C.D. Hersh's Blog, page 123
October 29, 2017
Tell Again Tuesday Inaccuracy
A blog series where we shamelessly share posts from others that we have enjoyed.
Pet Peeves – A Horse of a Different Color
By Nancy Gideon
Today we insecure folk address not our own perceived failings, but look toward the objects of our own annoyances – our pet peeves when reading/writing/editing. I have to look no farther than a multiple NY Times bestseller who in her sexy western historical changed the heroine’s horse from a stallion to a gelding, from a roan to a horse of a different color all while galloping the span of two chapters. And then unzipped the hero decades before that convenient access was invented.
Inaccuracy, thy name is my pet peeve!
When I wrote my first published novel back in the mid-’80s, it was a historical in Regency garb, printed by a major New York house (with a 2nd printing, no less). Avenues for research were the local library, and deets were scarce. There were no special interest loops, no blogs devoted to topics, no Google Search. You were on your own to thumb through musty tomes in hopes of catching errors before they reached reader’s always discerning eyes. Your one saving grace was . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:
?Romance By Any other Name blog
October 26, 2017
Friday Features This Old Cafe
Sweet Romance at its finest is what
Marci Boudreaux
promises and delivers with style. Her books receive top marks for drawing readers into the story with well rounded characters and a plot you can’t help but love. Here is a little from Marci’s new release.
Now serving second chances.
Jenna Reid purchased the Stonehill Café to prove to herself that her ex-husband was wrong…that she could make her dreams come true. Three years later, all she has is a crumbling building, no social life, and her bruised pride.
Pride is something Colonel Daniel Maguire lost long ago and isn’t likely to find living in the alley behind the café. He just needs a little time to get on his feet. In the interim, keeping an eye on the overworked café owner gives him a sense of purpose. He has no intentions of making his presence known until he hears the woman screaming late one night.
He rushes into the café but instead of finding her in dire straits, he finds a broken pipe and Jenna—soaking wet and holding a wrench. With her last bit of hope fading, Jenna accepts Daniel’s help to fix up her building, but it doesn’t take long for them to start trying to fix each other.
This Old Café is available at these retailers:
Amazon – B&N – iBooks – Kobo
As a teen, Marci Boudreaux skipped over young adult books and jumped right into the world of romance novels. She’s never left. Marci lives with her husband, two kiddos, and their numerous pets. Until recently, she was a freelance writer appearing monthly in a variety of local magazines. She now focuses on writing and her work as a content editor.
Romance is her preferred reading and writing genre because nothing feels better than falling in love with someone new and her husband doesn’t like when she does that in real life.
Learn more about Marci Boudreaux on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.
October 23, 2017
Tell Again Tuesday writing value
A blog series where we shamelessly share posts from others that we have enjoyed.
What is Value?
By Toni Kelly
What do you consider value? If you pay to file your taxes is the value you gain as a result of simply filing or is it because your tax guy knows what he is doing and has saved you money year after year? And suppose he really hasn’t done anything special … would the great service and refund you would have gotten anyway merit the extra five hundred you spent walking into a ritzy office I a high rise building downtown? It just might.
This week, my coworkers and I spent a great deal of time talking about perceived value and how it may be even more important than actual value. It’s sort of akin to beauty being in the eye of the beholder. Every person may value something for a different reason. Some like myself love learning, some value time they get back, some value cost savings– some value all three or none or other things completely. It really makes you question what value stands for. You begin to differentiate the true monetary or physical value of something compared to its perceived value.
So why does any of this even matter? . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:
October 21, 2017
Wednesday Special Spotlight Starter Zone
Shines On
Another superb novel from author Chris Pavesic . As a gamer, Chris took a successful giant leap into LitRPG. For those who may not be familiar with the genre, LitRPG is a subgenre of science fiction and fantasy which describes the hero’s adventures within an online computer game. Here is a glimpse of this fascinating new story.
When hydrologists inscribe the consciousness of a human mind onto a single drop of water, a Revelation sweeps the land. The wealthy race to upload their minds into self-contained virtual realities nicknamed Aquariums. In these containers people achieve every hope, dream, and desire. But governments wage war for control of the technology. Terrorist attacks cause massive destruction. The Aquariums fail. Inscribed human minds leech into the water cycle, wreaking havoc.
Street gangs rule the cities in the three years since the fall of civilization. Sixteen-year-old Cami and her younger sister Alby struggle to survive. Every drop of untreated water puts their lives in peril. Caught and imprisoned by soldiers who plan to sell them into slavery, Cami will do anything to escape and rescue her sister. Even if it means leaving the real word for a life in the realms, a new game-like reality created by the hydrologists for the chosen few.
But life in the realms isn’t as simple as it seems. Magic, combat, gear scores, quests, and dungeons are all puzzles to be solved as the sisters navigate their new surroundings. And they encounter more dangerous enemies than any they faced in the real world.
Time to play the game.
CHAPTER ONE
As the sun hovers near the horizon, ready to dip below and plunge the world into darkness, the weather changes for the worse. Clouds gather. Peeking out my window and over the outline of rooftops in the distance is what looks like thunderheads moving toward me in the invisible polluted gusts of wind.
I try not to think about the coming storm as I methodically pull on my boots and zip up my jacket. It is supposed to be waterproof, but I would not risk going out in anything above a light drizzle. Water has a way of seeping through even the best defenses. There’s also a lining that’s overly warm for a summer evening. I’m already sweating and the discomfort adds to my nerves.
I check the hunting knife strapped to my left leg. It was one of the first weapons purchased for me by my dad back when the sporting goods stores were still open for business. He didn’t think I was ready to handle a handgun at thirteen, but he taught me to shoot a rifle in the open fields by our house, helping me hold the weapon steady until I grew strong enough to support the weight. Now, three years later, I have a handgun, a Ruger semi-automatic, but bullets are scarce and loud noises are problematic. My small ammo stash sits in the bottom of my backpack next to the gun.
Instead of the gun, I carry an extra-light crossbow as my go-to weapon. I can hand-make the bolts so I don’t worry about running out of ammunition and the shot is relatively silent. I carry the spare bolts in a quiver strapped to my right leg. It’s awkward when running, but I can draw the bolts fast when needed.
My little sister, Alby, has loaded her own backpack. I lift it to test the weight and then pull a few things out. I place them in my own pack without comment. I help her position the lighter pack over her shoulders, tightening the straps so that it will stay balanced. She always tries to do more than she should, but I don’t like the way her face has a perpetual pinched, strained look or the deep shadows under her eyes. She looks far older than her seven years. This scares me more than everything else and that fear threatens to register on my face. I force myself to stay calm.
I check her raincoat and boots, making sure everything fits snugly. I help Alby pull up the hood of her coat, tucking in a strand of dark hair that has escaped her ponytail. As frightened as she is, she manages to give me a smile. I smile back, trying to present a brave front. As my dad used to say, “fake it till you make it.” Over the last few years, I’ve been faking confidence more and more often for Alby’s sake.
“Ready to go?” I ask with all the false cheer I can muster in my voice. I take one last glance over the motel room that had served as a temporary home for the last few days, looking for anything that we might have left behind. The room is swept clean. No trace whatsoever that we had ever been there.
Alby nods. “Ready, Cami.”
“If we get separated, remember to keep going north,” I say. “Follow the road till you get to the park, then take the walking paths. No matter what happens, keep going. Stop when you get to the Stone River. I’ll meet you at the bridge in the center of the park where we used to feed the ducks, okay?”
She nods again, looking up at me with those dark eyes so full of trust. I hug her, because if we do get separated, there isn’t much hope we will ever see each other again. I need to keep up the pretense of hope, though, because that’s all we have to keep us going.
Stone River Park is at the very limits of the city and the area surrounding it is relatively unpopulated. I figure that once we are out of the city, our chances of survival will dramatically increase. After reaching the park, we can follow the Stone River north. There’s bound to be deserted houses in the country and less chance that any of the gangs would be interested in the meager pickings outside of the city. We might even be able to find a place to stay before winter.
I crack open the door of our motel room. It is still light enough to stain everything with graying shades of color. The setting sun casts long shadows between the buildings, so I depend more upon my ears to find signs of other humans. I hear no motorcycle engines and no voices, only the wind, blowing and moaning, and the far-off call of a bird. The coming storm appears to have cleared the streets. They are deserted except for empty, crashed vehicles abandoned in every lane.
Alby and I had been lucky to reach the motel a few days ago. The single-story building is on the outskirts of the main town and catered to big rig truck drivers and other traffic from the interstate. I had found the skeleton key in the motel office after climbing in through the bathroom window. Alby and I spent the nights scouring every room for supplies.
No one had broken into it before we got there. Too many other rich targets to go around. But inside each room was a mini-fridge filled with snacks. Even though the electricity had been turned off, the chocolates and small bags of honey-coated nuts were edible. The tiny bottles of alcoholic beverages in each fridge did not seem useful, but I kept a few. They might be helpful in starting a fire someday when we made it outside the city. We even discovered coffee filters and a small bottle of chlorine bleach—a major score for treating our drinking water.
If I hadn’t spent days secretly peering out the dark windows of the motel, I might believe my sister and I were the last two people left on earth. But I know that out there, behind the ruined buildings and boarded-up windows, there are at least a few pairs of eyes whose owners would kill us without a second thought. My eyes flick toward the two bodies hanging from the traffic lights in the nearby intersection. They hadn’t been moved. Good.
The daytime usually belongs to looter-gangs, each with spray-can marked territories in bright displays of color that start on the buildings and drip down toward the pavement. The gangs wear something marked as well, usually a jacket or bandanna that will stand out from a distance. The snipers hole up in their nests and target anyone who encroaches on their gang’s territory. They particularly looked for members of other factions trying to increase their terrain.
Paint tags don’t show up well after dark, though, so the gangs have started leaving their victims as warnings to others not to encroach on their holding. These bodies have been hanging undisturbed in the intersection for several days, indicating a lack of activity in the area. I can only hope that the gangs have moved inward, toward the center of the city and more supply-rich targets.
No one is ever going to catch the murderers, or the ones who strung up the bodies like macabre trophies, and put them in jail. They’ll just go on and do it again and again. Like animals in the jungle—except that animals are not cruel.
We were lucky to go unmolested by the local gangs. Heaven knows we don’t look like we have much of anything, and we don’t look threatening, but that will only last for so long. Someday someone will try to kill us, possibly for no other reason than wanting to watch us die. The whole world, it seems, is at war, and no one is on my side except Alby. We only have each other.
A streak of lightning splits the sky almost directly overhead, making me wince. It is followed by a heavy clap of thunder. As frightening as it is, the bad weather is to our advantage. No one wants to be caught outside in the rain. Everyone is more afraid of fresh, untreated water and what it can do than they are of each other. But I believe we can make it out of the area and to shelter before the rain poses any danger.
In fact, I’m betting our lives on it.
Chris Pavesic is a fantasy author who lives in the Midwestern United States and loves Kona coffee, steampunk, fairy tales, and all types of speculative fiction. Between writing projects, Chris can most often be found reading, gaming, gardening, working on an endless list of DIY household projects, or hanging out with friends.
Learn more about Chris on her website and blog.
Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and her Amazon Author Page.
October 19, 2017
Friday Feature Cozy Mystery
Guest talks about
Leftover Delight
by
HL Carpenter
Some days we like to prepare delicious, artistically-plated meals fit for royal company, like the meals served in our cozy mystery A Cause for Murder.
And some days we look in the refrigerator and find half-empty jars of gravy, dollops of extra veggies, bits of cheese, and slices of cooked chicken. On those days, we eat – and enjoy – leftover leftovers. To get your imagination working on your own version of Leftover Leftover Delight, here’s a quick and easy recipe that recently graced the Carpenter Country table.
Leftover Leftover Delight
½ package cooked lima beans
¼ carton feta cheese
¾ jar chicken gravy
1 cup leftover cooked chicken
2 cups crushed potato chips
Preheat oven 350° F.
Place all ingredients except chips in an 8×8 pan. Mix well.
Cover with chips.
Bake until warmed through, about 30 minutes, or use your toaster oven on days when you don’t want to heat up the house.
The best feature of this recipe is the variations – you can add any veggie, substitute cream soup for the gravy, use beef or pork instead of chicken, and crush corn chips for the topping instead of potato chips. So go crazy with those leftovers!
And while you’re waiting for your Leftover Leftovers to heat up, enjoy an excerpt from our cozy mystery, A Cause for Murder.
Septuagenarian sleuth Emma Twiggs thinks her neighbor’s death was an accident – until her friend Arnie says he suspects murder.
Arnie is convinced he knows the killer’s identity. He wants Emma to prove it.
Is Arnie right? And is he right in his belief that Emma’s best friend is the killer’s next target?
As Emma navigates madcap mayhem, multiple mysteries, and murderous motives, she discovers more than one person is hiding deadly secrets.
The question is, who has a cause for murder?
EXCERPT
It wasn’t the food. Happy Haven Retirement Community’s chef prepared delicious, artistically plated roast beef and mashed potatoes every Sunday evening.
Emma Twiggs set down her fork. No, the food wasn’t the problem.
It wasn’t the chatter or the whispers in the dining room, or the sidelong glances of other Happy Haven residents. Happy Haven was a hotbed of gossip and rumors. Being the topic du jour was familiar territory.
It certainly wasn’t her dinner companion. Arnie Bracken was always charming, kind, and intelligent, no matter what her best friend Olli thought.
No, food, chatter, and Arnie, combined or singular, were not the cause of her uneasiness.
The problem –
“I know what you’re thinking, Em,” Arnie said.
“Do you?” She picked up a glass of lemon-spritzed water and tried to swallow past the tightness in her throat. She could only hope he had no idea of what she was thinking.
“Sure.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You’re wondering how someone as fit as Jo accidentally drowned in the swimming pool.”
Emma froze. Her fingers tightened on the glass. The chatter in the room faded into muted background noise. She had deliberately not been thinking about Jo. She would not think about Jo. How did Arnie know she’d been thinking about Jo?
“I’ll tell you how,” he said. “Jo was murdered, and Cahan murdered her.”
“I am not thinking about – Murdered?” The lump in her throat expanded to the size of the Brussels sprouts on her plate. “By Todd?”
“Murdered. By Cahan. And we need to prove he did the deed.”
“Arnie.” Emma set the glass on the table and uncurled her fingers from it. She coughed to clear the non-existent Brussels sprout from her throat. “The paramedics told us Jo’s death was accidental. An accidental drowning.”
“Yeah, I know all the euphemisms they used.”
Emma did too. The headline in Harmony Notes, the local daily, had read TRAGIC ACCIDENT AT HAPPY HAVEN. Unfortunate was the word murmured most frequently at the funeral service, followed closely by regrettable.
She said, “Harmony’s police department and the district medical examiner agreed with the paramedics.”
“They’re wrong.”
A trickle of condensation wept down the side of the glass and puddled into a teardrop on the table. All the words used to describe Jo’s death were wrong. Wrong and inadequate. Words were inadequate now too.
Because this was the problem she had been avoiding.
Her role in Jo’s death.
Amazon Buy Link
Florida-based mother/daughter author duo HL Carpenter write sweet, clean fiction that is suitable for everyone in your family. The Carpenters write from their studios in Carpenter Country, a magical place that, like their stories, is unreal but not untrue. When they’re not writing, they enjoy exploring the Land of What-If and practicing the fine art of Curiosity. Visit their website to enjoy gift reads and excerpts and to find out what’s happening in Carpenter Country.
Stay connected on Pinterest, Linkedin, Google+, and their Amazon Author Page.
October 17, 2017
Wednesday Special Spotlight Health Nut Café
Shines On
Rhonda Frankhouser
Lost souls fall in love at the Health Nut Café
Imagine recognizing someone you’ve never seen before…
Becka Clemmons’ one true passion is running the Health Nut Café. Awakened every morning by the same nightmare, Becka sees the world through tainted eyes. She’s never believed in fairytale romances until Jonathan Parker walks through the café door one cool, foggy morning. She struggles to understand why this familiar stranger makes her crave things she’s never craved. Solving the mystery of Jonathan is the first thing that has ever taken her focus away from her cafe.
Imagine missing someone you’ve never met…
Jonathan Parker is the idealistic son of old money who knows exactly what he wants. Day after day, he searches to find the missing connection that eludes him, until the morning he lays eyes on Becka. He knows his search is over but the struggle to make her believe has just begun. From that moment, he works to prove to Becka that they belong together.
Will Becka let herself believe? Will Jonathan’s family ruin their chance at love?[image error]
EXCERPT
I cupped the cool, clear water in my hands, letting it filter through the tiny crevices between my fingers. I watched a brilliant colored spider make her way across her water-jeweled web toward an unlucky fly. Above me, the sun shone across the mist, creating a rainbow that rippled in three directions. Lying now on a rock at the edge of the pool, I closed my eyes and dreamt of a time when my life would make more sense.
I must have fallen asleep because I jolted awake when I heard a voice from the landing just above where I lay.
“Becka,” the call echoed off the water and walls. At first I thought I was dreaming, so I lay still and let it come. The familiar voice became clearer when my name was called again, this time from a point closer than the last.
“Becka, are you all right?” The deep baritone whisper was so sensual it made me smile. I didn’t open my eyes until I felt a hand caress my shoulder. Even then, I couldn’t believe I was awake.
“Are you all right?” Jonathan removed his pack and sat next to me on the rock, touching my cheek with the palm of his hand.
I gathered everything inside my heart and soul and tried to move away, feeling caged by the intimate way he leaned over me. The concern in his eyes held me down until he saw that I was okay.
“Thank goodness.” He didn’t move away. “I thought you’d passed out again.”
“What the hell?” I sat up straight and scooted back. My voice was controlled, though my question was demanding. “Did you follow me here?”
“I followed you and Annie from the resort, yes. It was your mother’s idea for me to come to Hawaii. She told me where to find you.”
“Why would she do that?” I stood up and took a step away.
“She thought I should come here and talk to you.” He watched me as I slowly put distance between us.
I remembered my mother’s coy smile when she gave me the airline tickets, and I knew in that instant that he was telling the truth. My mother’s meddling frustrated me. “That figures.”
I gazed over his slightly squared, handsome face. Not handsome in the pretty sense, more the serious, rugged sense. His wavy hair was tucked behind his ears, the mist brightening the lighter strands. The eyebrows of a slightly darker shade were manly, but not too bushy. His skin was bronzed with a fresh tropical tan, and those kissable lips were shadowed by a day-old beard. A satisfied smile broke when he noticed my perusal, but I didn’t stop staring until I caught those eyes, the color of the deepest part of the ocean.
“How old are you?” I asked, finding no noticeable wrinkles. The oddness of the question at that particular moment surprised us both.
“Twenty-nine.” He slowly stood up and moved toward me.
“Oh.” I watched him carefully.
“Does age matter to you, Becka?” He raised his hand.
“Matter for what?”
“Does it matter how old I am if you want me and I want you?” He took another small step, closing the distance. “Besides, your mother already told me you’ve only got me by a few years. I like older women.” He winked and flashed that disarming smile again.
LINKS
Webpage: rhondafrankhouserbooks.com
Facebook page: Rhonda Frankhouser Books
Twitter page: @RJFrankhouser
BIO – 
Rhonda Frankhouser has been an author with SoulMate Publishing since November of 2016. Her debut novel, Return to Ruby’s Ranch, earned an InD’Tale Magazine RONE Finalist award, and Uncaged Magazine Raven Finalist, and a Books and Benches Reviewer’s Top Pick, Seal of Distinction. Her second release, Health Nut Café, is due out in Fall of 2017. Rhonda lives with her own knight in shining armor in central California, with her two pug puppies, Geddy and Ruby, and their beautiful Labrador, Dutch.
October 16, 2017
Tell Again Tuesday finding you muse
A blog series where we shamelessly share posts from others that we have enjoyed.
How To Find Your Lost Writer’s Muse #WritersLife #ASMSG #Writer
By Lucy Mitchell
This year my writer’s muse has gone missing in action A LOT! When I get a spare moment I will be checking her contract because I don’t believe I hired her to:
•Disappear for weeks on end with no note or clue as to where she is going.
•Return whenever she feels like it, usually in the small hours when I am fast asleep and cuddling my Writers’ & Artists’ Yearbook of 2017.
•Tempt and tease me with an array of delicious story ideas and then at about eight thousand words vanish.
When your writer’s muse runs off it can be quite scary. The door to your writer’s brain becomes . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:
October 12, 2017
Friday Feature Coming Soon
Blockbuster conclusion to the Sun God’s Heir trilogy
REDEMPTION
by
Elliot Baker
Coming October 18, 2017 a new action adventure novel by Elliot Baker. REDEMPTION, Book Three of the Sun God’s Heir trilogy, ties up the series with the same punch and pizzazz as the previous books. REDEMPTION does not fail to capture you.
Death is not life’s final stop. There are worse ends.
Two brothers, once disciples of the Pharoah Akhenaten, reincarnate in seventeenth century France. From Spain to Morocco to Egypt, one is determined to rule, the other to protect.
Horemheb, driven to destroy his brother and end their ancient rivalry, invites an African shaman to assist in recovering ancient artifacts of power that will ensure his dominance. Twice before, these artifacts have raised and then destroyed civilization.
The other, Rene Gilbert, escapes from the murderous sultan of Morocco, closely followed by the sultan’s personal guard, the Bukhari. Trained from childhood, these assassins live to kill.
Now, in the blockbuster conclusion to the Sun God’s Heir trilogy, Rene must find a way to fulfill a commitment made lifetimes ago. His long journey across the ages hurtles toward its climax, with the fate of his soul, and perhaps our very world, in the balance.
Award winning novelist and international playwright Elliott Baker grew up in Jacksonville, Florida. With four musicals and one play published and performed throughout the United States, New Zealand, Portugal, England, and Canada, Elliott has turned to writing novels. His debut novel, The Sun God’s Heir: Return, Book One of the trilogy, was released this past January.
A member of the Authors Guild and the Dramatists Guild, Elliott lives in New Hampshire with his beautiful wife Sally Ann.
Learn more about Elliot Baker on his website. Stay connected on Twitter and Facebook. Like Elliott’s Author Page or Facebook Page to learn all his latest news.
October 11, 2017
Let’s Get This Cookbook Party Started
Highlights
A cookbook that is FREE as a gift from us to you for the holidays. Be sure to get your copy today!
Who doesn’t love the holidays? You get to bond with family and friends, shop till you drop for that perfect gift, decorate the house to your heart’s desire, plan a meal worthy of gracing your table, and attend all those fabulous parties. Wait…hope I didn’t exhaust you already? Yes, we ALL love holidays and celebrations, no matter what time of year they fall, but it can get a little (okay, a lot) overwhelming when it comes time to prepare for those holiday meals and parties when you’re working a full-time job, and taking care of your family’s needs.
How about some relief from the stress and pressure of figuring out what to serve your hungry guests during holiday get-togethers, events, or celebrations?
Cue a holiday-inspired cookbook written by the following thirteen busy authors, of various ages and genres:
Carol Browne
HL Carpenter
Sara Daniel
Dominique Eastwick
Leigh Goff
C.D. Hersh
Vonnie Hughes
Alicia Joseph
Emma Lane
Sharon Ledwith
Anne Montgomery
Chris Pavesic
Sloane Taylor
These wonderful writers have created recipes that will make your life easy and simple when it comes time to prepare tantalizing appetizers, tasty beverages, mouth-watering cookies, and decadent desserts.
The ABCDs of Cooking with Writers is your go-to recipe book for entertaining over the holiday seasons, hosting events, or celebrating that special day. Compiled by Sloane Taylor—a gourmet cook in her own right—and designed by mother-daughter duo HL Carpenter, the included recipes have been tested and approved of by the most finicky family members. Oh, and did I mention that it is FREE?
So why not have your cake and eat it too? Yes, pun intended. You’ve got nothing to lose, and time to gain when you download The ABCDs of Cooking with Writers. There’s a recipe for every holiday, celebration, or event in your life. Give yourself a gift this holiday season with a cookbook from thirteen writers who share their favorite recipes and tips to help relieve the stress in your busy life.
Download your FREE E-Pub cookbook at Smashwords.
October 10, 2017
Wednesday Special Spotlight The Soul Mate Tree book ten
Shares
Soul Song
by
Mikea Howard
THE LEGEND OF THE SOUL MATE TREE:
I am old, I am ancient, my purpose is clear
To give those who are needy a treasure so dear.
They who come to my roots, touch my bark, stroke my leaves
Find the soul of their lives if they but believe.
When I call and you listen, your prize will be great
If your heart remains open and you don’t hesitate.
Do you yearn? Be you lonely? Is your time yet at hand?
Reach for me and I’ll give to you. I’m yours to command.
For your trust, for your faith, keep my secrets untold
And I’ll gift you forever, to have and to hold.
[image error]
An ancient legend spanning eras, continents, and worlds. To some, it’s nothing more than a dream. To others, a pretty fairy tale handed down through the generations.
For those in critical need of their own happy ending, a gift.
Dottie thought she had it all: a successful singing career, a handsome fiancé, and a starlet’s wardrobe. Sudden betrayal brought it all crashing down around her. Those she trusted most played her as nothing more than a pawn. One misstep while fleeing the scene trapped her in another world alone, save a mysterious visitor.
Guatimozin, an eagle shifter, has spent ages assisting people through the realm between life and death, leading them to join loved ones on either side. No one had ever made him want anything for himself until he discovered this city girl.
Forces plot against them and time is short. Soon, their chance for a happily ever after will be too late.
Buy Link Soul Song
Book Trailer for The Soul Mate Tree Series:
Soul Song Trailer:
Excerpt:
Dottie wiped the tears from her face. Damn him, and damn his floosy too. She’d do what her mother constantly threatened her stepdad with, and remove his cock to wear it proudly on a chain around her neck.
I jus’ gotta find a way out of this kooky forest first.
Making her way back onto her feet, she dusted off her dress in a mindless motion. The fabric passed beneath her strokes smooth and dirt free. She studied the once vibrant red dress she’d worn on stage. The satin now appeared drab and colorless. Her bare feet peeked from beneath its hem, as clean as the moment she’d dabbed them dry from her bath. The blind sprint from her dressing room, across town, and up the hill, should have left them covered in filth.
In exasperation, she threw her arms in the air. “Swell. I mus’ be dead and I’m . . .”
She moved away from the tree to scrutinize her surroundings. As much as Dottie hoped she’d end up in heaven, her mother always insisted that, as a willful child trying to pass as something she wasn’t, her final destination would be a bit further down.
The sensation of electricity passing through the air made every hair stand on end as a matter-of-fact reply came from behind. “No, you aren’t dead, but you’re not exactly alive either. You’re in a realm known as the in-between.”
Spinning around, Dottie came face to face with a stranger. Like the tree, he appeared in color, only he wasn’t pink and purple. Instead, a tall man with reddish tan skin, swirling silver eyes, and waist length striking black hair, stared at her as though regarding a ghost. Thick muscular arms crossed over his chest as his shocked expression eased into a slow smirk, highlighting the defined beak-like nose, high cheekbones, and strong chin framing his mouth.
Nervously licking her lips, she couldn’t help but muse, Di Mi. Well hello, sailor.[image error]
Buy Link Soul Song
Bio:
Writing under Mikea Howard, we are actually Mindy Howard and Kelly Smith, sisters-in-law who share a love for romance, usually paranormal. We have spent the last several years reading and sharing books as well as authors, often making comments about how we’d love to write our own when we ran out of things to read.
While based on our TBR piles, we have not run out of reading material, we decided to write when the muse hit Kelly with a dystopian diesel world and an opening scene with the heroine running out into the woods. Mindy then saw her hero step in, and The Diesel War series was born.[image error]
When Cheryl Yeko and Char Chaffin (AKA CiCi Cordelia) asked us to join this project, we knew exactly who needed this magical tree to find his soul mate. Soul Song is a stand-alone, but set within our Diesel War Series. It is actually Book 2.5, taking place at the same time as Book 3.
We love meeting readers, and try to get to at least two conventions a year. Of course, if we can’t meet in person, you can always find us at the following places:
Find Mikea Howard at:
Website Facebook Twitter Goodreads Instagram Amazon Author page
Other blogs/info on The Soul Mate Tree books:
Book One: Realm of the Dragon, by CiCi Cordelia, Blog post
Book Two: Can’t Stop the Music, by C.D. Hersh, Blog post
Book Three: Between Venus and Mars, by S.C. Mitchell, Blog post
Book Four: The Trail to Love , by Tina Susedik, Blog post
Book Five: Make Me a Match , by Mackenzie Lucas, Blog post
Book Six: A Promise Remembered , by Erin Riley, Blog post
Book Seven: Never Give Up On Love , by Maggie Mundy, Blog post
Book Eight:Once Upon a Lady by Addie Jo Ryleigh, Blog post
Book Nine: Sweet Sacrifice by L.D. Rose, Blog post
