SciFi fantasy on the blog as author @LewisTamone makes a stop on his #giveawaytour


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Philanthropy Book 2
Science Fiction/Fantasy
Publisher: Chandra Press
Date Published: 11/14/2019

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The exciting sequel to Fusion World.

A world on the brink. A team divided.

It’s been months since Vai and Edam disappeared through the portal created by the destruction of the Fusion World machine. Unfortunately the machine contained the last known Dark Orb, the critical component to interdimensional travel. Luckily, a prototype is found in the vault of its creator, Dr. Charles Vindia. Vint SawWood, Vindia’s protégé, is pressed into service and can reactivate the device. But it is decades old and may only work once. There is no way to know.

Undaunted, Sajaeler and Raven lead a mission to find and rescue their missing teammates. What they discover is a world in the midst of a civil war. A shapeshifter has rallied an army of disaffected citizens to his cause and will stop at nothing until he subjugates the planet. To make matters worse, Raven becomes gravely ill. Coming to this world of mythical foes and allies has triggered something within. She must face her past in order to survive.

With the war boiling over, the team at odds, and Raven on death’s door, can Vai, Edam, Sajaeler and a new band of friends save the world and each other?


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Read a teaser:
Rylie paced back and forth down the corridors of the Crisis Response Academy, a look of worry across his face. 
Raemund exited Peltron’s office and leaned up against the wall, watching Rylie.  “So, what are you going to do?”  Raemund gently questioned. 
Rylie stopped pacing, placed his hands in his pockets, and turned towards Raemund.  “What would you do?”
“I’m going to be a father really soon,” Raemund acknowledged.  “My family has always come before my duty.”
“Then you know what I have to do.”
“You’re going with us,” Raemund concluded. 
“You’re not going,” Rylie shook his head. 
“I have to go,” Raemund argued.  “Vai is still trapped there.  My team is there.  Reece is there.”
“I don’t know how long we’ll be gone,” Rylie patted Raemund on the shoulder.  “And Roz is due soon.  You’re having twins, as if one isn’t hard enough.  You know you need to stay here.”
Raemund hesitated.  “I want to help.”
“You have.  You’ve done plenty, Rae.  I got it from here.  You need to be there when they’re born.”
Raemund nodded.  “After you get Reece…  Make sure Vai’s alright.”
“I’ll bring home your brother,” Rylie promised.  “You have my word.”  Raemund nodded and went back inside Peltron’s office. 
Rylie paced throughout the lobby.  He had overheard the plan to use the Fusion World Machine to activate the orb but wasn’t sure how they would transport artillery and equipment.  The door to the lobby swung open and a man in a black suit and sunglasses walked in.  He lifted the sunglasses up onto his hairline and approached Rylie, extending his hand. 
Rylie couldn’t believe it.  “Vice President Montiaiga?”
“Captain Mulloway, I hope you’re doing well.”
“I’m as well as I can be, Sir.  Are you here on behalf of President Larneld?  Stevyn and Raemund are in the office if you need to speak to them.”
“Actually,” Montiaiga interrupted, “I’m here to speak to you.”  He paused.  “I heard what happened with your daughter.  And President Larneld is discontinuing missions.  That’s rough.”  He folded his arms over his chest and let out a chuckle.  “Did you know something of value disappeared from the National Archives last night?  Because I just found out about it early this morning.”
Rylie shook his head.  “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” Montiaiga smiled.  “If that’s what you think.”  He let out a sigh.  “Anyway, I just wanted to say, it’s a tough break, what happened with your daughter.  You work hard all your life for your rank, you try to provide for your girl, and then this happens.  Everybody deserves a break sometimes.” 

He walked back towards the doors to the lobby, as if to leave, and then stopped and turned around.  “Speaking of which, the MPs at the harbor have been working very hard lately.  I’m taking them out for drinks a half an hour before their shift ends, and before the night shift shows up.”  He looked back at Rylie.  “The men and women on your ship are loyal to you, not to Larneld.  They’ll follow you wherever you ask them to go.  Do what you need to do.”
About the Author

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Joseph Lewis Tamone lives in Wilmington, Delaware. Despite getting a degree in Environmental Engineering, Joseph has always found an escape in his quirky imagination that lent its way to his passion for writing. Joseph is an avid animal lover and history buff. When he is not writing, he enjoys escaping into the world of video games, nature, and most importantly, reading and researching. He lives in Delaware with his lovely wife, Erica, and their house full of animals.





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Be teased with an excerpt from @GaleStanley 's #newrelease #PNR , The Alpha's Demiwolf #newadult from @changelingpress




The Alpha's Demiwolf (Utopia 1)



Kya: I’m a demiwolf -- half wolf, half human, and both species despise my weird mix of genes. Despite the fact I strip for a living, I’ve hung on to my virginity for twenty-two years. Until I got knocked up by a big, bad wolf. Now, I’m going to bring another demiwolf into the world, but his father will never know.

Levi: I’m all wolf, and Alpha of my pack, committed to keeping our bloodlines pure. Then on the night of my bachelor party, I hooked up with a stripper. I just wanted to teach the demiwolf a lesson, but the sex set me on fire. My wolf claimed her and now I can’t get her out of my head. But what if she won’t accept me?





Be Teased

Kya
I cringed when I saw the billboard proclaiming, Girls! Girls! Girls! It was a tacky way to get attention, and I hated it. Averting my eyes, I turned the corner, pulled into the lot, and parked my old pickup behind the club. It was my first night at Show ’n Tails, and a definite step down from my old job, but I’d been fired and needed a gig ASAP.
The incident wasn’t my fault. There were two of us on the stage and Brandi was so sloshed she invaded my space and fell on her ass. As if that wasn’t enough, she accused me of tripping her. Well, one thing led to another and we both got canned. Another girl told me that Show ’n Tails was hiring and I went for an audition. The manager was an asshat, but he doesn’t ask too many questions. I like to keep a low profile.

This isn’t the life I wanted, but taking off my clothes pays the bills, and I won’t apologize for trying to earn a living. At least I’m not selling my body, just the illusion of sex. A lot of girls up their game, but not me. My virginity is the last piece of self-respect I own and I won’t give it up to some creep for any amount of money.

The heavy backdoor slammed shut and locked behind me and the manager shot me a dirty look. “Hey, Kya. You’re late.”

“Sorry, it won’t happen again. And my name is Raven when I’m working.”

Marty’s lip curled in a sneer. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You better get dressed. I mean undressed.” He snickered.

I ignored his disrespectful ass, and walked over to the dressing room. A row of dented lockers lined one wall. A wide counter with a lighted mirror behind it ran the length of the opposite wall. Everything stunk from sweat and cheap perfume. The long vanity was cluttered with makeup and no one made room for the new girl, so I started changing next to my locker. When a spot at the mirror opened up, I grabbed it and started working on my wild black curls.

Marty stuck his head in the door. “Hey, fresh meat, you’re on next.”

I knew he meant me. I was the newest girl there. Half of me cringed, the half that’s wolf. The half I keep hidden. Or is it a quarter of me I keep hidden? I guess it depends on how you look at it. A full-blooded wolf-shifter is already half human, although they’ll never admit to it. My father was a wolf, but my mother was human.
Does that mean I’m… Oh, fuck the fractions. No matter how you look at it, I’m a demiwolf.

But I look human. I checked my body in the mirror. Yep, a hot as hell human female stared back at me. Tacky, but sexy. Nothing says stripper like stiletto platform heels and a thong that shows off a girl’s booty. I slipped on a white, halter mini-dress with a drape-neck, an open back, and a side slit. Then I ran my hands through my curls and gave my lips one last swipe of purple-plum gloss.

It’s so much easier to call myself human and blend in with the majority. The humans are clueless. They know we exist, but they believe we keep to our own side of the tracks. The wolves are a different story. They can smell my lupine pheromones, but they don’t want me. I’m not pure. Fuck ‘em. At least I can make a living among the humans. Stripping might be a trashy job, but it pays for the life I’m trying to live. It’s not the life I want, but it’s all I’ve got. I used to dream about being accepted by my father’s people. Fat chance. They wouldn’t even accept him because he had a human lover and a half-breed kid.

My parents never married, but they lived together -- sometimes. When my father was around, I was daddy’s girl. But all too often, he would disappear as if he had no family. My mother would drink and tell me that he liked to hang out with his own kind in places where we weren’t accepted. When he came back from his trips, he’d act cold and resentful, but it wouldn’t last long. Eventually, he’d tell me he loved me and everything would be okay again. I thought nothing would keep us apart for good. I was wrong.
One day he didn’t come back. We found out he was killed in a bar fight. One of his so-called friends called me a mongrel and Dad died defending me. My mother cried and cried. She said this was why they never wanted kids. So I was what… an accident?

I couldn’t blame them. Not really. Life was hard enough without being born with this weird mix of genes. I hated myself, too. I wished I’d never been born. At least I could make things easier for my mother. As soon as I finished school, I left home and never looked back.

While waiting to go on, I thought about my routine -- floor work, then pole dancing, then back on the floor. I’m not nervous anymore about being naked in front of a roomful of men. I was at first, but now I focus on my moves. I’ve been scorned and dehumanized all my life, so I like to emphasize something I can do well -- dance.

I peeked through the curtain and watched Candy finish her routine. There’s a mirror behind the stage and a pole in the center. Chairs surrounded the stage for customers who wanted direct contact with the dancers. I watched one of the men put a bill in his mouth. Candy shoved her breasts in his face and used them to grab the money. There were hoots and hollers and more men waved bills at her. She collected all of her tips, then picked up her clothes, and ran off the stage.
The DJ, sitting in an alcove nearby, introduced me. “Next up is a beautiful lady who’s new here. You’re gonna see her naked for the first time tonight.”

Well, it’s not a complete lie. It’s my first time naked on this stage.

“Give Raven a nice warm welcome.”

My heartbeat skyrocketed as I stepped through the curtains and climbed the three steps to the stage. The opening bars of my music started up and I began to move.

* * *

Levi
My anticipation ran high. I’m always excited to see new talent. Samson made a joke about the taste of fresh meat and we all laughed, then I looked up at the stage and my eyes practically popped out of my head, like in one of those old cartoons. The new girl… what’s her name? Raven. She took my breath away. Her curvy shape and that thick black mane had me salivating. From what I could see, everything looked natural, and she had the best set of legs in the club.

“That is one hot piece of ass.” Samson stood up. “I need a closer look.”
Samson walked over to the stage and we all followed. Raven smiled in our direction and my heart took a leap. Her white mini dress emphasized all that golden skin, but it was her eyes that really stood out. Almond in shape and color, they seemed to be staring directly at me.


Author: Gale Stanley


Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Art: Bryan Keller
BIN: 009067-02934
Genres: Paranormal, Romance, New Adult, Single Parent/Pregnancy Romance, Voyeurism and Exhibitionism, Werewolves


Available at:



This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Gale Stanley









Author Bio and Links

Gale Stanley grew up in Philadelphia PA. She was the kid who always had her nose in a book, her head in the clouds, and her hands on a pad and pencil.
Some things never change.
 



Santiago’s words whispered across his lips. “Perhaps we’ve each met someone to love.” Be teased from #newrelease #MMromance Dear Heart @parr_books @evernightpub #gayromance



Dear Heart

Aiden Flint goes on vacation with three friends to Pamplona, Spain. Seeking excitement, they will run with the bulls in the festival of St. Fermin. As the four friends enjoy the nightlife, they notice an attractive man watching Aiden in the bars they visit. In the warmth and heady atmosphere of the exotic city, Aiden takes a chance and approaches the handsome man.
Enigmatic Santiago Arista is sexy, kind, desperate for love, and achingly lonely. He’s just about given up on finding love, until one warm, summer night, sitting alone in a bar, he sees gorgeous Aiden. He’s elated when Aiden joins him at his table.
Deep attraction swirls between them. At the end of the night when they share a kiss, Aiden can’t believe the bliss that enfolds him, but have both men found someone to love just when fate is about to throw Aiden into mortal danger?




Read a teaser

Aiden poured some beer into the glass and sipped at it. He assessed Santiago as he replaced the glass on the table. He’s fascinating, polite, maybe shy, different, cultured—and yet, sex exudes from him. I bet he’s dynamite in bed.
Santiago’s low voice interrupted his thoughts. “I wonder if you’d take a walk with me. The old town is interesting, even at night.”
Aiden’s heartbeat sped up. The lure of being with Santiago in a place he might hold him close and taste his kiss brought a smiling assent from Aiden. “That’s a great idea.”
On the narrow sidewalk, when they’d left the bright lights of the bars behind, Santiago took Aiden’s hand.
Excitement rocketed through Aiden. He took a deep breath, and on a dimly lit side street, he turned to Santiago and dragged him close. He molded the length of his body to Santiago’s, breathing close to the gorgeous man’s lips. “Kiss me,” he whispered.
Santiago responded.
The gentle merge of his lips with Aiden’s sent wonderful melting sensations through Aiden’s body. He clung to Santiago, taking kiss after kiss, lingering in the delectable embrace, pressing his hips to Santiago’s, breathing with the gorgeous man, sighing at the same time, until his legs weakened with raw desire.
Santiago drew only a fraction away from Aiden’s mouth. “Your kiss is addictive. I don’t want to stop. I feel your need against my body, and I want to ease it.” He held Aiden’s face and kissed him again.
Waves of exquisite feeling rolled through Aiden. He murmured softly, incoherent sounds of pleasure onto Santiago’s lips each time they broke contact to breathe. His thoughts tumbled in those seconds. The kisses were the best he’d ever experienced. He’d never before felt the kind of sensations running through and over him. He rested his forehead on Santiago’s.
“I’ve never had such totally amazing kisses. I’m floating in pleasure.”
“Me, too, I want you so much.”
Santiago’s replying whisper teased on Aiden’s lips.
His stomach clenched. His cock grew harder. Pure sexual need zinged in every cell of his body.
A group of people shouting and laughing turned into the street. Their approach forced Aiden to drop his arms from Santiago’s waist.
Santiago’s eyes flashed silver in a sudden shower of light from a door, thrown open to welcome the group. Regret filled his expression. He gazed with longing at Aiden. “Dear heart, walk with me.” He turned.
Aiden followed, his ears full of the endearment Santiago had assigned to him, his body drifting in delight, and love seeding in his heart for the man he’d only just met.
The river ran in a loop close to the old quarter, and Santiago clasped Aiden’s hand in his as they crossed a medieval bridge.
Aiden enjoyed the gentle strength surrounding his hand. He walked closer to Santiago.
“Do you live nearby?”
“In the old quarter—yes.” Santiago stopped and turned in an elegant move to Aiden. He held Aiden’s hands in his. “I wish you wouldn’t participate in the running tomorrow, or ever … I fear for you.”
Awash with sensation from Santiago’s palms pressed deliciously on his own, Aiden snatched a kiss from the man whose tone held affection and concern. The kiss brought a purr of delight to Aiden’s lips. He took another delicious kiss then murmured, “You called me dear heart…”
Santiago bowed his head. “You don’t like that.”
Aiden pulled a hand from Santiago’s grasp and slipped it around his face. He gazed into Santiago’s bright eyes. “I do like it.” Aiden smiled gently at the man who intrigued and lit him with desire. “Who are you really, Santiago? I feel wrapped in passion, cared for … and yet … well, we’ve only just met.”
Santiago’s words whispered across his lips. “Perhaps we’ve each met someone to love.”
Tingles ran up Aiden’s spine. The words were full of portent. He’d welcome love, and the way he felt kissing Santiago was the best ever. Yet, he couldn’t let himself comment. It’s too soon. What if I fall in love with him and in a week’s time, I have to go home, to work, to my life?
He took refuge in Santiago’s anxiety about him running with the bulls the next day.
“Santiago, I have to join the bull running. My friends expect it. I said I would. That’s why we’re here. I would never live it down if I didn’t do it at least once. I confess I’m scared now, but I have to do it.”
His handsome companion crushed him close. “Then take care.” He ran a hand down the back of Aiden’s head, stopping to tangle gentle fingers in his hair.




Hot off the press #gayromance from @parr_books and @evernightpub


Thank you for hosting new release gay romance
Like a Thief in the Night

Gorgeous, businessman, Saxon Dearing buys a pied de terre in the city where he works. Only using the place on three nights, he goes home to his beachside house for the rest of the week. At thirty-two, immersed in his work, he doesn’t know he’s lonely until delicious, twenty-five year old Jon Palmer literally drops into his life during a thunderstorm.

Artist Jon struggles to sell his paintings from a tiny studio, and works in a city gallery to pay his rent. As the two men fall in love, Jon can’t overcome the idea his lack of success is a barrier to telling handsome, wealthy Saxon how he feels.

When his boss offers him a dangerous way of making money, Jon must make a choice.
Will he risk telling Saxon he loves him or let his lack of confidence lead him astray and away from the man who loves him, too?

Today we welcome, Saxon Dearing one of the heroes

I’ll make this interview fun…

Saxon, If you were a dessert, what would you be?

(Laughs) A dessert … well I know Jon likes ginger cookies, but that’s not really a dessert, huh? Okay I know, lemon meringue pie, yeah.

What do you do when you need to blow off steam?

If I’m in the city I go to the gym and beat the crap out of a punch bag. If I’m at the beach house, I run on the beach, although I do keep to the wet sand and I like to wear my iPod

What do you look for in a man?

Nothing now I’ve met Jon. He’s perfect for me. I love him. He’s intelligent, creative, good-looking, sexy, sweet … I could go on all day about him.

What is in your refrigerator right now?

In the city, steak, lettuce, cherry tomatoes … a half pack of beer, what else … a red pepper. There’s not that much because Jon and I are going up to the beach house tonight.

What’s on your bedroom floor?

In the city, my old baseball bat, that’s under the bed.

What do you wear in bed?

Depends what I’m doing (smiles) so it ranges from a t-shirt and boxers to nothing … (smiles again) mostly nothing now

Light on or off?

Either, both

Chocolate or vanilla?

Is that for licking off Jon’s abs? Has to be chocolate.

What’s your biggest fear?

Oh, well, I have to think about that for a second. I could say spiders or losing on the stock market but truth is it’s losing Jon’s love. It would break my heart.

What is your most treasured possession?

After the last question … Jon’s not my possession but I treasure him. If it has to be a possession, then it’s a drawing Jon gave me … he’s an artist.

What’s your favorite outfit?

I have some old faded levis and beaten up leather boots that I rely on when I’m not in suits. I usually throw on a t-shirt and my battered leather jacket over the top. I have to wear suits for work. I like my black one best.

What do you like to see Jon dressed in?

Anything he likes, (his eyes mist a little) although I do like him in the tux he wore for our wedding, and in his ripped jeans, because there’s a frayed bit high on his thigh…

Do you have a favorite music track?

My taste and surprisingly Jon’s too, is eclectic. We’re listening to old Coldplay stuff right now … love them.

Tell the readers something you’ve never told anyone before.

(Grins) What? You mean spill a secret? You do. (Takes a deep breath) I have nothing for you, nope not a thing…

We’ll make that the last question. Thanks for visiting. Where are you off to next?

(Smiles) You know that’s another question, right?



We have a story teaser for you from, Like a Thief in the Night
Jon struggled into a sitting position. “What time is it?”
Saxon shook his head. “I don’t know, but maybe nine or ten.” Saxon sat up.
“Hell, not ten please.” Jon leaped from the bed and dashed to his backpack where he snatched a smartphone from the front zipper pocket. He ran his hand through his sleep-ruffled hair. It stood on end at the front. He cast a glance at Saxon. “It’s nine. I start at nine-thirty. I’m sorry, I have to dash.”
“It’s okay. Will I make you a coffee while you dress?”
“Thanks for thinking of me, but I’ll make a cup at the gallery.” He ran into the bathroom and came out moments later in the jeans and sweater Saxon had seen him wearing the night before. He dropped a pair of boots to the floor and zipped up his fly as he pushed bare feet into them.
Saxon gazed at the spectacle. He got out of bed and walked rapidly to the kitchen remembering Jon’s jacket was draped over the back of a chair. He brought it to Jon.
Jon rewarded him with a smile. “Thank you. Is it okay to leave my pajamas in the bathroom?” He slipped his jacket on and grabbed up his backpack.
To Saxon’s surprise and delight, Jon kissed him by the side of his mouth.
“See you tonight. Thank you so much.” He strode to the door, opened it, and left.
Saxon went to the bathroom and picked up Jon’s pajamas. He hung them from a hook on the door and dragged on his robe from the other hook. Jon’s socks lay in a damp bunch on the floor next to the shelf housing towels. His boots must leak. Concern furrowed his brow. He put the socks in the laundry hamper. They can go in the wash. I’ll get coffee first. I’ve missed early trading. Perhaps it doesn’t matter this once. Saxon hummed as he heaped coffee grains into the filter. An unfamiliar deep happiness bubbled in him.
Copyright E. D. Parr 2019, Evernight Publishing
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Thanks to a mishap at an intersection, she’s dead and stuck somewhere between Heaven and what seems like Hell . New releas #womensfiction @jbaby711 #giveaway tour stop




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Women's Fiction
Date Published: 7/27/2019
Publisher: Acorn Publishing

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Claire Blackwell can’t find that damn white light. Thanks to a mishap at an intersection, she’s dead and stuck somewhere between Heaven and what seems like Hell as she is forced to watch her husband and children unravel without her. While she struggles to find answers for her limbo state, her family begins to see her, offering what she believes, is a gift of second chances.

As she navigates through this new, untouchable world and the challenges it creates, she is forced to face some sad and potentially dangerous truths. Determined, she works to mend her relationship with her family, but her stubborn teenage son refuses to acknowledge her, and when tensions escalate with his long-time bully, her inability to control the physical world around her leaves her fearing for her family’s safety. With her time running out, she must find a way to save them before the progress she has made is lost and she fades from this world forever.



Read an Excerpt:
Back in the kitchen, Brad stood at the counter, amused by something on his phone while he sipped his coffee.
“Did you see this on Facebook?” He turned his phone screen in my direction.
“I haven’t been on Facebook in ages. Too busy for that time-suck.”
But truthfully, it wasn’t the time that kept me away as much as it was the lives of my “friends”, which always sounded monumentally better than my own, that stopped me from scrolling through the pages. The job promotions; the endless pictures of exotic vacations; the perfect children doing perfect things; the perfect, perfect lives everyone seemed to live. Everything and everyone were perfect on Facebook, and although deep down I knew no one lived the utopian life they portrayed on social media, the braggery still ate at me and left holes of inadequacy and unhappiness.
“Bridget Radcliff just published a novel. Isn’t she a friend of yours?”
“What?” I glanced at Brad’s phone. Bridget’s post made its way to his page from a friend of a friend of a friend in the small, claustrophobic world of fake-believe.
“Looks like it made it onto Amazon’s bestseller list.”
“Wow, fantabulous,” I said without an ounce of energy in my voice. “Another smut novel makes it onto the bestseller list. And if you must know, she’s an acquaintance, not a friend.”
I didn’t know if it was really a smut novel, but I assumed it was only because I couldn’t imagine Bridget writing anything else. But this, I admit, was one of my flaws. I assumed a lot about everything. I assumed I’d marry a prince and become a princess. I assumed I knew everything there was to know at fifteen. I assumed I’d want sex every day for the rest of my life and my marriage to Brad would be like living inside a rainbow every day. I assumed I wouldn’t miss my career when I stayed home to raise the kids. I assumed my children would be the best at everything because I assumed I would be the best mother there ever was. But now, even with all I knew about assumptions, about how they are idealistic dreams I refused to prove wrong, I still gave them weight in my life. Why would assuming Bridget wrote something scandalous be any different?
A little jealousy bounced within me. Even with Bridget being a divorced mother of two, she somehow found the time to write a best-selling novel. And that picture of her on Brad’s phone, all trim and sunshiny-beautiful holding her book, lit a fuse in me, or maybe it was already lit but had met the nitroglycerine.
In any case, I was ready to explode. I moved to the sink and gazed out the window, counting slowly to ten, fully aware of the emptiness growing within me. Each person’s success reminded me of my own career as a teacher I’d willingly given up for this.



About the Author

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Jan Steele grew up in the burbs of Chicago and after thirty-two years of shoveling snow, moved to Southern California with her husband and children. She has taught everything from Kindergarten through high school but found her passion for writing years later while living as an expat in Asia for four years. She’s a contributing author of Chicken Soup for the Soul, Miracles and More (2018), shares a blog with her sister-in-law, and is an MFA student at UC Riverside. In addition to writing, she loves to travel, volunteer, watch college basketball and sunsets. She’s also passionate about shedding light on the lasting effects of bullying.


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New release #SciFi #fantasy teaser to read as author @verajanecook visits the blog and the #author talks about her #writing process




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Science Fiction, mystery, fantasy
Date Published: February 6, 2018
Publisher: Chattercreek


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The mystery that unfolds on a dark, eerie back road in upstate New York sends Nick Dowling on a frantic quest to understand his past. What he discovers about himself slowly drives him toward madness. Where does the truth unfold, in mystery or in the dream? Is truth the illusion he can't embrace? Just who is Nick Dowling?










Read a teaser


It was a beautiful night in early August; the sky was an ebony sheet that stretched across the horizon in somber silence. The moon was so full it appeared fat―as if it had swallowed every star in heaven and glowed purely from the pleasure of consumption. Nick Dowling gazed up at the sky through the windshield of his new Jeep Cherokee. His wife, Jenna, had just sent him out for a quart of milk. He was pleased to go, happy to be driving out under the stars on the back roads of New Kingston. Except on this particular night, there were no stars―just the moon, contently serene as it trailed his car like a wayward balloon.
Nick tapped his hands on the steering wheel and started singing along with the radio. "Goodbye Miss American Pie" he sang out. The old nostalgic lyrics filled the evening stillness, mingling with the crickets' song, and the hooting of the owls.
Nick was pleased: clear reception was not always a reliable luxury in the Catskill Mountains of Upstate New York. The road ahead was empty. His beams were high and his speed, slow. The last thing he needed was a startled deer to show up in his headlights. The time off was exhilarating: there were so many things he could get to, like fixing the lawn mower and painting the shed. This was the first of several long weekends he and Jenna were able to steal since they bought their second home in the mountains. He often had to work weekends to get his job done, a job he found boring and unsatisfying, not like doing something creative, but an executive's salary was nothing to scoff at. At least his saved-up vacation days provided a perfect opportunity to hit the highway, leaving Manhattan's sweltering concrete behind.
The music changed abruptly, the scratchy sound it made reminded him of an old phonograph needle skipping over a record. Billy Joel's "She's Got A Way About Her" came through the speakers with only a slight static sound, like cackle. This was the first song
Nick heard after waking up in a beat-up hotel room so many years ago, dead broke. All he owned back then was a pair of jeans and a rusty Gillette.
"I don't know what it is," he sang out, just as his headlights illuminated a barely visible road on his left―almost entirely hidden by trees.
"Looks familiar," he said aloud, smiling, as if someone sat beside him who might have agreed.
"I know that road," he whispered. He hunched over the steering wheel and slowed down for a better look. The road was mysteriously beautiful, framed as it was by pine trees that swayed ever so gently in the summer evening air. The impulse hit him like a spray of cold water, and he braked.
"Oh, what the hell," he said as he backed the jeep up. This impulsive action was very unusual for Nick who usually thought things through a thousand times before he did them. But on this particular evening, he barely gave it a thought before he took a sharp left onto the road. Perhaps there was something about the moon that night, close enough to touch, a flirtation he could not refuse.
"Have I lost my mind?" He laughed, looking around, seeing not much of anything that warranted fascination.
The road was narrow and dark, but he had just enough light from the moonlit sky to read the barely visible road sign: Fox Hollow.
Nick switched off the radio; he'd lost the clear station right after he made the turn, and the static was irritating. Slowly, he drove up the bumpy road. The night seemed wrapped in mesh, opaque and colorless. He accelerated his speed just a bit, attempting to see beyond his headlights, but there was nothing before him but the adumbration of trees: it seemed like hundreds of them were standing tall against the sky, bending and tipping their branches into the quiet swirl of the evening wind like visions between this world and the next.
The moon hovered at the end of his sightline like a big mysterious white ball, descending into the Earth, as if being swallowed. But the edges of the night were dull. Everything around him looked like a poorly developed print. Nick rubbed his eyes and watched as night's illusionary mist played havoc with his imagination and shadow monsters came out of the darkness, as tall as giants.
Something flashed through Nick's mind with a fervent intensity. Was there magic on this road? Suddenly, he had a childhood memory. It came out of nowhere: a boy fearing dragons in the night and dreaming of mythical sword fights in mystic forests with a moon as elusive as this one. Was he that boy? His memories of childhood didn't exist; his early life was a void. Yet there it was: a vision of sword fighting with a friend so small and light― Sir Lancelot in dungarees with his mother's pot for a shield.
Nick felt a sudden chill. Leaning in to switch off the air conditioning, a flash of light appeared on his hand, swiftly expanding, trapping his body in its glow, a blaze of cold and paralyzing illumination. His body froze. He held his breath. In moments, the light was everywhere, consuming the darkness as if from a hundred headlights.
"What the hell is going on?" Nick came out of his stupor and looked around frantically. It was getting increasingly colder, as cold as the dead of winter in Upstate New York can get. He started to shiver. But the night air had been warm. What the hell was happening? He could feel his heart pounding; it felt as if he were sitting inside a freezer.
His bones began to rattle as he looked through one eye. The light was still there, ubiquitous, the brightness: blinding. Fear settled on his chest as if he were in the line of unexpected gunfire. He closed his eyes again.
"I am victim to my own vivid imagination," he said, staring once again into the opaque night.
The lights suddenly disappeared, as if they'd been chewed and discarded by the darkness.
"Kids with flashlights, must be...what else?" But the cold? Strange weather condition? Well, maybe...in the mountains.
Nick sat quietly, even patiently, until his fear passed, until it flowed out of his body, until his heart beat normally once again. When he felt calm enough, he stared back into the shadows and surveyed the space around him. He realized he had bitten his lip: he tasted blood.
He lowered his window halfway to make sure the lights were really gone. He was relieved to see everything appeared normal in the evening's shadow. The air was warm on his skin. Once again, the moon bounced naturally in the sky, throwing a path of light before him, like a megalithic corridor inviting entry.
He accelerated slowly. The moonlight faded back behind the trees, and the night became as dark as black ink. He nervously listened to the rocks and branches crunching beneath the wheels of his jeep wondering if he'd lost the road and was driving further into the woods.
Nick couldn't see anything but his headlights. But then, sudden as lightning's flash, as if he'd willed it, the night was lit by the welcomed sudden reappearance of the moon.
"Where you been hiding?"
Needing a sense of direction, he stopped the jeep. The moon was fuller than he had ever seen it, but there were no stars out to guide him, just some shadowy image in the sky.
What the hell am I doing in the middle of nowhere playing tag with the goddamn moon?
There was a threatening hush, a silence too barren to trust. The owls had ceased to hoot, and the crickets were far too silent.
Without warning, the stillness shattered into a million pieces by a sound that shook his body from inside out. "Shit!" Nick cried, feeling his heart pounding against his chest. "What the hell was that?"
Like a drill in concrete, the sound was deafening. It was so intensely shrill it might have been heard on the other side of the globe. But then the intense sound vanished, disappeared as contiguously as a passing thought, back into the night. Had he imagined it? Nick brought his hands up to his face. They were still shaking badly. No, this was not imagination. The suddenness of that awful sound jostled him so badly his heart beats were on overtime, and his favorite t-shirt was soaked in sweat.
He'd been on this road before. He'd seen the road in his nightmares. He dreamed he was here.
Right after Nick and his wife, Jenna, closed on their weekend getaway in New Kingston, their retreat from Manhattan's urgent and colossal perplexities, Nick's nightmares accelerated. It was absurd to have them―monster nightmares belonged to children, not to men in their late forties. "I feel foolish to have so many of my dreams invaded by macabre caricatures," he told Jenna. "An odd thing for a grown man to have―nightmares," he'd said reluctantly.
"Not altogether unusual," Jenna responded as she listened to his tentative explanations. "Maybe something is triggering some old and unresolved issues you have with your mother...or father."
Nick scowled at that, wondering how he'd ever get out of seeing a shrink. It was absurd to think he needed one. Jenna insisted on blaming everything on his parents. But how could he blame anyone he didn't remember?
He accelerated over the stones and the broken branches of trees, hoping all the crap on the road wasn't scratching the paint off the jeep's body, or putting any frigging dents on his car. He felt too uneasy to slow down and check out the damage. Wanting to feel sane once more had become a prerogative. This introduction to Fox Hollow Road antagonized his sense of reality and left him surprisingly disentangled from his perspective on who the hell he was or believed himself to be.
He looked up toward the sky. He felt as if he'd just driven in a circle; the shadowy cloud was still above him and it appeared to cover the entire sky.
He drove forward, afraid that if he didn't he'd wind up in a ditch―lost forever in the goddamn woods. His heart was still getting a workout and his mouth felt like an old hot towel. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to reach civilization and grab a shot of whiskey.
"I've had enough of this nerve-wracking adventure," he said, his eyes riveted ahead.

Guest Vera Jane Cook talks about her writing process
  

My writing process begins as an idea in my head. Anything could have instigated it, an article I read, an experience I had on the bus that morning or a memory from long ago. I think about that idea until it begins to take shape, until it begins to knock on my brain to be let out. So, I sit down at my computer and I begin to write, to release my character. The next thing I ask myself while my character is experiencing a fictional world where anything is likely to happen, I ask what will happen while this character is given soul and thought and weaknesses? Will someone be murdered? Who exactly will be betrayed and why? What is it I’m trying to say? I don’t have any of those answers when I first start out. I’m writing from a love of the English language. I’m searching for words to include in my descriptions and it is finding those words that inspire me and shape my characters as I add more and more of them to my story. But just what is my story? What happens to these people? Well, I don’t outline anything, not even when the story is complex, like my novel Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem. I give the characters free reign and they begin to lead me forward, to tell me where they want to go. This fictional world and I become one. I find myself falling into the unknown of their world. I think about them all the time. I move the plot forward in my head while I’m having coffee, while I’m taking a walk, while I’m caught daydreaming. Things happen in my head and then I go back to string the words together, but not just any words. I’m always looking for words that flow and have rhythm. Yes, I hit roadblocks, so it takes more thought, more diving into a fictional realm and allowing myself to solve puzzles, to create dilemmas, to show my humanity and to reveal my character’s warts, to reveal their vulnerability. I might have a book a year later. I write three books at once sometimes. Writing for me is a compulsion. I must do it. I’m not even sure why. It is what compels me to read, to write is the same. I pray the story works out, makes sense, makes people laugh and cry. I write on, despite opinion, despite sales. I write to be read, and I write because I am in love with the mysterious world of creation.

About the Author

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Olivia Hardy Ray is the pen name for Vera Jane Cook, who is the author of Dancing Backward in Paradise, 2007 winner of the Indie Excellence Award for notable new fiction and an Eric Hoffer Award for publishing excellence, also in 2007. Dancing Backward in Paradise received a 5 Star Review from ForeWord Clarion. The Story of Sassy Sweetwater was a finalist for the ForeWord Clarion Book of the Year Award and the recipient of a five star review from ForeWord Clarion. Where the Wildflowers Grow was her third southern fiction novel and is receiving 5 star reviews from Amazon.com. Her latest southern fiction novel just released is Pleasant Day. Her woman’s fiction novel is Lies a River Deep and the soon to be released ‘Kismet’. Under her pen name she is also the author of Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem, and Pharaoh's Star. The sequel to Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem is Annabel Horton and the Black Witch of Pau. That novel will be released this summer. Jane, as she is called by friends and family, writes in the genres she loves: southern fiction, women's fiction, mystery and fantasy paranormal fiction. She lives on the Upper West Side of Manhattan with her spouse, her Basenji/Chihuahua mix, Roxie, her Dachshund, Karly, her Chihuahua, Peanut, and her two pussycats, Sassy and Sweetie Pie.


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