C.D. Hersh's Blog, page 123
December 25, 2017
Tell Again Tuesday Regency Christmas
A blog series where we shamelessly share posts from others that we have enjoyed.
Christmas in the Regency
By Jude Knight
Jude Knight Highlights Christmas romance and reminds us how it was celebrated in the Regency
With Christmas just around the corner, I’ve been wrapping presents, decorating the house, and making lists of ingredients for Christmas baking. I’ve been writing and reading Christmas stories set in the Regency, and thinking about the differences between then and now. And I’m publishing my own box set of novellas and novelettes set at Christmas.
Party on, dude
Many of the Christmas practices we think of as traditional began in. . .
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December 21, 2017
Friday Features Bread Pudding
Guest talks about
When Good Yeast Goes Bad, It’s Time for Dessert!
by
Chris Pavesic
In baking, the primary function of yeast is to make dough rise. By partially consuming the sugars in the flour the natural metabolism of these microorganisms produces carbon dioxide and ethanol that cause an increase in volume during baking.
Yet yeast can get old. If it is exposed to air or humidity, it may not function correctly. Even a bread machine cannot produce a light, fluffy loaf if the yeast has “gone bad.”
But the loaf is still edible, if somewhat “heavy” or “dense.” It might be a bit misshapen, but it generally tastes good. So what can someone do with a lumpy loaf?
Bread puddings are a great way to transform the unfortunate loaf into a delicious dessert. Add some chocolate and fruit and suddenly the lumpy loaf is the star of the meal!
Note: This can also be prepared with a regular loaf of bread, but it won’t provide as much humor.
BREAD PUDDING
5 large eggs
¾ cup firmly packed brown sugar
3 cups milk
1 tbsp. vanilla extract
1 loaf of bread (about 10 ounces) cut or torn into 1-inch cubes
1½ cups dried fruit (my family loves blueberries or cherries.)
9 oz. bittersweet chocolate chips
Preheat oven to 350° F.
Mix eggs, brown sugar, milk, and vanilla extract in a large bowl. Add handfuls of bread cubes, fruit, and chocolate chips in alternating layers, stirring with each addition.
Now it’s time to get busy. Roll up your sleeves and mix everything together. You want to get some of that flavorful liquid onto every scrap of bread. The mix may seem a little dry. Resist the urge to drown it in more milk or you will end up with a soggy dessert.
Coat a 13 x 9 inch baking dish with butter. Press the mixture into the pan. If you like a dense, heavy bread pudding, keep pressing until there is no air left. If you prefer yours fluffier, just pile it in and spread it around.
Bake uncovered for 45-55 minutes. The top will become a wonderful crunchy brown while the middle stays moist.
Be careful when you remove the pudding from the oven. It’s easy to pick away at the entire dish—whether you are going after a piece of the crusty top, a chewy berry, or a melting chunk of chocolate.
While you indulge in this fantastic dessert, enjoy a brief glimpse into my new novel, Starter Zone.
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.
AMAZON BUY LINK
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.
December 19, 2017
Wednesday Special Spotlight New Book
If paranormal and urban fantasy are your thing then you are sure to enjoy this debut novel from Yasmine Phoenix. Years of plotting and planning and rewriting gave life to Resurrection, Book One in the Witches Brew series. We hope you enjoy this introduction.
Sometimes to do good you have to do bad.
Sophia Sullivan is a dedicated doctor who is also a powerful but untrained witch. Sophia has worked hard to keep her two worlds apart. Recently her older brother died and her best friend committed suicide. Gabrielle’s mother is furious over her child’s death and holds Sophia’s womanizing brother responsible. Lady Morgan plots to use dark magic to open the portal that separates the living and the dead. She will return Sebastian to life and save her daughter’s soul. Two acts that mean either immediate death or the destruction of Chicago.
Sophia tries to stop the witch, fails, the portal opens, and her brother escapes. Now Sebastian needs a body. And that body becomes that of a young black man. Neither man is delighted.
Now Sophia has hard choices to make that include using her fledging magic. Choices she spent her life avoiding. Can she save her friend’s soul, return her brother to the other side of the portal, and free the young man all within forty-eight hours and not be discovered by the Pagan leaders? She must decide to either honor her oath as a doctor and save a life, or her oath as a witch to protect Chicago even if it means her death.
EXCERPT
“I’m going to save my daughter’s immortal soul. She’s been denied an afterlife because of her suicide. If anyone is unfit, it’s your brother. What did he get for his transgressions when he died? Perpetual reflection. He’s just as much responsible as if he’d poured those pills down her throat. Again the rich and powerful get away with murder.” The word dripped sarcasm and disgust from her lips.
“Lady Morgan, you’re not listening to me. You haven’t thought through what could go wrong.”
“I found an ancient spell that will allow me to save my child.”
“Opening the portal is dangerous and forbidden.”
“I don’t care.”
“You could release him…”
“I don’t care.”
“You could kill yourself and William.”
“I don’t care.”
“You could fail to save Gabrielle’s soul.”
“Then we all die.” She shrieked and raised her knife at me. Then she calmed down and smiled. The type of smile that told you the person believed what they were doing was right and they were crazy.
William mouthed, ‘Sorry’ as tears streamed down his ashen face.
I lowered my head and closed my eyes. Our families had been close for years. Gabrielle and I grew up together. We shared vacations and secrets. She cared for me during my med school days. I found her body. She addressed her suicide note to me. If anyone had the insane idea to save her soul, “t should have been me.
“You aren’t strong enough to open the portal.” I made one final desperate attempt.
“Well look around sweetie. The portal is opening. It seems the all mighty Pagan council and the legendary Peregrine coven don’t know everything.” Lady Morgan tapped her temple with her finger.
Don’t call me, sweetie.
I clenched my fists as anger and sympathy jockeyed for control. My magic raged to be turned loose and battle the witch.
Lightning struck the brick. Bits exploded on the ground. My eardrums throbbed with its loud crackle. Lady Morgan returned to her ceremony and ignored me. I was no threat to her as long as I remained outside the circle. I had to convince her invite me in, and then…. The fog closed in on the circle. I stumbled forward and placed myself between it and Lady Morgan.
Richard offered his arm for support.
“Well she’s gone old school,” he said.
“Resurrection spell?”
He nodded.
“Enlighten me. My knowledge of ancient dark rituals is rather light. And make it quick.”
“If you want to save the soul of a witch who has committed suicide, she must confront the reasons for taking her life. Once they do and beg forgiveness from the person her death hurt the most, she could be forgiven, her soul cleansed, and she might be granted an afterlife.”
“Might? Could?” I tried to dissect the components of the spell. Something was off, missing. Gabrielle had been dead five days. She wasn’t inside the portal – yet.
The fog whirled faster. Its low moan morphed into a high screech. Richard’s mouth moved but I couldn’t hear what he said.
“What?”
“Gabrielle isn’t on the other side. Lady Morgan wants—.
“Sebastian!” She held him responsible for Gabrielle’s death. She was going to make him pay for all the pain she’d suffered.
“No Lady Morgan, don’t release him. I demand you stop.”
I stepped closer. Perspiration sizzled on my cheeks. She ignored me. Richard reached for my arm.
Lady Morgan smiled as if she were winning. Her smile waned when she looked at the fog. Her eyes lit up with fear. A skeletal leg stepped out and then its fleshless bony body.
The immense magic was mesmerizing.
It was beautiful.
Hypnotic.
Deadly.
“Lady Sophia Sullivan.”
Richard’s voice snapped me back. The skeletal figure strolled past me. Its preternatural presence pulled me close. Its confident stride, arrogant demeanor reminded me of my brother. I sensed Sebastian’s presence.
“Lady Morgan’s shoulders slumped. She tried to catch her breath. She’d pushed her magic to the brink and it was killing her. There was no way she could finish, but she’d opened the portal.
“Lady Morgan, I offer my assistance.” The words tumbled out of my mouth.
]
“What? Are you kidding?” Richard squeezed my arm.
I rubbed his fingers and then stepped away. “Trust me and follow my lead,” I whispered. I swallowed the urge to vomit. I wasn’t going to let anyone die tonight and I wasn’t going to let him out.
“I… don’t… don’t… need …your help.”
There was fear and doubt in her voice. I used it, convinced her I was on her side, at least until she granted me entrance.
“Yes you do. You’re weakening under the power of the portal. William can hardly hold himself upright. You need….” The name seared my tongue. “You need a Peregrine. You need — me.”
Buy Links: Amazon – Kobo
Yasmine ‘Yas’ Phoenix was born and raised in Virginia but calls Chicago home. She loves tennis, professional and amateur and plays in local leagues. Her writing block is the four major Grand Slams, Indian Wells, and other tournaments. No, she can’t tape then watch. Yas loves to read, especially murder mysteries. She is a Terry Pratchett, Discworld fan, and scans the news for potential plot ideas. Melding romance and paranormal in her stories is her goal. Yas always asks the question, “What if?” She is a sucker for old black and white movies like Casablanca on one hand, and Deadpool on the other. She believes her family is her greatest gift and support.
Learn more about Yasmine Phoenix on her website. Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.
December 18, 2017
Tell Again Tuesday History
A blog series where we shamelessly share posts from others that we have enjoyed.
The Anti-Opium Crusader
By Caroline Warfield
Not all the interesting and colorful characters from the 1830s were British. Lin Zexu, also known as Lin Tse-hsu, a Chinese scholar and government official, rubbed against the British mercantile ambitions of that era with dogged determination and incorruptible integrity. Unfortunately, the First Opium War broke out as one unintended consequence of his efforts. The humiliating defeat and resulting unequal treaty caused in Lin’s downfall. He became a scapegoat and spent much of his remaining years banished to the mountainous central-Asian Xinjiang frontier province of Xinjiang. Today he is widely regarded as a hero in China.
Born August 30, 1785, in in Fujian province in relative poverty, his father, a teacher, made sure he received a classical Confucian education. His brilliance. . .
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December 14, 2017
Friday Features Wild Whispers
New book
Wild Whispers
by
Ryan Jo Summers
Set against the exciting backdrop in the chase for the Triple Crown and filled with mystical surprises. Season is not a witch, but she can make a horse run and Ty’s heart race.
Season Moriarty is part fey and part druid. She can see the future and alter it. She welds control over the natural elements of earth, wind, fire and water as well as manipulating life and death. And she is an accomplished racehorse trainer, able to get any horse to run like the wind. Now Season has landed the dream job that will test all of her skills and abilities.
Ty Masters runs his horse racing business with an iron fist. No one dares to question him. He hires Season based on her reputation. Then they meet. Immediately, she questions him, challenges him, infuriates him, intrigues him, captivates him, and even intimidates him a little. Then she spellbinds him. But can she make a Triple Crown winner out of his willful colt?
Mysterious threats to Ty’s racehorses bring him and Season together in another kind of race against the clock. As the stakes for the Triple Crown rises and the identity of who wants to destroy Ty, so does the undeniable interest and fiery sparks between them.
Buy link for Wild Whispers
Bio:
Ryan Jo Summers writes mashed romances. Sweet love stories that include any combination of contemporary theme: Christian, humor, mystery, paranormal, shape shifting, suspense, or time travel. She writes non-fiction pieces for various magazines. In addition to a full time job, and a full time writing career, she also has a pet sitting business. She comes from a family of wordsmiths, with members who have been song writers and poets.
In her limited free time, she likes to read, escape to the wilderness and rivers, visit with friends and family, or just hang with her pets. She enjoys chess, crafts, painting, poetry, and word find puzzles. She lives in a century-old mountain cottage in North Carolina with a menagerie of rescued animals and way too many house plants.
My social media links:
December 12, 2017
Wednesday Special Spotlight YA fantasy novella
Shines On
Keeper of the Dawn by Dianna Gunn
Dianna is here sharing her post about the power of stories of hope. SO, take it away Dianna.
Thank you Catherine and Donald for sharing your blog with me today.
The world today is awash in grimdark fantasy and dystopian science fiction, and we’re sure to see an even bigger surge in both genres now that we’ve entered the era of Trump and Brexit. I personally know half a dozen authors who have been inspired to write new dystopian stories, including myself.
Keeper of the Dawn, my debut YA fantasy novella, is a different kind of story. It is a story of hope. There are many struggles along the way, even periods of hopelessness, but in the end hope always returns.
I don’t believe that the timing of my publication is a coincidence. Hope is incredibly precious, and stories of hope are more important now than they have ever been. It is so easy to feel hopeless about everything going on in the world, with governments and corporations working together to destroy our planet and steal our rights. Stories of hope, even fictional ones, help us imagine a brighter future for ourselves.
My wish is that Keeper of the Dawn will remind you there is always hope, even after devastating failures.
All Lai has ever wanted is to become a priestess, like her mother and grandmother before her, in service to her beloved goddess. That’s before the unthinkable happens, and Lai fails the trials she’s trained for her entire life. She makes the only choice she believes she can: she runs away.
From her isolated desert homeland, Lai rides north to the colder, stranger kingdom of Alanum – a land where magic, and female warriors, are not commonplace.
Here, she hears tales about a mountain city of women guardians and steel forgers, worshipping goddesses who sound very similar to Lai’s own. Determined to learn more about these women, these Keepers of the Dawn, Lai travels onward to find their temple. She is determined to make up for her past failure, and will do whatever it takes to join the sacred order.
Falling in love with another initiate wasn’t part of the plan.
Keeper of the Dawn is a story of new beginnings, second chances, and the endurance of hope.
EXCERPT
Lai practiced until well after dark, ignoring the call for supper. She tore a massive hole into one of the dummies with a training sword in her rage, but it didn’t make her feel better. She had spent most of her life training for this day, and Kaiden ruined it with a few words about their father.
Eventually she gave up and collapsed in a heap on the ground, pulling her knees up to her chest so she could rest her chin on them. She forced herself to breathe deeply, using all her willpower to push the rage into the ground. Bit by bit it drained into the soil around her, dispersing harmlessly.
She sat like that in the clearing until clouds engulfed the stars and rain started pouring, one of the last rains before the dry weeks of summer. Lifting the hood of her robes to cover her head, she rose and hurried towards the temple.
Her left foot caught on something and Lai flew through the air, losing her grip on her sword and landing face first in a puddle. Her nose shattered when it smashed into the tough ground, and when she grabbed it to feel the damage her hand came away covered in equal parts mud and blood. Her stomach churned as she picked herself back up, her whole body aching.
Something sharp pierced her back, tearing into her skin and muscles like sharp fire. She screamed and fell face first to the ground. She caught herself on her forearms, avoiding bashing her head against the rocky path.
Lai’s attacker pulled the knife out of her shoulder. She screamed as warm blood flowed freely down her back, mixing with the rain. Fiery agony filled her body, blurring her vision. She gritted her teeth and flipped over to face her attacker.
She froze at the familiar sight of white robes with golden cuffs. Another initiate. Her hood hid her face completely.
Lai gathered her strength with a deep, ragged breath and reached for her training sword. The initiate kicked Lai in the back then stomped on her wrist, grinding bone under her boot, sending sharp waves of pain up Lai’s arm.
“You understand, it has to be me.”
Lai knew that voice, but she couldn’t focus on it through the pain, couldn’t remember who it was.
The initiate seized a clump of Lai’s hair and yanked her head backwards. She knelt and raised her knife towards Lai’s exposed throat.
Something knocked the initiate into Lai’s back. Black spots appeared at the edges of her vision as agony surged outward from her wound. The other initiate didn’t move, suffocating Lai with her weight. Lai tried to lift herself up with her elbows, but a fresh wave of pain knocked the wind out of her. She col¬lapsed onto her stomach and closed her eyes, willing her body to die quickly.
AMAZON BUY LINK
Dianna L. Gunn is a freelance writer by day and a fantasy author by night. She had known she wanted to be a writer since she was eight years old. Dianna wrote her first novel for Nanowrimo at the age of eleven years old, but quickly discovered that writing books is not an easy way to make a living. So she decided to broaden her horizons, seeking another career that still allowed her to work with words.
Her freelance writing career started when she became a marketing intern at Musa Publishing(now defunct) in September 2011 and quickly became a staff writer in charge of multiple imprint blogs. Since then she has worked with a variety of small businesses and non-profits to improve their online brands and create long term marketing strategies. Some of her most notable work has been for the tech education non-profit STEAMLabs and natural dog care company ProPooch. She is dedicated to helping her clients build successful brands and making their dreams come true.
Need help creating awesome content for your business? Send an email to diannalgunn@gmail.com explaining what your needs are, and she will help you.
When she isn’t helping her clients bring their dreams to life, Dianna can be found working on her own dream of being a successful fantasy author.
Dianna blogs about writing, creativity, and books at The Dabbler.
Learn more about Dianna on Facebook and follow her on Twitter.
December 11, 2017
Tell Again Tuesday Classic Cocktail
A blog series where we shamelessly share posts from others that we have enjoyed.
10 Interesting Facts About Martinis
By Joanne Guidoccio
When it comes to food and hospitality, Chef David Korba is the consummate pro. In addition to developing signature entrées and desserts, David also offers trademark martinis with such tantalizing names as Babyface, Bellini, and Long Kiss Goodbye.
Definitely an auspicious start to Xenia, an innovative Greek restaurant near Sudbury, Ontario. But the VIP dinner quickly spirals out of control and the guests leave with empty stomachs. Well, almost empty stomachs. . .
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December 7, 2017
Friday Feature Ghosts of Christmas Past #freebook
Guest shares background of
Ghosts of Christmas Past
by
Jessica Aspen
Today we turn our blog over to an author friend, Jessica Aspen, who’s books we enjoy reading. She is going to share some background on her new book and has a gift for you.
Hi all,
I’m Jessica Aspen and I write twisted fairy tales, fantasy romance and paranormal romance. First of all, I want to thank C.D. Hersh for having me on their blog. And to show how excited I am, I’m offering each and every one of you a free copy of my book, Ghosts of Christmas Past.
I wrote Ghosts of Christmas Past because I love all the thrills, chills and danger of Gothic romance. I was brought up reading classics by authors like Daphne Du Maurier, Victoria Holt, and Phyllis Whitney and when I had the opportunity to write my own modern Gothic, I jumped on it. There’s nothing like writing spooky stories where heroines get to explore old creaky houses. Why, just thinking about it sends shivers down my spine.
I did have a chilling experience a few years ago, not at Christmas, but just before Halloween. I live in Colorado, and the Boulder Historic Society usually does some kind of spooky tour the last weekend in October. It was one of those dark, windy fall nights, and this tour ran from house to house through a neighborhood just outside of the Boulder Downtown. This tour covered the houses of the workers who built the big mansions for the rich people and these craftsmen had put their own special skills into their own small houses. Lovely woodwork and hand-crafted windows made each house special and we could tell they were built with love.
In addition to the historical person, each of the houses had a psychic to give the tour and tell us if they felt any ‘vibes’. We went to the first few, and everything was fine, but just outside of one of the houses I got a chill. It stuck to my back, tracing tension over my skin. We entered the house and got the regular history of the tour, but when the psychic spoke she told us that there was a dark, male energy lurking on the front porch. Yes, this one was haunted, and not only that, to get inside we’d walked right through that heavy, threatening darkness.
We finished the tour, but I couldn’t shake that feeling that some kind of energy was touching the entire skin of my back. I even took it home with me. Brrr!
I’ll never forget that feeling. It took a few days to shake, and boy, was I glad when I finally woke up with it gone. If that was just a lurking memory of a ghost, can you imagine running into the real thing?
I had to write about it. So, that’s how Jen and Nate’s story was born. I hope you enjoy my style of romance, and just to give you the chance, you can download your free copy of Ghosts of Christmas Past HERE, at Amazon.com.
But act fast! This deal will disappear like a ghost on 12/11/17.
And, just so you know what you’re getting into, here’s a sneak peek into the book.
Enjoy!
-Jessica
Ghosts of Christmas Past
By: Jessica Aspen
Gothic romance with a New Adult and Christmas flair.
Jen turned, gazing over the bare winter fields to the tangle of trees. No explanations, no obligations, no complications. For two whole weeks she could just hide here, and write.
The first genuine smile she could remember since April spread her face wide.
Then the pickup arrived.
Black, large, and full of male attitude it parked right next to her vacation house, dwarfing her small car and taking up the entire drive.
“Oh, there’s Nate now.” Mrs. Castlebury waved at the man pushing an eager black Labrador back into the cab while trying to exit the vehicle.
He got the door shut, faced them, and grinned. Dressed in New England casual of laced-up work boots, jeans, and plaid shirt under a denim jacket, Nate Pierce, striding across the snow, hand out in welcome, was a commercial for settling down. Tall. Good-looking in a rugged, works-for-a-living kind of way. And he had a dog. A big, sloppy, super-cute dog, wagging its tail and drooling on the driver’s side window.
For one impulsive moment Jen wished this was her life. She loved big dogs, the country, and secretly, men in plaid shirts, but she hadn’t had the opportunity for any of it since her dad’s death. Their daddy-daughter fishing trips, where he’d gotten to get out of his suit and she’d gotten to be free of her school uniform, had stopped cold the year she’d turned twelve.
This was the first time since then she’d ventured outside of somewhere hot and warm with a very clean, very controlled hotel. Her mom’s idea of a vacation. Of course, neither her mom nor her ex, Jason, tolerated dogs of any size. And as for living outside of the Boston city limits?
Neither of them would consider the horror.
She squashed the sudden surge of loneliness and desire for something she’d probably never have, and pasted on a smile.
Mr. Good-Looking Country Boy tramped through the snow to the porch, pushed his overlong forelock of sandy brown hair off his face, and held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Nate Pierce, your landlord.”
“My what?” She shot a quick look at Mrs. Castlebury.
“Your landlord, dear. I’m just the listing agent. Nate owns the house and he’ll see to any upkeep you need.”
“In fact, I’ll be back in an hour or so after you’ve gotten settled and bring the Christmas tree.”
“The Christmas tree?” She’d forgotten. She’d purchased the Christmas in New England package because it had been cheaper than renting by the day. “That’s not necessary,” she said, her voice chillier than she’d intended.
“I’ve already cut the tree down.” Nate’s friendly grin wavered as did his hand hovering in the air between them. “It would be a shame to waste.”
She didn’t want to be friendly with the neighbors. She wanted to hide out and recuperate. Make up her mind as to what in the world she was going to do next. But good manners won out.
Jen repressed a sigh, reached out, and slid her bare hand into his. As it disappeared into his tan callused grip, her hand seemed slim and small. He squeezed gently and a tingling warmth spread across her skin.
Hot caramel sensation slid from the connection between them, up her palm, along her arm, and through her entire body. Her hand tightened automatically, and a responding spark lit in his eyes.
Jen swallowed. Shoot! She wasn’t ready for this. She was here to lick her wounds, not some guy’s abs. And given the strength in his hand and his wide shoulders, she’d bet he had some killer abs.
She gazed up into Nate’s warm chocolate brown eyes and his face blurred. For a moment she saw another face superimposed over his. Same brown eyes, same tanned, rugged New England skin, but more boyish, broad-boned and black haired.
Every hair on her scalp tried to climb out of its slicked back, ponytailed restriction.
Then her new neighbor’s sharper, more intense features came into focus. Jen panicked and jerked her hand away. Wiping her buzzing palm on her long red wool coat she backed up, nearly running into Mrs. Castlebury.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Pardon me.” She circled around, putting the older woman between herself and Nate Pierce.
What the hell just happened?
Blurb:
When Jen MacNamara flees the Christmas wedding of her best friend to her cheating fiancé she runs to the country to spend the holiday alone. It’s the perfect plan. Until her unexpectedly sexy neighbor and landlord, Nate Pierce, insists on bringing the holiday to her—complete with a Christmas tree, hot chocolate, and an unexpected kiss.
And that’s not Jen’s only problem.
The cozy country farmhouse is already occupied…by something evil. Now Jen’s nights are spent wrapped in sensual dreams of a past life, and her days growing closer to Nate, as they solve the mystery of the malevolent ghost that haunts not only the house, but also wants Jen dead.
Dare to discover Jessica Aspen’s spicy, new adult, contemporary, Gothic romance, today.
Available at: Amazon.com
Add Ghosts of Christmas Past to your Goodreads shelf.
Short Bio:
Jessica Aspen always wanted to be spirited away to a world inhabited by elves, were-wolves and sexy men who walk on the dark side of the knife. Luckily, she’s able to explore her fantasy side and delve into new worlds by writing spicy paranormal romance. She loves indulging in dark chocolate, reading eclectic novels, and dreaming of ocean vacations, but instead spends most of her time, writing, walking the dog, and hiking in the Colorado Rockies.
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December 5, 2017
Wednesday Special Spotlight Holiday Punch
Shines On
Leigh Goff
A holiday drink all adults will enjoy.
HOLIDAY PUNCH
1 750-ml bottle orange vodka
2 750-ml bottles Prosecco
2 1-liter bottles of orange-flavored seltzer
½ gallon orange juice
½ gallon lemonade
2 pints orange sorbet
Gently mix vodka, Prosecco, seltzer, orange juice, and lemonade in a large punch bowl.
Scoop the sorbet into the punch bowl, so it has time to melt. Add the ice ring to keep the punch cold and colorful.
ICE RING
Water
15 seedless red grapes
10 maraschino cherries, halved
1 orange, peeled and sliced thin
In a 6 – 6½ cup ring mold, arrange thin citrus slices and grapes or cherries in an attractive design. Pour water into mold to partially cover fruit. Freeze.
When frozen, add water to fill mold ¾ full. Refreeze. At serving time, unmold and float fruit side up in punch bowl.
If you prefer, freeze ring without decorations. Or, instead of water, freeze with orange juice. This will keep punch cold without diluting it.
Serves 12 – 15
Here’s a little from my latest novel to enjoy as you sip your punch.
Hannah, the thirteenth great-granddaughter of the Wizard Earl Fitzgerald, has always known she was descended from a troubled legacy of alchemy and dark magic. Although a stranger to her coven in Annapolis, she is no stranger to grief and denial; however, when an ancient prophecy reveals the rise of a young, powerful witch and the impending death of another, she realizes she can no longer afford to suppress the magic that has taken away so much. She seeks out the frighteningly scarred, yet mysterious W who is destined to change her life, but even he cannot prepare her for the secrets she must unlock – including one that reveals the location of an unimaginably powerful elixir.
Enemies will hurt her. Loved ones will make her vulnerable. And the impending prophecy that drives her to unleash her magic will cause her to unearth the sins of the past and doubt any promise of a future. Without knowing whom her true rival is, Hannah isn’t certain she’ll survive the game Fate is playing, and if she loses, she may lose everything, including the ones she loves.
EXCERPT
The imposing entrance segued into the main part of the old family chapel. Shadows flickered across the white walls as candlelight streamed down from an ornate iron chandelier cradling clear-colored hurricanes. Angelic sculptures hung between the arched windows and beneath the cloud-painted ceiling that Michelangelo himself would have envied, four wooden pews graced each side of the aisle.
I tiptoed farther in and spotted another black-lined white envelope on the altar. I was definitely in the right place.
My fingers trembled as I traced the letters that formed my name. This was way beyond ordinary, but why and—more importantly—who?
“W?”
A hint of the Shadow’s amber and woods scent mixed with the faint candle smoke of the chapel. “No. Way.” I spun around ready to stomp right out of there.
In that moment, a heavy gaze fell on me and the air felt charged with electricity. I searched right and left, seeing no one. “W? Whoever you are, show yourself.”
“This will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.” His potent voice reverberated off the walls and seemed to come from everywhere, including the inside of my head.
I locked my wandering gaze on the loft above the entrance where I spotted his silhouette. “Was leaving me in a burning wreck the hardest thing you ever had to do? Was it?” I raised my volume. “Who are you? Why did you leave me for dead?”
His intake of breath was audible. “I would never. I mean. I didn’t want to do that. I don’t.”
“Oh, lucky me.” I stuck my hands on my hips and tapped an impatient foot on the floor. “If you don’t want to finish me off, then you lured me here to do what, exactly?”
“To help you. I want to help you.”
“Ha!” The sarcastic laugh burst out before I could stop it. “You’ve done a bang up job inspiring my confidence and trust in that department.”
He simmered in silence for a moment. “What do I have to do to inspire you to follow my directions?”
Following someone else’s directions was definitely not my strength. I grimaced, but curiosity got the better of me. “What do you want?”
“You read the note.”
His desire to remain in the shadows was increasingly irritating. “I consider myself a very smart girl, so when a guy who left me in a burning car tells me he wants to help me take on a different deadly problem, I have to wonder if he’s not setting me up to fend for myself again. What’s your motive?”
I dropped my eyes to the envelope, turning it to and fro.
“Emme Blackstone is a mutual enemy and means us both harm.” A tinge of anger laced his tone.
The anger, I understood. After all, we were talking about Emme, but there was also a hint of sadness that intrigued me further. “Why do you think Emme means you harm?”
“It’s inevitable—because of what I am.”
What was he besides completely contemptible?
“It’s in her blood and I believe it’s in her destiny to wreak havoc, especially against someone who can challenge her in talent like you can.”
I dropped my hands to my sides, still clasping the enveloping. “Whoa. Like me? You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me. How could you? I’ve been gone for the last year.”
A chortle caught in his throat. “What’s a year when you come from a bloodline with hundreds of years of history? A history that’s written down and available to certain people with the right—pedigree.”
Confused, I creased my brow as I continued to stare at his silhouette. “Have you been cyber-stalking me on Ancestry.com or something?”
“Hardly.” There was disdain in his voice as if he considered cyber-stalking to be worse than leaving a girl to die.
“Look, whatever you think you know about my family, I’m not like them. I’m not talented, and I don’t want to challenge Emme. I just want to live a normal life. Normal.” My voice escalated. “Do you hear me all the way up there?”
He huffed. “Normal? You don’t get to pretend to be normal when you’re not. It doesn’t work like that. Not in Annapolis. Someone always knows. Someone always unravels your secrets.”
I thought of the Witch’s Grave. I pictured the women’s slender figures dangling from sturdy, gnarled branches. Their tragic endings proved what I already knew. Magic only brought suffering and death. “You make it sound like I don’t have a choice. I’m telling you I do, and I won’t be a part of this.” I stomped my foot hard on the floor.
He shifted from the shadows into a dim ray of light, seething. “You read the note and you know Emme won’t stop. You need my help.”
I glared, trying desperately to make out the details of his face. “I don’t need anything from you.”
“You don’t have to like it, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are a part of this. You know you are or you wouldn’t have come here. However, if that’s how you feel then you should leave.” The cold in his voice crystallized.
My pulse escalated. “Yup. That’s how I feel. And I’m only leaving because that’s what I want to do, not because you suggested it. Bye.” I marched to the door and wrapped my hand around the knob. I yanked it open. From the moment I’d first laid eyes on him, he’d been nothing but trouble. Horrible, awful trouble. However, as much as I hated to think it, he knew about me and the other witches in town. He was full of answers—answers I needed. I shut the door and turned back around. “How do you know all this about Emme and me?”
AMAZON BUY LINK
Leigh Goff loves writing young adult fiction with elements of magic and romance because it’s also what she liked to read. Born and raised on the East Coast, she now lives in Maryland where she enjoys the area’s great history and culture.
Leigh is a graduate of the University of Maryland, University College and a member of the Maryland Writers’ Association and Romance Writers of America. She is also an approved artist with the Maryland State Arts Council. Her debut novel, Disenchanted, was inspired by the Wethersfield witches of Connecticut and was released by Mirror World Publishing. Leigh is currently working on her next novel, The Witch’s Ring which is set in Annapolis.
Learn more about Leigh Goff on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and Goodreads.
December 4, 2017
Tell Again Tuesday Civil War History
A blog series where we shamelessly share posts from others that we have enjoyed.
Elizabeth Van Lew–Self-Taught Spy
By Becky Lower
The Civil War was a trying time in America’s history, and brought out the best and worst in people. The nation divided itself into North and South, with the livelihood of the South hanging in the balance. A person’s sensibilities on the issue of slavery did not always necessarily align with their state’s position on the matter.
Female spies on both sides of the conflict were known as secret agents in hoop skirts. Historian Elizabeth Leonard, author of All The Daring of the Soldier: Women of the Civil War Armies, claims “One of the things that made women so effective as spies during this time period was that. . .
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