Link by Link Release Day Blitz!!

Well Hello Everyone!

It has truly been a long time. But I had to stop on by (I really need to be blogging at least twice a week) to roll this bad boy out. Link by Link has been through some things. It’s original home went the way of the dodo bird and thanks to some amazing women behind the scenes (I’m looking at you Meg Dailey and Elle Beaumont) it landed with Midnight Publishing!!! So, I give to you this amazing holiday anthology! And just look at that purty cover!!!!

Link by Link: An Anthology of Haunted Holidays
Publication date: December 2nd 2020
Genres: Holiday, Paranormal, Supernatural, Young Adult

“‘I wear the chain I forged in life, ’replied the Ghost. ‘I made it link by link…’”-Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

Link by Link is a collection of 9 stories of ghosts, spirits, and creatures unnamed, all come to teach lessons we won’t soon forget. From sweet Christmas tales to terrifying holiday hauntings, these stories take a dive into the past in the hopes of creating a better—or at least different—future.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

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My story, THE RECIPE FOR CORNBREAD, is dedicated to my family. Writing it reminded me so much of visiting Mississippi during Christmas. We would go every year and just seeing family (PRESENTS) and sharing the holiday meal (PRESENTS) would put so much joy in my heart. And I really enjoyed pilling up in my Uncle’s van and making the trip down to Louisiana for more good food and family! I really miss those days.

My Grandma Mary Alice is a central character in the story. She passed when I was in High School and I don’t think our family has been the same since. She was the foundation. The bedrock. The one who generated so much wisdom and love it would fill the entire room. I miss her. I wish my husband had gotten the opportunity to meet her. He was the one who gave me the foundation for my story. I love him so much. My mother, Gynda, is another central character. She is what I see when I imagine a women with strength and gumption. And, of course, all my family has been woven into the story in some way. So, like I said. This story really is for them.

Before I turn into a puddle of emotions and take you down with me, I will give you a little teaser of my story. Make sure you add this wonderful collection to your shopping list. Hell, I believe everyone on that list of yours needs their own copy! After all, we have had a very rocky year and we all need a little joy in our lives! [image error] But be warned, there is some darkness in these tales, too! But also lots of LOVE!

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The Recipe for Cornbread

By C. Vonzale Lewis

Link by Link Anthology

Chapter One Excerpt  

Strength…

My fifth attempt at my Grandma Mary Alice’s cornbread wasn’t any better than the last four. Steam rose off the golden loaf, scenting the air with the delicious corn and butter smell. I’d decided, even though the recipe didn’t call for it, to add butter to this last attempt. Brown around the edges, the middle sagged as if some key ingredient had been left out. Or, in this case, added.

The stained notecard my Aunt Anne had scrawled the recipe on sat in a smear of flour on the yellow-tiled counter. Moving in close, still holding the cast-iron skillet in my mitten-covered hand, I once again went over the ingredients: cornmeal, flour, baking powder, salt, milk, lard (I’d used vegetable oil instead). While the original recipe had been written in black ink, someone (most likely my Aunt Betina) had added the precise measurements later in blue.

My grandma and my Aunt Anne never used measuring cups when they cooked. My mom, Gwen, had taken her set when she moved out six months ago, after my Aunt Desiree had passed away in her sleep. I’d had to purchase a set when I bought the food for the Christmas meal. I’d never developed the same culinary skills that my aunt and grandma possessed. I did okay in the kitchen, though I always had to follow a recipe. But now, staring at the almost empty egg carton—pissed that I’d have to go to the store for more eggs for breakfast in the morning—I knew I’d gotten in over my head.

I’d like to say the deposits of flour all over the counter were the final straw, but that would be a lie. Careful not to slam it down—I couldn’t afford to repair them—I set the cast-iron skillet on the towel I had resting on the countertop and blew out a breath of frustration. A single tear slipped down my sweaty cheek. My cousin Beatrice and her partner Raphael would be here in an hour to help, and the rest of the family would follow soon after that. Although I’d made most of the Holiday meal (honey glazed ham, potato salad, greens, macaroni and cheese, a pound cake, and two pecan pies), I still had a few more dishes to fix. Including the cornbread. Thankfully, Beatrice was bringing the turkey and dressing.

Sweat slid down my back, and I pushed a lock of damp hair behind my ear as I snatched off the oven mitt and tossed it across the room, scattering the measuring cups. Only a few rooms in the house had air conditioning, and the kitchen wasn’t one of them. My flip-flops smacked the heels of my feet, the sting adding to the rising fury within me, as I walked over to the bay window and shoved it open. Warm humid air rushed inside, bringing in the briny scent of the bayou not far off from our estate. The breeze, although warm, felt good on my face.

Smoke from the oven—filtering out of the vent on the side of the house—circled in the air outside the house. The smoke seemed to morph into a familiar silhouette of a man wearing a bowler hat, his face a ghostly outline. It tugged at the memory of the Christmas after my Grandma Mary Alice had died. I shuddered remembering Mr. Manning. I could still hear that slippery-slimy voice as it slithered all over me. Taunting me. I’d been five at the time. Too young to fight such a malevolent spirit. But somehow, I had found the strength.

It was too bad I didn’t have any of that strength now. Pulling myself from the past, I turned and glared at the old-fashioned stove. “Why didn’t my mother replace that damn stove?”

“You managed everything else just fine on that stove, little Charlotte. It ain’t the problem and you know it,” Grandma Mary Alice said. “No shame in asking for help.”

She was right. The stove wasn’t the problem. It was just an easy target for me to blame my mood on. It couldn’t fight back.

I turned to the rocking chair sitting in the corner of the room. My grandma’s favorite spot in the kitchen. She’d sit there, humming to herself, sweat coating her skin, while food simmered on the stove. Sometimes she’d have a radio playing. But mostly she’d just hum, occasionally wiping the sweat away with a towel she kept thrown over her shoulder. That’s where she was now. Sunlight bathed her skin. Despite being a spirit, she appeared solid, looking the same as she did when I’d first seen her at her funeral. She even wore her favorite pale green flowered dress, the towel still thrown over her shoulder.

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GIVEAWAY!

That’s right, the publisher is hosting an awesome giveaway. Just more wonderful things for you to buy this holiday season!

$50 gift card to Willow Ridge CandlesClick the link below to enter!

https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/classic/19dbbbb/main.html

Thank you for stopping by, I hope you enjoyed the little teaser. I shall speak with you again soon.

Until then,

Peace, Love, and Chocolate Chip Cookies!

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