AISLING: In the Land of Wolves by Eileen Sheehan #HauntedHalloweenSpooktacular

 
Recipe: Spaghetti with Eyeballs
 

Ingredients:
6 ounces spaghetti noodles (cooked)
24 ounce jar spaghetti sauce (heated)
24 ounces pre-cooked frozen meatballs (heated according to package)
1-2 slices part-skim mozzarella cheese
Sliced black olives (to taste)
Pimento stuffed green olives (to taste)

Instructions:
Cook noodles, sauce, and meatballs according to package directions.
Combine noodles and sauce. 
Mix until well combined. 
Form "nests" of noodles by twirling noodles in a serving ladle with a fork and then placing in a serving bowl.
After meatballs have cooled slightly, cut out circles of mozzarella cheese and place one circle on each meatball. 
Place one black olive slice over the cheese circle.
Gently place meatballs randomly over the spaghetti. 
Add green olives over the top, to taste.

AISLING: In the Land of WolvesAisling Trilogy  Book OneEileen Sheehan
Genre: Paranormal, thriller, romanceDate of Publication: 6-17-2023ISBN: 979-8398829426ASIN:  B0C8GFMT74Number of pages: 486Word Count: 67,137Cover Artist: Eileen Sheehan
Tagline: Join Aisling as she navigates a world filled with magic, love, and danger.
Book Description: 
Join Aisling as she navigates a world filled with magic, love, and danger. A victim of bullying, Aisling is transported to a land and time she knows nothing about. 
But with the help of a community of powerful witches, she discovers a strength within herself that she never knew existed. 
As she faces challenges and falls in love, Aisling becomes a fearless and self-assured woman. Amazon     BN     Kobo     Apple

Prologue

I have come to the conclusion that there can be meangirls in any species. They are not just amongst the humans. They are not limitedto the teen years, either.  Although, they seem to be more prevalentduring that time. What led me to this conclusion was simple experience. You see, I was a victim of mean girls of the worst type starting at arather sensitive age.

The mean girl abuse didn’t start until I was in mymid-teens and my mother moved us from a small West Virginia township with apopulation of twenty-two that was located about two hours from Washington, DCto a community that just managed to qualify as a city with its population oftwenty-five-thousand and ten. It was located just over the Virginia border,which shortened my mother’s drive to her monthly meeting of the witch wannnabesin downtown DC by an hour.

The little township of Bloomsburg, West Virginiaconsisted, mostly, of my blood relatives which were either the Loftus or theO’Shea - all of whom were fascinated with witchcraft.  To my knowledge,however, none had been able to truly master it.

The small city of Meddleson, Virginia was void of anyof my kin other than those in my household - my mother, one older half-brother,and one older half-sister - both of whom left for college before we were evensettled in. It did, however, possess a closely knit community of actualpracticing witches. It was my mother’s hope to be able to rub elbows with thesemagic practitioners and finally learn the art. She insisted that witchcraft wasin our blood and it was simply lost to time and oppression. If we could mix andmingle with those who had not lost it, we would surely get it back.

At the time, I had no interest in learning orpracticing magic, nor could I understand why my family felt it was such animportant talent to possess.

My half-siblings’ father died in a car accident whenthey were quite young. He was the love of my mother’s life. No matter what roomin our home that you might venture into, you  were sure to find at leastone photo of him.  

I never knew my own father. Nor was there aphoto of him for me to see. Whenever I would ask my mother to tell me abouthim, she would insist that he was nothing more than a sperm donor who hadpassed through our little borough in the night and I was to give him no morethought than that.

Although I found it disappointing, it didn’t bother menearly as much as the intense emotion that I would sense pouring from everypore of my mother’s body whenever I brought up the subject of my father. She would visibly tremble with what I had assumed was the desire to seehim dead, or, at the very least, castrated and paraded, naked, through thestreets.

About the Author:
Sitting at her antique rolltop desk in her home in upstate New York, Internationally Published and Award Winning author, Eileen Sheehan, writes steamy romance thrillers for the mature adult with a sexy male and strong female. The majority of her novels are paranormal, but some are just plain novels about people in love. As the years progressed, so did her writing style. Although she still includes romance and has a happily ever after ending, her stories tend to have more mystery, thrills, and horror in them.
She makes it a point to write a novel length that will allow the busy readers to be able to sit down in an evening (no more than two) and be taken on a journey that was created by her active imagination without having a week go by before they gets to the end of the story.
An incurable romantic, she has a love affair with at least one of her characters... one book at a time. She hopes the same thing happens to you.
Eileen started out as a freelance writer for periodical magazines and newspapers. From there, she tried her hand at writing screenplays. Her screenplay, "When East Meets West" was a finalist in the 2001 Independent International Film and Video Festival at Madison Square Gardens, NYC. Finally finding her niche, she lets her imagination loose with paranormal romance/thrillers. 
If you want to see more quality writings at a reasonable price, please support her efforts by leaving a review and becoming a follower
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