Rachael Stapleton's Blog, page 10

Rachael's Reviews: Apostle

A Haunting Tale of Deranged Love

Apostle is about serial killer Benji and his insatiable desire to kill and "feed his inner monster." When he meets a 16-year-old drifter named Beth, he takes her under his wing, becoming her mentor, teaching her how to harness fear, dominate and kill. Apostle traces Benji and Beth's growing relationship, her want for a deeper connection and what arises from a broken heart.This book made me nostalgic for certain dark comedy's l​ike Natural Born Killers and the 1988 movie Heathers. I found myself both terrified and rooting for Benji and Beth, two serial killers on a killing spree set in Ontario in the early 1970s, specifically in the French River with reference to Sudbury. Somewhere in the middle, I began to loathe Bloody Beth just as I suspect the author Lacey Crowe had planned. ​And while I am a huge fan of mystery and perhaps even some light thriller/suspense. This book was definitely out of my wheelhouse, I wouldn't call it horror but it was very dark and I was skimming ​the cruel cold hearted​ killer Beth had become but then all at once ​the plot shifted and the hunter became the hunted. As a woman, it was excruciating at times to read what Beth was going through as the victim of a psychopath more twisted than herself but it moved fast and I read the book in practically one sitting​. No details were spared and at times I was definitely squirming and yet I was riveted and I couldn't look away.  This story is one of karmic consequence, repentance and self-realization but it is not for the squeamish at heart. Kudos to Author Lacey Crowe who is able to make deranged characters vulnerable and dare I say like-able.

Apostle is available in both ebook and print formats at Amazon.com, Amazon.ca, Amazon.co.uk, Barnes & Noble, Booksamillion.com, Booktopia.com.au, and directly from the publishers' website.

"I awoke to a small beam of light that had bites eaten out of it by the heads Kyle ’s two girls. The kettle still screamed in my ear screamed in my ear—the right one. I looked over toward the right one. I looked over toward the sound and saw the little girl ’s gaping mouth, teary eyes staring at me, fiercely screaming. staring at me, fiercely screaming. Kyle was leaning over her, undoing the zipper of his the zipper of his pants. The girl was already naked, sitting in her own bloodstains."

Treasured & Tipsy Timeslip: Traveller Lacey Crowe

Travel and make-believe go hand in hand. Whether we're in the present or the past, in a haunted castle, an enchanted forest or a broken down building, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and traveling the world can bring the imagination to life.

Please welcome this week's guest, fellow Canadian, Lacey Crowe, who writes for the lovers of the darker side of fiction, channeling stylistic inspiration from the spirits of John Steinbeck, Ray Bradbury, and maybe even a little Edgar Allen Poe.

#Travel #AuthorInterview #LaceyCrowe #Camping #TreasuredTipsyTimeslip #RachaelStapleton #ExploreOntario #CurseofthePurpleDelhiSapphire #LoonsLanding #ManitoulinIsland #BrucePeninsulaNational

I live in the city now—a small city surrounded by lakes and rivers. The Ontario city I was born in was much the same, though it has grown since then and is possibly now too big for me. I’m a fan of the countryside. I’m attracted to the darkness of the bushes, the quietude. I embrace the isolation, the fireside, the hot, sticky moment when the sun bakes me in my tent or trailer. It’s peaceful in the country. It’s dark. It’s frightening. It’s exciting. And Ontario has some of the best places to experience this.
A particular, fictitious campground enthralled the psychopathic character in my novel, Apostle. But though the grounds were fabricated, the river it’s located on is very real. My list of five campgrounds to visit in Ontario should and will begin with any of the many campgrounds in French River, Ontario. But to make it more specific, how about the seasonal camping spot I visit every year?

Loon’s Landing is situated on the main channel of the French River, which stretches from Lake Nippissing to Georgian Bay. Themed parties, excellent fishing and swimming, and friendly ownership. It’s fun. Like, really fun. This campground, along with a few others I used to frequent when I was little, served as inspiration for my novel.

Manitoulin Island is so beautiful, it needs to be experienced. It’s located on one of the great lakes, Lake Huron. There are several camping spots along the island, which heavily embraces an old-school, Native American culture. The water is clear and the expanse is massive. Many beaches have a soft, sandy bottom. Sometimes, it sucks you in up to your ankles. That feeling is one of my favourite childhood memories.













Fathom Five National Marine Park blows my mind. Why haven’t I ever visited Tobermory? Look at this photo and my work here is done. A shipwreck just off the shore? How cool is that? The history here is palpable, even just through the photographs. It’s eerie and it’s fascinating—and my psychopathic characters could have totally hidden a body in that shipwreck.


Sleeping Giant Provincial Park is located in Thunder Bay, Ontario. “Sleeping Giant” alludes to a rock formation in the shape of man lying down, which I like to think of with my inner-childlike fascination. I’ve heard that Thunder Bay is one of the best cities for outdoor activity in the summertime. The mountains here are breathtaking and the wildlife is abundant. I think this beauty is what others imagine when they think of Canada.


Bruce Peninsula National is incredibly gorgeous. This photo is of the Grotto, a popular tourist attraction for obvious reasons. Again, why haven’t I ever visited Tobermory? Located on part of the Niagara Escarpment, Bruce Peninsula boasts several camping spots on beautiful, aqua waters. Warm weather is finally among us. It’s time to get the tent out and visit some of these sweet camping spots. Don’t forget to pack your knives, you little psychos.




Bloghost Insert: I've been to Tobermory and I can vouch for it's awesomeness! This national park lies at the tip of the Bruce Peninsula, 11kms south of Tobermory. Here are some fun pics from my camping trip from 2011.




 


There are camping facilities here, and some of the most dramatic scenery of the Niagara Escarpment. The Bruce Trail also traverses the park, and there are several short hikes that will get you onto some of the most scenic parts of the Bruce Trail, including the Natural Arch, the Grotto and Halfway Rock Point, pictured here. The Grotto a beautiful natural cave carved into the cliffs.
That water is ice cold!
To get to the Grotta from the trail you have to scale down through a hole about 10 metres. The cave extends into the side of the cliff for some meters to expose a pool which connects by an underwater passage to the main body of water at the tip of the point. The cave is lit from beneath the water by green light coming from the far side of this passage, and swallows were visible in the dim light as they flew in over our heads to reach their nests protected high up on shelves in the cave.

Treasured & Tipsy Timeslip: Traveller Michelle Hiscox

Travel and make-believe go hand in hand. Whether we're in the present or the past, in a haunted castle, an enchanted forest or a broken down building, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and traveling the world can bring the imagination to life.
Please welcome this week's guest, fellow Canadian, Michelle Hiscox. She hails from Drumheller, Alberta. The dinosaur bones buried in the hills of her hometown inspired the first stories she ever wrote, and she feels blessed to walk those same hills with her daughter today. 
#ANewDayatMidnight #Romania #Montana #Travel #AuthorInterview #MichelleHiscox #ParanormalRomance #TreasuredTipsyTimeslip #RachaelStapleton #CurseofthePurpleDelhiSapphire
TRAVEL SPECIAL – 4 STOPS IN A NEW DAY AT MIDNIGHT
As the author of the paranormal romance, A New Day at Midnight, I researched many haunting and dynamic locations to use as inspirational fodder for the settings in my book. Below is a sample of places travelled by the Hearne family on their centuries long journey from Romania to Montana territory.
POENARI CASTLE, ROMANIA
Image Source: vampirewarzone.yolasite.com

What a better inspiration for a paranormal tale than the stomping grounds of Vlad the Impaler and his army of minions. Romania has also been home to Romani people for centuries, and reflects the heritage of my main character, Merik Hearne.
In the 15th century, Vlad the Impaler brought Poenari Castle back from ruins to use it as a cliffside military location near the Argus River valley. It afforded a view of all the land below and a nearly impenetrable site of defense. It was in the Poenari area that Vlad began the use of spikes to kill his victims, earning his famous moniker.
PALAZZO DELLA MASCHERA GROTTESCA , ROME

Image Source: www.romanmysteries.wordpress.com“The Monster House”, or the Palazzo della Maschero Grottesca, is a 16th century palace in Rome that boasts an entryway with the mouth of a demon, a very fitting inspiration for a book based on characters with much more than human origins.
Built by Italian painter Federico Zuccari beginning in 1592, the palace sits near the top of the Spanish Steps. The windows and doors are adorned with the screaming mouths of ghouls, an unforgettable site for any passerby.

THE SALOONS OF MONTANA TERRITORY, UNITED STATES Image Source: www.fineartamerica.com


The clapboard wood saloon epitomizes the flavor of the old west, when Montana Territory was rough, dangerous, and full of the dreams of the people moving through to stake their claim and build better lives for themselves and their families.
The alleyway to the side of the Cranston Saloon provides the backdrop to tragic events in A New Day at Midnight. The drink and debauchery often found in such locations provides the perfect setting for the unravelling of a Vetala, or a demon, while he both saves and destroys the unfortunate souls he finds there.




THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS


Image Source: www.pinstopin.com  The Rocky Mountain range extends over 3000 miles through Canada, the United States, and New Mexico. It also accounts for a long stretch of land through Montana, the home chosen by the Hearne family to build Rosehearne Manor, a fortress set against forest and mountainside.
The manor started out as a single dwelling surrounded by caravans and tents, and slowly grew to the stone monolith housing generations of Romani families.Difficult mountain conditions afford the Hearne’s a measure of safety from the forces working against them.

A New Day at MidnightThe Hearne Family Saga Book 1Michelle Hiscox
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Bookkus Publishing
Date of Publication: February 14, 2015
ISBN: 0991709497ASIN: B00TGOODU4
Page Count Print – 264        Page Count Electronic – 268Word Count: 92,691
Cover Artist: Bookkus Publishing
Book Description:
When Merik Hearne finally lays claim to the woman that betrayed him, she inspires much more than his need for revenge—but is her love worth dying for again?
Condemned to play host to a demon, the scarred Romani leader has amassed a fortune with only one goal in mind—to possess Hannah Worthington, the traitorous beauty that has eluded him for over a decade. With an exchange of coin, everything he has been striving for is within reach but nothing is as he imagined. The tender, sharp-tongued woman he encounters tests the bounds of his convictions and he is torn between the promise of reckoning and longing for a love that once destroyed him.
Exchanged for a purse of gold and informed she is to be a slave, Hannah vows she has not survived a lifetime of loss only to wither under the likes of Merik Hearne. And she will do everything she can to make sure he knows it. Despite his overbearing manner, his fierce scars, and her own determination to escape him, she begins to see that something beautiful might lie beneath…something that belongs only to her. She must discover the angle from which the great lord plays before his dark desires consume them both. 
As they struggle to find truth amid pasts marred by sorrow and secrecy, they are unaware that a vengeful apostle orchestrates the rise of a forgotten god—and the end of their chance at a life together.
Available at  Amazon   Amazon.ca   Amazon.co.uk  BNExcerpt 1
As Merik looked about the darkness of his cell with new eyes, he saw Hannah standing in the corner. He knew she was not truly there, but the voice of the other ensured he did not look away as it whispered in his ear. He saw her many times, always a mirage, always torturous. Unsure if his rage outweighed his disappointment at her absence, he listened.She mocks you, young one. She told those men where to find you. She told them lies about you. They could know nothing without her betrayal. You will find her. Make her bleed. You will find her and make her pay for each transgression. Sink your teeth deep within her and watch the blood flow over the ground. Drink her dry until her offences are but a memory. It will ease the agony, as nothing else will.Merik saw her a thousand times during his short stay in the cellar. The pain sliced through him, and it would not ease no matter how much his father fed him. Nothing helped to suffuse the suffering until he began seeing Hannah in the confines of the cell.He saw her exactly as she looked that night at the clearing. In spite of himself, he found himself reaching for her hand, and did so each time she appeared to him. Desire bubbled to the surface and he despised it, closing his eyes against the sight of her. The image played over and over in his mind, running like a crooked wheel. He saw the woman who destroyed him, the woman who destroyed his brothers, and he could think only of making her suffer—until he thought of touching her again.The bottle shattered in his hand from the force of his grasp, and he looked down to see shards of glass embedded within the flesh of his palm. When he looked up, Hannah was gone.

Excerpt 2
Hannah realized Merik had left her doors unlocked. Again. Did he believe she would stay now that she knew his true name and nature? She dare not utter the real question plaguing her, but it invaded her mind nonetheless. Is he right? A large ember escaped from the iron latticework in front of the fire, landing on the rug at her feet. She watched it smoulder.Smoke curled up in delicate tendrils, disappearing before reaching the high ceiling. She stared for several long moments, willing the flame to grow, to consume her. It held the colour of Merik’s eyes, burning gold and crimson. A small flame flickered to life, hungry for progress until she stamped it out with the heel of her foot.Rising from the fire to flop on her bed, she stopped short as an echo rang through the hall. Certain her battered senses played tricks on her, she pulled back her covers to lay down but heard it again.Whether it was a call of rage, grief, or agony she could not distinguish. It came from Merik’s quarters, echoing deep within the shadows of the hall. Padding to her door, she warred between anger over his treatment of her and the desire to ease his pain.She could not ignore the fact he’d told her the truth. Pulling a robe about her shoulders, she kicked off her charred slipper. Without consulting her mind, she made the decision with her heart. She rested her hand on the door, opening the barrier between her and the unknown.“Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What am I doing? I can stay in my rooms. There is hardly any need to go out there.”Another tortured cry rose in the air, strengthening her resolve to help Merik.Lighting a candle, she forced herself to go into the hall. Another cry rang through the air, and as she got closer to Merik’s chamber, she finally understood what he was saying. Her name.“I’m coming, Merik.” Running to his room, she entered through the open door to see an empty chamber. Desperation overrode the fear hammering her heart against her chest. The room smelled of blood, of sickness. Could Vetala even get sick? Could they die?“No, please no, not again. Merik? Merik, please call my name.”He groaned. As she followed the source of the noise, the candle shook in her hand. The hot wax stung her flesh when she stopped several steps in front of a half-open door set in the wall.“Merik?” The smell of death clung to the entrance and she gagged. The candle wobbled in her hand. She steadied it, saying a quick thanks to God it did not go out. She could not bear to go forth in the darkness without light. Setting the candle on the floor, she swung the door wide. The candle flickered as she picked it up. Fear twisted her guts and no matter how she tried, she could not stop her hands from shaking. She took another step.“Merik?” It took her eyes several moments to see more than a foot from her face. When she saw him in the dim light, she gasped. He now stood in front of her. It took her several more moments to realize he was not standing of his own volition, but rather restrained by chains embedded in the stone wall. When he lifted his head, she covered her mouth to stifle a scream.Eyes of molten gold and crimson stared back at her. His jaw and facial bones were distended, his hands curled into claws. The changes were much more severe than the few instances she attributed to the loss of her mind.“I…I…” Stepping back toward the entrance, her gaze never left Merik’s. She turned her back on him to commence a rather spineless retreat, but could not get her feet to cooperate.“Hannah?” The voice held much more than pain. What? Desperation? Hope? She could not move as her heart and mind waged war. Despite his appearance, she knew beneath the angled bone protruding from his flesh, his distorted face, and the fangs visible in his mouth, Merik stood in front of her. The man she met a decade before. The man looking at her with the same single focused intensity with which he always did. The man she loved.Taking another step and hearing nothing but her own harsh breathing, she took one more.

About the Author: Michelle Hiscox is a Paranormal Romance fan and author who hails from Drumheller, Alberta. The dinosaur bones buried in the hills of her hometown inspired the first stories she ever wrote, and she feels blessed to walk those same hills with her daughter today. Crocus flowers and dust bowls full of cactus never fail to inspire.
While her little girl and husband provides many welcome distractions to writing, it's something she always finds her way back to. Michelle is the proud, and slightly crazy, owner of two dogs and three cats, all animals she loves more than she reasonably should. She's been reading voraciously since she was a child and, one night, pulled her nose from a book to start writing her own.
Website  – http://www.michellehiscox.com
Blog – http://www.michellehiscox.com/#!blog/c112v
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100009234082124
Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13508742.Michelle_Hiscox
Amazon Author Page –http://www.amazon.com/l/B00VO2K990

Tour giveaway
5 print or ebook copies of A New Day at Midnight (winner’s choice, print available to US and Canadian Shipping Only)

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Looking for a GREAT FREE mystery? Curse of the Purple Delhi Sapphire!

Former librarian Sophia Marcil is an expert when it comes to supernatural spells and ancient curses, not only has she studied them, she actually inherited one in the form of a sapphire and was transported to a past life. Now she’s back and keeping a low profile in the Emerald Isle with her strapping Irish love but she knows the maniac obsessed with her cursed gemstone is out there. She soon realizes he may be closer than she thinks when Cullen proposes with the very sapphire that’s cursed her. As soon as it touches her skin, she feels herself being wrenched back in time. ​​http://bookgoodies.com/a/B00SNAF018
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Tuesday's Treasured & Tipsy Timeslip: This Weeks Traveller is NY Times Bestseller, M.J. Rose

Travel and make-believe go hand in hand. Whether we're in the present or the past, in a haunted castle, an enchanted forest or a broken down building, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and traveling the world can bring the imagination to life.

Please welcome this week's guest, New York Times Bestseller, M.J. Rose. She's taking us on a tour of Paris, the City of Lights. Not only is it one of her favourite places, it is the setting for her latest release, The Witch of Painted Sorrows.


#Paris #MJRose #NewYorkTimesBestSeller #Travel #AuthorInterview #TreasuredTipsyTimeslip #RachaelStapleton #CurseofthePurpleDelhiSapphire


MJ: I’ve been to Paris many times but I’d love to go back to the Paris of 1894 which I write about in my novel. It was a marvelous and curious time. The arts flourished side by side with philosophy and a deep and powerful interest in the esoteric movement. I’d specifically to visit the artists studios and night clubs and occult library/store that I write about in the book. I’d want to go to a few black masses even if they did frighten the daylights out of me.

I’d also love to go to Egypt in the 1920 when Harold Carter was excavating the great pyramids. And I’d love to go Italy when Michelangelo was painting the Sistine Chapel so could watch!













The Witch of Painted Sorrows

M.J. Rose

Genre: Gothic – Erotic

Publisher: Atria/S&S

Date of Publication: March 17 2015

ISBN-10: 147677806X

ASIN: B00LD1ONBC

Number of pages:384



Book Description:

New York socialite Sandrine Salome flees an abusive husband for her grandmother's Paris mansion, but what she finds there is even more menacing. The house, famous for its lavish art collection and elegant salons, is closed and under renovation. Her grandmother insists it's too dangerous to visit but Sandrine defies her — an unexplainable force is drawing her home.

There she meets Julien Duplessi, a mesmerizing architect, who introduces her to the City of Lights — its art world, forbidden occult underground, nightclubs — and to her own untapped desires.

From a mysterious fire at the Palais Garnier opera house, to a terrifying accident at the Eiffel tower and classes with Gustav Moreau at the École des Beaux-Arts, Sandrine's experiences awaken her passions. Among the bohemians and demi-monde, Sandrine uncovers her erotic nature as a lover and painter.

Then more ominous influences threaten — her husband is tracking her down and something insidious is taking hold, changing Sandrine, altering her. She's overcome by the spirit of La Lune, a witch, a legendary sixteenth-century courtesan, and an unsung artist in her own right, who exposes Sandrine to a darkness that could be a gift or a curse.

This is Sandrine's "wild night of the soul," her odyssey in the magnificent city of Paris, of art, love and witchery, and not until she resolves a tragic love story and family curse will she be free of the ghost's possession.

Effortlessly absorbing and richly imagined, with sumptuous detail and spellbinding suspense, The Witch of Painted Sorrows conjures the brilliance and intrigue of Belle Époque Paris and illuminates the fine line

Available at Amazon BN iTunes IndieBound

Excerpt

Paris, France April 1894

I did not cause the madness, the deaths, or the rest of the tragedies any more than I painted the paintings. I had help, her help. Or perhaps I should say she forced her help on me. And so this story—which began with me fleeing my home in order to escape my husband and might very well end tomorrow, in a duel, in the Bois de Boulogne at dawn—is as much hers as mine. Or in fact more hers than mine. For she is the fountainhead. The fascination. She is La Lune. Woman of moon dreams, of legends and of nightmares. Who took me from the light and into the darkness. Who imprisoned me and set me free.

Or is it the other way around?

"Your questions," my father always said to me, "will be your saving grace. A curious mind is the most important attribute any man or woman can possess. Now if you can just temper your impulsiveness..." 
If I had a curious mind, I'd inherited it from him. And he'd nurtured it. Philippe Salome was on the board of New York City's Metropolitan Museum of Art and helped found the American Museum of Natural History, whose cornerstone was laid on my fifth birthday.

I remember sitting atop my father's shoulders that day, watching the groundbreaking ceremony and thinking the whole celebration was for me. He called it "our museum," didn't he? And for much of my life I thought it actually did belong to us, along with our mansion on Fifth Avenue and our summerhouse in Newport. Until it was gone, I understood so little about wealth and the price you pay for it. But isn't that always the way? 

Our museum's vast halls and endless exhibit rooms fascinated me as much as they did my father—which pleased him, I could tell. We'd meander through exhibits, my small hand in his large one, and he'd keep me spellbound with stories about items on display. I'd ask for more, always just one more, and he'd laugh and tease: "My Sandrine, does your capacity for stories know no bounds?"

But it pleased him, and he'd always tell me another.

I especially loved the stories he told me about the gems and fate and destiny always ending them by saying: "You will make your own fate, Sandrine, I'm sure of it."

Was my father right? Do we make our own destiny? I think back now to the stepping-stones that I've walked to reach this moment in time.

Were the incidents of my making? Or were they my fate?

The most difficult steps I took were after certain people died. No deaths were caused by me, but at the same time, none would have occurred were it not for me.

So many deaths. The first was on the morning of my fifteenth birthday, when I saw a boy beaten and tragically die because of our harmless kisses. The next was the night almost ten years later, when I heard the prelude to my father's death and learned the truth about Benjamin, my husband. And then there were more. Each was an end-ing that, ironically, became a new beginning for me.

The one thing I am now sure of is that if there is such a thing as destiny, it is a result of our passion, be that for money, power, or love. Passion, for better or worse. It can keep a soul alive even if all that survives is a shimmering. I've even seen it. I've been bathed in it. I've been changed by it.

*********

Four months ago I snuck into Paris on a wet, chilly January night like a criminal, hiding my face in my shawl, taking extra care to be sure I wasn't followed.

I stood on the stoop of my grandmother's house and lifted the hand-shaped bronze door knocker and let it drop. The sound of the metal echoed inside. Her home was on a lane blocked off from rue des Saints-Pères by wide wooden double doors. Maison de la Lune, as it was called, was one of a half dozen four-story mid-eighteenthcentury stone houses that shared a courtyard that backed up onto rue du Dragon. Hidden clusters like this were a common configuration in Paris.These small enclaves offered privacy and quiet from the busy city. Usually the porte cochère was locked and one had to ring for the concierge, but I'd found the heavy doors ajar and hadn't had to wait for service.


I let the door knocker fall again. Light from a street lamp glinted off the golden metal. It was a strange object. Usually on these things the bronze hand's palm faced the door. But this one was palm out, almost warning the visitor to reconsider requesting entrance.

I was anxious and impatient. I'd been cautious on my journey from New York to Southampton and kept to my cabin. I'd left a letter telling Benjamin I'd gone to visit friends in Virginia and assumed that once he returned and read it, it would be at least a week before he'd realize all was not what it seemed. One thing I had known for certain—he would never look for me in France. It would be inconceivable to Benjamin that any wife of his could cross the ocean alone.

Or so I assured myself until my husband's banking associate, William Lenox, spotted me on board. When he expressed surprise I was traveling by myself, I concocted a story but was worried he didn't believe me. My only consolation was that we had docked in England and I had since crossed the channel into France. So even if Benjamin did come looking, he wouldn't know where I'd gone.

That very first night in Paris, as I waited for my grandmother's maid to open the door, I knew I had to stop thinking of what I had run away from. So I refocused on the house I stood before and as I did, felt an overwhelming sense of belonging, of being welcome. Here I would be safe.

Reviews

April Indie Next List


March Library Reads List


Big Spring Books – Amazon


#1 Historical Fiction for 2015 - Goodreads


"This bell époque thriller is a haunting tale of obsessive passions." —People Magazine

"Provocative, erotic, and spellbindingly haunting...will have the reader totally mesmerized cover-to-cover....a 'must-have' novel." —Suspense Magazine


"A haunting tale of erotic love.... M.J. Rose seamlessly weaves historical events throughout this story filled with distinctive characters that will keep the reader captivated to the end." —Examiner.com


"Rose has a talent for compelling writing, and this time she has outdone herself. Fear, desire, lust and raw emotion ooze off the page." —Associated Press

"Haunting tale of possession." —Publishers Weekly

"Rose's new series offers her specialty, a unique and captivating supernatural angle, set in an intriguing belle epoque Paris — lush descriptions, intricate plot and mesmerizing storytelling. Sensual, evocative, mysterious and haunting." —Kirkus

About the Author: New York Times Bestseller, M.J. Rose grew up in New York City mostly in the labyrinthine galleries of the Metropolitan Museum, the dark tunnels and lush gardens of Central Park and reading her mother's favorite books before she was allowed. She believes mystery and magic are all around us but we are too often too busy to notice... books that exaggerate mystery and magic draw attention to it and remind us to look for it and revel in it.

Rose's work has appeared in many magazines including Oprah Magazine and she has been featured in the New York Times, Newsweek, WSJ, Time, USA Today and on the Today Show, and NPR radio. Rose graduated from Syracuse University, spent the '80s in advertising, has a commercial in the Museum of Modern Art in NYC and since 2005 has run the first marketing company for authors - Authorbuzz.com

The television series PAST LIFE, was based on Rose's novels in the Reincarnationist series. She is one of the founding board members of International Thriller Writers and currently serves, with Lee Child, as the organization's co-president.

Rose lives in CT with her husband the musician and composer, Doug Scofield, and their very spoiled and often photographed dog, Winka.

Newsletter: http://goo.gl/AjJRo9
Website: http://mjrose.com/
Blog: http://www.mjrose.com/blog/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMJRose
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MJRose
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/69003.M_J_Rose
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/M.-J.-Rose/e/B001ILFLQS/

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Who's ready for the Big Bad Pitch? Twitter Pitch Party Tips & Tricks

It’s that time of year again! #Pitmad. The Twitter contest that's held four times per year. It's a game changer. The next one is Thursday June 4th from 8AM to 8PM EST. It's basically a one day online pitching session where writers pitch their completed manuscripts two times per hour in 140 characters or less using the hashtag #PitMad and their genre. Literary agents and Editors monitor the feed throughout the day and favorite the pitches they like. When an agent or editor favorites your tweet, it’s an invitation to send them your query. So you need to get your pitches and your manuscripts polished and ready.

#Twitter #PitchParty #Writers #Tips #Tricks #Pitmad #BrendaDrake #Pitmadadvice #amwriting #ampitching

How to write your tweets
Make the stakes obvious. Try following this framework: “When [MAIN CHARACTER] is [OBSTACLE], he/she must [DO SOMETHING] or else [CONSEQUENCE]. #PitMad [GENRE]"

#PitMad lasts for 12 hours. Since you’re allowed to tweet twice per hour, that’s 24 tweets you should prepare ahead of time.

Here are some tips based on what was working for other authors:

Always include the genre. Some agents only represent specific genres, and may search for that genre in the stream.
Use proper English. Don’t sacrifice words or proper spelling in order to fit your tweet into 140 characters. Instead use stronger verbs or words to make your plot concise.
Don’t try to be super clever. Don’t ask rhetorical questions, and don’t try to be overly cute or witty. Just focus on making your plot and stakes crystal clear. What is your story about at its core? Focus on that.

Technical tips

Schedule your tweets. Use software like Tweetdeck to schedule your tweets in advance so you don’t have a heart attack the day of the contest. Space your tweets out at weird times. Try not to schedule them exactly on the hour or half hour because that’s when there’s the greatest volume. I always scheduled mine at :03 and :33 or :17 and :47.
Never schedule identical tweets. Twitter will fail to schedule tweets that are identical to previous tweets you’ve posted that day. One girl missed out on half their volume of tweets because of this.Don’t be a spammer. Don’t set up multiple Twitter accounts to retweet your tweets. Don’t tweet more than twice per hour. Other participants and agents WILL notice and call you out on it. So play nice.
What to do when an agent favorites your tweet

When an agent favorites your tweet, it’s SO exciting. I got butterflies when it happened to me. I was on the treadmill late at night. Don’t be discouraged if you don’t get favorites early in the day; mine came late in the day, and I heard a lot of others even came overnight. I think it’s easier for agents to sort through stream after the madness has died down, and pluck out their few favorites.

When an agent (or publisher) favorites your tweet, here’s what to do:

Follow their submission guidelines. You can usually find agents’ submission guidelines on the submissions and/or bio pages of their websites. Also, participating agents will usually tweet instructions for authors before they start favoriting.

Include #PitMad in your subject line. This will distinguish you in the agents’ regular slush pile inboxes. Remember, if an agent favorites your tweet, you’re sending them a solicited query. Some agents are closed to unsolicited queries, so sometimes this contest is the only way to get in front of someone.

Include your tweet in the first paragraph of your query. This will refresh the agents’ memory as to why they favorited yourtweet. I would even suggest hyperlinking the word #PitMad to the particular tweet they favorited.

Curse of the Purple Delhi SapphireThe Temple of Indra MYSTERY SeriesRachael Stapleton
Genre: Mystery, Adventure, Time Travel RomancePublisher: Solstice PublishingDate of Publication: February 3rd, 2015ASIN: B00SNAF018Print Length: 215 pagesWord Count: 66, 400Cover Artist: Rebecca Boyd
Book Description:

Sophia Marcil hasn’t escaped her destiny or the mad-man hunting her but she’s doing her best to evade both and making a life in Ireland with Cullen—the one person she can count on to pull her out of deep water. There’s just one problem, despite his connection, she hasn’t told him the truth of her time travel and her reality comes crashing down as he proposes with the very sapphire that’s cursed her. Before she knows it, she’s wandering the hallway of an old Victorian house in the body of her great aunt. Unfortunately, her nemesis has also reincarnated in 1920—as one of her family members and she struggles to locate the Purple Delhi Sapphire in time to prevent the deaths of those she loves. When she fails and returns to her present-day life, she’s forced to confront the fact that her killer’s soul will always be tied to the sapphire and in every life she has, he will be resurrected as someone close to her. Her biggest question—who is he now? She doesn’t have to wonder for very long before she finds evidence that has her questioning everything she thought she knew.
Available at Amazon BN CHAPTERS

Excerpt
Chapter OneDublin, IrelandToday I would tell Cullen the truth. I swirled the champagne in my glass in an agitated fashion. I would not allow myself to be distracted. I looked down in early defeat and noticed the dark limp waves cascading past my shoulders. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t even get ready for a dinner party without being distracted. All that work curling it, and then Cullen had walked in, glimpsing my lacy black bra, and poof, my hair was flat again. Twirling a strand around my index finger, I attempted to bring it back to life. If only the jewels could work their magic on my hair.I spotted Cullen a couple of feet away, making his way over to me. He looked handsome in his sport jacket and tailored shirt. His hair, a coppery red with streaks of blond that looked almost golden in the sunlight, was slicked back so the ends curled at his neck.I should be over-the-moon happy right now. I was sipping Dom Pérignon in an elegant restaurant surrounded by rustic stone walls, as a soft and whimsical Irish fiddle played in the background in honor of our one-year anniversary. It wasn’t technically our anniversary. He had playfully called it that when he’d invited me out to dinner with his family, but what he’d meant was that it had been one year since we’d met. Since that ill-fated day on the Lerins Island, half a mile off shore from Cannes, when I’d rejected the marriage proposal of that egotistical lunatic Nicholas Bexx and endured his wrath. Lucky for me, Cullen had been looking up from the deck of his family’s yacht and had seen Nick push me off the cliff. Cullen dove in and pulled me to safety, and subsequently into his life.It was hard to believe that in a full year I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth: that the fall had sent me to another time and place and into the body of a nineteenth-century princess. But what sane person would believe what had been only seconds underwater to them had been another lifetime to me? I was the owner of the Purple Delhi Sapphire. I had time traveled into my past life and uncovered my destiny—had done so repeatedly—and was always reborn, only to be murdered by the same obsessed spirit, again and again.“Sophia, ye all right?” Cullen asked, appearing suddenly at my elbow.“No,” I said automatically and pushed away the bothersome thoughts.“Gah. It’s the restaurant. It’s too fancy, isn’t it? I said so, but ye know Móraí.”“What? I love this place.” The room buzzed with mixed conversation. “I just didn’t hear what you said.”“Where the tongue slips, it speaks the truth. I asked if ye were all right and ye said no.”“I’m fine. I’m just soaking in the atmosphere. It’s so romantic in here.”That was the truth. The place was intimate. A combination of comfortable leather and floral high-backed chairs surrounded the long table, and almost all of them were now full with Cullen’s family.“It is getting loud in here. I thought this was just dinner, but it looks like you rented out the whole restaurant. Will this place hold your entire family?”“Like that’d matter. Loud-mouthed arses. Let’s skedaddle and we can celebrate alone.”I laughed as Cullen pretended to boot one of his cousins in the rear.His eyes met mine, and it was just like that first day in the hospital after I’d awoken from the fall. There was no denying the attraction and it wasn’t just pheromones. It was as if my soul recognized his, which was exactly why I needed to be honest about the curse. I was giving myself an ulcer and all for what? I knew he felt the same way. For heaven’s sake, I’d overheard him tell his brother of his dreams, and they sounded suspiciously familiar. There were other clues. He shared a birthmark with Graf Viktor Ferdinand of Württemberg, who’d rescued me on three separate occasions when I was the princess, and of course his ancestor had been the one to sell the Purple Delhi Sapphire to my family.Cullen bent his head toward me, his lips brushing mine, but at the last moment I turned my cheek.“Cullen, your grandmother has arrived with your parents and she’s staring at us. It’s probably this dress.”“Well now, she can be after findin’ her own frock, can’t she? ’Cause ye look bloody deadly in that one.”He playfully tugged at the clasp centered between my breasts. He’d been the one to choose this low-slung, emerald-green dress. He said it reminded him of a shamrock, but I knew he really liked it because it provided a pretty little peek-a-boo if I moved just the right way. Truthfully, it was a little racy for this evening, but you only lived once. Well, maybe some people did.His mother, Lucille, rushed across the polished wooden floor, playfully elbowing him out of the way in order to hug me.“Ye best be behavin’ yerself, boy.”She was a fine-boned woman with beautiful brown eyes and curly auburn hair. When they stood side by side it was easy to see he took after her with his ruddy locks, and lucky for him because she had great genes. His father—orDa, as they called him—wasn’t too bad himself. He had a charisma that both his sons carried.“Sophia…”My name was said in a strange, low whisper, and for a moment I froze as hands fell on my shoulders.“Look at ye, lass.”I smiled and turned to see Cullen’s brother with his dark, whiskey-colored eyes and raven’s-wing hair. A touch of gray at the temples made him look dignified. “Liam, I’m so glad to see you.” I hugged him back. He lived fairly close and was over for dinner at least twice a week.“Aren’t ye a fine bit of stuff! For the life of me, I can’t be figurin’ why ye’re still with that gobdaw brother of mine.”“Did ye hear that, Cullen?” One of the cousins, Ewan, called out. “Liam’s after ye’re wan.”“Go ’way from her ye bloody jealous maggot, always after me scooter growin’ up too,” Cullen called back.“Oh, here we go,” I said, preparing myself for their playful banter, most of which was lost on me.Liam drew me in for a kiss on the cheek and lowered his voice, practically whispering into my ear. “I saw ye first.”I smiled at the harmless peck. They were always teasing, although I couldn’t help but think sometimes Liam took it too far, especially for a priest. He let go and looked back at Cullen, who finished hugging his aunt on the other side of the table and strutted toward us.“Hold tight. I’m on my way to rescue ye, luv.”“No rescue necessary,” Liam said, grinning. “I’m a man of the cloth.”“Bit of a holy joe is more like it,” Cullen slung back.Ewan, the youngest of the three, jumped to his feet and pretended to step between them. Both Cullen and Liam gave their cousin a friendly shove, then gave each other a loving pat on the back as they hugged.Cullen turned to me. “Ye sure ye’re all right, luv?”“I’m perfect,” I said, finally beginning to relax. I’d made up my mind. I was going to tell him tonight, come hell or high water.“Brilliant.” He kissed my forehead, his lips soft and warm on my skin. “I’ll miss ye next week. Ye gonna keep busy?” He fiddled nervously with his jacket pocket. It wasn’t like Cullen to fiddle; I gave his hand a squeeze. He was traveling to London tomorrow on business. He would only be gone four days, but he was never home long before he had to jet off again.“I thought maybe I’d go to that fundraiser—see if one of your cousins wanted to tag along—and of course the bridal shower is the next day.” Maybe that was why he was so jittery. He knew I didn’t like being without him, and he’d mentioned once or twice the guilt he felt over leaving.Someone clinked their fork off a glass and the musical tinkling made me look up.“O’Kelley Clan, can I get yer attention up here for a moment?” Da called.A champagne bottle opened with a satisfying pop.“If ye haven’t noticed already, there’s a bit of the bubbly being passed about, so set aside the whiskey and grab one.”The table quieted and we took our seats.“I’d like to propose a toast to the lovely lass sitting at Cullen’s side.” Da raised his glass, and all eyes turned to me.“Here here,” Cullen said. “To my Sophia.”My glass clinked against his. “What’s going on?” I whispered.He’d switched out my glass as the tray went by and now gave me his best I-have-no-idea look, extending an arm around my shoulders and pulling me in tight.“T’was a year ago today she fell into our lives from Sainte Marguerite Island—or perhaps it was the sky, ’cause surely that one there’s an angel.”“Quit stealin’ his lines, John,” Lucille chided smartly before he could go on.The room roared with laughter.“Aw sure look it. I did, didn’t I? Sorry, Son. Well then here’s another stolen line while I’m at it: to women’s kisses, and to whiskey, amber clear. Not as sweet as a woman’s kiss, but a darn sight more sincere! Anyway, Cullen, don’t run away now.”“Yea, thanks, Da!”The laughter faded as Cullen pushed his chair back and stood, pulling me gently to stand with him.“Not sure how to follow that up, but how about: to passionate people, beautiful futures, and lovely lasses who fall from the heavens,” he said, knocking glasses with me. Clinks echoed all around, and I smiled as he set his flute down.Then he lowered to one knee.He grinned up at me—so charming and gorgeous. His green eyes, as always, were mesmerizing. They had flecks of gold in them that clung to the edges and danced in the center, like they were on fire. My heart beat so loudly in my ears that it almost drowned out the “awws” and “oohs.”“Ye’re already mine, lass, in every way possible and I am yers, but I want the world to know,” he said, taking my free hand. Someone took the glass of champagne from the other one, as I was shaking so badly. The black velvet box squeaked open, and his aunts gasped in unison, as if on cue.“Will ye make me the happiest man in Ireland, Aevil, and join our O’Kelley Clan?” He kissed my fingers as I stared down at him.The marble-sized rock in the box swirled, and doubled in front of my eyes. Deep purple amethyst with a thin frame of diamonds, set in pink gold and accentuated with a slender shank and crescent details.I looked past the ring, into his eyes, and found him still staring directly at me. He’d removed the ring from the box and was holding it out, ready to place it on my finger.He cleared his throat. “It was my great-great-great-grandmother’s and I thought ye might appreciate it, since ye were so intrigued with her portrait.”I nodded, trying to smile through the confusion, but my head swam with random bursts of chatter, the fiddle, and all the thoughts flooding me at once, mostly that Cullen had just proposed to me with the missing Purple Delhi Sapphire ring. A bead of sweat ran down the side of my cheek as the ring touched the tip of my finger.Cullen’s face began to distort. A shimmery haze had fallen over the room as if the desert were closing in. The vibration from the ring traveled up my arm, and the room began to shift and blur at the edges. Another room, a darker room, was coming into focus. I could still hear Cullen’s aunt ordering someone to get me a glass of water.There was something I should remember. Water. Rochus said water was necessary to ease the pain of time travel. Maybe this was what it felt like without. I tried to blink away the heat, tried to stop myself from going, but I couldn’t. The edges of the room were burning away fast now, like a Polaroid scorched by flames. I could hear the trickling of the fountain in the corner. I ran for it, or at least I intended to, but it was too late.
Reviews
“Ms. Stapleton's, The Curse of the Purple Delhi Sapphire, is extraordinary! She brings us the story of Sophia Marcil, a quiet librarian, who has found love in this life but is haunted by and trying to break the trail of destruction and death that has haunted her through many lives. If you want a great mystery, enjoy the idea of time travel and/or like a wonderful romance - do not hesitate to delve into this one.” —Paranormal Romance and Authors that Rock 
Plenty of twists, a sprinkle of humor and a whodunit with a surprising ending, Curse reminds me of great old story telling, but with a fresh and vital voice. —Author A.B. Funkhauser
Just barely surfacing from her dangerous travel into the 1800’s…Sophia has become part of a lethal adventure in the 1920’s. She is haunted by the same curse—the never-broken, deadly hunt for the possession of the Purple Delhi Sapphire, which has been plaguing her lifetimes over…Rachael writes in a way that is intriguing enough to keep the pages turning. Each scene segues into the next with new information, new conflicts, new prospects, new possibilities, new theories, and new revelations…In Rachael’s storytelling, there is never a dull moment. Her imagination is one of her greatest strengths as a writer. —Best Book Reviews and Edits 
Twists, turns, great characters, and time travel ... what's not to love! This was a fantastic read! Can't wait for book 3! —Author Marissa Campbell
Book One Trailer: http://goo.gl/6vtX2rBook Two Trailer: http://youtu.be/VCeG9eA09Fg
About the Author: Rachel Stapleton lives in a Second Empire Victorian with her husband and two children in Ontario, Canada and enjoys writing in the comforts of aged wood and arched dormers. She is the author of The Temple of Indra’s Jewel, Curse of the Purple Delhi Sapphire and is currently working on the third and most likely final book in the Temple of Indra series.





Website: www.RachaelStapleton.com
Blog: http://RachaelStapleton.blogspot.ca/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Rachael-Stapleton/137831156290570
Twitter: https://twitter.com/RaquelleJaxson
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7271862.Rachael_Stapleton
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Rachael-Stapleton/e/B00IE9W804
Google +: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+RachaelStapleton/posts


Buy Links:
Curse of the Purple Delhi Sapphire Paperback
Curse of the Purple Delhi Sapphire Kindle
The Temple of Indra’s Jewel Paperback
The Temple of Indra’s Jewel Kindle

Tuesday's Treasured & Tipsy Timeslip: This Weeks Traveller is Frederick Crook

Travel and make-believe go hand in hand. Whether we're in the present or the past, in a haunted castle, an enchanted forest or a broken down building, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and traveling the world can bring the imagination to life.

Time to jump into the Treasured & Tipsy Timeslip with this week's traveller Solstice Publishing Author Frederick Crook. We're headed down the I-94t o 1970's Michigan and from there we're jumping to a dystopian future to take a look at Frederick's version of the Corpus Christi Naval Air Station. Is it midnight yet becuase if so then it's time to take a tour into Savannah's Garden of Good and Evil and then we're onto a very dangerous Japan. P.s - Keanu Reeves is my movie star crush.

#Michigan #Savannah #Gardenofgoodandevil #Travel #AuthorInterview #TreasuredTipsyTimeslip #RachaelStapleton #CurseofthePurpleDelhiSapphire #FrederickCrook #Japa #Ronin #1970 #MercerWilliamsHouse #SolsticePublishing

5 Places I’d Like to Visit
So, Rachael Stapleton put this question to me and I have to say the first place on my list is New Buffalo, Michigan in the late 1970’s. It’s the first Michigan exit when driving through Indiana from Chicago along . That’s right, it’s Exit 1.

My mother grew up in that town as the adopted daughter of Frederick and Pauline Schrader back in the ‘40’s. I spent a LOT of time over many summers there with my grandmother, Pauline in the 1980’s. Fred, a WWII veteran, passed away in 1958, so I never met him. The Schraders were kind of a big deal in Post-War New Buffalo. They had a very large lumber mill right off the lake. After Fred Schrader passed away, the brother sold it and the new owner ruined it. The location is currently a parking lot for the cheesy cookie-cutter condos that overlook private beaches.


What I remember of the town was this rural feel that was very different from the City of Cicero where I was living at the time. My grandmother’s home was nestled within a neighborhood of rolling plains enshrouded by great big trees which cast their shadows upon the narrow, curb-less streets and unfenced yards. The homes were vastly different from one another and no one minded if their neighbor’s kids ran over their grass or cut through their yards to get home.



My grandmother passed away in October of 2000 after a few years in a nursing home. I’ve been back a few times and the house looks completely different, though it seems very well cared for. This little stretch of Main St. shows many of the commercial buildings I remember as a kid. They’ve gone through many changes over the years, but they’re still there. You can’t see it, but the beach and Lake Michigan are off in this direction.

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Where’s the TARDIS when ya need it? I wanna go back! I need the Docta!
Well, moving on, I have to say that I’d really like to see Corpus Christi, Texas. My first novel, The Dregs of Exodus took place there and, since the story happens in a dystopian future, I needed only cursory research to write the story. I did downsize and modernize the Corpus Christi Naval Air Station, but I left it in the same location. I would like to actually take a road trip out there one day. It would be a blast to see the U.S.S. Lexington Museum. I do make a reference to it in the book as having been dismantled to repurpose the metal. [image error]
In my second novel, The Pirates of Exodus, I visited Cape Canaveral, Florida. I researched it using Google Earth and I used the real streets and neighborhoods in it. I was especially enthralled with the Kennedy Space Center, where I imagined the nation’s last Spaceport would be located. In my book, the entire facility including the adjoining Cape Canaveral Air Force Station was in the control of pirates, a mixture of humanity including former members of the military and criminals. To the south of this is the City of Cape Canaveral and Cocoa Beach, where the civilians gathered and lived until their turn to head to space and the colony planet, Alethea.
I would love to head there at some point and experience the place, it sure looks like fun. This part of Florida is divided by several rivers and dotted with palm trees, making it a very appealing tropical paradise.

[image error]


Another place I’d like to visit is Savannah, Georgia. 
Ever since the movie “Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil” came out, I’ve wanted to go there, meet some nice people and carry a “traveler”. Any of you that have read the book or watched the movie know what I’m talking about. 
Bloghost Insert: Check out the Mercer Williams House Museum, the magnificent mansion on Monterey Square once occupied by Midnight’s central character: Savannah socialite Jim Williams. 





The house features furniture and artwork from Williams’ private collection, including 18th- and 19th-century portraits and furniture, Chinese porcelain and more. If you want a small replica of the Mercer Williams House to take home, then stop by the museum’s gift shop, which also sells Midnight memorabilia such as Bird Girl statues, audio recordings and copies of the book.
[image error]
Oh, well…two tears in a bucket…




If I ever get over my fear of flying, I’d like to go to Japan. I’d like to see any part of it, really. I’ve been a fan of Japanese cinema for a number of years. I seem to love anything that Toshiro Mifune (Mif-ooo-nay) starred in. There’s nothing like a vintage samurai film.

Of course, my all-time favorite out of Japan is Shintaro Katsu’s portrayal of the blind swordsman, Zatoichi. Now, he’s not samurai, he’s yakuza, that is, Japanese mob. Yes, they had yakuza during the feudal times. Organized crime is not exclusive to the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.
[image error]

Anyway, to see the land where these fine action actors lived and worked would be a real thrill. It’s beautiful even in black & white films and they didn’t need Keanu Reeves to tell the true story of the “47 Ronin”.
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Curse of the Purple Delhi Sapphire: Signed Paperbacks Coming Soon

Who still needs a copy of my latest release, Curse of the Purple Delhi Sapphire? $25.

I will be placing a bulk order with my publisher, Solstice Publishing shortly as the lovely Connie Di Pietro-Sparacino is holding a book launch in August.

You can buy the book at the launch in Brooklin or grab it from me beforehand.

Thanks so much for your support.

P.S - The third book in the series is complete and will be going into my joyous little beta reader's hands today!

Alternatively, if you'd prefer to order online or through your Kindle device. I've included the link below.

Order Online Now




#CurseofthePurpleDelhiSapphire #TempleofIndra #Mystery #Romance #Timetravel #Adventure #Ireland #SolsticePublishing #$25 #Ordernow #Paperback #hotreads #hotreads2015 #bestmystery #amazon #bestseller

Running Short on Creativity: Try These Simple Tricks to Get Your Imagination Back Into Shape

We've all been there. Those days when the creative juices dry up and simply remembering where you left your keys becomes a huge task. In industries where creativity pays the bills this can be nerve-racking. Especially when brainstorming turns into a doodle session that results in a series of spirals that you already perfected in middle school. The best way to avoid the wall is to keep one or two of these tricks in your backpocket--allowing you to scale the hell out of that creativity barrier! #writingtips #creativeflow #writingadvice #creativityadvice #breakingthedryspell #getcreative #innovative #excercise #businessadvice #creativejobs #Norwood #running #nature #outdoors #travel

1. GET THAT BLOOD PUMPING Some of our best ideas happen when we are in motion. This morning I was out running and the combination of old houses, mature trees and physical activity had my mind swirling with plot twists. 
Whether we’re running, swimming or practicing yoga, the engaged state of our bodies allows our minds to wander freely.
In partial solitude, solutions can almost seem to present themselves. So whether you’re heading to the gym or just outside for a walk around the neighborhood, try stepping away from a busy day to engage in a workout.
Not to mention a new view never hurt anyone—even if it’s not as pretty as this one—so whether you’re hitting the trails or navigating tall building and traffic, a change of scenery can provide the spark that leads to a fresh idea. Just remember to keep your phone handy so you can voice text yourself notes on the idea. Then hurry back to the desk to elaborate.
2. SENSE YOUR SURROUNDINGS Human beings have a multitude of senses that are often key to generating new ideas. Yes, we’re highly visual but it’s not just the beauty of nature that inspires us but also scent, touch and sounds. Birds chirping, raindrops falling or even the steady hum of traffic. Setting the mood to free the creative spark can be done in many different ways. I know there are certain streets that I jog down that can completely get my brain firing on all cylinders. Next time you’re feeling inspired, note what’s around you that may be triggering it. For example there is a certain bush of flowers on the street behind my house that gives me a rush of adrenalin when I pass it. There’s an old heritage house on the same street that sends my mind into mystery novel mode.  When I run through the downtown core I can’t help but think of money and the businesses that I could create and ways to improve the town and my own quality of life. This is because each of our senses can trigger different emotional responses, and sometimes starting there and letting the visuals follow can open you up to a completely different approach.
3. GET INSPIREDRead Books. Watch movies. Stop by Pinterest.Continuously fill your mind with compelling content and inspiring stories; these will fuel your process. You never know where inspiration may be lurking.
4. KEEP CREATING
You are the captain of your own destiny, capable of imaginative, unique work the world has yet to see. It may take time and energy to get to a point where it flows, but it’s in there. Never give up! Type until your wrist hurts. Paint until you run out of colour. Sing until you lose the pitch. The time is now and there is no need to fear failure or make excuses.  Just show up, start somewhere and keep going until you are good.



The Temple of Indra SeriesBook One: The Temple of Indra’s JewelBook Two: Curse of the Purple Delhi SapphireRachael Stapleton
Genre: Mystery, Adventure, Time Travel Romance
Series Description: Librarian Sophia Marcil has spent her life surrounded by history, fascinated by the tales of ancient curses, but she never imagined the legend of the Purple Delhi Sapphire was true until she inherited it and was transported to a past life where she landed square in the middle of a dangerous plot for the throne. Now she knows that not only is reincarnation real, but so is the magic locked inside her precious gem, and it’s worth killing for.
Publisher: Solstice PublishingDate of Publication: February 3rd, 2015ASIN: B00SNAF018Print Length: 215 pagesWord Count: 66, 400Cover Artist: Rebecca Boyd
Curse of the Purple Delhi Sapphire Book Description:
Sophia Marcil hasn’t escaped her destiny or the mad-man hunting her but she’s doing her best to evade both and making a life in Ireland with Cullen—the one person she can count on to pull her out of deep water. There’s just one problem, despite his connection, she hasn’t told him the truth of her time travel and her reality comes crashing down as he proposes with the very sapphire that’s cursed her. Before she knows it, she’s wandering the hallway of an old Victorian house in the body of her great aunt. Unfortunately, her nemesis has also reincarnated in 1920—as one of her family members and she struggles to locate the Purple Delhi Sapphire in time to prevent the deaths of those she loves. When she fails and returns to her present-day life, she’s forced to confront the fact that her killer’s soul will always be tied to the sapphire and in every life she has, he will be resurrected as someone close to her. Her biggest question—who is he now? She doesn’t have to wonder for very long before she finds evidence that has her questioning everything she thought she knew.
Book One Trailer: http://goo.gl/6vtX2rBook Two Trailer: http://youtu.be/VCeG9eA09Fg
About the Author: Rachel Stapleton lives in a Second Empire Victorian with her husband and two children in Ontario, Canada and enjoys writing in the comforts of aged wood and arched dormers. She is the author of The Temple of Indra’s Jewel, Curse of the Purple Delhi Sapphire and is currently working on the third and most likely final book in the Temple of Indra series.

Please subscribe to my website and follow me on social media.
www.RachaelStapleton.com http://RachaelStapleton.blogspot.ca/https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Rachael-Stapleton/137831156290570https://twitter.com/RaquelleJaxsonhttps://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7271862.Rachael_Stapletonhttp://www.amazon.com/Rachael-Stapleton/e/B00IE9W804 https://plus.google.com/u/0/+RachaelStapleton/posts

Buy Links:
Curse of the Purple Delhi Sapphire Paperback Curse of the Purple Delhi Sapphire Kindle The Temple of Indra’s Jewel Paperback The Temple of Indra’s Jewel Kindle
For more ideas on getting the creativity to flow check out the following articles.
http://www.fastcompany.com/3039050/4-...

Tuesday's Treasured & Tipsy Timeslip: This Weeks Traveller is Ann Gimpel

Travel and make-believe go hand in hand. Whether we're in the present or the past, in a haunted castle, an enchanted forest or a broken down building, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and traveling the world can bring the imagination to life.

This week's Treasured & Tipsy Time Traveller is a mountaineer at heart. Ann Gimpel prefers solitude and wilderness photography which is why she lives in Eastern Sierra, a mecca for those in love with the mountains. It was during one of her long backcountry treks that Ann’s writing evolved. Please join us as she takes us on A Wanderer’s Life.



At least in modern times, I’ve been fortunate to travel the globe and see fascinating things. I spent two months of 2014 in Antarctica, and wish I could go back. There’s something wild and untamed about what truly is one of the last frontiers on our planet.
Mystery lends itself to storytelling, and Antarctica is one mysterious place. The single celled organisms, archaea, that play a starring role in Icy Passage, are real, as is everything I said about them in the book. One of the hallmarks of science fiction is the science parts have to be spot on. When I submitted the book to a well-known science fiction webzine for review, I held my breath because Icy Passage has paranormal elements in it too. The review turned out fine. More than fine, actually!






Other places that appeal to me are mountainous areas. I adore the seclusion and necessity of pitting myself against whatever nature throws my way. I’m lucky to live with the Sierras in my backyard. So backpacking trips are a mainstay every summer. Or they were until one of our wolf hybrids grew old. We’ll still backpack this summer, but Nikki-man will have to stay home. He can’t walk very far anymore. Here are a few Sierra photos from my collection of thousands. Photography was my first art. I’ve been taking pictures for years. Long before I started writing. Some of my books, like Alpine Attraction and Destiny’s Shadow, take place in the backcountry. And many of my other books rely heavily on my survivalist knowledge base.Come August, we’ll head for the NW Passage and I have hopes we’ll get some great polar bear shots, as well as other wildlife unique to the Arctic.I feel blessed and fortunate to have seen so much of our amazing world. Travel’s taught me so much about other people and their cultures, and about flexibility and adaptability. My husband would love to have been born two hundred years ago, during the age of the great explorers. That would’ve held its own set of interesting challenges, but women were terribly repressed then. I enjoy the freedom offered by the twenty-first century, and I’m not so sure I’d be quick to swap it out.
Thanks for inviting me to your blog and for an intriguing guest post topic.
Winning GloryGenTech Rebellion, Book 1Ann Gimpel
Dream Shadow PressRelease Date: 4/21/15Genre: Military Romantic SuspenseThe line between hunter and hunted thins, blurs, and finally shatters.
Series Backstory:
Sometime between the interminable wars in the Middle East and 9/11, the United States moved forward breeding a race of super humans. Clandestine labs formed, armed with eager scientists who’d always yearned to manipulate human DNA. At first the clones looked promising, growing to fighting size in as little as a dozen years, but V1 had design flaws.
Seven years ago, a rogue group turned on their creators, blew up the lab, and hit all the other breeding farms, freeing whomever they could find. In the intervening time, they’ve retreated to hidden compounds and created a society run by men. Women are kept on a tight leash because the men fear if they discover their innate power, they’d launch their own rebellion. 
Book Description:
Being a genetically altered human without a name grew old, so Glory named herself. Surrounded by a maze of unpleasant alternatives, she makes a bold choice and ends up a fugitive in the midst of a Minnesota winter. Once she’s on the run, she discovers how unprepared she is for life outside her protected compound.
CIA agent, Roy Kincaid, devoted his career to hunting super humans who staged a rebellion seven years before. He’s not making much headway, so he goes deep undercover. One blustery night, a striking woman staggers into the café where he’s catching a late meal. Part waif, part runway model, the half-frozen woman arrows straight into his heart.
Glory’s flat out of alternatives, but death in the storm might be preferable to telling the tall stranger looming over her anything. Sensing Roy is dangerous, she pushes into his head seeking clues and discovers he hunts those like her. Maybe she can fool him, just for tonight. Get a hot meal and dry motel room out of the deal. If she’s lucky, he’ll never find out she’s on the run from the same group he’s targeted for death.
The thing she didn’t count on was falling in love.

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Excerpt:
…“Dessert, hon?” The waitress sidled back over to him, and Roy realized he was her only customer.“Sure. What do you have?”She rattled off a series of pies and cakes. He chose apple pie with a scoop of ice cream, and she left with his dinner plate. Roy slumped against the chair. He had to keep going. No choice. Not really. A good night’s sleep, coupled with the first adequate meal he’d had in a couple days might make a big difference in his attitude. At least he hoped they would.He’d just begun on the pie, which had a surprisingly flaky crust, when a rush of cold air yanked his attention toward the door. A tall woman walked in. Long, dark hair caked with snow swirled around her, and she held her body tightly as if she were really cold. Roy glanced at her feet and was shocked to see a pair of tennis shoes with holes in them. Good God, had she been outside with such inadequate footwear? Didn’t she understand she could freeze to death? Even his stout boots didn’t do much to divert the cold. Keeping her gaze downcast, she made her way to the counter and sat.“Coffee, hon?” The waitress asked. “How much is it?” the woman inquired.“Two bucks.”“Oh.” The woman’s shoulders drooped, and she swiveled the stool around, getting ready to go back out into the storm.“No, you don’t.” The waitress’s voice sharpened. “I’ll stand you a coffee. You look about done in.”The woman’s even features melted into what looked like relief before she turned back to face the counter. “Thank you. That’s really kind and I appreciate it. My wallet was stolen, and—”“Never you mind.” The waitress patted the woman’s shoulder. “Bet you’re hungry too.” She poured hot coffee into a mug and handed it to the woman, who drew the steaming liquid to her lips. “Maybe a little,” the woman ventured. She clasped the cup with fingers white from cold.By now, Roy knew he was staring, but he couldn’t make himself turn away. There was something waiflike and alluring about the tall woman with long, black hair. Snow dripped off her, creating puddles around her stool. All she wore against the winter weather was a thick, gray sweater and worn jeans. No scarf. No gloves. No hat. He was close to certain her wallet hadn’t been stolen. She looked more like an abuse victim on the run to him. Maybe he could help her get to her intended destination, if it wasn’t too far out of his way.He pushed his chair back and made his way to the counter. “Say—” he began, but she started and drew away as if she expected him to hit her.I was right. Abuse victim for sure.“I’m not going to hurt you.” He kept his voice low, soothing. “Order whatever you want, and I’ll pay for it.”She kept her gaze on her hands clutching the coffee cup. “I can’t let you do that, sir. I’m all right. Truly I am.”Without waiting for an invitation, he took the stool next to hers and called to the waitress. “Bring her the same meal I just had.”“You got it, hon,” rang from the direction of the kitchen.“You are not all right,” Roy said. “You’re thin as a rail, and you were shivering when you came in here. In fact, you still are. I’ll bet your shoes are wet clear through.” When she didn’t respond, he ploughed on. “Let me help you.”She shook her head. “Don’t want your kind of help. It always comes with strings.”“Mine doesn’t.”He pushed a little with his enhanced mental ability to get her to look at him. If she did, maybe she’d see truth in his eyes. A shudder ran down her thin frame, but she dragged her gaze upward reluctantly. Roy felt bad for forcing her, but he didn’t have time to soothe her wounded places, which he suspected ran deep.Eyes a shade of green he’d never seen inspected him. Long, thick lashes framed those eyes, and they were set in a face with high cheekbones, a high forehead, and black eyebrows winging a track over porcelain skin.“Who are you?” The words tore from him. He hadn’t meant to say them. She was nervous as a feral cat as it was.She shook her head sadly. “No one. I’m no one. You’ll forget all about me when you leave here.”Something shifted in his mind, but he fought it. Before he could determine if something real had just happened or if he were imagining things, the waitress showed up with the woman’s dinner.“Here you go, hon. Hope medium’s okay for that steak?”“Fine, thank you.” Before the words were out, the woman picked up the fork and knife and shoveled food into her mouth.Roy congratulated himself on a good call. Even though she’d been reluctant to admit it, she really was starving. He had no idea what she’d do tomorrow or the next day, but it wasn’t his problem. While she ate, he observed her from the corner of his eyes. In addition to being hungry and underdressed, she looked young. Maybe twenty. He’d be surprised if she were much more than that.He shook a mental finger at himself. The country was full of abused women running from the men who used them as punching bags before they raped them. It was one part of law enforcement work he’d never understood: why the women kept going back for more.“There are safe houses for girls like you,” he said, and could’ve kicked himself. What the hell was wrong with his mouth tonight? He couldn’t seem to keep words on the other side of it.She stopped chewing long enough to glance at him. “What’s a safe house?”“A place where women like you can go so whoever’s after you can’t get to you.”“What makes you think someone’s after me?” Color splotched across her white cheeks.Roy took a deep breath. “I was a cop for a long time.”Her entire body tightened, and he wondered if he’d been wrong about why she was out in the storm. “You said was.” She swiped a paper napkin over her lips. “Are you still?”“No. Not anymore.”She took another bite, clearly thinking about what he’d said. “These people you think are after me. Could they still find me in a safe house?”He wanted to lie to her, but didn’t. “Sure. Anyone can find anybody with the Internet and all, but the people who run the safe houses won’t let anyone who might hurt you inside.”She drew her arched brows together and drank some coffee. “I’d have to go outside sometime. Work. Earn my way.”He nodded. Those things were all true. He scratched his head and pushed too-long hair out of his eyes. “Sometimes, when a man is really persistent, there are ways of setting you up with a different identity in a different part of the country.”Interest lit her features, and she cut up the last of her steak. “Where would I go to have that happen?”“I’m not sure, but we could check with local agencies in the morning.”A blank expression washed over her face, as if someone had shut out a light. She shot him a look she might have given yesterday’s overripe trash. “Morning, huh? You’re just like all the rest of them, mister. Means I’d have to spend the night with you.”Roy winced. He hadn’t been thinking. Of course she’d make that connection. “No.” He shook his head emphatically. “I’d buy you your own room for the night. You can clean up, get some sleep, and we’ll regroup in the morning after breakfast.”She narrowed her eyes, and he felt himself drawn into their depths. “My own room with a locked door?”He nodded solemnly, willing her to believe him. If he could just do one decent deed, it would make up for the last two weeks of beating his head into a brick wall. Maybe it would give him enough juice to keep hunting for the scientists who were a bunch of Houdini fuckers.“Mmph.” She started on her potato, taking large bites. In between them, she said. “I’m trying to figure out your angle. If I’ve worked my way around to believing you won’t hurt me by the time I’m done eating, I’ll accept your offer.”It was the best he was likely to get. Roy stood. “Fair enough. I’m going to finish my pie.” It was sitting in a pool of melted ice cream, but he didn’t mind. “If you’d care to accept my help, just stop by my table on your way out. If you walk past, I give you my word I won’t bother you.”“Deal.” She said around a mouthful of food. Swallowing, she twisted to look at him. It felt as if she were staring straight through him, but Roy held his ground even after he identified a zing of power withdrawing from his mind. What the hell was she, anyway? When she returned to her dinner, he retreated to his pie, thoughts racing a mile a minute. What the fuck was he doing? If he were smart, he’d forget his offer, throw enough money on the table to cover both meals, and run like hell for his car.There was something about the woman, though, an appeal that drew him, snared him, and wouldn’t leave him be. He ate mindlessly, not tasting the pie. He knew the feel of freak mind control. Was that it? Had he inadvertently stumbled onto one of them?Impossible. They’re never by themselves, and whatever she examined me with didn’t feel quite right.Plus, she didn’t resemble the ones he’d killed before. They had dark hair, but animal eyes. Amber, not green like hers. Of course they’d been men, but simple genetics argued they’d all look much the same if they came out of the same petri dishes. Were there other augmented humans beyond those he already knew about? The thought fascinated and chilled him at the same time.He scraped his fork over the plate and realized it was empty. Slugging back long-since-cold coffee, he dug for his wallet and extracted what he was certain would cover dinner, laying bills on the table and placing his empty mug atop them. The woman looked almost done with her meal. What would she do?What would he do if she walked by him and out the door? Would he be able to keep his promise and not go after her?…

Ann Gimpel is a mountaineer at heart. Recently retired from a long career as a psychologist, she remembers many hours at her desk where her body may have been stuck inside four walls, but her soul was planning yet one more trip to the backcountry. Around the turn of the last century (that would be 2000, not 1900!), she managed to finagle moving to the Eastern Sierra, a mecca for those in love with the mountains. It was during long backcountry treks that Ann’s writing evolved. Unlike some who see the backcountry as an excuse to drag friends and relatives along, Ann prefers solitude. Stories always ran around in her head on those journeys, sometimes as a hedge against abject terror when challenging conditions made her fear for her life, sometimes for company. Eventually, she returned from a trip and sat down at the computer. Three months later, a five hundred page novel emerged. Oh, it wasn’t very good, but it was a beginning. And, she learned a lot between writing that novel and its sequel.
Around that time, a friend of hers suggested she try her hand at short stories. It didn’t take long before that first story found its way into print and they’ve been accepted pretty regularly since then. One of Ann’s passions has always been ecology, so her tales often have a green twist.
In addition to writing, Ann enjoys wilderness photography. She lugs pounds of camera equipment in her backpack to distant locales every year. A standing joke is that over ten percent of her pack weight is camera gear which means someone else has to carry the food! That someone is her husband. They’ve shared a life together for a very long time. Children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out their family.
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