Saturday, October 26, 2013

Favor Ain't Fair - Part 2

Sunday, September 29, 2013

City of Thieves: Take the Autumn Train Blog Hop

City of Thieves: Take the Autumn Train Blog Hop: Do you have a favorite fall memory linked to a train? What do you imagine you would see if you were riding a train in the fall? Join th...

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Jenn Nixon: Wild Child Publishing Blog Hop-My Train Trip throu...

Jenn Nixon: Wild Child Publishing Blog Hop-My Train Trip throu...: Do you have a favorite fall memory linked to a train? What do you imagine you would see if you were riding a train in the fall? Join th...

City of Thieves: Take the Autumn Train Blog Hop

City of Thieves: Take the Autumn Train Blog Hop: Do you have a favorite fall memory linked to a train? What do you imagine you would see if you were riding a train in the fall? Join th...

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Take the Autumn Train Blog Hop

Do you have a favorite fall memory linked to a train? What do you imagine you would see if you were riding a train in the fall? Join the authors of Wild Child publishing and Freya's Bower as we Take an Autumn Train Ride through our blogs.

Prizes will include:

Four $50 gift certificates (two for Wild Child and two Freya's Bower)
An awesome swag package that includes:

Bookmarks
Books
Wild Child T-shirt and mug
Wild Child and Freya's Bower bags
Four handmade, crochet coasters by Kit Wylde
An autographed copy of Rosemary and Rue by Seanan McGuire
A rare DVD copy of the Matheson/Furst classic "Up The Creek" (lovingly used)
One ebook copy of Nita Wick's short story, The Dream (previously published as part of a Freya's Bower anthology.)
Book trading cards
Signed Dangerous Waters poster
a copy of "Battle for Blood: The Blood Feud"
winner's name as a character in Kissa Starling's next sweet romance story.
A Yankee Candle
more...

I passionately recall this nice autumn Monday morning like it was yesterday. It’s my favorite time of the year because it was time take a very special train ride. As I board the train, I take a seat in my favorite spot near the window and carefully place my yellow and purple bouquet of flowers in the vacant seat next to me. To begin my routine, I adjust the volume and earphones to my Walkman perfectly. Then, I slowly turn on the song “Lovely Day” by Bill Withers and just let the lyrics transport me deeper into the wonderful memories. As the door slams shut, the aroma of expensive cologne is trapped in the air. Oh, yes, my favorite cologne.

A loud voice yells, “This is the stop for the post office.”

At the moment, a small tear escapes my eyes. I remember the struggle of someone I cared about to take one step at a time because their wooden leg gave them so many limitations. I quickly wipe away my tears, not from fear of being seen, but because I can hear his voice tell me to never feel pity for him. As several people leave, the train door slams shut. Next, stop “Fish Market.” I chuckle to myself as I think about how he bragged about his fried fish, rice, and gravy. I turn up my Walkman a little to hear the favorite part of the song. All of sudden, a lingering smell of a cigar fills the air. It startles me because the smell is all too familiar. I turn around and glance over at the older gentleman taking one last pull of his cigar before he gets caught.

“Whitman last stop,” yells the voice over the intercom.

I better hurry before I miss my stop. I snatch my flowers from the seat and slip in between the doors, just in time. I rush up the subway steps cross the street. Carefully, I make my way down the brick sidewalk. As I approach my destination, I kneel down and place my flowers carefully in the dirt. I wipe the last bit of the dirt from my grandfather’s tombstone. It’s my ritual to come here every Veteran’s Day for a man that lost his leg serving our country. You are still and always will be very close to my heart. Until this very day, I have not met a man who cooks better than you, just like you said, and I chuckle to myself at that thought. There are so many good memories that make me feel that you are still with me, especially when I listen to your favorite song and the smell of cigars that you loved so much! Thank you, Grandfather, for serving our country and for being such a wonderful man.

I head back to the train station feeling overjoyed that I am able to honor a wonderful man.

Dr. Audrey Cuff

City of Thieves

When Ashley Brown was five years old, her parents left her in the care of her grandma, though her mother promised to return for her. At fourteen, Ashley is still living with her grandmother in Highland, a city on the outskirts of Maryville, a place known as the "ghetto."

Ashley has shadowy memories of her mother taking her to her favorite place, the library. Reading a good book allows Ashley to escape her poverty and crime infested community. One afternoon after listening to the Mayor's press conference, Ashley discovers that the Mayor is taking away the community library. In spite of being put on punishment for a week by her grandma for defending herself from the school bullies, Ashley feels it is worth the risk to sneak out of her apartment to mail a letter she has written to the Mayor about keeping the library open.

Every day homeless people approach her and beg for something to eat or for money. The most frequent requests come from two disheveled individuals Ashley has nicknamed "Orphan Annie" and the "business-man bum." As if escaping the homeless people isn't enough, there are a bunch of bullies who harass Ashley. One day, the bullies chase her into an alley. They force her to the ground and Ashley is afraid of what could have happened next. This is one time Ashley wished she listen to her grandma.

Buy now

Please visit these sites for more chances to win, the more you visit the more chances you have to win. We have 46 participating authors. You can stop at as many or as little blogs as you wish. At each stop, you will find either two chances to enter per blog to win some awesome prizes. If you visit all, that's 92 chances to win! There will be five, lucky winners.

Take the Blog Train and Visit These Blogs for more chances to win

Marci Baun/Kit Wylde
Critters at the Keyboard
Teresa D'Amario
Judith Leger, Fantasy and Comtemporary Romance Author
Writing
The Fictional World of Jaime Samms
Follow Where the Path will Take You
The Wandering Mind of Lizzy P. Bellows
Where Love and Magic Meet
Kissa Starling
Marianna Heusler
Hell's Ambrosia
C.M. Michaels
The Shadow Portal
The Blog Zone
Blog By iMagine
Ardyth DeBruyn Author Blog
Shadows of the Past
Dear Reader
Cassie Exline -- Mystery and Romance
Sarcastic Rambling & Writing
That's What I Think
Sue's Random Ramblings
Make Old Bones
Elements of Mystery
Molly Dean's Blog
Kenzie's Place
The Forbidden Blog
David Huffstetler
Cassandra Ulrich
Carol Marvell
Andrew Richardson
Nick Lloyd
Fiddleeebod -- land of stories
Nita Wick's Blog
Ruth G. Zavitsanos
Too Poor for Texas
Jenn Nixon
City of Thieves
Musings and Doodles
Husein
The Western Writer
Bike Cop Blog
The Character Depot
Allen Currier
Tracy Holohan

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Monday, September 23, 2013

Do you have a favorite fall memory linked to a train? What do you imagine you would see if you were riding a train in the fall? Join the authors of Wild CHild publishing and Freyas Bower as we Take an Autumn Train Ride through our blogs.

Prizes will include

Four $50 gift certificates (two for Wild Child and two Freya's Bower)
An awesome swag package that includes:

Bookmarks
Books
Wild Child T-shirt and mug
Wild Child and Freya's Bower bags
Four handmade, crochet coasters by Kit Wylde
An autographed copy of Rosemary and Rue by Seanan McGuire
A rare DVD copy of the Matheson/Furst classic "Up The Creek" (lovingly used)
One ebook copy of Nita Wick's short story, The Dream (previously published as part of a Freya's Bower anthology.)
Book trading cards
Signed Dangerous Waters poster
of "Battle for Blood: The Blood Feud"
winner's name as a character in Kissa Starling's next sweet romance story.
A Yankee Candle
more...

Your story here.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">

<h3>

<span style="text-align: center;">Do you have a favorite fall memory linked to a train? What do you imagine you would see if you were riding a train in the fall? Join the authors of Wild CHild publishing and Freyas Bower as we Take an Autumn Train Ride through our blogs.</span></h3>

<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">Prizes will include</span></div>

<ul>

<li>Four $50 gift certificates (two for Wild Child and two Freya's Bower)</li>

<li>An awesome swag package that includes:</li>

<ul>

<li>Bookmarks</li>

<li>Books</li>

<li>Wild Child T-shirt and mug</li>

<li>Wild Child and Freya's Bower bags</li>

<li>Four handmade, crochet coasters by Kit Wylde</li>

<li>An autographed copy of Rosemary and Rue by Seanan McGuire</li>

<li>A rare DVD copy of the Matheson/Furst classic "Up The Creek" (lovingly used)</li>

<li>One ebook copy of Nita Wick's short story, The Dream (previously published as part of a Freya's Bower anthology.)</li>

<li>Book trading cards</li>

<li>Signed Dangerous Waters poster</li>

<li>of "Battle for Blood: The Blood Feud"</li>

<li>winner's name as a character in Kissa Starling's next sweet romance story.</li>

<li>A Yankee Candle</li>

</ul>

<div>

<p><b>Your story here.</b></p>

</div>

<p><b>Your promo stuff here.</b></p></div>

<b>Take the Blog Train and Visit These Blogs for more chances to win</b><br />

<a href="http://marcibaun.com/" target="_blank">Marci Baun/Kit Wylde</a><br>

<a href="http://srhowen.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Critters at the Keyboard</a><br>

<a href=" http://teresadamario.com/new/take-train-autumn-blog-hop/" target="_blank">Teresa D'Amario</a><br>

<a href="http://www.judithleger.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Judith Leger, Fantasy and Comtemporary Romance Author</a><br>

<a href="http://www.highlandrogue.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"> Writing</a><br>

<a href="http://www.jaime-samms.com/" target="_blank">The Fictional World of Jaime Samms</a><br>

<a href="http://dabellm3.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Follow Where the Path will Take You</a><br>

<a href="http://lizzypbellows.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">The Wandering Mind of Lizzy P. Bellows</a><br>

<a href="http://adriannebrennan.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Where Love and Magic Meet</a><br>

<a href="http://www.kissastarling.com/blog" target="_blank">Kissa Starling</a><br>

<a href="http://mariannaheusler.typepad.com/" target="_blank">Marianna Heusler</a><br>

<a href="http://hellsambrosia.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Hell's Ambrosia</a><br>

<a href=" http://www.cmmichaels.com/index.php/blog-posts/" target="_blank">C.M. Michaels</a><br>

<a href="http://theshadowportal.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">The Shadow Portal</a><br>

<a href="http://www.blogbyimagine.com/" target="_blank">Blog By iMagine</a><br>

<a href="http://www.ardythdebruyn.com/" target="_blank">Ardyth DeBruyn Author Blog</a><br>

<a href="http://shadowspastmystery.blogspot.ro/" target="_blank">Shadows of the Past</a><br>

<a href="http://patrickroyal.blogspot.com/2013/09/do-you-have-favorite-fall-memory-linked.html" target="_blank">Dear Reader</a><br>

<a href="http://cassieexline.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Cassie Exline -- Mystery and Romance</a><br>

<a href="http://victoriaroder.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Sarcastic Rambling & Writing</a><br>

<a href="http://jchristianoauthor.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">That's What I Think</a><br>

<a href="http://tsueversteeg.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Sue's Random Ramblings</a><br>

<a href="http://lesliestalley.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Make Old Bones</a><br>

<a href="http://territalleyventers.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Elements of Mystery</a><br>

<a href="http://www.mollydean.com/MollyDeanBlog.html" target="_blank">Molly Dean's Blog</a><br>

<a href="http://kenziemichaels.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Kenzie's Place</a><br>

<a href="http://www.cmhumphries.com/blog.html" target="_blank">The Forbidden Blog</a><br>

<a href="http://davidhuffstetler.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">David Huffstetler</a><br>

<a href="http://cassandraulrich.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Cassandra Ulrich</a><br>

<a href="http://billiemccoy.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank">Carol Marvell</a><br>

<a href="http://andrewjrichardson.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Andrew Richardson</a><br>

<a href="http://nicholaslloydblog.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Nick Lloyd</a><br>

<a href="http://bekkaofthorns.com/" target="_blank">Fiddleeebod -- land of stories</a><br>

<a href="http://ruthzonline.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Ruth G. Zavitsanos</a><br>

<a href="http://www.joedonnmartin.com/" target="_blank">Too Poor for Texas</a><br>

<a href="http://jennafern.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Jenn Nixon</a><br>

<a href="http://bookcityofthieves.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">City of Thieves</a><br>

<a href="http://jansdoodlings.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Musings and Doodles</a><br>

<a href="http://www.shanbreen.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Husein</a><br>

<a href="http://larrypayneauthor.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">The Western Writer</a><br>

<a href="http://www.joylcampbell.com/" target="_blank">The Character Depot</a><br>

<a href="http://www.allencurrier.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Allen Currier</a><br>

<a href="http://www.tracyholohan.com/" target="_blank">Tracy Holohan</a><br>

</div>

<a class="rafl" id="rc-badc9c2" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/badc9c2/" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>

Your name here Audrey Cuff Ed.D.

Your promo stuff here.

Take the Blog Train and Visit These Blogs for more chances to win
Marci Baun/Kit Wylde
Critters at the Keyboard
Teresa D'Amario
Judith Leger, Fantasy and Comtemporary Romance Author
Writing
The Fictional World of Jaime Samms
Follow Where the Path will Take You
The Wandering Mind of Lizzy P. Bellows
Where Love and Magic Meet
Kissa Starling
Marianna Heusler
Hell's Ambrosia
C.M. Michaels
The Shadow Portal
The Blog Zone
Blog By iMagine
Ardyth DeBruyn Author Blog
Shadows of the Past
Dear Reader
Cassie Exline -- Mystery and Romance
Sarcastic Rambling & Writing
That's What I Think
Sue's Random Ramblings
Make Old Bones
Elements of Mystery
Molly Dean's Blog
Kenzie's Place
The Forbidden Blog
David Huffstetler
Cassandra Ulrich
Carol Marvell
Andrew Richardson
Nick Lloyd
Fiddleeebod -- land of stories
Nita Wick's Blog
Ruth G. Zavitsanos
Too Poor for Texas
Jenn Nixon
City of Thieves
Musings and Doodles
Husein
The Western Writer
Bike Cop Blog
The Character Depot
Allen Currier
Tracy Holohan

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Do you have a favorite fall memory linked to a train? What do you imagine you would see if you were riding a train in the fall? Join the authors of Wild CHild publishing and Freyas Bower as we Take an Autumn Train Ride through our blogs.

Prizes will include

Four $50 gift certificates (two for Wild Child and two Freya's Bower)
An awesome swag package that includes:

Bookmarks
Books
Wild Child T-shirt and mug
Wild Child and Freya's Bower bags
Four handmade, crochet coasters by Kit Wylde
An autographed copy of Rosemary and Rue by Seanan McGuire
A rare DVD copy of the Matheson/Furst classic "Up The Creek" (lovingly used)
One ebook copy of Nita Wick’s short story, The Dream (previously published as part of a Freya's Bower anthology.)
Book trading cards
Signed Dangerous Waters poster
of "Battle for Blood: The Blood Feud"
winner's name as a character in Kissa Starling’s next sweet romance story.
A Yankee Candle
more...

<Highlight and Insert your Story Title here>

<Your name here>

<Your book Promo goes here, include pictures of your cover and buy links, you have to do thisin the compose window!>

Take the Blog Train and Visit These Blogs for more chances to win
Marci Baun/Kit Wylde Critters at the Keyboard Teresa D'Amario Judith Leger, Fantasy and Comtemporary Romance Author Writing The Fictional World of Jaime Samms Follow Where the Path will Take You The Wandering Mind of Lizzy P. Bellows Where Love and Magic Meet Kissa Starling Marianna Heusler Hell's Ambrosia C.M. Michaels The Shadow Portal The Blog Zone Blog By iMagine Ardyth DeBruyn Author Blog Shadows of the Past Dear Reader Cassie Exline -- Mystery and Romance Sarcastic Rambling & Writing That's What I Think Sue's Random Ramblings Make Old Bones Elements of Mystery Molly Dean's Blog Kenzie's Place The Forbidden Blog David Huffstetler Cassandra Ulrich Carol Marvell Andrew Richardson Nick Lloyd Fiddleeebod -- land of stories Nita Wick's Blog Ruth G. Too Poor for Texas Jenn Nixon City of Thieves Musings and Doodles Husein The Western Writer Bike Cop Blog The Character Depot Allen Currier Tracy Holohan

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Monday, August 19, 2013

TALES OF THE ZINGARI: BOOK 1: THE WIZARD'S HEART

Tour Stops

August 19: Emraz :The Spark

August 20: From Me to You ... Video, Photography, & Book Reviews
August 21: Book Bling Blog
August 22: Journey of a Bookseller
August 23: Must Read Faster

"The old one will come. When he comes, his one true wife must carry within her a child of the old one who would be king. Only then can the heart be found and the evil of the world kept in its bounds." –The Prophecy of the Land

Sorann is the queen's daughter and training to be an empathic healer. Javert is a member of the wandering tribe called the Zingari and their future king. When Sorann's failed healer's magic test brings them together, they discover the prophecy governing the land is false. In order to prevent magic, and the Zingari, from being wiped from the land, Sorann must become Javert's wife and leave everything behind that she once held dear.

Tricked by demons, and followed by the queen's soldiers, they must find the fabled Wizard's Heart in the frozen Winter Valley.

What sacrifices will they have to make along the way, and will Javert ever discover the true meaning of the Wizard's Heart before his people and the love of his life are lost?

TALES OF THE ZINGARI: BOOK 1: THE WIZARD'S HEART

Standing in the makeshift shower, peace descended in a comfortable blanket. Nighttime birds sang and whistled to each other, a frog croaked bass, and the crickets formed the string section. Conceivably, Cryant lived far enough away from the city for the emotions of those in the city not to carry into his compound, to reduce the overflow from battering at her shell.

Sorann let down her guard, expecting a deluge of energies to cause her to feel dirty again. A dog barked and went silent. The pig grunted in its pen, perhaps upset at having its mud rearranged. But no feelings invaded her. In her palace rooms, a shield stayed in place to protect her from the invasion. Could the same be true of Cryant’s canvas?

Dim moonlight spilled in when she pushed the flap aside. She stepped outside marveling at the emotional vacuum she found herself in. Silly to think Cryant could afford the spell needed to empower a canvas to keep out the extended aura of others.

The sky above her wore a sprinkling of bright stars on an inky background. The cool night air caressed her skin. Goose flesh rose over her entire body. The hard ground under her feet felt warm with leftover heat from the day. The stones she stood on glowed in the faint luminosity of the yard light, wet here and there, the water from the shower ran in twin streams on each side of the stone path.

The clarity of her mind extended beyond her in the absence of others emotions and feelings. The world came to her in clear brightness--a veil of gauze lifted. She ran her hands over her stomach, her own skin felt different. The bumps caused by the cold felt alien and as she ran her hands over them, she could feel the tiny hairs on her skin, a chill shook her. She hadn’t even realized a barrier existed between her own hands and her flesh before.

Animal smells came to her, the scent of the soap was even stronger. Why did everything feel magnified? Perhaps subdued?

A result of the shell she kept in place? She’d lowered the shell before, and it wasn’t like this--not even in her rooms with their encasing spell. She spun around holding her arms out in the moonlight. She caressed her own arms, enjoying the feel of the gooseflesh on them. She laughed at the feel of the mud between her toes. She stepped off the path and took slow steps with her toes spread, so the mud curled as it squished between her toes. More laughter escaped her. Her hands traveled to her breasts, her nipples went hard in the cool breeze--had that ever happened to her before? Perhaps she hadn’t felt it?

“Sorann, you dressed?”

With a gasp, Sorann scrambled into Cryant’s robe. It stuck to her wet shoulders; luckily, it was over large for her. With quick movements, she wrapped her hair in the towel.

“Yes,” she called back. “I just need to re-rinse my feet. I . . . I accidently stepped off the path.”

“I’ve got soup on.” Cryant stood holding up the door flap. “Stay on the path.”

She quickly rinsed her feet in a clear puddle that remained on the platform under the barrel--the water mixed with mud creating patterns as it ran off her feet. Still puzzled, but prepared for the onslaught of Cryant’s life,

she moved to the slice of light coming from Cryant’s doorway.

Cryant moved back so she could enter without touching him. Sorann almost tripped over the threshold. Nothing came from Cryant, no feelings, no buzz singing along her nerves in a stinging assault.

The upper wall revealed how the home stayed warm. Inside, plaster coated it, and, going through the door, she saw the wall consisted of two parts with what looked like straw stuffed in between.

The inside of his home held the aroma of potato soup and fresh bread. A slightly musty smell road on the tail of the soup. She rubbed her nose. Things in the room, a small wooden table with two chairs, a handmade broom leaning in the corner, two glow lamps, and a braided rug jumped into clarity. Things in her life were always fuzzy, smells, sizes, shapes, colors--all made so, she assumed, because of her constant battle to keep out the everyday life of others.

Perhaps the hog knocked her unconscious and this was the result? A dream? She pulled Cryant’s robe up around her neck, aware of how low the neckline rested over her breasts. The fabric carried a slight scent--a slight male scent. Cryant’s robe hadn’t been laundered since the last time he wore it.

“Here, sit by the fire,” Cryant told her. He stood near a makeshift clothesline stretched across the room. Using wooden clothes pins he hung her now clean clothes so they would dry.

Sorann carefully sat on the chair nearest the fire. Cryant finished hanging the clothes before he retrieved two wooden bowls from a homemade shelf hanging over a tin washtub. He spooned soup into both of them and set them on the table.

“Thank you,” Sorann managed. Questions tumbled through her mind. Why could she let her guard down in Cryant’s house? Why had she been so overwhelmed at first, but now--now since Cryant touched her in the pig pen--skin to skin, she didn’t need to be on her guard? Was it possible Cryant’s left over aura on his clothes allowed her a measure of control? Maybe Cryant himself?

Cryant picked up a small crate from near the fireplace and brought it to the table. He set the box on the floor in front of Sorann and set the thin towel covering the top aside. Small bird voices started up in a demand for food. Sorann pushed the chair back ready to spring away from the birds. She stopped.

“You saved the birds?”

“Some of them,” Cryant answered.

She peered back into the box. Birds. Young birds. The way they looked--one with a bandaged wing, another laying with its neck outstretched and its sides heaving as it tried to breathe.

“I can’t heal them,” Cryant said. His voice carried a note of sadness.

Slowly, Sorann reached into the box. She touched the gasping bird and almost shrieked when she felt its young body hit the pavement. Instantly, she knew about the bird’s broken bones, its injured ribs--the bird struggled in her grasp. She set him back in the box where he strutted around the other injured birds squawking and chattering at her.

“You healed him,” Cryant blurted. “But . . .”

Sorann reached into the box and one at a time she picked up the hurt birds. When she set them down they strutted about whole and healed. Cryant leapt to his feet and brought out a small cat from behind a curtain hanging around his bed.

He held the tiny black cat out to her. Sorann took the kitten in her hands and saw from the cat’s point of view the cart coming towards it and felt a flash of pain as the cart ran over the kitten’s leg and hip--her body didn’t feel as though she’d been run over. The cat’s feelings didn’t overcome her. She used her hands to completely surround the cat and in moments it struggled to be free. She let him go, and he ran to the box of birds and began batting at them. Cryant picked the kitten up.

“Out you go, but not in the street this time,” he said. He shut the crooked door over the curtain after he scooted the cat outside. “What they say about you, it isn’t true.”

Sorann looked up into his blue eyes. Lines creased his forehead, his thin face betrayed his puzzlement. She’d never noticed the shadow of stubble on his face before, or the tiny scratches, perhaps inflicted by an injured animal, like the kitten.

“It is true. I can’t heal. I get caught up in the emotions and can’t even diagnose what’s wrong because I feel as if all the things are happening to me. I don’t understand this at all. With animals, you aren’t supposed to receive the clarity to diagnose and heal the way you attain it with a person, but I didn’t expect to simply hold them and poof they are back to normal.” Her stomach rumbled, and she felt as if she’d eaten her last meal weeks ago.

“Eat, eat,” Cryant said and shoved both bowls of soup toward her.

She picked up the slightly bent spoon and touched a small bite to her tongue. Flavors exploded across her mouth, rich deep flavors of spices and onions she’d never experienced before. Spoonful after spoonful, each one a new adventure in taste and satisfaction until she cleaned both bowls of soup without a thought.

“Do you think the stories, you know from the Lost Lands, the ones about The Dark Towers are true?” He spooned more soup into the bowls.

Sorann glanced up at him and continued to shove food into her mouth. Her stomach kept begging for more with rumbles and demands she couldn’t ignore.

“I mean, the orange cat, outside, the one with three legs, sometimes, it almost feels like she is trying to talk to me.”

“The stories about those dark wizards turning their enemies into animals?”

Cryant nodded.

Sorann chewed more food. She let out a small laugh. “I don’t think there is enough magic left in the world, dark or otherwise to turn people or animals into something else.”

“But isn’t that what we do with our gift?” He sat back and spread his hands on the table in front of him. He snapped his fingers shut. “Isn’t what we do magic of a sort? We take broken bones and turn them into whole bones, something other than what they were.”

Sorann stared at him a moment before she spooned more soup into her mouth. Around the food, she said, “Broken bone that was once whole bone, not something entirely different. Take the cat, where would all the difference in mass go?”

“Still, I think I would like a cat who could talk to me and could understand what I say.”

“I had a cat once, when I was small, I used to think she understood what I said. I think they do on many levels, if I can feel what they have eaten and their enjoyment, then . . .” Sorann shrugged. She looked up at Cryant after her spoon scraped the bottom of the wooden bowl.

“I’m sorry. You lied when you said you weren’t a good cook. I’ve never tasted anything, well, anything so full of flavors. I didn’t mean to eat all of it,” she added with a glance at the empty pot.

“Never mind. I have more friends in need, will you . . .?”

Sorann laughed, energy jumped along her nerves--she could heal. A miracle had happened this night--the speck of dust that sparkled with light--a wish fairy, if any still lived with the bounty on most things magic? Sorann laughed again, whatever had happened, she could heal. “Yes, yes, I will.”

Buy now at Wild Child Publishing

Amazon

B&N

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Horror Author Patrick Royal

The only thing that multi-published, award winning horror author, Tom Elliot, wanted was to move to the country for a change of scenery and relaxation, to a quiet part of southern Illinois. It seemed he'd picked out a wonderful spot, miles away from the closest neighbor and even further away from civilization.
Tom couldn't write to save his soul. Weird thoughts trampled through his head and left him wondering if he'd made a mistake moving from Chicago. Could it have been that he ripped himself from his element, like his best friend, Michael Gully, had predicted? That he couldn't answer yet.
Words came and flowed like wildfire, but at what price? Tom's imagination was getting the best of him and running rampant. The very characters that he created tormented him, driving him mad where he couldn't distinguish fiction from reality.

Genre: Horror
Book Length: Novel
Word Count: 53, 387
Pages: 181
Price: $4.99
Formats: PDF, ePub, Mobi, HTML

WILD CHILD PUBLISHING:

Monday, July 22, 2013

Blog Blitz with Author Dorothy A. Bell

Christmas in July, unwrap a summer ebook blog blitz, welcomes Dorothy A. Bell

An Oregon Historical Romance

Fiddle playing, hard drinking Royce O’Bannon believes he’s worthless like his old man, no woman should have anything to do with him.

Music teacher Cleantha Arnaud, her virtue long spent, believes her life is over; crippled and barren, no man would want her.

When the two outcasts become lovers, hopes and dreams blossom within their parched souls.

Royce’s vengeful daddy begins a campaign of retaliation against his traitorous sons and the town that gave them a second chance. Now Royce, feeling the weight of responsibility thrust upon him, follows his daddy into the dark tunnels beneath Pendleton’s streets to stop his old man from his path of destruction. With a swift crack on the head, all of Royce’s newly found hopes and dreams could be shattered like candied glass.

Some thoughts from Dorothy:

Where do I find inspiration to write?

Music and names—names of people, first and last names, the names of roads and creeks. I love to look at old photos. Do I constantly write, no, there’s a movie going on in my head almost all the time. In my head, I am all my characters on the screen. I become them one by one. I speak as they would, I move as they would and I know how they would respond. I know where to begin the story and how to tell it as the scenes unfold, and I know where it will lead. I don’t believe that sitting, doing nothing and going into my story a waste of time, it is the beginning. The hard part is transferring what is in my mind to paper or my computer. I have to allow the story to unfold, wrinkles and all and organize it later.

Author Bio:

Dorothy grew up in southern Iowa, moved to Oregon’s Willamette Valley at the age of eleven. she picked strawberries and beans in the summer to earn money for school clothes. In high school, she loved history, geography, speech class and school plays. She made the honor roll because she didn’t take geometry or trig; Dorothy stuck to art and literature courses. Dorothy played the snare drums in the high school band.

At the age of sixteen, the boy that had pestered her from the moment he saw her that first day of school in the sixth grade, asked her, one wintry, November day to go for a scooter ride up into the coastal range. After that, they became inseparable, and here they are, fifty years later, very close partners in everything we do.

Dorothy started to write Regency Romances to entertain myself. Dorothy sent them off to publishers now and then. She facilitated a writer’s critique group for several years and learned a lot from fellow writers. She took writing courses at a community college. But, she thought she learned the most by submitting her work to publishers, editors and agents, and getting feedback.

Laid low for nearly twenty-five years with arthritis, forced to use a battery-powered cart, Dorothy took up aquatic exercise and became an instructor. she retired after eighteen years of instructing, and now goes to the pool and do her own thing. After two surgeries to replace her knees, Dorothy went to work on herself and lost eighty-five pounds, which she has kept off. With renewed energy, Dorothy put more into her writing, submitted her work, then rewrote and kept submitting, which she will continue to do.

Her husband and she live in Central Oregon with two West Highland White terriers and one big, angora tuxedo cat. Dorothy enjoys gardening and landscaping.