberg University with a BA in English, which she promptly neglected. After working as an interior designer, decorative artist, and Montessori art teacher (there may have been a BA in art as well,) she finally settled into the role of mother to two very fine children.

However, two years of doing the stay-at-home-mom brain cell melt drove her to pull out a pen and one of her old college notebooks.

That turned into six manuscripts.

Lisa spent subsequent years avoiding housework by burying her nose in just about every romance novel she could get her hands on, after completely falling in love with the genre. Her own work falls into the romantic suspense sub-genre, with strong comedic undertones.

Lisa currently lives in the Atlanta area with her family, her dog, her cat and her daughter's pet rabbit. When she isn't attempting to keep the rabbit from eating the woodwork, she's hard at work on her next novel.

http://lisaclarkoneill.com/

https://twitter.com/LisaClarkONeill

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lisa-Clark-ONeill-Novelist/287773574604107

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6480066.Lisa_Clark_O_Neill

Cover Reveal & Giveaway: Archangel’s Desire by @karenswart1 #PNR #Romance

Presented by: Sparkle Book Tours





Archangel’s Desire – Archangels’ Series #1 by Karen Swart
Genre: Paranormal Romance – Audience – 18 +  - Formats: E-book and Paperback - Publisher: Karen Swart - Cover By: Janine Fourie - Editor: Jasmin Petricola (Blue Butterfly Editing)  Expected Date of Publishing: April 30, 2015   Raven Black is no martyr, but she has a secret she deems worth protecting. Placed into the care of Zadkiel, the Archangel of Mercy, Raven Black tries with all her might and main to hide her deadly secret. It’s difficult to know who to trust or who to confide in, but Raven knows she’s unwilling to be exploited to get the Archangels’ greatest enemy. She seals her lips, refusing to speak and enduring the ensuing torture in silence.

After centuries of nothing but duty, Zadkiel is tormented by the hellhound Raven. The closer he gets to her, the more he discovers about this lethal beauty. With each passing moment an uncontrollable desire is awakened, and with it an ancient evil is provoked.

When he discovers her secret, Zadkiel must choose between all of mankind and the woman he has come to love. Can he save her in time, or will his failure bring forth the end of days?

He would awaken a desire that would burn through hell.
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I am a complete book addict, and really proud of it. My entire world is made of books. From reading to writing to blogging to helping other authors. A day without my world of books would be impossible. I am a mother of three, two boys and a little princess. Happily married for 8 years with my high school sweetheart. I live in South Africa, just on the rims of the Kalahari Desert in a small town with one shop and friendly faces.
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