In Shadows

Blurb for Fire's Ice

2012-02-13T13:32:00.000-06:00

Just got the official blurb for Fire's Ice.

Ultimate power, or endless love?

Born the son of a Scottish laird a thousand years ago, but now trapped by his cousin's spell, Devin
McLoch has seen countless battles and death. The erstwhile thief has turned away from darker
pursuits to lead a life of peace, protecting those he loves and considers part of his clan.
However, there is one woman he can never forget, who must be given a chance to change, to accept
her heart and his.

Arianne Farrell is just as dangerous and intoxicating as her power. Imprisoned in an ancient stone
dance more than a thousand years ago, her only chance at freedom from the spell is through love--a
love she denied. When Devin asks for her aid to save another from imminent death, she realizes
there is more at stake than just her freedom or her heart.

WARNING: Two stubborn sexy wizards using magic with no bounds, scorching love
scenes, and happy ever after. Ever play with fire?

Are you ready for a little Fire?

2012-02-10T15:29:00.000-06:00

Mmm hmm you heard right. Devin's story Fire's Ice is set to release June 18, 2012 and I have to say out of the series, Fire is my favorite. Devin has been wonderful to write and I'm thrilled to be able to finally give you his story. Without further delay, here is the first excerpt for Fire's Ice. This one will go up on the Lyrical site soon and I'll be posting another here later this week. Enjoy!

Excerpt from Fire's Ice: Elemental Magic Book Five

Hovering his hands over Aiden’s toy laptop, Devin began to reverse the damage. Not exactly a healing, but much the same. With the magic came the memory of destruction. Raine pulling the toy out of Aiden’s hands, crying, overwhelming heat and tossing a melted lump of plastic onto the grass. Fear was the most forefront emotion. “She lost her temper and lashed out with heat, melting the toy. It’s a wonder she didn’t set something on fire. Her magic is out of control. Allie’s binds have been broken.”

“But how? She’s just a little girl, Dev, my little girl.”

“Not just. You’ve always known your daughter is special, Jack. Allie has been binding Raine’s gifts since she was two.”

“Yes, but I thought she might be a touch psychic or something. Not like, what do you even call that?”

“Raine is a hereditary witch. Fire is her element.”

“Like you. Then can she do all the things you can?”

“Yes, eventually. We share the same type of magic.”

“Good. Then you can tell us--”

“She’s a phoenix, Jack. Do you understand what that means?”

“Like the bird?” Liv had rejoined them. He saw the question, the realization, sink in. Her child’s life was in danger. Slowly shaking her head, she moved around the sofa to sit beside Jack and clutched his hand.

Should he lie to her? No. Liv would skin him for it later and she’d have Jack’s help. “Yes, Liv, exactly so.”

He watched her expression crumble as fear gripped her. A sob ripped from her throat. “Jack. No. No. No.” It killed him to hear her repeat the words over and over as though just that mantra would save her daughter. Only one person might be able to do that. Liv leaned into her husband and buried her face in his neck.

Jack stared at him as he pulled Liv closer. Calm, controlled eyes, flat and shuttered, told Devin inside Jack was falling apart. “Tell us what we need to do.”

“If she doesn’t learn to control the magic, it will destroy her, like the bird of legend. Only there is no coming back. It explains why Allie can’t bind Raine’s power anymore. I should have come back sooner. She’s just so young. My powers didn’t emerge until I was twelve.”

“What can we do? You have to stop this.”

“It is something she has to learn. As did I, when my powers began to emerge and my mother recognized the danger. She had faerie blood and called for her cousin Daemon to teach me. We need help.”

“She is only three years old.”

“I know, but the magic has to be controlled or--”

“No!” Liv screamed pulled away from Jack, stood and met him eye to eye. “I will not let magic take my daughter. Do you hear me? Fix this. I don’t care what you have to do.” She grabbed the front of his shirt, emotions out of control. “Please. Please, Devin. Don’t let my baby die. You promised me. You promised me you’d always look out for them.”

“And I will. I’ll do everything in my power, Liv.” Gently he pried her fingers away, but held on to her icy hands. “A laird’s promise.” Watching one of the strongest women he’d ever known collapse into her husband’s arms, he knew there was only one person who could help him keep his word. And he hoped Arianne was in an accommodating mood. If not, he was prepared to barter anything necessary to gain her cooperation. Raine was all that mattered.

Visiting Word Wranglers today...

2012-02-10T12:33:00.002-06:00

Hi, all.

I'm blogging at http://wordwranglers.blogspot.com/2012/02/say-hello-to-brynna-curry.html today with some tips about POV. I'd love for you to visit me there.

Brynna

Charmed - Now Available in PRINT!

2012-02-09T14:17:00.000-06:00

After months of hard work, I'm pleased to announce Earth Enchanted, To Take Up the Sword and Wait for the Wind are now available in the print anthology Charmed. You can purchase your copy here. https://www.createspace.com/3740703 Charmed will be available through Amazon.com next week.

Cover for Entranced

2012-01-24T16:51:00.001-06:00

Posting another cover...In December of this year Sea's Sorceress and Fire's Ice will join the other Elemental Magic books in print. Look for Entranced to release around Christmas.

Welcome Guest Author Veronica Scott to In Shadows

2012-01-24T11:33:00.000-06:00

Admin note - We have a special guest today. Welcome author Veronica Scott as she celebrates her debut release Priestess of the Nile.

People often ask me why I wanted to write a paranormal romance set in Ancient Egypt. I’ve always loved the idea of ancient civilizations, going on for thousands of years, and yet in some cases all we know of them now is captured in a few shards of pottery, a broken statue, a mention in someone else’s legends. When it comes to Egypt, we have a lot more knowledge, thanks to their strong belief in the afterlife, which led them to store up worldly goods in their tombs and paint scenes of daily life on the walls, then seal it all up and walk away.

The Egyptian mythology is particularly rich in gods and goddesses with fascinating, complex tales and attributes. My Work In Progress is a connected series set in 1500 BC, in the paranormal genre rather than strictly historical. I wanted the gods and goddesses to come to life in my stories and play a role, the way the Egyptians always believed was the case. At a key plot point my pharaoh needed protection from black magic. Turns out a more obscure god, Sobek the Crocodile, had among his many duties and abilities, the charter to protect pharaoh from just that very problem! I wrote Sobek into one scene and moved on.

He lingered in my mind though. There are a lot of conflicting legends around him, including whether he was a force for chaos or a force for good. And most intriguingly for a romance writer, he was linked with at least four different goddesses. The Egyptians never depicted him as fully human – always showing him as either a full crocodile or half man, half crocodile. From our vantage point 3000 years later, we know that means he’s a shifter, right? Who therefore, could walk the banks of the Nile in the form of a man! And fall in love with the right woman…this is how a romance writer’s brain works, or at least mine goes on this way, worrying at a challenge until I find a solution and a plot.

Of course he’d fall in love with a beautiful girl he meets one day, who tries to keep one of his abandoned temples in order, who sings all the traditional songs in an amazing voice – Merys, the heroine of Priestess of the Nile. Through his time spent with her, Sobek would come to understand the simple joys of human life and love. But of course there are rules about romance between the gods and humans and Isis, queen of the Egyptian gods, takes exception to his distraction from his duties to the Nile. I wrote the basic novella in one weekend, just not even taking time to do anything else. It was one of those that demanded to be told, you know?

Of course the manuscript needed a lot of polishing, layering of emotions, amplification of secondary characters…but at that time Carina Press had a call out for Egyptian romances, so when I thought the story was ready, I hit the send key.

And a few months later, got the wonderful middle of the afternoon phone call from Angela James, Executive Editor at Carina, to tell me they wanted to publish the Crocodile God’s story. So now it’s my debut novella, Priestess of the Nile and I’m still excited!

Veronica Scott grew up in a house with a library full of books as its heart, and when she ran out of things to read, she started writing her own stories. Married young to her high school sweetheart then widowed, Veronica has two grown daughters, a 9 year old grandson and cats. She can often be found on twitter at @vscotttheauthor

Wisconsin RWA "Fab Five" contest accepting entries

2012-01-23T09:18:00.000-06:00

Looks like Wisconsin's RWA chapter has some excellent final judges this year. Good luck this year's contestants!
Brynna
----------
***Permission to forward granted, encouraged and appreciated***
The Wisconsin Romance Writers of America Fabulous Five contest is open for entries!

For over twenty years, we've provided detailed critiques to all entrants and an opportunity for the top five in each category to get their work in front of key editors and agents in the publishing industry. Our fees continue to be among the lowest for contests of this type – just $18 for WisRWA members and $20 for all other entrants.

This contest is available to writers unpublished in book-length romance fiction during the past five years. All entries must be limited to the first 2,500 words of your manuscript and must be submitted electronically. For an entry form and complete details regarding rules and eligibility, click the Contests link on our website: http://www.wisrwa.org/

Deadline for entries is 11:59 CST, March 1, 2012. We reserve the right to cap certain categories at thirty entries. Enter early to beat the rush!

Here's our great lineup of categories and judges for 2012:

Historical : Deb Werksman, Sourcebooks
Paranormal/Fantasy/
Futuristic/Time Travel: Angela James, Carina Press
Romantic Suspense: Katherine Pelz, Berkley
Series Contemporary
(Long/short): Megan Long, Harlequin Enterprises
Single Title: Nalini Akolekar, Spencerhill Associates
Women's Fiction: Paige Wheeler, Folio Literary
Young Adult: Melissa Frain, Tor

Joe Fraser
FabFive Coordinator
Jfraser6353@yahoo.com

Fire's Ice - Release Date

2012-01-20T16:46:00.000-06:00

Quick note. The new tentative release date for Fire's Ice is June 18, 2012. Awesome! I can't wait! No cover yet, but hoping to see it before too long.

How Lyrical is your romance?

2012-01-02T12:45:00.001-06:00

Passing along a great opportunity from Lyrical Press, Inc.

The First Annual Lyrical Press How Lyrical is Your Romance? Contest opens on Monday, January 16th. This contest is open to both published and unpublished authors.

Entries must be complete works, ranging in word count between 15,000-100,000 words, any heat level, and fit into one of the following subgenre categories:
• Contemporary romance
• Historical romance
• Paranormal or urban fantasy romance
• Romantic steampunk
• Romantic Suspense

Prizes:

1st Place: $200 advance and digital publishing contract (advance payable as $100 upon finalized contract and $100 upon publication).
2nd Place: $100 advance and digital publishing contract (advance payable as $50 upon finalized contract and $50 upon publication).
3rd Place: Top-scoring contestant in each genre category will receive an acquiring editor’s critique of synopsis and first 50 pages of manuscript.

Guidelines:
• File type: .rtf, .doc, or .docx only
• 12pt black font (Times New Roman, Cambria, Courier or Georgia preferred)
• Line spacing: 1.5
• Margins: 1" all
• Page-breaks between chapters

Please include a title page listing the following information:
• Legal name
• Pen name
• Email address
• Contact phone
• Working title (include series name and details if applicable)
• Word count
• Genre/category

Entries will be accepted from January 16, 2012 through February 5, 2012, and must be emailed to contest@lyricalpress.com. Entries sent to an email other than the aforementioned will be ignored. Please include book title and contest in subject line thusly: Booktitle – How Lyrical Is Your Romance?. Attach full manuscript, and 2-5 page synopsis in .rtf, .doc, or .docx format (Booktitle_MS and Booktitle_SYN as file names--your book title replaces “Booktitle”). After February 5, the contest will close, but we’ll still be accepting submissions as always at our submissions@lyricalpress.com address.

No entry fee required. Judges reserve the right to Decline to Judge any entry if it does not fit our lines, level of writing is not acceptable, or submission guidelines are not followed.

Entries will be judged on the following criteria: Hook, Pacing/Plot, Characterization, Dialogue, Mechanics, and Author Voice.

Winners will be announced on March 12, 2012 via our blog http://lyricalpress.blogspot.com/ and direct emails to winners.

http://lyricalpress.blogspot.com/2011/12/1st-annual-how-lyrical-is-your-romance.html

Coming soon - Charmed

2011-12-29T11:21:00.000-06:00

Hello, all.

A quick bit of news. Print rights to Earth Enchanted, To Take Up the Sword and Wait for the Wind were recently reverted to me since Lyrical Press, Inc. continues to be a digital only publisher. I love the job LPI has done and the care they have taken with my work, but I also want to offer my readers every venue possible to enjoy these great stories. I made the decision to release these titles in print as an anthology. Look for Charmed available soon and Entranced (containing Sea's Sorceress and Fire's Ice) coming in December of 2012.

2011-12-25T00:06:00.004-06:00

Merry Christmas

Season Greetings

From my family to yours,

have a safe and

blessed holiday season.

Merry Christmas and Seasons Greetings

2011-12-24T23:30:00.005-06:00

Merry Christmas! I'm putting presents under the tree, pretending to be Santa for the kids. (Kids who have outgrown the tradition but still want Santa presents.) Wherever you are tonight, I hope you're warm and cozy, hanging out with your family in a house filled with light, love and laughter.

My favorite Christmas special...How the Grinch Stole Christmas (embedded below via youtube). Enjoy!

PART 1

PART 2

Winner of Sherrilyn Kenyon's RETRIBUTION - Audiobook

2011-12-06T14:54:00.000-06:00

Thanks to everyone who entered the contest. And the winner is...

REGINA ROSS!!!!!

Congratulations, Regina! And thanks to MacMillan Audio for sponsoring the drawing. Some other announcements...During TheRomanceStudio's Thanksgiving party, I gave away two books. The winners were Shadow K and Jan B. Congrats!

Blessings,

Brynna

Thoughts on Fire's Ice...

2011-11-30T13:01:00.000-06:00

Greetings,

Hope all of you in the states had a great Thanksgiving; for my neighbors across the sea and all over the world, I hope your weekend was lovely. Mine was pretty good. Spent a lot of time writing and just hanging out with the family and I finished Fire's Ice.

Devin and Arianne's story is all wrapped up and ready for pre-edits. As I was working Saturday, my thoughts were centered not only on what I wanted and needed this book to be, but what will readers expect from this story. Magic and lots of it? A lady who is can hold her own with Devin? Of course, but there has to be more than just a romance. This book had to tie up all the dangling loose ends I purposely left here and there and also serve as a springboard for a new series "Shadows of Seven". (You'll get a glimpse of Guardian Kail McKenna in this book--in his human state--before things shift into the future with the first Shadow book.)

Devin's past, his ties to Arianne and Daemon's spell have always been a mystery. Hinted at, but never revealed fully until now. He has been my favorite character to write and the most vocal. When I wanted the story to play out a certain way, he'd tug me in the opposite direction. Stubborn wizard. There are so many facets to his personality-rouge, laird, warrior, protector, witch, and lover. One thing in particular I felt I needed to do with Devin's story was bring on the heat. So be warned, you'll need a fan...and maybe some ice water.

All the Corrigans make a return appearance for this one, especially Allie whose powers equal Devin's. She's also been armed with Ari's knowledge of herbs and healing incantations. I've already started her story and I can tell you thirty year old Allie is scary powerful and a blast to write. Between her and Kail there is literally nothing they can't do. It's going to be a challenge to see how far I can think outside the box.

So, I have a question for you and don't be shy, I want to hear your opinions. What do you expect from Devin's story?

Blessings,
Brynna

Black Friday at Lyrical Press, Inc.

2011-11-24T08:20:00.000-06:00

Greetings, all and a Happy Thanksgiving to those of you in the U.S.

A couple of notes to pass along...

Just wanted to say thanks to everyone who visited me over at The Romance Studio's Thanksgiving party. So much fun! Winners will be announced later at TRS.

Tomorrow, my awesome publisher Lyrical Press, Inc. is throwing their virtual doors wide open for a Black Friday sale. The entire catalog of books are 50% off Friday. This means you can download all the currently available Elemental Magic books for $5.25. That's less than the cost of a paperback book. So...if you haven't checked them out and are so inclined. You can find more about them here.
http://www.lyricalpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=index&cPath=97_98

If you love Sherrilyn Kenyon's books, you'll want to check out the RETRIBUTION audiobook giveaway here. http://www.brynnacurry.com/2011/11/giveaway-retribution-by-sherrilyn.html

Now I'm heading back to the house. I still have a couple of cakes to bake for dinner. When I come back on Monday, I'll be talking about Fire's Ice and what you can expect from Devin's story.

Have a Happy Thanksgiving and a blessed weekend. Mine will be filled with good food and football. I'm ready for the Iron Bowl. WARRRRRR EAGLEEEE!

Brynna

Giveaway - RETRIBUTION by Sherrilyn Kenyon

2011-11-21T00:01:00.009-06:00

Hello, all.

I'm thrilled to announce MacMillan Audio has generously offered an audiobook copy of Retribution by Sherrilyn Kenyon (read by Holter Graham) to one lucky reader of this blog.

To enter the contest, go here GIVEAWAY or click the [giveaway] tab above. Contest begins at midnight CST on November 22nd, 2011 and ends midnight December 1st, 2011. Winner will be contacted via email for further information and announced here on or before December 5th, 2011. Contest void where prohibited.

Listen to an audio clip of the book RETRIBUTION - AUDIO BOOK EXCERPT

Book Trailer (Embedded via YouTube)

Looking back on a personal nightmare...

2011-11-18T09:07:00.011-06:00

Passenger side of the truck. Doesn't
look too bad hmm? See how the glass
is missing? He thinks he kicked it out
with the steel toe boots he'd been
wearing because the truck landed on
the driver's side.

November 19th is a tough day for me. I fight the memories that rear up, the wishes for something different and finally come to terms with the reality of before and after. Four years ago today, I was getting up at four a.m. everyday to wake Jackie up for work. He was a welder and I had just gotten a new job working as a secretary. So much better than running the maid service at the marina on Smith Lake. Our oldest was thirteen and had the week off for Thanksgiving. The girls were still in school for a couple of days.

Jackie is a type II diabetic. Even then the disease didn't respond well to medication. His sugar had been crazy all night. Finally, I got it down to around 200 and he left for work at 5:15 heading to G & G Steel in Russellville, AL where he was employed. He was alert, awake. Completely fine. Or so we both thought.

I went back in the house, thrilled to have a whole thirty minutes of writing time before the girls had to get up. I made a cup of instant coffee (The International Foods kind, that was when I didn't need real coffee.) Then put in the audio tape version of Cradle and All by James Patterson I'd been listening too. Ten minutes had passed...

Driver's side of his '02 Tacoma. See
how the roof is squished down on the
headrest? The Auburn cap he was
wearing that day is still wedged in
between the two.

At that point, Jackie had reached Phil Campbell and was passing the bank clock across from the Chat-n-Chew restaurant. The time was 5:25 a.m. He needed to be clocked in at 6:00 and always left in plenty of time. This is the last cognitive memory he would have of the next three days. He either blocked the memories or they were wiped from the head trauma. We aren't sure. Four years later, he still can't remember.

It's 5:30. Coffee's gone. I'm scribbling in my notebook, still sketching scenes for what would be Earth Enchanted (I remember it was the scene where Jack, Ryan and Devin are in the Smithsonian.) and in the background the tape has reached the point where there is a plane crash. For some reason, I literally felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I sat there a moment. Couldn't breathe. An image of him pulling out of the driveway went through my mind. Standing on the front porch, I heard very clearly the words On your knees (and I don't mean that in any sexual way). I heard a voice and it commanded me to pray. Right then and there. And I am sure I looked pretty crazy barefoot in a red flannel nightgown on my knees on the porch at 5:30 in the morning in the middle of November, but I obeyed. I felt a sense of peace come over me. I tried to call him, but at this point he'd be at work and aggravated if I called and got him in trouble. So, when he didn't answer, I assumed he was in the plant.

While I prayed, Jackie passed the Piggly Wiggly grocery store in Phil Campbell and made it past The Raceway gas station on "top of the mountain" also known as Spruce Pine mountain. He's driving about 60mph (it's 65 mph speed limit) in the slow lane when his blood sugar spikes. He passes out, crosses the fast lane and hits the five foot high median head on, flipping his truck several times down the mountain.

This stretch of highway is almost deserted that time of day. He was alone, unconscious. We'd find out later he had three broken ribs, a collapsed lung, multiple scrapes and cuts, a busted nose and mouth, and a torn aorta (that's the major artery that takes fresh blood away from the heart.) He was dying, yet he managed to free himself from the truck and crawl several feet away. The chance that someone would see him and stop to help were slim, but another driver called in the accident from a cell phone at exactly 5:45 a.m. as they watched the wreck happen. He was in Russellville Hospital ten minutes later. That caller saved his life as much as the surgeons at ECM did. I never got the chance to thank them. I don't even know who they were, but thank you.

Back at home, it's 6:15. The girls are sitting at the table eating breakfast. L.J. is still asleep. The bus would run in thirty minutes and the girls were off to school. I'd normally leave for work at 7:00 to take L.J. to school, but with the holiday I have a little extra time.

It's 7:30. I haven't received a phone call either from his work looking for him or the hospital. I decide I'm crazy and he's fine. About the time I'm gathering my purse and computer his aunt comes running into the house and tells me.

Unless you've lost someone (or almost lost them) it's hard to explain what goes through your mind while you try to get to their side. I saw fifteen years of our life flash by in a heartbeat. A million memories, words, thoughts, images flitted through my mind. Worst of all was the terror of possibly losing him. I was thirty-one with three young children and my husband who'd been in my life since I was sixteen lay on an operating table with his major artery ripped open, in the hands of strangers.

Thankfully, he did survive the operation, but his health and all of our lives were much altered. Diabetes almost took his life in a way no one expected. So today I remember and give thanks we still have him with us. Give thanks for the loved ones in your life and never ever take them for granted. Only God knows how much time any of us have and what lies ahead. Time is precious.

Brynna

Review: Retribution by Sherrilyn Kenyon

2011-11-17T15:25:00.004-06:00

Title: Retribution
by Sherrilyn Kenyon
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Series: Dark-Hunter (#20)
ISBN: 9780312546595
Also available in audiobook and ebook formats
Author site: www.sherrilynkenyon.com
Rating: 4 - You Need to Read

RETRIBUTION - AUDIO BOOK EXCERPT

Blurb: Harm no human...A hired gunslinger, William Jessup Brady lived his life with one foot in the grave. He believed that every life had a price. Until the day when he finally found a reason to live. In one single act of brutal betrayal, he lost everything, including his life. Brought back by a Greek goddess to be one of her Dark-Hunters, he gave his immortal soul for vengeance and swore he'd spend eternity protecting the humans he'd once considered prey.

Orphaned as a toddler, Abigail Yager was taken in by a family of vampires and raised on one belief --- Dark-Hunters are the evil who prey on both their people and mankind, and they must all be destroyed. While protecting her adoptive race, she has spent her life eliminating the Dark-Hunters and training for the day when she meeting the man who killed her family: Jess Brady.

A gun in the hand is worth two in the holster...Jess has been charged with finding and terminating the creature who's assassinating Dark-Hunters. The last thing he expects to find is a human face behind the killings, but when that face bears a striking resemblance to the one who murdered him centuries ago, he knows something evil is going on. He also knows he's not the one who killed her parents. But Abigail refuses to believe the truth and is determined to see him dead once and for all.Brought together by an angry god and chased by ancient enemies out to kill them both, they must find a way to overcome their mutual hatred or watch as one of the darkest of powers rises and kills both the races they've sworn to protect.

Brynna's review: As a human, Jess "Sundown" Brady was the baddest of the bad. A notorious gunslinger, he was anybody's assassin...for the right price until he met Matilda. For her, he changed his life. Betrayed by the one man he thought he could trust, a bullet between the eyes ended that future. Artemis gave him vengeance in exchange for his soul. Now as a Dark-Hunter, Sundown spends his nights protecting the human race from Daimons.

Through a twist of fate, Abigail Yager was spared the night her parents were murdered, but the one clear memory of that tragedy haunts her, her friend Sundown's reflection covered in her parents blood in the dresser mirror. Taken in by Apollites, she is trained to kill Dark-Hunters. Convinced he murdered her parents, her misguided hatred fuels her hunt for Sundown Brady.

When Abby kills Tsalagi (Cherokee) guardian Old Bear by mistake, she unleashes a rash of devastating plagues on the city of Las Vegas. Realizing she's been used all along she joins forces with Jess and the other Vegas Dark-Hunters to restore balance between the Tsalagi (Cherokee) gods.

As mentioned in a previous post about this book, Abby's venom surprised me. I wasn't sure if Ms. Kenyon could turn those emotions around in one book and make it believable, especially since they were directed towards the hero. Shoving Jess and Abby into one horrifying situation after another, scorpions, bloodfire, wasps, even mountain lions, makes them frenemies at first, though both have a strong attraction to the other. After Abby learns her adopted family betrayed her, she acts on her feelings for Jess. She isn't the kick your butt female warrior Ms. Kenyon usually writes, rather she's more human, weaker both physically and emotionally.

For a Dark-Hunter, Jess exhibits alot of patience with Abby and the other DH's. Not much ruffles his feathers. Their romance is a flash fire, instant and hot, but missing the tension build-up we've seen between previous couples in this series, but then they are constantly racing toward the Valley of Fire. Not to mention Sasha, Renegade, and Choo-Co-La-Tah are in the same room with them for most of the story. Kind of puts a damper on the hot and steamy scenes when you have several DH chaperons. Although, I don't think I'll ever look at a drive through car wash quite the same way again. lol.

I enjoyed the bonus scene. I don't want to give the story away, but maybe the birth of Ash and Tory's son will see these characters happier in future books. The change in Artemis is unexpected and welcome. I wish both she and Nick could find peace. If not with each other, than someone.

In short, I give it a "you need to read" for story. You'll be lost when Ren's book comes along without reading this one. You'll enjoy the fast paced chaos, just don't expect tons of steam. Like Acheron, Retribution is character (as opposed to reader) driven. Some stories an author just has to tell the way a character tells them too, even if the reader would want something different. Retribution is one of those stories. The new pantheon was interesting. I'm looking forward to reading Ren's story and finding out more.

Brynna

*Copy checked out from the library

What I'm reading...Retribution by Sherrilyn Kenyon - Stay Tuned

2011-11-10T16:52:00.000-06:00

Since Fire's Ice is almost finished, I thought I'd treat myself to some reading/reviewing time.

For fun:

Retribution by Sherrilyn Kenyon - I am a huge SK fan and a sucker for series. When I googled the title to read the blurb, I also found less than stellar reviews, but having had a couple of those myself...I prefer to make up my own mind. About to start chapter three and I'm surprised at the venom in Abigail. Most of the complaints I've read were about heat level and chemistry between her and Jess.

In my opinion, Dark Hunter books tend to compress the relationship building in a shortened time frame, while the backstory can span thousands of years with some characters. I like those little glimpses, but I'll be surprised if SK is able to believably change that venom in Abigail to lust/love in a very short time span. This may be one of those stories that can't fully be told in one book. We'll see. Anyway stay tuned for a review on this one too. Probably here.

Bonnie by Iris Johansen - Haven't started it yet, but I really liked the other two and so want to know what happened to Bonnie.

Wings of Fire - Caris Roane - This one is part of a series and I haven't read her previous books, but I will now. Looking forward to Jean and Fiona's story and Luken's too.

Picked these up for review:
The Bastard by Brenda Novak - I remembered being in on the title discussion on Facebook and since I like her suspense novels, and the blurb intrigued me, I thought I'd give it a try. Love it so far. Look for a review at YGRR soon.

Heart of the Druid Laird by Barbara Longley - Guest of YGRR and the blurb intrigued me. Love Scottish historical romances and wanted to this one a try. Thumbs up so far.

What are you reading?

Cafe Press Shop Open

2011-11-09T14:57:00.000-06:00

For those interested, I've created a Cafe Press Shop filled with different book themed gifts and shirts. You'll find it by clicking the "Brynna's Shop" tab.

Special Guest - Interview with romance writer Mary Stella Clemens

2011-11-08T14:00:00.000-06:00

*Note from Brynna - Anyone who leaves a comment for Mary and their email address (ex. brynna at brynnacurry dot com) between 11/8/11 and 11/15/11 will be entered to win a copy of Sea's Sorceress (Book 4) from yours truly.

BRYNNA: Please help me welcome a very special guest today, paranormal romance writer Mary Stella Clemens. Back this summer, I donated a critique to Brenda Novak's Diabetes Auction and Mary was the lucky winner. After working on her book, Irredeemable Angel, I fell in love with the story and the characters. Welcome, Mary! Tell us a bit about yourself. Where do you hail from? What do you love most about your hometown.

MARY: I was born and raised in a small town in the French part of Canada. I’ll keep a little mystery around myself and I won’t reveal where exactly. *wink* The best part of being from such a small place was knowing everyone, it fed the social beast inside of me that needed daily (even hourly) human interactions. Now, I live in a big city (I’m not naming it either, heheheheh), but managed to find a neighborhood with the same close knit community. For me, this is essential as it provides me with a lot of material for my books.

BRYNNA: Sounds like a great place to grow up. Other than paranormal romance, what genres do you write? What made you decide to write in that genre?

MARY: I love romance in general. I remember when I first held a Harlequin book, I must have been 12 or 13, it was a revelation. From then on, romance novels became my reading of choice, although I also enjoy thriller, mystery and horror novels. A few years ago, I came across a Gena Showalter novel and became hooked into the paranormal genre. Now, this is mostly what I read. I like this genre because it allows a greater freedom for my imagination. I’m fascinated with the idea of parallel universe, aliens and other strange worlds.

When my writer self reemerged (after some 15 years sleep! LOL), it was paranormal stories that started to take shape in my mind. I was instantly enthralled with heroes from other worlds who would have to deal with strong heroines able to give as good as they got. It love being able to play with a totally different set of rules, it gives all kinds of openings to situations that would be difficult to imagine in our world.

Believe it or not, in my spare time, I also write short children stories. But those are mostly for personal use, and for my own kids’ and nieces and nephews’ entertainment, not exactly publication material. J

BRYNNA: I’ve never read a Showalter novel, but I think I’ll give it a try now. I love how paranormals allow the escape from everyday reality. I think sometimes we just need the crazy and way out there. Tell us a little about Irredeemable Angel.

MARY: How long do you have for this? I could go on and on and on for hours about Irredeemable Angel. I’m not sure if I can actually say only a “little” about it, but I’ll do my best to get you drooling about the story. J

Blurb: Awakened by the sound of an intruder in her house, Josie Jackson gets out of bed to investigate. Muttering curses to make a sailor proud, she promises retribution to the SOB who dares invade her home. Little does she know that her world is about to be turned upside down, as demons and angels battle each other and try to secure her cooperation for their own purpose.

David, Principem of the Rengentys Angel Faction, receives the mission to approach Josie and correct an anomaly – a portal leading straight into Hell – she caused with her reckless behavior. Forbidden to experience any of the Seven Cardinal Sins, level-headed David isn’t prepared for Josie’s aggressive and unpredictable personality. Their first meeting leaves his emotions unbalanced.

After David saves her from demons, Josie must depend on him for knowledge on how to survive in this new world. Mistrust and bitterness are second nature to her, tainting her every word, and making her alliance with David a difficult one filled with frustration, anger and desire.

Battling against multiple enemies and emotions she doesn’t want to feel, Josie is unaware that her biggest threat may very well be her closest ally, since for David, failing his mission is not an option. To save the world, how far would he go?

*Admin note - Excerpt contains strong language
Here is an excerpt of Irredeemable Angel from the first chapter.

Battle-worn instinct prevented David from being slugged in the back of the head. Quickly dropping, he twisted to the right as Josie sneaked up behind him with a baseball bat. He avoided the first strike but was not so lucky with the second one. She spun with the force of her initial strike, lowering the bat for a second hit that connected with his shoulder.

Under normal circumstances, she shouldn’t have been able to get that close undetected, but his mind had been busy sorting out how best to deliver the news to her about this unusual and complicated situation.

He jumped out of range of a third blow.

“I’m not here to hurt you!”

Josie cocked the bat back up again.

If he’d been anything other than what he was, he would have cursed Thomas and himself for the lack of preparation for this mission.

“I need to talk to you about –” He twisted to the side and back, feeling the air shift as the bat flew a mere breadth over his head and chest.

The baseball bat clattered to the floor. He straightened to see Josie reach for the gun lodged in the waistband of her shorts. He flashed across the room.

Josie gaped at the empty space in front of her before her eyes, did a quick scan of the room and located him besides the couch.

“What the hell?” she muttered, her brows drawn into a harsh line. Her eyes traveled from where he stood to where he’d been and back.

David used the momentary break in violence to unleash some of his powers and scan her for illness, which would explain why she was home in the middle of a workday. And only partially dressed. Coming up with nothing, he was about to attempt to connect with her mind when she released the gun’s safety and aimed low. He frowned when he realized the gun pointed to his groin.

Lord in Heaven!

As her expression of shock migrated to one of fear, then quickly dissolved into fury, her grip on the gun tightened. She braced her legs apart like she was about to shoot him. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth thinned.

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?”

He took a step to the side, making sure his lower body was behind the couch and out of range. At once, Josie adjusted her aim up to his chest. David lifted his hands to signal his surrender.

“Please, I mean no harm. I just want to speak with you.” He kept his eyes locked on her and the gun in her hand.

His introduction was met with a sardonic arched brow. She pressed her finger lightly on the trigger, but again, she didn’t shoot him. He wondered what she was thinking when some of her thoughts came to him.

Damn scumbag. Did he really think I’d fall for the “I’m no threat speech”? How gullible does he think I am? What’s up with the freaking “You blink, I’m gone trick”? I can’t possibly be this hung over.

He was about to reassure her that he wasn’t a threat when she spoke.

“Since you’re still breathing and alive—at least for the moment—I suggest you deliver your excuse for invading my home quickly. Better make it a good one if you want to leave here standing and pain free. Otherwise, this measly couch isn’t going to offer much protection, believe me. By the time I call the police to come get your sorry ass out of my freaking home, you’ll have several new holes in very unpleasant places.” Her warning came with a cool smile.

Before he could utter a single word, trouble walked—or in this case materialized—right at Josie’s back. David instantly placed himself between her and the newcomer.

“Well, well, well. If this isn’t the Principem of the Regentys himself, making an earthly visit. Fancy meeting you here, David,” the newcomer drawled.

David swiped his hands in a rotating motion to create an invisible force field and, as an added precaution, left his right arm raised with his palm facing upward, ready to send an energy bolt. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Josie spin around and almost stumble backward on the couch when she caught sight of the new addition.

“What the fuck?” Her hand with the gun wavered as she tried to regain her footing. Then, her eyes lit with recognition. “Damian? What are you doing here? Scratch that. How the hell did you get in here?”

David internally winced at Josie’s coarse language.

Damian waved at Josie like he belonged in her house. “Hey, Sweetness!”

“You couldn’t go for something a little more original than Damian?” David couldn’t help asking.

“The name suits me so well,” Damian drawled.

Of course, he would find this amusing. After so many centuries, Damian’s sense of humor had never improved. Smiling, Damian took a step forward toward Josie and bumped off David’s protective force field. David responded to Damian’s scowl with an arched brow.

“I’m no threat to her. She can tell you we’re sort of friends. You don’t have to go all protector on me.” Damian pouted like a child, his act clearly intended for Josie.

“Your very presence is a threat. Be glad I am doing nothing more than keeping you at bay. You have no right to be here. She is off-limits to you.” David pushed his hand forward and forced Damian to take a step back.

“You take the fun out of everything, David. And, let me remind you that I was here first.” Damian pressed a finger against the force field like he was testing it.

“I arrived before you did.”

“Today. You were here before me, today, but Josie and I’ve known each other for a while. Haven’t we, Sweetness?”

David turned his gaze on Josie and saw she still held the gun in front of her. She appeared undecided as to whom to shoot, pointing the gun back and forth between him and Damian. If anything, she looked even more pissed now than she’d been earlier—also more afraid.

Not good. He needed her cool and controlled.

“Please Josie, calm down—” David started in a quiet voice.

Josie interrupted him with a sneer and pointed the gun straight at him. “Shut up or I’ll shoot you where you stand! And be glad I didn’t do it already, asshole. The only time you are allowed to make a sound is to answer one of my questions, otherwise keep it zipped.”

Damian laughed—nothing better than sex or violence to keep him entertained.

Until Josie shifted her eyes to glare at him.

“What are you laughing about? As far as I’m concerned you’re no better than him. Now, answer my question: How the hell did you get in?”

Damian took a few steps back and propped his hips against one of her yellow armchairs. He pointed at David with his thumb. “Same way he did.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” she snarled.

That’s enough. He needed to get Josie out of there and to somewhere safe where they could talk calmly without the risk of interruption. He extended his right arm and summoned Josie to him.

The only thing that moved was the gun in her hand, which shot straight into his.

May God have mercy, she was partly—potentially completely—immune to his powers.

BRYNNA: Oh, that was my favorite part in the whole book! Like the good guy/ bad guy shoulder thing but yummified. After critiquing Irredeemable Angel, I found Josie to be a strong and endearing heroine. Truly one of a kind. Where do you find your inspiration to create such powerful characters?

MARY: I always favored books where the heroine was as strong as the hero, with a sharp mind and strong sense of self. When I started Irredeemable Angel, Josie kind of imposed her personality on me. She was caustic, proud, and a fighter to the core. But what made her so much fun to write about was the softness that lay beneath. We get to see it in the way she loves to bake, the fact she’d chosen to specialize in tracking criminals preying on the weak, and how dedicated and selfless she is toward those she held close to her heart.

I must admit that part of Josie’s strength was also meant as a tribute to all those women I met during my chemo treatment, particularly the young ones. You should have seen the combination of pride, will and compassion in the eyes of all those cancer survivors. It’s something I will never forget and it seemed fitting my first heroine had some of that.

BRYNNA: And I can see them, you’re life experiences really shine through the story. And of course the Josies of the world surely need a guardian angel. Tell us about your hero, David. How does he fit the bill?

MARY: My initial intention with Irredeemable Angel was to write a story where the hero was the “Good Guy” and the heroine, the “Bad Girl”. When David started to take shape in my head, I was afraid he wouldn’t be strong enough to oppose Josie who was such a defiant and larger than life character. However, I soon realized that being good didn’t make him any less of an alpha-male. He is a born leader and handled Josie with finesse and firmness. Of course, the fact he came loaded with all those cool powers and an insanely delectable body did give him some advantages.

In the end, David may not stray outside the established rules, but his quiet will of steel and his emotional levelness made him the perfect yin for Josie’s yang… or is it the other way around? Anyway, you know what I mean. LOL

BRYNNA: Lol. David’s patience is his greatest weapon and boy does he need it when dealing with Josie and of course Damian. Creating strong secondary characters that help move the story forward without stealing the show is truly a talent. Sometimes a little bit of wicked adds a lot of fun to the mix; tell us about Damian.

MARY: Damian was a total surprise. At the beginning, he was supposed to be the villain, the beast the reader wanted to see put back in its cage and throw away the key. Except, he had more layers than I anticipated and turned into a fun and definitively entertaining character I wanted to keep around.

Damian is a Lust demon with a purpose, an undetermined one as of yet. He likes to play with people and he’s a master manipulator. His wicked sense of humor and the way he knows how to push David’s buttons helped move the story forward, adding layers of mystery and lightness that complemented the main plot and characters perfectly.

Needless to say he has become a character I just can’t ignore and he will be around in subsequent books, as well as receive his own Happily-Ever-After. *wink*

BRYNNA: Yay! I so wanted him to have his happy ending too. Finding just the right home for Irredeemable Angel is your current goal, but do you have any future projects planned you'd like to share with us?

MARY: As I hinted previously, I have the next two books in this DAWN series – the one following Irredeemable Angel, in plotting stages. The heroes have already been identified, and yes Damian is one of them. I’m working on getting the right heroine for those strong alphas and making sure their story advances the series even further.

Also, I have another series, for the moment I named it my Space Travelers’ series, where I am in the final stages of the first book. This novel (I’m still trying to find the perfect title for) is one where my heroine is “kidnapped” by pirates during the Bounty Festival – pirates who turn out to be aliens living in a parallel universe to our own. Loaded with sensuality and action, this novel features the meeting of Eliana and Javis during a three days festival organized by a single-women resort. Eliana is determined to stay clear of those pirates who appear to have more sex appeal than should be legal and a reputation for bestowing the “chosen and usually willing” kidnapped victims with incomparable pleasure. Once Javis catches sight of Eliana, he is equally determined to claim her as his own, even putting the safety and secrecy of his people existence on Earth to risk for a chance to convince her he is the one for her.

BRYNNA: Ah, pirates are so much fun, especially space pirates. Sounds like there is a lot for readers to look forward to. Now here's a tough one. As an unpublished author, what is your opinion on the electronic publishing industry? Do you feel e-books are taking the place of traditional printed and bound books? Or do you think the e-book industry affords publishers the opportunity to take chances on unknowns without the liability of printing costs, while still leaving room for those ink and paper copies we love.

MARY: This is a difficult question to answer, but let me give you my reader’s opinion. I personally love a good printed book, and I tend to buy in print for all the authors I absolutely adore. However, I have taken a lot of chances on new author with kindle or e-pub books because they were more affordable in electronic format and I wasn’t sure I would like them or not. If I happen to fall in love with the writing of one, it isn’t unheard of for me to still go ahead and buy their books in print in addition to the e-book format. With the amount of books I read, there is no way I can find space for all of them in my house or when I travel. Since I move around a lot, for me it makes sense to travel with a kindle or computer loaded with books instead of trying to find a space in my 100 pounds (ok, I’m exaggerating but I’m sure you get the point! LOL) luggage I try to carry around.

I would say we are in a transition period where the outcome is still unsure, but my opinion is that with e-books, many readers will be more adventurous in their purchase than in print. I don’t see print being totally wiped out either, at least not in the short term.

BRYNNA: I agree. I think both have a place in the reader’s world, still who knows what the future holds. Where can we find out more about your writing?

MARY: This is my next BIG task. Getting a website up and running. For the moment, I’m solely on twitter under MarySClem. I just have to find the time to do this… and I’ll get there someday. J In the short term, I’m probably going to be guest blogging on fellow author sites who are so kind to provide me a window into their world (This is where I thank Brynna profusely for this opportunity!), until I can afford to stop working at my regular job – or at least cut back on the insane hours – and do what I love most, writing, full time.

You can of course also reach me by email at MarySClemATgmailDOTcom.

BRYNNA: Lol. You are welcome. Thanks so much for joining me today, Mary. It's been a fun visit. Remember the name Mary Stella Clemens y'all. I am certain this lady has a bright shiny writing career ahead of her. I, for one, can’t wait to see where Irredeemable Angel lands.

Some pictures from last Christmas...

2011-11-04T16:52:00.000-05:00

Thought I'd post these wintry pictures. A white Christmas is truly a rare thing in Alabama, so it bears remembering. Very pretty.

Last year's tree

White Christmas Snow 12-25-10
Looking out towards the MIL's house

Looking out at the woods
behind the house.

Looking towards the shop that sits
between the MIL's and my house.

Tree line

Winter Trees

Christmasy!!!!

2011-11-02T16:04:00.000-05:00

So, after a lot of fiddling with templates and codes yesterday, I finally settled on new site decor for the holiday season. It was the header that got me. The three little ones reminded me of my babies, Anna in red, Kayla in green and L.J. in blue, tearing open gifts. I miss them being little like that.

Brynna

Site...

2011-11-01T13:06:00.000-05:00

If you see some weird things going on with the site today, don't worry. It's just me redecorating for the holidays. First comes my online homes, then the kids and I will tackle the house. Fun! And this begs the question, when do you start decorating the tree and house? Thankgiving? Christmas Eve? Five seconds after the last trick or treater leaves your door? Curious minds want to know...

Brynna

31 days of Halloween -Closing

2011-10-31T04:07:00.056-05:00

*UPDATE - All winners have been contacted. If your name is on the list, but you haven't received an email from me, please email me at brynna@brynnacurry.com to claim your prize.

Happy Halloween!

I want to give a special thank you to all my guests. We've sure had fun this month haven't we? I've enjoyed all the short stories, excerpts, wicked cover art and of course the brain mold. (Yum) I hope you'll all come back to visit soon. I'm thinking of doing another holiday themed open house during December, so shout out to me if you'd be interested.

Now....for the prizes *wiggles eyebrows*.
The winners were chosen randomly from the comments on each specific giveaway (excluding the author and myself of course.)

Winner of Dianne Hartsock's Trials of a Lonely Specter (pdf) is ...Denise Z! Congratulations, Denise!

Winner of Kathleen Allen's If It's Monday, It Must be Murder (pdf) is also ...Denise Z!

Now then, as a surprise Halloween treat. I chose five winners at random from all the comments posted since October 1st. Sneaky, I know. That's the Trick part lol. They will have the choice of my current release Sea's Sorceress or a copy of any of my backlist titles which can be found on the BOOKS page. So watch for an email from yours truly.

Without further adieu....
WS Gager
Joselyn Vaughn
Bianca Swan
Penny Ehrenkrantz
J.C. Martin

Congratulations, y'all!

The trick or treating is done around my neck of the woods, but I hope all of you and your little munchkins have a safe and fun Halloween.

Blessings,
Brynna

31 Days of Halloween - Emma Lane (aka Janis Lane)

2011-10-29T01:45:00.016-05:00

A GHOST STORY

by Emma Lane

The rusted hinges creaked and resisted when she pushed against it. Her sister poked around outside the old cottage, stooping to pick flowers in the abandoned garden.

“This cottage won’t be around in a couple of years. It doesn’t take long in this humidity to melt a dwelling back into the earth from which it came.” She could hear her sister’s voice grow fainter as she pushed through, entered the front room and looked around. Dust motes shimmered in the air, glowing from the sun which found a crack in the window shade. The room was darken by the green shades on two of the windows. The third was broken and sagging with the glass shattered.

There was a smell of old—mildew maybe, but more than that. She wasn’t certain what. Something vaguely familiar. The furniture was filled with dust. Perhaps…she sneezed as she passed a small rocking chair. It rocked slightly. Had she touched it?

Probably her sweater had brushed by it. This was no time to get spooked. She wanted to take pictures of the inside of the house. Her mother said distant relatives had lived in it at one time, but moved away long ago.

There was a small painting on the wall almost hidden by the many cobwebs that clung to it. She brushed them away. Just a pastoral scene after all. Nothing interesting. A large spider hurried by, obviously annoyed by her interference. She peered closely at it wondering if it was a brown recluse. She’d never seen one, although she could spot several black widows lurking in the corners. They loved dark places like this.

“You don’t bother me and I won’t mess up your webs, okay ladies?” She paused to adjust her camera and captured several scenes of the couch, table and the rocking chair which… Why was it still rocking? She stared at it for a moment, but felt a slight breeze from the open window and thought this must be the answer.

A burlap curtain hung limply over a door way. She pushed it aside and sneezed again for her trouble as the dust flew thick around her. Cobwebs were streaming from the ceiling and corners. Gingerly she pushed them aside, then stifled a screech when she saw the tail of a huge black snake curled around a rusted canister on the counter top. It moved sluggishly toward a hole in the window. She could see a lump in its middle where it had recently eaten. A black snake, she reassured herself. They eat rodents and are not of the poisonous variety. She hoped.

Strange. There were two plates sitting on the kitchen table. Utensils were leaning against them as if someone had just finished eating. She thought the owners had moved away. Wonder who had had a last meal here? She aimed her camera.

In the front bedroom a tattered cover filled with debris gave testimony that a tidy housekeeper had made the bed that day. What day? Why did they just walk away? Wouldn’t they have moved their possessions? She began to feel a tingle on the back of her neck. Something wasn’t right here. Mom had said the old place was haunted. Was it?

She backed out of the room and walked down the hall. There was a closed door to what she presumed was another bedroom.

“Millie? Where are you?” She heard the squeak of the old hinges as her sister entered the front of the cottage. She slowly turned the knob on the closed door wondering if she ought to wait until her sister joined her. It was silly to feel anxious like this. It was just an old house that had been abandoned. This door opened with no noise as if it had been recently used. Okay, some tramp had used it for shelter recently. Although the cobwebs were pretty old. Still it was possible. What would there be in this room to be afraid of? Mice?

She stepped into the room, took one look and screamed as loud as she could. Her hand on the door gripped the knob with force. She dug her fingernails into the wood.

“Millie! What is the matter? Are you okay?” Her sister pushed against her back in an effort to look into the room. Millie moved to one side, but remained rigid and sobbing in the back of her throat.

Over on the bed two skeletons were intertwined. Their arms were wrapped around each other and their fleshless heads were frozen in a perpetual grimace of death. Tattered clothes with holes still clung to the corpses. A rotting quilt was pulled halfway up over them. Several large snakes were curled around and into the bones that lay white against the mattress. The snakes hissed and slithered restlessly appearing and disappearing into the cavity of the corpses. One dropped to the floor and crawled quickly underneath the bed.

Still staring and trying her best to sort through the information of this horrible site, Millie reached for her sister’s hand. She had identified the small of death. Old, but still recognizable as that of human remains. Her sister was mute with shock. “Let’s get out of here,” she finally managed to grind out through clenched teeth.

Millie plugged her camera into her computer. After they called the sheriff, she and her sister had left the site, more than willing to turn over their find to the authorities. She had no idea who had died in that cottage and why they had died in each other’s arms. It was a strange thing to find.

She flipped through snapshot after snapshot smiling as her young nephew grinned at her on the screen, his gapped front teeth in a parody of a jack-o-lantern. Then the scenes from the old cottage appeared on her screen. Dirty dusty living room. Weird kitchen table. She almost called for another scene when something in the corner near the back door caught her eye. Clearly and distinctly she could see the shadowy outline of a couple standing there smiling at her and waving. Chills raced across her back and she felt a coldness pass through her.

She deleted the scene. No one would believe her anyway.

The End

31 days of Halloween - Keri Stevens

2011-10-28T04:07:00.076-05:00

What Really Scares Me

I'm a graveyard junkie. I have no problem with camping out all night among the stones of the dead (except for my aversion to actual camping. Lumpy ground, cold dew, active nightcrawlers...ew). I feel at home among the monuments and safe surrounded by earth and bone. But I know people who skip the graveside services of their dearly-departed during broad daylight because cemeteries give them the creeps.

Give me ghosts. While I'm sure I'd wet myself when faced with a real apparition, my brushes with the paranormal until now have been uniformly benevolent. A dead relative visits me in a dream and gives me great advice (which I remember the next morning). My skin crawls for some undefined reason and I step back--and a minute later, the arm of the cactus I'm standing under falls on the spot I'd just left. I'm convinced that a benevolent God rules a benevolent universe and phenomena both inexplicable and explained generally work for a greater good.

Until I run into certain humans. No creaking staircase can match the destructive power of a twisted heart. No fictional ghoul has ever accomplished what some real-world monsters have done to their fellow man. When do I question God's benevolence? When I watch the evening news. How I do settle back into my natural state of optimism and faith? By popping in a TrueBlood DVD.

The closer horror comes to scientifically-verifiable reality, the scarier it is. Even fairly innocuous scenes in books and movies have me turning my face away--especially when the heroine has snuck into someone's office and is digging through their secret files. I get up and leave the room.

"It's okay, honey," Dr. Stevens calls. "It's over. Now the slime monster is slithering under the door."

Slime monsters. Cool. I'm there!

Keri Stevens is the author of STONE KISSED, winner of the 2011 Golden Quill for Best First Book.

Keri Stevens, Romance Author
Stone Kissed from Carina Press Facebook, Twitter, Mailing List

One quick note...

2011-10-27T12:57:00.001-05:00

The Romance Studio's Spookapalooza starts at the witching hour tonight and runs through Halloween. Hope you all will drop by and visit. I'll be there off and on with excerpts from the new book and maybe just a little sneak peek of what I'm working on now.

31 days of Halloween - Marva Desef

2011-10-27T04:06:00.002-05:00

Bio: Marva Dasef is a writer living in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and a fat white cat. Retired from thirty-five years in the software industry, she has now turned her energies to writing fiction and finds it a much more satisfying occupation. Marva has published more than forty stories in a number of on-line and print magazines, with several included in Best of anthologies. She has several already published books of fantasy, science fiction, and mystery. A few more are scheduled for 2011 and 2012 from her super duper publisher, MuseItUp.

Werewolves: An Alternative Transportion

Wicked cool artwork by
Christy Grandjean
http://www.goldenwolfen.com.

The most well-known werecritter is the werewolf. At this time in the cycle of what’s hot, what’s not, werewolves are getting great press via the Twilight books and movies by Stephanie Meyer.

I have to admit it. Werewolves can be totally sexy guys (gals) in human form. Meyer finally got one legendary being right. Well, she agrees with my concept, which I used before I read any of the Meyer saga. To tell the truth, I still haven’t read any of the books, because the first movie put such a bad taste in my mouth. OMG, Edward loves Bella because she SMELLS good?!?!? Gimme a break.

As we all know, werewolves are shape-shifters. When the full moon rises, your normal guy (or gal) changes into a werewolf. Sometimes, they are portrayed as mindless beasts who’ll rip the throat out of anybody they come upon. Other portrayals show that the maintain their human intelligence when shifted. Since the legends vary so wildly, I decided to not only have my werewolves remain intelligent, but also able to shift from human to wolf form at will.

How do I justify this turning away from the legend? I don’t need to. Some folks will howl in disgust with my tampering with the myths. Let ‛em whine or even bark. I’ve seen authors do just about everything with the tropes: weres, vampires, demons, fairies, angels, ancient gods. That, I believe, is perfectly okay. You want a half-vampire, half-demon? I’ve seen that in paranormal more than once. Gods less than god-like? Yup, been done.

Anyway, I have a six-pack of werewolves in “Bad Spelling.” Here’s a taste (ha ha, get it?) of my werewolf mashup.

NOTE: Werewolf drawing by Christy Grandjean. Visit her site at http://www.goldenwolfen.com

BAD SPELLING – Book 1 of the Witches of Galdorheim

A klutzy witch, a shaman's curse, a quest to save her family. Can Kat find her magic in time?

by Marva Dasef http://marvadasef.com

Blog: http://mgddasef.blogspot.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/MarvaDasef

Twitter Handle: @Gurina

Release date: October 14th MuseItUp Buy Link: http://tinyurl.com/3daem4r

Buy it now on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005URFJ0Y

Description

If you’re a witch living on a remote arctic island, and the entire island runs on magic, lacking magical skills is not just an inconvenience, it can be a matter of life and death–or, at least, a darn good reason to run away from home.

Katrina’s spells don’t just fizzle; they backfire with spectacular results, oftentimes involving green goo. A failure as a witch, Kat decides to run away and find her dead father’s non-magical family. But before she can, she stumbles onto why her magic is out of whack: a curse from a Siberian shaman.

The young witch, accompanied by her warlock brother, must travel to the Hall of the Mountain King and the farthest reaches of Siberia to regain her magic, dodging attacks by the shaman along the way.

Excerpt

Rune joined them. “Are we going to stand around here all day? Where’s the alternative transportation you told us about?”

Andy tore his gaze from Kat and scanned the slope. “There it is.”

Kat looked where Andy pointed and gasped. “What—?”

“Don’t worry. They won’t hurt us,” Andy said with a confidence Kat didn’t quite trust.

“But werewolves?” There was no mistaking them for regular wolves. Besides being twice the size of the largest of the wolves, the eyes gave them away. Even from a distance, Kat could see them gleaming with intelligence.

“Look behind them,” Andy said.

The big wolves loped along easily; they were harnessed to a sled, bouncing along behind them. The speed with which they approached told her they would have no problem pulling a heavy load.

The wolves came up the slope and stopped in front of them. The lead werewolf looked at each of them with some interest. Kat felt like an item on a menu, like when they faced the polar bear.

The lead wolf said, “Good morning. Hmm. Humans, not trolls. Interesting.” The wolf looked over his shoulder at the others. “Remember, King Olaf hired us to deliver these people to where they want to go. You are not to eat them.” The other wolves nodded, but their long tongues hanging over gleaming, razor-sharp teeth was not a reassuring sight; their mouths dripped saliva in a most disconcerting manner.

The lead werewolf turned his pale yellow eyes back to Andy. “So, where are we going?”

Andy briefly explained what they wanted. The werewolf nodded and said, “If I understand correctly, we are looking for the Sami tribe. Do you realize they’re nomadic?”

“Sort of. All I know for certain is they spend much of their time on the northern coast.” Andy glanced at Kat. “Anything else?” She shook her head.

The wolf stared at Andy for a moment and then said, “Well, come closer so I can smell you. The girl, too.”

Kat hung back. “Why do you want to—? Oh, I understand. You can find the Samis through our scent.”

“Very good, young lady,” the werewolf answered and sniffed at her outstretched hand. He licked it once. Kat jerked her hand back. “Taste helps, too,” the werewolf answered, with a hint of humor in his gruff voice.

“What’s your name?” Kat asked.

“I call myself Mazi in my wolf form. I try to keep my human life separate.” The werewolf raised his head and howled. The other wolves joined in the chorus. Goose pimples rose on Kat’s arms. Then, they all fell silent and pricked their ears, turning their heads this way and that. From off in the distance, Kat heard a faint answering howl.

“Hop on the sled. It’s time to go,” Mazi said.

31 days of Halloween - Sandra J. Clarke

2011-10-26T04:06:00.007-05:00

Where do you hail from and what do you love most about your hometown?

Everywhere! Well, it seems that way. I was born in Granby Quebec, but my family moved to Ontario, Canada when I was three years old. I come from a family of eight kids and my parents rented. We moved a lot, but stuck to the suburbs of Toronto for the most part. I loved growing up in Scarborough. The burbs offer intimacy with friends and neighbours you don't often find in the city. Add to that the added benefit of living thirty minutes from the downtown core – and all the great shopping therein.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? How has that childhood dream affected your career?

For the most part I coasted through childhood with no specific dreams or goals – except that I wanted to achieve success at whatever I did. Craving success makes a person work hard, and I did just that with each task I tackled. Now, I'm grateful I developed that drive, because writing is not for wimps.

Tell us about your latest book. Do you have anything new in the works and can you tell us a bit about it?

Mind Over Matter releases next week and is the story of a mother who faces her worst nightmare when she discovers her missing daughter is schedule to die.

For three years Rebecca McKenney grieved the loss of her daughter. Now, a vision showing Sabrina three years older, suggests her baby is still alive, and the FBI agent who gave up the search is the only one who can help find her. Rebecca once witnessed a psychic connection between Agent Cooper and her daughter. She only hopes their fragile bond remains – and that the coward has the decency to pursue it.

Special Agent Dan Cooper, haunted by a tragic mistake made early in the investigation, agrees to help Rebecca to ease his conscience, if nothing else. Together they fight inner demons, all too real bad guys, and an attraction neither wants to admit to. Each step closer to finding her daughter unearths wide-spread deception and an evil so vile it threatens to break Rebecca's spirit. The thought of having her daughter back in her arms is all that keeps her going. Until she learns the horrifying truth – her daughter is scheduled to die in mere days.

Now that Mind Over Matter is officially off to the printer, I have two WIPs remaining that I'm actively working on. In The Missing Time, reporter Jordan Munro targets a traumatized teen boy after details of his abduction reveal eerie circumstances similar to her own mysterious kidnapping. It's is a stand-alone book I'm shopping around to agents now. One agent is interested but would like to see it expanded another fifteen thousand words, so it's very much still a work in progress. In Forecasting Raine, the sequel to Mind, Nick's long buried psychic gift, and his guilt, resurface when a sniper's bullet reveals the sister of an innocent bystander killed on Nick's last mission determined to take down Anderson Security, Inc.

Have you ever used contemporary events or stories “ripped from the headlines” in your work?

No, but I've been inspired by current events many times. I try to write realistic stories with problems anyone can relate to, at least on some level. Sometimes the simplest threat is the most insidious. Even if the reader has never lived though it, they can imagine the horror.

Is there anything you find particularly challenging about writing?

There's the whole coming up with an idea no one's done before challenge. It's impossible, but every time, I try and bang my head on the desk in frustration. I rely a lot on my critique groups to let me know if I'm adding enough of a twist to prevent writing the cliche. I am fortunate to live in a community with a strong artistic mecca. One writers group I belong to, The Writers' Community of Durham Region (WCDR), is over 300 members strong, and holds monthly breakfast meetings where we absorb knowledge from guest speakers,have the opportunity to attend workshops, and have our work critiqued at blue pencil sessions. I wouldn't be here without them.

What advice would you give to writers just starting out?

Find a group like the WCDR. (It's international, and anyone can join. The benefits are numerous, even for those who are to far away to attend the meetings. Check out their website here: http://wcdr.ca/wcdr/

If you can, join a group that meets in person in your own community. Start one if you can't find one. I can't stress this enough. Chatting and sharing experiences with fellow writers keeps me informed about what's going on in publishing today, feeds my writer's soul by making be aware of constant opportunities to learn more on craft and marketing, and keeps me motivated to put my butt in the chair. I'd also advice emerging writer's to find someone who excels at what you want to do. Research this person. Find out what they did to get there, and what you can do to emulate their process. Learn from the masters.

Do you ever suffer from writer's block? If so, what do you do about it?

For me, writers block is lack of preparation. For me, the most difficult, yet most essential, part of writing any story is plotting. Yes. I'm one of those people. I'd go so far as to say I'm an extensive plotter. I need that solid foundation to work from. I might veer away from the plan now and again, but it's there to guide me on those days when my muse hides under the covers. I'm always sure to keep my characters' motivations in line with any new direction I'm drawn in. This is how I'm able to maintain the discipline to write every day. If I'm staring at a white screen with a blank look on my face I pull out my scene cards. There's no excuse not to get the work done. Coming up with all the ideas for the book in one or two sittings is hard. But I use the same system my teacher taught me. I come up with one of those mega-sentences I mentioned earlier – one for each scene. All the ingredients for a perfect scene are right there on the index card. Then I just have to write it.

Who is your favorite author and why? What books have most influenced your life?

I'd have to say Nora Roberts (also writing as J.D. Robb). As a reader, her works hit all of my hot buttons. It's romance at heart, with lots of mystery, intrigue and suspense thrown in, and often contains elements of the paranormal. As a writer, she demonstrates one individual can reach a wide audience and master more than a single genre if they do it right.

How did you deal with rejection letters?

The only rejection letter I've received so far came in for Mind Over Matter, but I'd sent it to several places and already signed a contract with MuseItUp Publishing by then, so it didn't hold any power over me. I know I'll get rejections gong forward and I hope I'll give due consideration to those that come with constructive criticism, and dismiss the rest.

What tools do you feel are must-haves for writers?

I'm anal by nature. LOL. I like system and order and process. I use Write Way Pro to write in. It's a word processor with plot, character, setting and other organizational tools built in. It's not a story prompter, if that's what someone is looking for. This is a program that allows me to keep all my notes, sticky's, research, and idle thoughts in one place, accessible at the click of the mouse. I can export and import at any time. There's a non-pro version as well, that runs about $25 US, and a free 30 day trial. No I'm not an affiliate:)

Where do you as an author draw the line on gory descriptions and/or erotic content?

Violence and sex, even erotica, is okay with me, as long as the activities and language sit well with me and move the story forward. This is a simple boundary for me. I know what I'm willing to read and what I'm not. I don't write anything I'm uncomfortable with as a reader.

What's the weirdest thing you've ever done in the name of research?

LOL. Nothing weird so far, but you've got me thinking I should acquire an experience to relate the next time I'm asked this question. Mind Over Matter is set at the base of the Superstition Mountains in Arizona, and the mountain range plays a big part in the story. I've never been there, or to any desert environment, so I had to rely on good research to get the details right. I poured over the internet and through books noting down the big things. Then I reached out to online communities I'm active in, asking people in the region for tidbits about the area, smells, textures, local slang, names of specific flowers that only bloom under moonlight – things only someone whose lived there would know. Writers are a knowledgeable and generous group of people. Never hesitate to reach out to other writers for help. For the paranormal angle, I deferred to a couple of writer friends who have experience with the phenomena.

Don't forget to give us links to your website etc.

Thanks for a great interview, Brynna. I had a blast.

Here are some links where people can connect with me:

Check out my new website at: http://sjclarke.com
Friend me on Facebook: http://on.fb.me/jzcSq4
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/sandrajc
Join me on LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/home?trk=hb_tab_home_top
Mind Over Matter Facebook Page: http://www.facebook.com/MindOverMatterbySJClarke

Blurb:

Rebecca knew from experience she didn't have much time left. A vision came at her, hard and strong...

The child’s face from the milk carton, about six or seven years old, hovered before her, similar yet different. Shivers wracked her body as she huddled in a corner, her long brown curls limp and dull. Smudges on her face spread when she used a dirty forearm to swipe away tears, and a cut bled through the tear in her dress. A flickering light illuminated the dark room, hinting at secrets in the shadows. The sound of water dripping, slow and steady like a leaky faucet, met Rebecca’s ears and her nose crinkled at the stench of urine and human waste. The child looked up. All trace of color drained from her face when a deep voice crept out of the darkness.

“It’s time.”

“Rebecca, did you hear me?” Ruby’s voice penetrated the fog surrounding Rebecca’s mind.

“W-What?” She lifted her head, taking in the dining room around her. The tourist family still sat waiting for their breakfast. “I’m sorry Ruby, what did you say?”

“You okay, hon? You were in another world there for a minute.”

“I’m fine. Really,” she added at Ruby’s doubtful expression. “Didn’t sleep well again last night, I guess.” She forced a grin. “Good thing you caught me before I nodded off and started drooling in my coffee.” The mention of coffee drew Rebecca’s gaze to the carton of milk again. The girl’s innocent face stared back. Something seemed wrong. Rebecca leaned in, reading the caption under the photo. Nicole Wilson; missing for six years, before Bree even.

“I hope you don’t mind that I helped myself to the milk,” Rebecca said, and explained what happened. “Didn’t want to be a bother.”

“Honey, it’s no problem at all, but you didn't have to do that.”

“Not to worry, it’s over and done now.” Rebecca looked down at the pancakes and fruit before her and knew little would make it past her lips “Breakfast looks delicious, as usual,” she lied.

Ruby looked over at the children’s order of pancakes in front of the empty seat across from Rebecca. She moved her gaze back to Rebecca for a moment longer, before nodding as if confirming something in her head. “Okay then. Enjoy.” Ruby picked up the milk carton as a bell dinged from the kitchen area. “Let me know if you need a refill on your coffee.” Smiling, Ruby went off to deliver the next order.

Rebecca’s stomach roiled at the thought of eating. Nausea and a headache overwhelmed her. She needed to get home where she could decipher what this vision meant. With Ruby monitoring her every move, coming up with a way out of the diner proved difficult.

Forcing another smile, Rebecca picked up her fork and knife and waved them in the air for Ruby to see. At Ruby’s disappointed frown, Rebecca cut the pancakes, and placed a small piece between her lips. Once Ruby smiled and turned away, Rebecca spit the bite out into a napkin. She spent another few minutes cutting and moving food around, hiding small bits under the second pancake. Pulling some money out of her wallet, she kept an eye out. As soon as Ruby went back to the kitchen for the next order pick-up, Rebecca threw the bills down on the table and made her escape.

Rebecca’s first deep breath came when she sat safe inside her car at the other end of Main Street. Home. She had to hold it together until then. Shoving the key into the ignition, she crossed her fingers, and then groaned at the dull grind that met her ears.

“Crap. Not today!” Rebecca cursed for putting off taking the car in to Joshua. Hands shaking, she tried again, holding her grimace until the engine caught.

The edge of another vision crept in while she pulled into the driveway. “Shit. One more minute, come on, one more minute.”

She fumbled at the keyhole, hands shaking too hard to fit the key in the lock. Rebecca crossed the threshold and fell to her knees as the pain sliced in again, worse this time. Never before had two visions come so close together. What the hell?

Rebecca’s world faded and in its place…

Sabrina appeared. Her baby. Sitting on the floor in a room of shadows, chin resting on drawn up knees. “Where are you Mommy? Why haven’t you come?” The shadows opened up, pushing forward to swallow both the light and Bree.

“Nooooooooo.” Rebecca came back tears streaming down her face and fell to the floor. Limp, she laid there, an arm thrown across her eyes. “So close.”

Rebecca rolled as her stomach revolted, giving up its meager contents. Pushing herself to her knees with the last heave, she drew the back of a hand across her mouth.

The memory of losing Sabrina burned in her mind forever, but these fresh images; God, they made it so much worse. Rebecca crawled the few feet to the still open door, shoved it closed and leaned against it, shaking with sobs.

The late morning sun shone through the windows when she refocused. Struggling to her feet, she took in the scene around her.

Clean this mess up, and then shower. You can deal with the rest later. Rebecca tossed the soiled clothes in the washing machine on the way to the bathroom.

Revived by the hot shower, Rebecca poured a glass of iced tea. She curled up in the big chair in the living room, rested her chin on her knees, and tried to make sense of the morning’s events. Break it down. Concentrate on one thing at a time. Tackle the vision at Ruby’s first.

Who are you, Nicole Wilson, and why are you in my head?

31 days of Halloween - C.K. Volneck

2011-10-25T04:05:00.003-05:00

I love a good ghost story. As a child I was the one everyone looked to as we sat around the campfire. Blessed with a most active imagination, I was the one would spin a scary tale sure to keep everyone up that night.

As we prepare to celebrate yet another Halloween, I’ve written a short little tale, in hopes to shock and scare your muse and force you to check over your shoulder as you venture out to ‘trick or treat.’ Enjoy!

The Burberry Scare

By C.K. Volnek

Eugene eased his make-shift hoe next to the large round pumpkin, careful not to snag anything he shouldn’t. He clipped the stray weed invading his patch and leaned back, his chest puffed out with pride, thumb hitched in the frayed rope he used as a belt. Any time now, the Governor was bound to drive.

He spat at his hand and smoothed the greasy black shock of hair down against his head. “I must remember to thank Maeva for the special pumpkin seeds,” he said to himself, swiping a dirty hand across a mouth full of discolored teeth. “Josiah will be one jealous lout this year after I win the prize for the most bountiful pumpkin patch.”

Eugene could almost feel the jingle in his pocket—accolades from the Governor for tending his field so well. It was a bumper crop, thanks to Maeva. Five times as large and four times as many as last year. Yup, the Governor would be most pleased.

A scream cut through the still evening, followed by the crashing of tree limbs. Willow Harrison charged toward the patch like a scared rabbit, her eleven-year-old face white as a ghost, her long skirt billowing about her legs.

“No! Stop!” Eugene yelled and threw up his arms. She was rushing right toward his pumpkins. No telling what kind of damage she’d do.

Willow continued running, staring back into the trees lining the patch. She shrieked again, but her voice cut short as she crashed to the ground, her black boots entangled in the prickly pumpkin vines.

“You darn, fool brat,” Eugene raged, running down the narrow trail he’d maintained in the center of his crop, stepping gingerly through the creepers. He gasped as he gazed down at Willow, her elbow pierced right through the thick rind of a pumpkin. A thick orange liquid puddled on the ground next to her leg. Eugene’s mouth gaped open and closed like a mud-loving catfish, his face turning beet red. “Lookee here what you done! You dang no-good monster.”

Willow jerked her head from the trees to Eugene and back. “What?” She pushed herself up, staring back at the trees. “But something is...” With a sickening crack, she stepped on a thick pumpkin vine, breaking it in two.

Eugene shrieked and grabbed her arm. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he sneered, pushing his face in front of her so their noses almost touched. “I done told you dang kids to stay outta my pumpkins. The Governor’s going to want his due.”

“I, I don’t have any money,” Willow croaked, trying to pull her arm free of his vice-like grip, her eyes still flitting to the trees.

“Well, you’re gonna get it,” Eugene hissed. “You’ll get it or I’ll be takin’ in from your hide.”

A loud screech echoed in the dark trees and Willow’s eyes widened even more. “There’s a monster in there, Eugene.” She pointed a shaky finger the way she’d come. “It chased me clear from Nathanial’s”

Eugene stared up at the inky blackness within the heavy branches. He shook his head. Crazy fool kids. Just like their parents. The people of Burberry were all crazy, spinning stories of some durn monster terrorizing the hills. They just wanted to make trouble for him, prevent him from providing the Governor with the best crop of pumpkins ever.

“You’re such a scaredy,” Eugene scoffed, waving a pointy finger at Willow. “It’s All Hallowed Eve. Those fool boys are just playing a prank on you.” He rolled his eyes and pushed her to the edge of the patch. “Now, you git on home, and make sure you git me my money.”

Willow took one last look at the woods and dashed off, heaving through the tall grass and jumping over the small creek at the edge of the meadow.

Eugene watched her disappear around the bend in the dirt road, her long hair streaming behind her like a flag. “Stupid girl,” he spat and returned to his pumpkins, fussing over the crushed leaves, trying to splint the broken vines. It just wouldn’t do for the Governor to see this.

He raised a bushy eyebrow at the orange goop surrounding the broken pumpkin. At least she’d managed to destroy a spoiled pumpkin. He’ turn is so the Governor couldn’t see.

Branches rustled from within the trees. Eugene looked up, expecting a gang of ruffian Burberry boys to come blaring out, a hooting and cackling. No one appeared. Only the oak’s leaves quivered in the hush of the nearing dusk.

“Dang hoodlums.” He’d give them what-for. “Come out here, you durn kids,” he yelled at the trees, shaking his fist.

Still no one.

The trees rustled again followed by heavy breathing. Eugene peered harder but the forest revealed only black shadows. Dread crept into his stomach. His heart pounded as a shiver raced down his back.

“George? Lucas?” he called, the hard edge gone from his voice.

A growl drifted out from the trees.

“Come on out, boys.” Eugene cleared his throat, trying to hide the shaky vibrato.

The talk of the townsfolk skittered through his head. A demon. Flying monster. Dragon. Eugene swallowed. It couldn’t be. There was no such thing as a dragon. Was there?
The growl came again. Louder. Closer.

Eugene stepped back, cringing as he snapped a pumpkin vine with his heavy work-boot. The shadow moved again in the trees, even darker as the sun waned beyond the horizon, bathing the patch in an orangey glow. Red eyes appeared from within the trees, staring harshly at Eugene. The shadow stepped again, the ground trembling, causing Eugene’s knees to quake and he leaned against his hoe to keep from falling.

Once more the shadow moved and a terrifying screech filled the evening air, like a thousand cats being skinned alive. The smell of sulfur and smoke stung Eugene’s senses, singeing his nose and burning his eyes. He glanced about, but there was no place to hide. His shed stood a good quarter of mile away. The only thing between him and safety was his pumpkins.

In a flash, he jumped behind the closest pumpkin. It hid him easily. As big as a cow, it was. Eugene peered over the top as the beast broke into the golden glow of twilight. It was horrid. Black and deformed. Shoulders like an elephant, claws like razors, wings like a giant bat, the tail of a lion, and its head…a grotesque square with red eyes, fangs and horns. As gross as it was, it was strangely familiar.

Eugene’s heart quickened. The monster was coming…straight toward him. He’d be sliced to ribbons and chewed up like a lamb chop. He rested a hand against the pumpkin to try and stop his trembling. Was he not to see his award for his pumpkins?

His pumpkins! He glanced back to the beast. It would easily crush his crop. And the Governor would pass him by again for Josiah. His blood boiled at the thought. Gripping his hoe, he burst out from behind his pumpkin and charged toward the creature.

The beast screamed and reared up, raking at the air with sharp claws and flapping its massive wings. It gnashed its teeth, its red eyes glaring with hatred. For a second, fear clawed at Eugene’s belly again…until the beast slashed at the closest pumpkin, ripping it open, from top to bottom. That was all Eugene could take. He raised his hoe, and rushed at the monster, swinging the sharp edge at the beast’s throat. The monster screamed as the blade connected with its neck, slicing the black skin, spattering dark purple blood across the pumpkins and vines. The creature staggered backward, swinging its grotesque head from side to side, its cry echoing into the growing night. With the sound of a tree falling, it collapsed at the edge of the pumpkin patch, the red glow fading from its eyes, frame stiffening to a hard gray.

Eugene watched the beast with disbelief. Inching toward it, he tapped its horrible head with the hoe, muscles poised to jerk back if it moved. The beast was dead. Turned to stone. He’d killed it. A warped grin spread across his face. The whole town was sure to profess him a hero! The Governor too. Smiling, he examined the monster’s head, searching his memory for where he knew it from. As if struck by lightning, it hit him. He’d seen this creature on top of the Magistrate’s. It was the stone gargoyle.

“But how could that be?” Eugene muttered to himself. How could the gargoyle come to life? And what was it doing in his pumpkin patch? He gazed at his prize pumpkins and made his way to the one the gargoyle had sliced open, wondering how he was going to hide this split. A cracking sound filled the night and the pumpkin burst open. Eugene jumped back. More cracking erupted from all corners of the patch as more and more pumpkins shattered, opening to the full moon just cresting over the trees. In the soft silver glow, baby gargoyle heads rose up out of the pumpkins, red eyes staring at Eugene, fangs gnashing, screaming out their hunger.

If you liked The Burberry Scare, I hope you’ll check out my ghost story, Ghost Dog of Roanoke Island. It is a tween ghost story with a twist of Native American folk lore and based on the true life mystery of the Lost Colony of Roanoke Island. It’s now available on Amazon, MIU Book Store, Smashwords and other fine on-line book stores.

Have a happy, and hauntingly good, Halloween!

C.K. Volnek

31 days of Halloween - J Q Rose

2011-10-23T04:03:00.010-05:00

Thank you, Brynna, for hosting me today. October is a frightening month and my mystery/horror novella, Sunshine Boulevard, is a scary story just right for the mood this month.

I wrote a spooky, perhaps true story, since I really am an undertaker’s daughter. What do you and your readers think? Did this really happen at my house when I was growing up? Have fun!

Log line:

Mysterious deaths upset the Florida retirement community interfering with their seasonal activities and turning up more than dead bodies

Blurb:

Who or what is killing the seniors on Sunshine Boulevard? Follow Jim and Gloria Hart, snowbirds who annually migrate to Florida for warm sunshine, fun, and games in snow-free winters. However this season, Jim Hart, a volunteer First Responder in his retirement community of Citrus Ridge, is drawn into the investigation of the mysterious deaths. Even in the midst of the unfortunate demise of the residents on Sunshine Boulevard, the Harts try to enjoy the winter with friends. They don't realize that their friends are getting together for their own kinds of affairs with each other. The neighbors are in a dither over the deaths, but perhaps more intrigued by the gossip about the affairs and why the naked lady was found lying in the geranium bed

Undertaker’s Daughter

J Q Rose

I always thought of horror writers as rather eccentric, peculiar people. But my perception changed when a horror story sprang from my own mind. You can imagine my surprise when my mystery/horror tale Sunshine Boulevard was accepted and published by Muse It Up Publishing this year. That made ME a published author of horror stories.

Right away, I must tell you I am NOT an eccentric, peculiar person. I am just a regular woman who is a wife, mother, grandmother. But, perhaps some would think my childhood was different. You see, my father was an embalmer and funeral director. I was reared in a funeral home.

It was not unusual to have a dead body laid out in a casket in our living room several days in a row. In fact, sometime we’d have more than one in our home. The embalming room was in the back of the house, and yes, I wore lots of perfume and soap to cover the pungent odor of formaldehyde on my clothes and hair.

We had knee caps for ashtrays in the private area of our home…not in the public area because that may upset some folks. But Dad was a heavy smoker, so he appreciated having the convenience of an ashtray nearby at all times.

It wasn’t unusual to have boxes of ashes of the departed sitting in the pantry shelves next to the canned green beans and corn. Some families squabbled over who was going to pay for the funeral expenses for their dearly departed, so they never showed up to claim the ashes for fear of being left with the debt. In one case the family of Ida Mayberry, their sweet aunt, never claimed her. So Aunt Ida took up residence in the cupboard next to the pork and beans.

Life as an undertaker’s daughter did not seem to be any big deal. My friends, well, most of them, were happy to come over and play hide and seek in the casket room or to swipe flowers out of the funeral arrangements to put in our hair for dress up.

My girlfriends did get upset when one of the spirits who regularly hung out in the funeral home flew by. The whoosh of air was the only indicator of their presence. Yes, I lost a couple of friends that way because they were scared to death…well, not literally. They just were creeped out especially when one of the spirits would knock over the Barbie doll house or send the family of Barbies swirling around the room.

Needless to say, I enjoyed going to my friend’s house. It was a treat to open their pantry door to get a can of pineapple and not see the boxed ashes of poor Aunt Ida. I could never shake the sadness I felt for her because noone cared enough to bury her ashes or at least sprinkle them on their garden.

So, yes, some may believe it was an unusual childhood compared to the experiences of others. But I felt loved, secure, and safe at all times. And that’s what counts for a kid.

The growing up years certainly shape the adult one becomes. I don’t know if this is the reason I can write a horror story or not, but I can assure you I am a normal, well-rounded person, not eccentric or peculiar at all. In fact I got rid of the knee cap ash trays just last week, but I do have Aunt Ida in the cupboard. Her family never claimed her and I have grown attached to her company.

Thanks for stopping in today at Brynna’s blog. Thank you to my hostess, Brynna, for inviting me to be her guest and let folks know about Sunshine Boulevard, a perfect scary story for October.

Excerpt:

“Hi, Gloria,” Pamela yelled waving to her from across the large room. As usual, Pamela’s make-up was perfect, and today she wore a matching pink outfit with coordinating tennis shoes and socks. Pamela took off her jacket revealing a slim, tanned figure to match her perfect make-up.

Pamela gave Gloria a big hug as if she hadn’t seen her all season when they actually spent game night together the evening before last. Her big smile flashed her perfect teeth…all her own…and she stepped back to include Gloria in her conversation with four other women.

At her age, Gloria thought she was done with role models, but Gloria admired Pamela as if she were the head of her high school clique. Not only was Pamela beautiful, but she was also gracious and self-confident, friendly and kind. Gloria wanted to be just like her.

“Did you hear about George McDonnell? Did Jim hear anything yet?” Pamela’s best friend, Rosemary, asked. Joining the group took Gloria back to eighth grade memories of best friends, gossip, and popularity contests.

“Is he sick?”

“No, he’s dead.” Rosemary waited a beat, watching Gloria before going on. “I thought since Jim is one of the First Responders for the park, he may have been called to the scene.”

Gloria looked at each of the women. It took her a minute to process the news. Many of the residents mistakenly assumed Jim attended every call because he was the volunteer co-captain of the First Responders Unit, but Jim wasn’t on call yesterday. They had shopped most of the day at the flea market and ate dinner at their favorite restaurant in the evening.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. George has been ill for a while. I know after his wife passed, he didn’t want to live any longer.” Gloria dumped her car keys in her bag setting it along the wall. She unrolled her mat next to Pamela’s on the floor, and placed the dreaded barbells nearby with a quick prayer that the instructor wouldn’t make use of them today. She didn’t mind stretching and moving, but the bar bells were just too much.

“Oh, no, it wasn’t his heart that killed him, Gloria,” Bonnie, another woman in the group, announced. Gloria was puzzled as she saw the looks exchanged by her friends.

“What happened?” Gloria widened her eyes with concern.

Bonnie puffed up her chest and pulled her elbows back as she leaned forward to deliver the big news. “His neighbor, Lottie Carpenter found him. She smelled him rotting in his house.”

Please tell our readers where they can find your book and more information about you.

The e-book is available at Muse It Up Publishing Bookstore

http://tinyurl.com/2c53noz and

Amazon.com http://tinyurl.com/4czwr6h

Bn.com http://tinyurl.com/4442b94

as well as at many online booksellers.

J Q Rose Website http://www.jqrose.webs.com

J Q Rose Blog http://www.jqroseauthor.blogspot.com

You Tube Book Trailer

http://tinyurl.com/64htcx8

31 days of Halloween - Kristin Battlestella

2011-10-22T01:13:00.011-05:00

Fate and Fangs: Tales from The Vampire Family

Feel Love, experience Punishment, know Struggle, indulge the Debauchery, crave Lust, learn Humanity, face Resurrection, and choose: Fate or Fangs?

Now, does anybody know a better way to begin the Halloween season than that? I'm so glad we're finally into all the meat and juicy of October with pumpkins, goblins, and every other Samhain bewitchery. Now I don't need to feel like an odd ball promoting my August release, Love: Ann and the Viking, the first novella in my new series with Muse It Up Publishing, Fate and Fangs: Tales from the Vampire Family. We left a trail of chocolate covered viking vampires through the summer, put in supernatural BDSM September spin on for Punishment: Lilith's Trials, and now we're adding werewolves to the trio for my latest in Fate and Fangs!

Seeking solace and solitude from her unhappy home life as the unloved wife of Antonio, Elizabeth travels to colonial America in Professor James’ third account. On the outskirts of the white man’s civilization, Elizabeth meets Rain, a young Kiowa warrior on a vision quest. Will his lack of fear, search for answers, and gripping hothouse experience help her face those very vampire truths she sought to escape?

“The Spirit is both man and animal. You are both woman and the wolf, unsure of the light and the dark.”

“Do you not fear the wolf?

“It is you who fears the wolf. The woman is the light and the wolf is the darkness. We will release the wolf and free The Spirit.”

Oddly enough, I found there was a logic to his beliefs. Did the people here discover some sort of balance between nature and civilization, good and evil? If I didn’t know better, I might think he spoke of a vampire already! Was there another here like our kind? I wouldn’t put it past our maker Mestiphles or his henchwoman Lilith to feast upon these people.

“How can the Spirit release the wolf?”

“My forefather told of my coming in the great storm at the big river’s crossing. He said I would live long, see many moons, but never grow old. So I wait for her. The Spirit will answer all.”

What's more creepy than that? How big our Publisher's Buy Link is! Look at that monster!

https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=218&category_id=119&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1

Of course, I am one who's more likely to trick the screaming neighbors' kids. However, in the spirit of treating, here's a sneak peak at Fate and Fangs Book 4! Debauchery: Victoria's Burning will help you remember to be Thankful for what you have this November- as her excesses are just much to bloody much.....

In Professor Welshire’s fourth Fate and Fangs chronicle, Victoria uses the fallout from the American Civil War to her advantage-or so the beautiful but deadly blockade-runner hopes. After all her using, abusing, and feedings, Victoria’s slaves finally take matters into their own hands, forcing Antonio’s daughter to face her own mortality.

Hello Mother,

I have never conformed to normal societal standards; you know I have looked after my own cares, perhaps even selfishly some might say. However, amid this sad state in America’s affairs, it was in my best interests to marry. Yes, marry. I’m sure you wish to know his titles and ancestry for your histories, but none such matters to me. His name isn’t even important, for he wasn’t around long. His funeral is tomorrow in fact—a gentleman’s funeral for a wealthy gentleman from North Carolina.

I apologize if I’m late in my correspondence. You know I don’t like to write. I imagine you might have wished a traditional spectacle at this news, Mother, your one moment of pride and pretense that you have a normal daughter and a proper family. Ha!

Shall you pleasure ANN, the scorned mistress aided by her lover ERIC or the beautiful, evil, and deadly Welshire enemy LILITH? But what of ELIZABETH, the unloved wife supported by RAIN, a fearless Kiowa warrior or her debutant daughter VICTORIA, the favorite of father ANTONIO? Ladies, moody and melodramatic rival brothers JAMES and GASTON are vying for your attention! Can sister SAMANTHA keep them from each other's throats? Of course, we can't forget STEPHANIE- the alluring doctor straddles the line between Welshire and Lilithan covens. And what of the mysterious MESTIPHLES who seemingly supports veins on both sides? Keep up with all the mayhem and the macabre at any of our virtual haunts:

http://vampfam.blogspot.com

http://jsnouff.com/kristin

http://kristin724.livejournal.com/

http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Vampire-Family/157922293588

http://www.myspace.com/kristinbattestella

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/kristinbattestella/

http://www.facebook.com/kristin.battestella

And don't forget if you live in the New Jersey or Philadelphia area, you can meet me and my fellow New Jersey Authors Network members 7 p.m. Tuesday November 1 at the Cherry Library. Remember, No Blood is Necessary for the participation in any Vampire Family events.

Yet.

31 days of Halloween - Bruce Jenvey

2011-10-21T04:02:00.006-05:00

Bruce Jenvey, author of Angela’s Coven

I’d like to thank Brynna Curry for inviting me here on this very special day: This is the release date for my novel, Angela’s Coven. It’s the story of modern-day witches practicing olde world witchcraft in their attempt to save an aging rock star from his unfortunate deal with the Devil. This is a story of new beginnings and second chances within the setting of the battle between good and evil. You’ll meet Lucifer and his chief recruiter, Mr. Ajax as well as you will find Guardian Angels. But mind you, my Guardian Angels act more like a Secret Service protection squad and they carry Berrettas! This leaves our witches and our rock star caught in the middle. You will laugh, you will cry, you will question authority and tradition but in the end, it will cast a different light on anything you may have ever considered as faith. And it’s on sale, starting today, where ever E-Books are sold.

What’s different about Angela’s Coven, is there are no pointy hats, no magic wands, no spell books or bubbling cauldrons. It’s based on witchcraft as it was over a thousand years ago; it’s chemistry, herbology, and what we today would call ‘home remedies.’ Of course, being a work of fiction, I am assuming these poor witches have made some breakthroughs and advancements in their art over the past millennium, so yes, you will most certainly find the unexplained and unexpected. But that takes us into what I want to share with you today: What’s the truth about witchcraft and why do I know so much about it?

First, the truth about witchcraft is the image, the stereotype we have of what a witch is and does, was created by the Church during the Dark Ages. It’s true! Witches were actually midwives and healers, often widows or single women struggling to support themselves within the village or community. What passed for Physicians in those days were trained by ‘medical schools’ supported and controlled by the Church. A degree in medicine also required a degree in theology and doctors had to practice according to the Church’s laws of decency.

Now remember, this was a Church that in those days, burned people at the stake for saying the Earth was round and revolved around the Sun. Doctors were only allowed to examine a patient’s hand and forearm as it was extend through the bed curtains. Any diagnosis, any treatment had to be done with the same limitation. That’s where we got the treatments of applying leaches and bloodletting. But the midwives were allowed behind the curtains and could often see the true nature of someone’s ailment. It didn’t take long for word to get around that if you were really sick or hurt, your best chances of survival were with the midwife, not the Doctors.

The Doctors asked the Church to level the playing field but in their infinite wisdom, rather than allow more patient contact, the Church decided to make villains of the midwives. They labeled them witches, said all sorts of things about them like: If you let yourself be treated by a witch, you could risk your place in heaven. Witches are in league with Satan. Witches might well steal your baby and eat it. They have tricked you into thinking they’re young and beautiful, they are actually old, ugly, have hairy warts on their noses… some even have green skin. And that’s only the beginning of the rumors that were spread. But the really frightening part about all this, is that people believed it!

About the time they started burning them at the stake and hanging them in the town square, the midwives took their art of healing and herbal remedies and went underground where they have basically hidden for more than a thousand years. Occasionally the Church would launch a ‘witch hunt’ just to remind people of the danger of it all and how they were the people’s only salvation. They had roaming ‘witch courts’ that would go from village to village, set up a court, hunt down a few unfortunates, hang them, and then move on. As recently as the latter 1400s, when Columbus was discovering America, there were reports of one witch court that conducted trials in a small town in what is now Germany. When they were done, they had hung every female of every age in town.

It’s been only during the ‘enlightenment’ we have endured since the 1960s, that witches have begun to come out of the closet again. But now, there are two kinds of witches: There are those that can’t wait to tell you they’re a witch. They appear very ‘Goth’ and surround themselves with everything from black candles to enchanted objects. These are not witches. They are only playing witch and are busy living up to every stereotype and image created for them by the Church.

The other kind you have been living with perhaps your entire life and never knew it. They will probably deny it and some have even denied it to themselves, not seeing what they do as ‘witchcraft.’ These, are the real deal! She’s the woman in your neighborhood who seems to know every home remedy and every cleaning tip ever invented… and several you’ve never heard of before. She often has something simmering on the back burner of her stove that never seems to get included on the dinner table. Married, widowed or single, they will be very independent and even casually confident, often answering your question with yet another question. They don’t boast, and rarely even admit that what they do might be considered witchcraft.

So then, the next question is, how do I know all this? For a good number of years, I owned a travel and history magazine for the Great Lakes region aimed primarily at boaters. My staff and I visited countless small waterfront towns and traveled through even more burgs and villages along the way. Every year, we did a Halloween issue, mostly because I love Halloween, and we shared some truly unforgettable history and local legends with our readers over the years. I have seen and experienced some pretty fantastic things and reported about many, many more. I have gone Ghost Hunting in some of the most popular lighthouses, B&Bs and waterfront hotels from upstate New York to the shores of Lake Superior. I‘ve seen silverware rattle and jump at the Olde Angel Inn in Niagara On The Lake and I’ve seen Ghostly faces appear and twist in mirror at the old Seul Choix Lighthouse on Lake Michigan.

One thing I noticed right away, is that where ever you find reports of ghostly activity, talk of witches is never far behind. Sometimes, people blame a rumored, local ‘witch’ for bringing their paranormal problems. In other cases, I’ve had people quietly admit that they have tried everything to deal with their haunted troubles, even consulting the local ‘witch.

One of the many things that were shared with me, were ‘witch bottles.’ This is a practice, a tradition that seems to have been quietly used for centuries and while you don’t find it much in newer homes, I had no trouble finding people who knew all about them. A witch bottle is most frequently found in old homes dating back to the early 1800s and before. The most common usage was to create these ‘witch bottles’ and include them in your house at the time of construction. Often, they were an empty wine bottle, cleansed and then partially filled with ‘stuff.’ (What appears to be various powders mixed with leaves, roots, and other such organic things.) The bottles were then sealed tightly and often plastered into ceilings. Most all of them that I have seen were mounted in the ceilings of the parlor, one in each corner. The bottle was mounted vertically so that the bottom of the bottle extended into the room from the ceiling and the top of the bottle would extend into the attic above. Most houses had attic windows and you get some interesting light play in the parlor as the sun hit the top of the bottle in the attic. The idea being that these were protection against ‘witch attacks’ and by placing one in each corner of the parlor, you had in essence, created a ‘safe room’ where your family could comfortably and safely ride out the evil storm. Now remember, while I have seen these in some form where ever I have gone, most are in upstate New York… the land of Sleepy Hollow, Rip Van Winkle and other old American legends.

My only question ever: So, who made the magic witch bottles? Another witch? How would you know which one to trust? Maybe you were protecting your family against witches, or maybe you were giving them the master key to your house! It always sound to me like asking the Cat Burglars Union to design you next alarm system.

But there were also those things I stumbled across, or… were shared with me, that I was asked not to include but helped in my understanding of what I would write about. What struck me the most, was that everywhere I went, there were great similarities in the stories I heard and the practices I witnessed. Even though many of these ‘back kitchen witches’ thought they were the only ones in the world, they all did things surprisingly the same way. And this is the setting, the homebrew style of witches at work I have brought to life in Angela’s Coven. Please know, this is not a ‘how to’ book. Yes, it’s a work of fiction and I have embellished. But the processes are real and while I have changed the names of some of what was shown to me, it is very much the way they look at life and ‘their calling’ as so many put it.

Angla’s Coven is about a modern-day witch who risks all to save an aging rock star from his unfortunate deal with the Devil. You can learn a lot more about the book and the culture at our web page: www.covenbooks.com, you can see the trailer on You Tube (just search Bruce Jenvey) or go to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZQerZ68UZ4. And of course, Angela’s Coven is now available for every Nook and Kindle where ever the best E-Books are sold or directly from our publisher: www.museituppublishing.com.

Thanks for having me today and I will hang around to post along with you if you have any questions or comments.

Bruce Jenvey

Something creepy to start your day

2011-10-20T09:08:00.000-05:00

Note* Shanon Grey (Author of The Shoppe of Spells) was supposed to be my guest today. Unfortunately due to situations beyond her control, she isn't able to be here. We wish her well.

A bit of twisted creepy short fiction from yours truly...

Cold black eyes watch me from across the room. It sits at the foot of my bed on the scarred cedar chest. The same one he gave me for my eighth birthday. I remember filling it with things for my 'future' home, embroidered pillowcases, pictures, lace, my mother's wedding dress. The home I'd share with my husband. I was naive, just a little girl with hopes and dreams that had to come true.

Yeah, right. What a joke. Love? Marriage? Family? Those things don't exist for me anymore. It murdered the man I loved more than life itself. David.

One bloody claw carves it's name into the wood as if to claim that future. I thought I was prepared. I've trained for this day ever since I learned the truth of my existence. Since I found my magic. I am an abomination, the spawn of Hell and Earth. Only I can end him. End the misery and suffering he causes. Avenge the death of my beloved.

The human half of me quakes in fear, in grief. To end a life is a mortal sin. The demon part of my soul craves death and blood of another. Wrestling with my conscious will only see my end and with that goes humanity's last chance for survival. There is no other way.

I have all the mortal trappings of the craft with me, athame, crystals, potions, but raw power will be the only thing that can defeat this creature. Time to face my past. Alone. Just me, the demon and my magic.

Smiling, I draw my sword. "Hello, Daddy."

31 days of Halloween - Dianne Hartsock - Giveaway today!

2011-10-19T00:34:00.029-05:00

Note from Brynna: Ms. Hartsock has genrously offered a PDF copy of ‘Trials of a Lonely Specter’ to a commenter who shares their own ‘poltergeist’ experience. To be entered in the contest, please be sure to leave your email address (ex. brynna (at) brynnacurry (dot) com) with your comment. A winner will be selected on October 31st.

POLTERGEIST PHENOMENA

This Halloween I’ve become fascinated with poltergeists. In German, poltergeist literally means "noisy ghost." Indeed, poltergeist experiences are often noisy --- knockings, and objects moving about as if under their own power. Not surprisingly, the majority of reported poltergeist cases involve adolescent children (the age range is from 12 or 13 to early 20s).

The disturbances often appear as metaphors to the causes of stress. For example, anger towards a certain person may be released by the agent causing items belonging to the target person to break. The rare outbreak of small fires may be associated with a general release of anger, whereas water is more often associated with grief (as in tears not being physically shed). More unusual cases involving guilt have resulted in the agent actually giving him/herself a psychokinetic "self-beating" displayed by the spontaneous manifestation of bruises or other marks of physical punishment.

Other very rare poltergeist cases have involved sightings of apparition-like forms and may even look like a "monster." As frightening as they may appear, these mental projections are harmless and are simply a reflection of the child’s inner psychological "monsters or demons." As with the physical activity, they are often a metaphor for the mental and emotional stress the person is experiencing.

-One of the most spectacular poltergeist hauntings took place in Enfield, north London in August 1977. Peggy Hodgson and her four children had just moved into their new home. Strange things began to happen - beds shook, furniture moved by itself and loud knockings were heard.

The activity seemed to be centred around Janet Hodgson, then aged eleven. Her mother of course, thought that Janet was playing pranks. However, things began to get worse and it soon became evident that none of the children, or anybody else for that matter, could be responsible for the strange events that were beginning to unfold.

Toys and ornaments flew through the air, beds levitated, heavy furniture moved, objects became hot to touch. Many people, including police officers, witnessed this bizarre activity. A journalist was hit on the head with a frying pan, wielded by an invisible hand. Janet Hodgson was even flung across her bedroom by some unknown energy. Eventually this poltergeist gradually calmed down and left the poor Hodgson family in peace.

-The most recent case we have heard of is the South Shields poltergeist which looks set to become one of the most famous hauntings ever. This particular poltergeist is in a different league to a relatively harmless stone thrower.

Some truly terrifying events happened to a young family living in an ordinary house in the small town of South Shields. Apart from the usual loud knocks and flying objects, this poltergeist liked to arrange children's toys in sinister displays of violence. A fluffy rabbit was poised holding a knife to the throat of a toy duck. A teddy bear was hanged by its neck from a shelf.

The young couple received obscene text messages from phones that were not in working order. Other messages were scrawled on a child's doodle board. One said 'just go now'; another message introduced their tormentor as 'Sammy'. The couple were physically attacked, large red scratches appearing on their bodies.

Their three year old son would suddenly disappear, only to be found seconds later locked in a closet, tightly bound in a blanket. Again, this activity died down, without any explanation found.

Do I believe in poltergeists? Most definitely! The power of the mind is an incredible thing. But today, for this wonderfully scary month, I want to leave you with an excerpt from my more light-hearted and fun haunting ‘Trials of a Lonely Specter’. Here, we find a ghost who has trouble believing he’s not really dead.

Trials of a Lonely Specter

MuseItUp Publishing, http://bit.ly/rhfkBG

October 14, 2011

There’s been an accident. Quinn believes he’s dead, though Liam insists otherwise. But if that is the case, why does Quinn see the two of them as ghosts? And why does Liam play along? Exposed to Mediums and apparitions, Quinn has to make a decision: either accept his fate or risk everything to trust Liam one more time.

Excerpt

Quinn kept his attention on his shoes, afraid to see the truth in Liam’s eyes. “I’m not real, am I? I think I’m a dream of yours.”

Liam was still. Then he lowered his head, and his kiss burned the corner of Quinn’s mouth. “Not at all. Now come inside and let me show you.” He clasped Quinn’s hand, drawing him irresistibly up the steps and through the closed doors. Quinn yelped as his cells squeezed around the atoms making up the wooden barrier.

Liam flashed him a grin. “I forgot how dense you are.”

Quinn decided to let that one go, though his face warmed at Liam’s low laugh.

The foyer of the great house was caked with dust and the tattered lace of ancient cobwebs. Quinn peered at the chandelier far overhead and shivered as an unpleasant tingle ran up his spine. He was reminded of a haunted house in a theme park he’d once visited. He’d felt unsettled there, as well. He could almost see a body swinging…

He reigned in his imagination; it was dangerous in a house like this. The room darkened as Liam walked through an archway on the left, and he hurried to follow him. He would have liked to take some time to examine the furnishing and tapestries of the parlor, but Liam pressed on. Quinn finally caught him at the far end of the room.

“Where’re we going?”

“To find Betterford’s body reposing in the highest room of the tallest tower.”

Quinn gave him a wry look. “Wasn’t that for the ‘Sleeping Beauty’?”

“So I’ve heard,” Liam purred, looking like he was about to eat the canary.

Quinn didn’t like the eager way he swept through the kitchen to the servants’ staircase.

He tramped up the dark stairs in the apparition’s wake. Liam’s aura had shrunk to a mere flicker around his hand, casting eerie shadows on the close walls. Quinn was huffing by the time they reached the third flight, and Liam stopped to let him catch his breath.

“Quinn?”

He looked up at the fond tone. Liam stood several steps above, curiously watching him. “You’re a ghost, my beloved. You ought to be gliding up these stairs.”

Quinn’s mouth fell open. “I forgot,” he confessed. His eyes dropped, waiting for Liam’s mocking laughter. It never came. Instead, the man descended the stairs until he stood level with him. Quinn held his breath as the luminescent hand touched his cheek lightly.

“You give me hope,” Liam said surprisingly. “Here, let me help you.” He slipped his arm through Quinn’s.

They fairly flew up the steps after that. Quinn laughed with the exhilaration that raced through him. He’d never felt so free. He wanted to burst through the roof and fly straight into the night. Liam beamed, sharing his joy in the sensation of weightlessness and speed.

All too soon they burst into the hallway far above. Their laughter died abruptly at the grimness of the shadowy corridor. Quinn winced when Liam suddenly grabbed his hand. The spirit’s eyes glowed with anticipation.

He leaned close. “Trust me, Quinn.” His voice was shaking and the man cleared his throat. “Whatever you think of me after this, please remember that I want the best for you. For us.”

“I don’t understand.”

Liam shook his head, clearly disappointed by his answer. Tugging on his hand, he led him to a door in the middle of the corridor.

Quinn stared at the closed door, reluctant to open it. “Betterford’s in there?”

Liam made a noncommittal sound. They stood side-by-side looking at the door until a smile lifted the corner of Liam’s mobile mouth. “Are you going to open it, or are we staying out here all night?”

Dianne Hartsock

Blog: http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/

FB: http://www.facebook.com/diannehartsock

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/diannehartsock

31 days of Halloween - Linda Palmer

2011-10-18T01:35:00.010-05:00

I'm a writer from The Natural State, Arkansas. I was born and raised here, and I love it because I'm all about blue skies, rolling hills, and winding rivers. The lyrics of one of our state songs say it best: Arkansas, you run deep in me.

I never consciously decided I wanted to be a writer; I just wrote. I like to think I got the gene from my five-greats grandfather (who was the four-greats grandfather of William Faulkner, by the way). My first creative pieces were poems, written in the third grade. I actually have a copy of a letter my teacher sent to my parents telling them she thought I had writing talent. I was nine at the time. My poems graduated to short stories in later years and finally to full-length novels. During that time one thing remained constant--I was and will always be a hopeless romantic. At age five I fell in love with Robin Hood as played by Disney's Richard Green. Today I'm still falling over him, but now he's being played by Russell Crowe. Yep, I've got the poster on my wall, along with the Twilight crew, the True Blood cast, and Jake Gyllenhaal as the Prince of Persia.

So what kind of books do I write? Romance, of course. But no mush for me. I want a hero and heroine who work together, swearing they don't even like each other (though the reader is sure they probably do). I like my gals smart and brave; I like my guys strong, yet willing to let his gal do her thing. Of course, he'll be standing by just in case. I also like a paranormal twist--witches, psychics, ghosts, shapeshifters, demidemons, weres.... I don't do vampires because I'm not sure what else can be written about them after Twilight and Sookie Stackhouse.

That brings me to what types of books I like to read and reread, myself. My current favorite authors are Charlaine Harris (Sookie books), Stephenie Meyer (Twilight books), Jim Butcher (Harry Dresden books), Jeaniene Frost (Night Huntress books), and JK Rowling (gotta have my Harry!). I grew up on Victoria Holt, Madeleine Brent, Mary Stewart, Phyllis Whitney, and Charlotte Bronte. All my favorite books have elements of adventure and romance that draw me back to them again and again, but the stories that made me want to write paranormal young adult novels were included in two young adult series written by Meg Cabot. If you haven't read her 1-800-Where-R-You? series or her Mediator series, you've really missed out.

Other sources of inspiration are movies and television. What television shows do I DVR? Ghost Hunters, Ghost Adventures, Paranormal State, Ghost Hunters International, Ghost Lab, Psychic Kids, True Blood, Eureka...well, you get my drift. What movies are on my list of paranormal jewels? Constantine, The Order (miss ya, Heath!), Underworld (I and II), Stigmata, X-Men (I, II, and III), Avatar, The Fifth Element, and the list goes on. I own all nine seasons of X-Files on DVD, both seasons of Dark Angel, three seasons (all that's available) of True Blood, and three of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (more as I can get them). I'm also all about Tolkien, Star Wars (all six), and the gem of all gems, Blade Runner.

My most recent writing projects clearly reflect my love of the paranormal. Available now from Amazon as a full-length e-read is S'nat Wars, a young adult paranormal novel written by me and my daughter, Julie Kimbrell, who also inherited the writing gene. Together, we've created a world that includes vampires and shapeshifters, who made themselves known six years ago. Our heroine Gabi Daniels just can't tell if the people she passes on the street are humans or actually Supernaturals, a.k.a. S'nats. No one else can, either, which is the problem. If S'nats have actually populated the globe for eons without anyone knowing, what else might be lurking out there, ready to pounce? Things get really complicated when Gabi's dad, a lawyer, defends a vampire accused of murdering a human. His high-profile win results in threats. To keep Gabi safe, he hires WatchDogs, Inc., a personal protection agency with bodyguards that actually shapeshift into dogs. Fray Matsen, a Rottweiler, has his work cut out for him and not just because he finds Gabi a big distraction. If he can't be sure whether the threat is human or paranormal, how can he truly protect her?

Another paranormal e-read, which will be available as a "novel byte" in October 2011 from Uncial Press, is The Problem with Pumpkins. This is a Halloween story I wrote alone. It's about Maggie Redmond, who expects to get nothing more than a wannabe jack o' lantern when she drives her twin brothers to The Pumpkin Patch. She actually winds up with more. Brendon Fletcher, handsome grandson of the owner, can't take his eyes off her. Naturally she's thrilled when he calls her later, asking if he can tag along while she takes the boys trick or treating. Is it true love? Maybe...but only if they survive the plans a nefarious black cat has for them.

In the works is Double Vision, another collaboration with Julie. It's about outsider Keely Laine, a teen psychic, who has let one of the in-crowd guys talk her into helping his little sister deal with her own psychic gifts. Is this another Carrie in the making? Or will their efforts to help Zoey result not only in an unlikely partnership, but in a romance, as well?

A complete list of my titles is available on my website: www.lvpalmer.com. Julie's web site is www.juliekimbrell.com. Write to me at linda@lvpalmer.com. Facebook me as Linda Varner Palmer.

Check out S'nat Wars here: http://tinyurl.com/4ysetr4

Check out The Problem with Pumpkins here: http://www.uncialpress.com/The-Problem-with-Pumpkins.html

31 days of Halloween - Tony-Paul de Vissage

2011-10-17T03:59:00.018-05:00

Bio: Tony-Paul de Vissage is a Southerner of French Huguenot descent, who now lives in the Midwest. He began writing late in life—six years ago—and now has four novels under his belt, and hoping for more. More information can be found on his website: http://www.tony-paul.com/ , MySpace, Facebook, and Twitter. Videos of his novels can be seen on youtube: http://www.youtube.com/tonypauldev

Someone once told me a good blog should open with a somewhat shocking sentence, to catch the reader’s attention and make them want to read more. In keeping with that, I’ve decided to make my opening sentence the following:

When I was six, I was seduced by a vampire.

Now…now…don’t get your knickers in a twist. It wasn’t a predatory female and I came away from the encounter intact…physically, anyway, but mentally?…from that moment, I was hooked by the fanged fiend, the nosteratu…the vampir!

My mother was a moviegoer and since she didn’t believe in babysitters, whenever she went to the cinema (which—since we had five movie houses in town and each showed a different film and changed the marquee twice weekly—was several times a week), I was dragged along. Horror, romance, western, musicals…it didn’t matter what was playing. I was bought a ticket, supplied with popcorn and plopped into a plush-covered chair to have my impressionable young mind warped for the next 120 minutes.

I still remember it well…of being in the darkened theatre, Maman sitting next to me but it was as if I were totally alone…staring up at the screen at those faces enlarged to frightening proportions, and the words appearing in stark black-and-white, accompanied by music designed to send a shiver down my spine and make good-bumps prickle my skin…Dracula’s Daughter…

When I toddled out of that theatre, I was completely under the spell of a woman who, according to the dialogue in the story, had “died 500 years before.” A woman who didn’t want to be a vampire but had to answer the call of her heritage from her father, a certain well-known bloodthirsty Count. Not only under her spell, but completely and thoroughly hooked as far as vampires in general and Dracula in particular were concerned.

And I still am.

On my website, I’ve written a fanciful little piece (in two parts) of how I met the Brothers Andriescu, a duo of vampires who, with their cousin, were touring the South looking for the site of the Battle of Bloody Marsh and how they became my patrons in the Art of Writing All Things Vampire. Take that with a grain of salt… or a clove of garlic, if you wish. It was Countess Zaleska, aka Dracula’s Daughter, who started me on my Road to Nosferatu. I’ve often said that, with her fight against the Dracula curse and her desire to be human, she was the first of the so-called “contemporary” vampires—those with the angst of being a monster wanting to be accepted by society. That trend was officially started in the late 1970’s, but to my way of thinking, the Countess was the forerunner of them all, way back in 1933.

Somewhere in my literary blogging, I’ve a piece called “When Imagination Calls,” about my advent into the world of writing. I started off small…writing short stories…and after having three published, the fledgling decided to try his literary wings and write a novel. The Countess was right there at my elbow, though it probably wasn’t the story she expected since Dark God Descending was about a Mayan vampire and he was a pretty likable guy—for a “monster.” It wasn’t until Vampires are Forever came out that I wrote about a “real” vampire, but this one still wasn’t true to form because it was a light-hearted story with not much anguish and torment, and definitely no ripped-out throats and dripping blood.

Then The Night Man Cometh…and I did the Countess proud, as I traced the journey of a vampire from his beginnings in 1249 to some time in the 36^th century. Damian la Croix voluntarily became a vampire to escape the Black Death. He never apologizes for his Undead state nor does he ever wish it to be otherwise. No regrets, no looking back. He’s sansmort and loving every minute of it. I am vampire—hear me roar! Damian is a “traditional” vampire, with a vengeance. No anxiety, no soul-searching (if he had one) for this guy. Damian was a lot of fun to write because I could make him just as mean and cruel and outrageous as I wanted…and some people will say that’s good therapy since I worked out my own aggressions through words instead of walking into a bar and starting a fistfight (at which I’d probably have been decked with the first punch.)

My fourth novel is being released this month from a publisher in the UK. Entitled Sweet Sips of Blood, it’s an anthology of all my short stories. Some are funny, some ironic, a couple downright chilling, but they are all, as the blurb says, …sweet sips of the vampires’ secret souls…

I’m still enjoying novels about vampires, and any television show or movie which even hints at the presence of one will definitely get my attention. Back in the 1970’s, I started collecting vampire novels and at last count had over 300. (This has now tapered off due to financial reasons.) I always look forward to Hallowe’en because then the “Creature Features” and cable channels such as SYFY and Chiller roll out the tried and true, as if specifically for my benefit. To paraphrase the motto of New Orleans, that well-favored haven of vampires and other denizens of the supernatural, Laissez le frissons roulez!

Let the shivers keep coming!

Thank you, Countess, wherever you are!

31 Days of Halloween - JoAnne Kenrick

2011-10-16T00:26:00.013-05:00

Vampire Movie Macabre

by JoAnne Kenrick

It's here. That month of the year when the supernatural tales gets priority over romantic comedies and boys-with-toys movies. My favorite month! And this year I have something extra special to be happy about. I've a blood-sucking-vampire type story releasing into the world just in time for halloween. We're talking sexy Scottish vampire, spooky castle ruins with connections to Bram Stoker's Dracula, a halloween ball, and a darkly delicious cocktail named Dracula's Kiss. In the style of the classic vampire movies I do so love, Cathela wants to be allured to the dark side by a vampire...in her fantasies. But can she handle it when her desires becomes a reality? If ever there was one of my books that I want to see turned into a movie, this would be it. And if it was, it'd imagine it to be a cross between Embrace of the Vampire and Queen of the Damned...but set in Scotland.

BLURB: Cathela's Office Halloween Ball is a complete bust. She spills out her Dracula's Bride costume, and her vamp fetish chases away her boyfriend. Only redeeming feature to the night? Necking multiple shots of Dracula's Kiss—a lush Black Cherry Vodka cocktail—and an interlude with a gorgeous man dressed Gary Oldman style.

No one comes close to satisfying Alec Murray's needs until he meets Cathela during some lame-ass party for bankers. One taste of her blood, sweet yet darkly dangerous, he knows she's perfect for him.

A night of goth bondage is planned for one. For the other, a night of sexual control is a must. A perfect fit. Alec is compelled to reveal his true nature, but can their relationship survive his dark secret?

BUYLINKS

To celebrate the upcoming release of my gothic romance, I'm planning a vampire movie marathon! And so, in Elvira style in honor of this Macabre holiday, I readjust my ta-tas and get comfortable on my red velvet lounger. Remote control in hand, I begin. Mwahahaha. Here's my top ten vamp flicks of all time, in reverse order. Oh, and if you like your vampires sparkly you might want to move along, because there's nothing for you here.

TOP TEN VAMP FLICKS PLAYLIST

10: Near Dark An 80s classic and major vampire cult movie. Outlaw vampires anyone? Shudder “I wish I may, I wish I might. Wish I was a thousand miles from here tonight.”

09: 30 Days of Night. Josh Hartnett, I hope you are around if I ever find myself stuck in 30 days of night and being hunted by bloodthirsty monsters. Only, do me a favor and don't go getting yourself turned...alright? I'd like you to still be around after the sun comes up. That is all. “Just because something stopped Bela Lugosi doesn't mean it can stop these things.”

08: Vamp. If ever there was a decade when vampires sparkle, the 80s should have been it. Just saying. They might have been better appreciated. Instead, they give us a vampire stripper club with a monstrous Grace Jones? Who wouldn't love that? “Now that's classy”

07: Dusk Til Dawn. Quentin Tarantino in his hay-day, and George Clooney with his tats and huge muscles. YUM! But best of all Cheech. He rocks. And Juliette lewis...she kicks ass with a water pistol! “Has anybody here read a real book about vampires, or are we just remembering what a movie said? I mean a real book.”

06: Fright Night, the 80s original. Jerry, put down that apple and come take me to the disco dance floor...I'm all yours! Yeah, I'm a sucker for a, well, sucker. Love his dangerous yet sensual vibe. “The master will kill you for this! But not fast. Slowly! Oh, so slowly!”

05: Underworld. Simply for Kate's kick-ass clothes! In my mind, that's what I look like! Sexy, aren't I? “Whether you like it or not, you're in the middle of a war that has been raging for the better part of a thousand years. A blood feud between vampires and lycans. Werewolves.”

04: Queen of the Damned. With a rocking soundtrack and the sexiest vampire ever to have graced my TV screen, this one is a winner...if you skip 70% of the movie and just watch Lestat singing, playing tickle with two hot girls, and taunting us all to come out to play. “How did you manage to slip through the 50's in red velvet?”

03: Interview with a Vampire. Not a brad pitt kind of girl, but, Louie. Oh Louie. How you made my heart ache for you. I could even forgive them casting Tom Cruise as your friend and nemesis Lestat. “Aux contraire mon cher, he could eat the whole colony.”

02: Dracula. I have crossed oceans of time to find a classic vampire movie without a flaw. This would be it. you. Yeah, that's all I need to say for this one. A gothic master-piece I shall always enjoy watching. FYI did you know Gary Oldman's sister was a huge soap star in the UK...as a granny in Eastenders. “The blood is the life... and it shall be mine.”

01: The Lost Boys. The vamp cult classic from the mid-80s. Micheal...Micheal... stupid Star, why'd you play hard to get! Ugh. If you don't want him, I'll take him off your hands. Yeah, this was the movie that made me fall in love with the whole concept of vampires. Motorbikes, men in leather with long hair. Rock tunes. The whole 'being bad' thing. HELLO! Micheal was too stupid. He could have joined the forever-eternal and lived happily ever after, literally. “Are you guys sniffing old newsprint or something?”

Vampire movies are always a gamble. They either suck, or they're brilliant. 90% of the time, they suck and not for the right reasons. Only vampire movie I've seen recently that was the exception to that rule was Fright night with Colin Farrell as Jerry. It wasn't amazing and it didn't suck donkey balls, either.

Here's some more vamp flicks that didn't make it to the top ten list but are mentionable worthy! And although I didn't mention the classics like Nosferatu and Bela Lugosi, if you're in the mood for a classic vamp-fest, the are a must and would take a whole blog post to sort through the best b&w from the-not-so-great ones.

JoAnne Kenrick, an ex-Ghost Tour Guide turned Romance Author, is a Welsh lass who has lived in various countries around the world. She now calls North Carolina her home, where she lives with her husband, two children and a lazy cat. When they aren't demanding her attention, she can most likely be found watching a vampire movie, reading or baking up a British favorite in her N.C. kitchen. That is, when she isn't writing or chatting up a storm on social networking sites. www.joannekenrick.com Her current release, Sweet Irish Kiss, is an ARe bestseller!

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31 days of Halloween - Kathleen Allen Giveaway Today

2011-10-15T03:58:00.017-05:00

A note from Brynna: Ms. Allen has generously offered to give away an ebook copy of If It's Monday, It Must Be Murder to one reader who comments on her post. To enter, please leave an email address (ex. brynna (at) brynnacurry (dot) com) so we may contact the winner. Contest will run for the duration of the event with a winner chosen October 31st.

Thanks for having me as a guest blogger today! I wanted to do a guest blog to introduce myself to your readers and to let them know about my latest release: IF IT’S MONDAY, IT MUST BE MURDER! from Gypsy Shadow Publishing released on 9-25-11. I love to read mysteries and especially love to read the ones with a female lead character.

A couple of years ago I found the genre “cozy mystery” and read authors who write in that genre. A cozy mystery usually involves an amateur who just happens to come upon a murder and tries to solve it in their own way, sometimes with the help of the police, and sometimes, not. So, what does that have to do with my new release? Well, my main character, Mel, is inspired by those female detectives I enjoy and has elements of a cozy mystery, too. Mel is a former cop and by all accounts she was a good one who got shot in the back during a routine B&E (breaking and entering) call. Her partner, who is also her lover, Byron was around the front of the building and Mel was in the back. He feels guilty he couldn’t prevent her from being shot and she feels like a burden to him so they break up. The bullet is lodged near her spinal cord so the docs don’t want to do surgery, it might paralyze her for life. So, now she has a limp, walks with a cane and is in constant pain. The pain is caused by the bullet pressing on the bundle of nerves in her back by her tailbone that run down her left leg. Nothing helps the pain except ice packs and pain meds that make her dopey. It’s been almost a year since she was shot and she had to go on disability and retire from the job she loved.

Her best friend from college, Cindy, wants her to help find her youngest college-age daughter, Jessie. She’s been missing for two days. When Jessie’s body is found at the bottom of a tall building near campus, the cops rule Jessie’s death a suicide. Cindy is sure she was murdered. She wants Mel to investigate but Mel can barely hold it together, how can she help? It’s been a year since Mel was “on the job” and she isn’t positive she will find anything out now that she’s not a cop. And, what about Byron? He wants her back in his life but she refuses to be a burden to him so she shuts him out. But, she misses him. Cindy begs her to help find out who murdered Jessie and she reluctantly agrees. When she gets too close to the truth, the murderer plans to kill Mel and she doesn’t see it coming until it’s too late.

So, there you have it. A synopsis of IF IT’S MONDAY, IT MUST BE MURDER! In retrospect writing a mystery is much harder than reading one! It took me two years to get it to where I wanted it to be. I love the voice of Mel, she’s smart, sassy, tough and was a joy to write. I hope those of you that like mysteries enjoy reading it. Here are the links to it:

IF IT’S MONDAY, IT MUST BE MURDER!

Murder mystery from Gypsy Shadow Publishing!

Mel, a former cop shot in the back now lives in constant pain. When her best friend's daughter is missing, Mel is asked to help find her. When the girl is found dead at the bottom of a tall building, the cops believe she jumped. Did she? Or is it murder?

http://animoto.com/play/BqOWt9Xj1HYrSOoOWGAsOw

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/KathleenAllen.html#Monday

http://www.amazon.com/Its-Monday-Must-Murder-ebook/dp/B005PFTW8Q/ref=sr_1_8?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1317139464&sr=1-8

Able to “sign” it on www.kindlegraph.com

Be sure and check out my other books on Amazon.

Take care,

Kathleen A.

Find Kathleen on Twitter: @kathleea

Website: www.gaelicfairie.webs.com

Facebook Author Page: Witch Hunter https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Witch-Hunter/142372955812353

31 days of Halloween - Silke Juppenlatz

2011-10-14T03:58:00.008-05:00

We don’t really have Halloween in Germany. Not like the US, anyway. There are parties, sure, but no one goes trick or treating. (At least they didn’t when I was a kid.)

We were introduced to the whole Halloween thing when E.T. was the hottest movie on the planet. That’s where we learned about Trick or Treat, about dressing up as monsters…and about M&M’s. Seriously. We’d never heard of M&M’s before.

Since then it has taken off not just in Germany, but in many other places in Europe. Here in the UK, the kids (and teenagers) really don’t get the concept of Trick or Treat. There will be a knock on the door and a kid will yell “Trick or Treat” -- and be utterly stumped if you feel brave and say “Trick”.

In the US you probably get egged, or something. Here? They’ll blink and stutter, not sure what to do now.

Most people opt for treat, but again, the concept of this is lost on UK teenagers. Give them candy bars and they’ll pull a face. That’s not what they want. Oh no. The enterprising little sods want money. (Fat chance.)

Two years ago I went to the US, and I happened to arrive a few days before Halloween. Having never experienced it, I was looking forward to trouping around the neighborhood with my friend’s kids. I’d been given the choice of Halloween in Salem, or “trudging around with a bunch of kids in tow”.

No contest. Absolutely no contest at all. I wanted the real thing.

I am so, so glad I picked the latter option. I had a blast. I loved seeing all the carved pumpkins, the weather was fantastic, with a big full moon above and not a drop of rain. The kids stomped around and enjoyed themselves, Thomas, my friend’s son, explained all the different candies to me (he was incredulous that I didn’t know some of them) and Brady, the youngest, was in his element. It was his first Halloween, so naturally he was in seventh heaven.

I got to hand out some candies and see those huge smiles on the kids’ faces. There was so much laughter and the entire neighborhood was crawling with everything from toddlers to young adults -- all in costume.

I had a wonderful time, thank you, Cyn, for letting me share your Halloween. (And dragging me around that pumpkin extravaganza after your husband and his friends introduced me to way too much Coors, and American Football.)

It kind of saddens me how much I can’t show readers about the characters I write. You see, when they introduce themselves, I get a three dimensional picture of them. I know what they like, and don’t like, what their favorite time of year is, and…how they would react to Halloween.

If you’ve read Howl, you will have met Tiffy.

She started out as a secondary character, but she intrigued me. Who was she? What made her tick?

Before I knew it, Tiffy introduced herself -- and I knew what would happen to her. “Watch me” is her story. Now let me tell you, Tiffy would thrive on Halloween. She’s the kind of girl who would dress up as an evil fairy and ransack the neighborhood for candy. She’s also the kind of girl who would drag poor Keric along whether he wanted to or not. (And he’d have fun, watching her have fun.) God help the pack she’s with when she has kids.

Zalin wouldn’t do well on Halloween. He’d hand out candy -- if Lucia made him do it -- but there is no way he’d dress up in some silly costume.

Ash, from Smitten, would not only don the silly costume, he’d probably try to get away with pilfering candy. Actually, he would probably glue wings on his back and wear a halo held up by a wire, just for the hell of it. Jo would tag along, hiding behind his broad shoulders, and watch it all from a safe distance.

I often wonder what the characters from other people’s books would be like in day to day life. Birthday parties, grocery shopping, Halloween… I know how my own would react, but I think some of mine would probably surprise you. (Ash is a huge Yoda fan.)

Have you ever wondered what your favorite character would be like on Halloween?

Silke grew up in Germany and is used to things going bump in the night -- and it wasn't always the acrophobic cat, or someone hitting their head on a low beam on the ceiling.

She writes paranormal romance, usually at night, and blames Anne Stuart to this day for all her ambitions and strange stories, after reading one of her books.

These days the only thing going bump at "oh-dark-thirty" is her -- usually when she smacks into the sofa while creeping to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

Silke likes to hear from her readers. Feel free to contact her via her blog at http://www.evilauthor.com, follow her on Twitter, look her up on Goodreads or become a friend on Facebook and G+.

31 days of Halloween - Charlotte Babb

2011-10-13T01:17:00.007-05:00

Hecate: The Magic of Choice

When you come to a fork in the road, the point of choice, you are in the sacred (and scary) place where the goddess, Hecate (heh-CAH-tay) lives. She holds the “magical power of the word,” and with her three aspects, she can see past, present and future at the same time. Of the Greek goddesses, she is unique not only in having power over water, sky and earth, but in sharing with Zeus the ability to grant wishes to humanity. Her name means “She who works her will from afar. ” She is mistress of all passages: twilight, gates, doorways, births and deaths. Those who follow her path say that she is a no-nonsense goddess who is more likely to give you what you need than what you ask for. She is associated with magic, divination, ghosts, and general witchcraft, including the use of potions.

The best-known Greek myth that mentions Hecate is the story of Persephone (Spring), who was kidnapped and married by Hades, god of the underworld without the permission of Demeter, her mother, goddess of growing things. It was Hecate who came to Demeter with news of the abduction, and suggested that they seek out the truth. When the deal was worked out that Persephone could come back to earth, bringing spring with her, for half the year, Hecate became her minister in the underworld.

Hecate is often seen as the crone or hag of Halloween, the end of the harvest, the time of the year that corresponds to twilight before the midnight of the winter solstice. As the mistress of ghosts and other underworld spirits, she is one of the elder goddesses, a Titan in the Greek pantheon, sister to Zeus, and the only one who did not bear him a child. In allowing her to keep her magical powers, Zeus shows more respect to Hecate than to any other goddess on Olympus. Greek women put images of Hecate on the doorways and gates of their homes to prevent evil spirits from coming in. They also made sacrifices of black lambs or dogs to her, so that she would not release the powers of darkness on the home.

Few stories of goddesses as old women exist, despite an epithet of “oldest of the old” applied to both Hecate and Isis. The elder goddesses tend to be demoted to servants or to hold lesser posts. In neo-paganism, Hecate is the crone of the triple goddesses, with Persephone the maiden and Demeter the mother, possibly because women live much longer lives today than in ancient times. She is also seen as the dark of the moon, with Artemis as the new moon, and Selene ad the full moon. Some researchers believe she is the same as the frog goddess Hekt, midwife to the sun god of Egypt. Her worship may have traveled through Nubia into Samothrace, land of the Amazons, and from there into the Greek Pantheon. She is one of few goddesses mentioned in later works, notably as a witch in Macbeth. Early Christian writers in Europe admonished their flocks not to follow their previous customs of leaving offerings to her at crossroads.

Her familiars are usually dogs, and the barking of dogs announces her presence. She is sometimes shown as having three heads: a dog, a snake and a horse, or as a woman with three heads on three connected bodies. She often is shown carrying two torches to light her way both before and behind. One custom of her worship was for a household to have a Hecate supper on the dark of the moon, a feast with an extra plate served up, and then taken as an offering to a crossroads. Other magic included drawing sickness or bad luck into an egg or other object, and then burying the object at the crossroads. Fragments of ancient writings implore Hecate to help with the making of a potion. In the blues standard by Robert Johnson, the person is said to go to the crossroads at midnight to exchange his soul for the ability to play music.

Any time you are faced with a choice or a life transition, it is good to think like Hecate, and consider the possibilities of the future, whether to continue with what you always do, or to change directions. Think about what you need to keep with you, and what is weighing you down, what can be released. The power of choice is to have a will to move forward on your own. Hecate is with you.

For more reading

Bolen, J.S. (2001) Goddesses in older women: Archetypes in women over fifty. New York, NY: Harper.

Monaghan, P. (1997) The new book of goddesses and heroines. St. Paul, MN: Llewellyn.

Monaghan, P. (1999) The goddess companion: Daily mediations on the feminine spirit. St. Paul, MN: Llewellyn.

Stone, M. (1990) Ancient mirrors of womanhood. Boston, MA: Beacon Hill

Walker, B.G. (1983) The woman’s encyclopedia of myths and secrets. San Francisco, CA: Harper.

31 days of Halloween - Sara-Jayne Townsend

2011-10-12T03:57:00.004-05:00

HALLOWE’EN MEMORIES

By Sara Jayne Townsend

When I was growing up in the north of England in the 1970s, Hallowe’en wasn’t a big deal. In primary school it was an excuse to draw pictures of witches, perhaps. You would sometimes get Hallowe’en parties that would feature such games as ‘apple bobbing’ – dunking your head in a bowl of water in an attempt to grab an apple with your teeth. But trick or treating in those days was purely an American concept. Our big Autumn holiday was Bonfire Night, on 5 November – when communities would get together and wave sparklers and eat Parkin (a cake made out of black treacle), burning an effigy of Guy Fawkes on a big bonfire and watching fireworks. That was the day we made a big deal of, not the last day of October, five days earlier.

When I was ten we emigrated to

Canada

, and I was introduced to the novelty or trick or treating. The concept of donning fancy dress and trooping round to neighbourhood houses asking for free candy seemed ingenious to me, though to be honest I only got a couple of years’ trick or treating in before I decided I was too old.

My first Canadian Hallowe’en fell exactly a week after my eleventh birthday. I think I dressed up as a princess. My mother took my sister and me and a couple of our friends round the neighbourhood. Being British, my mother was rather wary of the idea of having her children knock on the doors of strangers. We were only allowed to go to the houses that had their doors open in welcome, porch lights on, a friendly face with a big bowl of candy clearly visible from the street. Any place with no lights, that had gone a bit overboard on the Hallowe’en décor and looked a bit creepy, we weren’t allowed to approach.

Not that it mattered. Our haul was plenty big enough. The candy I came back with after that first trick or treating experience lasted me well into the following summer.

Since then, the concept of trick or treating has taken off a little in the UK, but not to the extent it has on the other side of the Atlantic. In the US, everyone expects treat or treaters, they open their doors in anticipation and they get the candy ready. It’s not embraced by everyone in the UK, and the parents that do take their young children out tend to go only to the houses occupied by people they know.

What I do like about Hallowe’en, though, is that it gives you the chance to be something other than your everyday self. I might be a horror writer, but in real life I’m really not that scary. At Hallowe’en, maybe I’ll get a chance to be so, just for a change.

Sara Jayne Townsend is UK-based writer of crime and horror. She has
two novels available as ebooks from Lyrical Press, Inc - SUFFER THE
CHILDREN (buy link:
http://www.lyricalpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=1_24&products_id=288)
and DEATH SCENE (buy link:
http://www.lyricalpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=1_52&products_id=409).
A collection of her short horror stories, entitled SOUL SCREAMS, is
to be released by Stumar Press
(http://stumarpress.webs.com/soulscreams.htm) in 2012.

You can learn more about Sara and her writing from her website at:
http://sarajaynetownsend.weebly.com

31 days of Halloween - Tony V. Sweeney

2011-10-11T03:57:00.009-05:00

I suppose my fascination with the paranormal began with the fairy tales I was told as a child. All those wicked witches and enchanted princesses and such and movies and television haven’t helped. I’ve always been intrigued by the supernatural, whether it’s vampires, dragons, or sprites and faeries. Well, I’ve written about vampires, and about faeries, as well as enchanted princes, but have yet to pen anything about a dragon, so maybe that’still somewhere in my future.

Compared to some, my paranormal bibliography isn’t that long since I generally head into space opera/fantasy when I write, but a few years back, I got into a Sci-Fi/horror/mystery whirl and wrote a story I originally titled Blood Hunt. I wasn’t exactly satisfied with that, however, since I felt it didn’t really convey what I wanted for the story. Since there were several books by that same name around, I went through a series of title-changes before settling on Murder in Old Blood which, as far as I was concerned, summed up the plot of the story pretty well. It’s just a wee bit off the beaten orbit because it’s a vampire story set in the far future in a time when vampires are recognized as existing and have been arrested and placed in concentration camps. Then someone starts killing them off by placing silver nitrate in their blood supply. A vampire and a policewoman begin to investigate and what they discover is the main part of the story, along with their love affair and its consequences.

It was an interesting story to write, mainly because my vampires were more traditional than otherwise, having contempt for the “Breathers” as they called humans even though they were confined and imprisoned by what they considered a weaker species. And they sure got in some “zingers” about their captors through the course of the book.

Inspired by the success of Murder in Old Blood, I went on to write The Irish Lady’s Spanish Lover, which is set in Ireland and features an Irish vampire, a deaerg-due, who is a Spanish conde’s son, killed after the sinking of the Armada off Ireland’s coast in 1588. I did a lot of research before I started writing—about the Armada, about Ireland, the language and some of its more inspiring geographical sights, which are featured in the book. The vampire isn’t the main attraction, however, but the love story between a crippled ballerina and an Irish architect, with its hints of reincarnation, is.

My three other jaunts into the paranormal were two Black Rose novelettes for The Wild Rose Press: Love, Vampire Style, in which a young vampire leaves home to keep from being forced into marriage and runs smack into the arms of the girl of his dreams, and Demon in Blue Jeans, where a low-achieving demon and a starry-eyed young miss fall under the Devil’s spell. Those were both fun to write and they’re both light-hearted pieces. The third was another novel, Wizard’s Wife, the story of a young lady who marries a near-stranger only to discover he’s a faery wizard sent to save the world from an invasion by an evil sorcerer. This was another book I enjoyed writing because it involved knights and sorcerers and faery werewolves and unicorns. Since the wizards were Irish, there was a lot of Gaelic spoken in the story and eventually, I decided to include a glossary at the end so readers could actually translate what they were saying. There’s plenty of superstitions and references to Irish legends, too.

My one jaunt into what I consider “pure” horror is Serpent’s Tooth, a reworking of Faust with the famed scholar becoming a rock ‘n’ roll star who sells his soul for fame and fortune and then tries to back out of the pact. Since I was living in Nebraska at the time, I couldn’t resist making my “hero” a Nebraska college student who “makes it big”…much to his everlasting regret. It got some good reviews, I’m happy to say, one reviewer even saying, “…it will show horror fans that slice and dice just doesn’t stand up to understated and/or realistic horror…”

I just finished another novel, Bride of the Beast, which is a spin on the “Beauty and the Beast” story. Set in ancient Egypt, the Beast is a Hebrew prince cursed by God and the Beauty is an Egyptian princess who marries him. Again, I did research on Jewish customs as well as ancient Egyptian ones, then added my own spin to tell a love story that in itself is a bit unusual.

By now, you’ve probably noticed that the one thread running through all this rambling is that I did research. No matter what the setting or the era or the place, I tried to check it out and make it as authentic and accurate as possible. My readers may not care that the Armada went down in 1588 instead of 1518 or that both ancient Egyptians and ancient Hebrews both practiced circumcision or that a unicorn can only be captured by a virgin who entices it to place its head in her lap…but there’s always that one reader who’ll see a flaw and comment on it and it’s that special one I’m writing for, the one who loves the details and wants it correct no matter how insignificant the fact.

So, to you, my dear flaw-finding, nit-picky reader, whoever you are, I dedicate my paranormal novels, and every thrill and chill and scary, magical moment in them. Read on and have a Happy Hallowe’en!

Author Bio:

Toni V. Sweeney has lived 30 years in the South, a score in the Middle West, and a decade on the Pacific Coast and now she’s trying for her second 30 on the Great Plains. Her first novel was published in 1989. An accomplished artist as well as writer, she has a degree in Fine Art and a diploma in Graphic Art. When she isn’t writing, Toni also creates book trailers for herself and others. She maintains a website for herself and her pseudonym Icy Snow Blackstone, and has been associated with the South Coast Writer's Association, the Pink Fuzzy Slipper Writers, and several other writer’s loops. Bride of the Beast is her 28th novel.

More about Toni can be found at these websites: http://www.tonivsweeney.com/

http://www.icysnowblackstone.com/ and also on MySpace, Facebook, and Twitter. Her book trailers (and those she’s done for other authors) can be viewed at: http://www.youtube.com/tvsweeney and http://www.youtube.com/user/icsnow14

31 Days of Halloween - Toni Noel

2011-10-10T00:24:00.017-05:00

Decisive Moments is not your usual romance. Amy Millington is haunted by her failed marriage, Charles Harding by memories of his dark childhood, his boarded-up house haunted by his mother's ghost. October in San Diego means crisp nights and warm sunny days, high school football played beneath a harvest moon, but not for reclusive Charles, whose nights and days never vary until a five-year-old little girl stumbles into his life on a "daddy search". Marta's request he become her father releases such mixed emotions he feels as if his heart might burst…

In Decisive Moments, to be released for download October 15 by Desert Breeze Publishing, Inc., Amy Millington needs to photograph Charles Harding’s childhood home to satisfy the requirements for her Master's Degree in fine art photography, but his boarded-up-house holds painful memories for Charles. Without those photographs Amy cannot secure her young daughter Marta's future. Charles denies the gutsy widow's request. Her efforts to show him how to have fun lead him to allow her to photograph his home. Then Marta gets lost and Charles must help search his house for her. He finds Marta and his mother's long-lost suicide note. Knowing the reason his mother shot his father, then turned the gun on herself, frees Charles from his past, but can he free Amy from her painful past and teach her to love again?

Here's Amy's first meeting with Charles:

The receptionist on a mission to block her path was no match for Amy Millington. On a mission herself, she darted past.

Her destination loomed ahead, the two closed mahogany doors leading to the office of Charles A. Harding, Architect.

So far, so good.

Now to outsmart the sedately dressed secretary seated at the desk just outside those doors. This formidable woman screened the architect's calls and had, on a daily basis for the last two months, refused Amy's request for an appointment.

Failure to accomplish her mission meant postponing graduation for six more months. No way. Too much was riding on her master's degree. Maybe even a Guggenheim Fellowship. Amy's new career, for sure, and with it, a secure future for her daughter. No way would she allow Harding's secretary to stop her now.

Taking a deep breath, Amy charged around the woman's desk to the doors and yanked, sending one crashing back against the wall.

The dark-haired man seated behind a massive desk looked up, surprised. His finely tailored suit matched the toasted pecan color of his eyes. His white shirt seemed almost too harsh for his silk tie softly patterned in rust and bark.

Amy's heart beat erratically, making her lightheaded right when she needed to be at her best. She didn't have much time. Building security would show up soon.

She met the man's unreadable gaze and forced her best smile. Three more strides brought her close enough to inhale the woodsy scent of his aftershave. "Mr. Harding, I--"

His threshold guard interrupted. "I'm sorry, Mr. Harding. This young woman wouldn't stop."

He frowned, but a hint of curiosity lit his eyes. "Never mind, Julia." He nodded at his secretary and she left the room, though Amy noticed she didn't close the door.

Then he returned his attention to the blueprints on his desk. The nerve of him. Like a naughty child in the principal's office, he made her wait.

A fresh wave of irritation at all her wasted time washed over her. Weeks of thwarted attempts to see this illusive man, and what did he do once she'd breached his gates? Ignored her best smile. Ignored the stylish suit she'd purchased just for this moment, a suit bought with money she'd managed to cut from her school supply budget over the last six months. It looked like she wouldn't earn a second glance from this reclusive architect.

Finally he stopped shuffling the blueprints, rolled them up and stood. "Five minutes."

She extended her hand, ignoring his cold demeanor. "My name is Amy Millington." When he reluctantly offered his, she shook his hand, an artist's hand with long fingers, his smooth, uncallused palm unexpectedly warm.

"Charles Harding, but of course you know that."

Yes, she knew his name, and a lot more about him, thanks to her research. His presence seemed to fill the spacious room, crowding her. His quick gesture indicated she should take the chair near his desk. She sat, welcoming the chance to catch her breath and corral her thoughts.

He took his seat and cleared the space before him of work, giving her a moment to study him unobserved.

A stray curl tumbled over his forehead when he glanced down at his work, giving him a boyish look. He was definitely more good-looking than any photos she'd found of him, but he looked older than his years, and almost sad.

"So, Miss Millington, what's so important you couldn't wait for an appointment?"

"I wanted an appointment, but your secretary has refused to give me one each time I called. She insisted you were unavailable, that you would never make time to see me."

"Julia simply carries out my instructions." He opened a drawer, took out a yellow pad and slid the drawer shut. "What brings you to my office? Are you interested in building a home?"

Amy glanced at the framed renderings on the wall behind him. All were of rather sterile, contemporary dwellings built of stone and glass. Her artistic eye rebelled at those cold images created by the man seated across from her.

"House plans are not what I had in mind." She steadied her nerves and plunged on as she felt her five minutes ticking away. "I'm a grad student at UCSD just weeks from completing a master's degree in visual arts. Photographing architecture is my main emphasis. I came because of my interest in your great-grandfather's home designs."

Harding's frown returned so she hurried on. "He built six homes in Mission Hills. I've studied those designs, and over the past few months I've photographed the interiors of five of those homes as part of my graduate project. There's only one I still need. The house you own on Harding Road. At one time the man living there gave me permission to photograph the interior, but I'm now unable to reach him."

She watched as the architect's lips drew into a tight line, hardening his expression. A mouth revealed so much about a man.

With a deft motion, he slid open the drawer and stuffed the yellow pad inside. "I'm afraid what you're about to propose is impossible. The uncle you spoke to died." Harding came to his feet, ready to kick her out.

"But surely--"

"No." A muscle twitched in his strong jaw. "Five houses should be sufficient for your needs."

"Not photographing the sixth house will make my study incomplete. Please, could I--"

Irritation flashed in his eyes. "No one goes inside."

Why? It didn't make sense.

All right, time to try something else. "I'm sure you know the first C. A. Harding included ingenious details in his designs." To Amy's relief, his stiff stance relaxed a fraction.

"One interesting part of my research involved discovering the secret hidden in each of the homes he helped build. The house with the dumb waiter to the master bedroom is my favorite."

As if surprised to discover himself standing, Harding eased back into his chair.

Almost made him smile. Good. Maybe she could reach the real man beneath this hard shell. "Or maybe it's the house on Dixon Drive where shrubbery hides the outside stairs leading from the garden to the eldest son's bedroom."

Amazingly, Harding's sculpted lips twitched into a smile. What a difference a grin made in his looks. Gone was the grim set of his jaw, the skeptical frown. A cleft in his chin appeared. What could have made this handsome man so dour? So serious? Charles Harding needed to learn how to lighten up.

Ignoring the sudden tripping of her heartbeat as she realized she was staring at him, she hurried on. "I can just picture an adolescent son sneaking in late at night, no need to remove his shoes."

Leaning forward, Amy met the architect's gaze and smiled. "What about you? Are surprises hidden in your designs?"

"I'm more concerned with function. With practicality. My clientele demands modern efficiency for their money, clean lines and easy care. Hidden passageways are remnants of another time."

"That may be true, but what romantic times they were. Have you asked your clients if they might prefer something more imaginative? A design with a few soft curves to soften all the cold stone and glass?"

"What might seem appropriate in your art would be considered impractical in modern homes."

Modern designs held no appeal for her she'd learned. "Now, about photographing your house..."

Anger -- or was it something else -- flared in his eyes as he stood. "There is no chance of you ever photographing my house," he said, a note of finality in his voice.

"Here's my card, in case you change your mind."

He slid the card into his desk without a glance. "I won't."

She tucked her purse under her arm and headed for the door. Across the room a burst of buttercup yellow caught her eye. Her own reflection in glass. The only spot of color in the dreary room was her best suit.

*****

Excerpt of Charles and Marta's first meet on his property:

"Miss Millington! What were you trying to do?"

Still brushing cobwebs from her hair, Amy stood. Lifting her chin, she gave Harding a guileless smile.

"M-Mr. Harding, I can explain."

"Trespassing, now? I thought I made myself clear. You are not using my property for your little project."

In her peripheral vision, two bare feet dangled from a limb of the corner oak. Marta. Making herself at home in the architect's tree.

"I didn't. I mean, I wasn't... I'd intended to stay in my car. There's no law says I can't roll down the window and--"

He glanced at the street, some feet away. "A little far from your car, don't you think?"

"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have come."

He nodded. "I'm delighted we finally agree."

She turned toward the oak tree and called, "Marta. It's time to go."

The leafy branches of the oak tree parted, revealing her daughter's round little face and wide grin. "Coming."

Marta shimmied along the limb until she reached the main trunk. Hesitating only long enough to cause fear to lodge in Amy's throat, she jumped, landing on her bare feet. Her undaunted child collected her shoes and socks and trotted across the lawn while her mother learned how to breathe again.

Frowning as she approached, Marta gave Harding a curious once-over.

Uh-oh.

Amy tried to head off her inquisitive daughter, but couldn't catch her attention.

"Hi, mister. Are you a lawyer, too?"

Amy watched as the hardness around his eyes melted and Harding knelt beside the little girl. "No. Why do you ask?"

"You're pret -- oops, Mom says I should say han-sum instead of pretty -- you're han-sum, so I thought you must be a lawyer, too."

"Marta."

With her child silenced for the moment, Amy turned to face Charles. "This is my daughter, Marta, Mr. Harding. She met her first lawyer at school today, and was very impressed. Marta, this is Mr. Harding."

"How do you do? You're dressed in a suit like my friend's father. He's a lawyer, but your suit is darker. Han-sumer and more mmpressive. What do you do?"

"Marta, that's quite enough. Mr. Harding is an architect. He owns this house."

"Oh-h. You're the man who doesn't like my mother."

"Well, I--"

"Marta." Amy blushed. "I'm sorry. My daughter is at the age where she repeats everything she hears."

Realizing her hasty explanation served to make matters worse, Amy's cheeks burned.

"My class is learning about what daddies do," Marta said. "Fathers come to school and share their oku-pashuns. Bobby Denton's father is a lawyer. My father died, so I don't have anyone to bring."

As if interested in her child's recitation, Harding responded with a thoughtful, "I see," each time Marta stopped to catch her breath.

The talkative imp sat on the steps, pulling on her socks and shoes. "We never had an arky--"

"Architect," Amy prompted.

"--arky-tek speak to our class. Would you be my father and come talk to my class?"

Buy it here: http://stores.desertbreezepublishing.com/-strse-template/Toni%20Noel/Page.bok

Visit Toni at:

http://www.toninoelauthor.com

http://www.toninoelauthor.com/blog.html

http://twitter.com/toninoelwriter

Toni Noel is the author of three eBooks released by Desert Breeze Publishing, Inc, and three more to be released in 2012. She retired in 1995 as Senior Accountant for a government contractor to write full time, unaware how little she knew about fiction writing and how much she'd need to learn.

She worked so hard at getting her name into print the San Diego Chapter of Romance Writers of America awarded her a banner reading "Rejection builds character" commemorating the month she received three rejection letters in one day.

A firm believer in perseverance and keeping the faith, Toni made her first eBook sale in 2009 and couldn't be happier seeing her name in print on the covers of her eBooks downloaded to her Nook.

31 Days of Halloween - R. Ann Siracusa

2011-10-07T16:10:00.000-05:00

HALLOWEEN IN THE CATACOMBS

The Roman Catacombs

What could be a more appropriate activity for Halloween than visiting a cemetery? Dark. Spooky. Dead bodies. The catacombs of Rome are all that and more.

Actually, the catacombs are early Christian and Jewish cemeteries. Simple as that. Okay, cemeteries are good Halloween fodder.

The word catacomb comes from the Greek katà Kymbas meaning near the hollow. The Romans originally used the word to refer to a specific area around the Appian Way where there were caves for the removal of tuff blocks (consolidated volcanic ash) for building and paving. When the Christians began excavating underground cemeteries in that area, the term was applied to those as well. It wasn’t until the ninth century AD that the definition of catacombs was extended to apply to all Christian and Jewish underground cemeteries in other locations such as Naples, Umbria, Tuscany, Sicily, and north Africa.

Why Were Cemeteries Built Underground?

The Romans cremated their dead, and Roman law didn’t allow burial within the city walls, most likely for health reasons. While I can’t verify that, the Romans were very health conscious and many of their old laws reflect that. Because of religious beliefs, the early Christians didn’t want to cremate their dead. In order to bury the deceased, the corpses had to be interred outside the urban perimeters of the city. Common burial sites were excavated in the countryside in the vicinity of the ancient Appian Way because of the tufacious soil there.

How many and how big?
The catacombs consist of vast systems of galleries and passageways (underground tunnels) on many underground levels. There are forty known catacombs in Rome, covering an area of about 600 acres, and an estimated 1.7 million people were buried there.

The galleries and tunnels of the catacombs are about three feet wide and eight feet high, with niches carved into the walls like shelves. Corpses were placed on the shelves wrapped in a sheet or shroud, and the “shelves” were closed with a slab of marble, usually fixed with mortar. The steps connecting the various floors are narrow and in some places open shafts with ladders connect the levels.

Believe it or not, these underground cemeteries fell into disuse and were lost to memory by about 900 AD and not rediscovered until 1578. Today, the catacombs are visited by thousands of tourists and pilgrims from all over the world. And there is nothing really very scary about them…unless you find a way to wander off the beaten track. Then…watch out! There may be 1.7 million ghosts stalking you.

Keep in mind this is where Harriet Ruby, Tour Director Extraordinarie, is conducting a tour on the day of Halloween.

HALLOWEEN IN THE CATACOMBS

R. ANN SIRACUSA

ISBN# 978-1-934657-54-6

E-book only - 9K

Sapphire Blue Publishing Buy Link

Harriet Ruby: Tour Director Extraordinaire, had had some real winners when it came to tourists, but this group, wearing Halloween costumes on an all day tour of Rome, took the cake. Well, it was Halloween, but these folks were seriously different.

When nine of them decide to explore on their own and take off down a restricted tunnel of the Roman catacombs, Harriet has to find them…for their safety and her reputation…and ends up involved in something she never expected.

EXCERPT

A blast of cold air sliced through me. “Yikes!” I screeched with surprise and almost dropped the flashlight. My body trembled, and I tightened my grip on my young charge.

“W-what w-was that?” Calogerus stammered.

For a moment my chattering teeth kept me from speaking. I had no clue. “An air vent, probably. They have to get fresh air down here somehow.”

Still shuddering, I inched forward, dragging the boy with me. “We should be close to the steps to the next level, so be careful. What were these people thinking, taking off like this? You’re absolutely sure you saw them go into this gallery?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Then—aiii!” My foot slipped on a loose rock. I stumbled to one knee, flapping my arms for balance, and ripped my hand from Calogerus’s. The flashlight sailed out of my grip.

Smash! Ping! The light went out.

Swallowing the string of curses that rose in my gullet, I crawled to my hands and knees and felt around for the lost light. “That’s just great. Are you all right?”

“I’m okay, but I think your flashlight is toast.”

Right. Okay, Harriet, now what? “Well, we can’t go any further without a light. We’ll have to go back and let the security guards find them. All we have to do is follow the wall. We didn’t make any turns so—”

“They went that way,” the boy cried and tugged on my arm. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

“What? How do you know?” With one palm against the cold damp wall for balance, I scrambled to me feet.

“I told you, I can see in the dark.” I sensed him move away from me and almost screamed.

In an instant, he returned to my side. “Here. Open you hand.”

In a frightened daze, I complied, and he placed something soft in it. “What is it?” I fingered the object, like pulpy but thin vegetation.

“It’s an apple blossom.”

Whatever I might have said to that morphed into a startled gasp as an uncanny inhuman howl resonated through the enclosed space, coming from a distance in front of us.

“Let’s go. We’re running out of time.” Calogerus grabbed my hand and pulled me unwillingly along behind him. “Hold onto me. I’ll lead the way. Be careful on the stairs.”

An apple blossom? The stairs?

Two brownie points for Calogerus.

What could I say? This was going to be a tough one to explain, even to Will. Okay, God. You and I need to talk. This is all about the sex without marriage, isn’t it? You know we’re working on that.

We clambered down the steps as fast as we could with a night scope-equipped ten-year-old leading the way and me as blind as a bat without sonar and shivering with trepidation.

On the last step, I smelled it. My stomach churned as though I was about to hurl. Formaldehyde? L’Amour’s aftershave. Squeezing my lids tight, I swallowed hard and forced the sense of sickness back into my belly. When I opened my eyes, a faint glow shone from a room at the end of the long hall.

We both ran toward the light and the smell, and in seconds burst into another wide cavern with pictures and symbols painted on the walls.

I skidded to a stop, and wrapped my arms around my middle against the frigid damp air, which mitigated the surge of panic I’d experienced. Burning incense sticks filled the space with a dim, diffused luminosity and the exotic scent of sandalwood, reducing the intensity of the essence of L’Amour.

My nine missing tourists stood with their backs against the walls, watching the old woman Bria, on her hands and knees, drawing a large circle in the center of the dirt floor.

Thriller...

2011-10-07T09:03:00.002-05:00

Driving back from Florence (AL) last night this song came on the radio. So, it's ten thirty and Kayla and I are singing along with Michael Jackson. No. Not a fan, really, but this one will never go out of style. So for your creepy enjoyment (embedded via youtube)...

Michael Jackson's "Thriller"

31 days of Halloween - A short story from Author Lisa Blackwood

2011-10-06T03:56:00.016-05:00

The Avatars: Beginnings

by Lisa Blackwood

Surrounded by darkness, deep in the heart of his enemy’s territory, the gargoyle braced his wings against the chilled breeze sweeping down the onyx-tiled corridor and focused his attention on the shadows overhead. With a nudge of magic, bits of gloom floated down from the vaulted ceiling, concealing him. While a cloak of darkness might hide him for a short time, the wet heat of blood seeping down his side would soon tempt him to embrace the healing sleep of stone. Here in this place death would come swift and brutal.

He had to push onward. He couldn’t give up--something far more precious than his own life was at risk.

No more than eight summers old, the child slept soundly in his arms, her weight a reassurance. With her cloud of black hair and eyelashes dark against pale skin, the Sorceress looked peaceful, innocent—at odds with this place of darkness. Her safety came first. He couldn't fail her. Not again.

Sounds of panting and the muted rasp of claws on stone echoed from the direction he'd just come. An undulating wail of a Death Hound filled the stale air. Its harsh call reverberated along his wings.

Another cry answered the first, rising and falling in the distance.

He bolted from the shadows, seeking the breeze’s source. The sharp click of his talons striking stone tiles drowned out noise of pursuit. Urged by instinct, he ran until the corridor forked. He veered right. A pale light bloomed in the distance. Shadows gave way to a gray misty haze. At the end of the tunnel, a line of vast windows opened onto a balcony. He readjusted his hold on the young Sorceress and sprinted toward freedom.

Outside, wind buffeted at his furrowed wings and howled in his ears, but his attention riveted on the Veil between the Realms. It shimmered a hundred paces in front of him, silvery mists promising escape. A vast expanse of empty air stretched between the balcony and the outer edge of the Veil. Worry itched between his shoulder blades. His wings twitched with tension. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he studied the way he'd come. For now only a few shadows and lonely statues guarded the way, but it wouldn’t be long before Death Hounds caught him.

He bowed his muzzle until he caught her familiar scent. She calmed him--the other half of his soul. He would know her anywhere. So many lives they'd shared, hunting down evil in all its forms. Bumping his muzzle against her cheek, he whined and licked at her face. A sharp flavor coated his tongue.

He jerked back with a snort. Wrong. Her taste was wrong. Harsh fear, cold like the first killing frost, flowed through his soul. He licked at her again, the bitter essence confirming his suspicions. She was tainted, evil so deeply embedded within her it welled up from below her skin.

His eyes track back toward the shimmering Veil as his stomach tightened into a knot. He could escape through the veil, safe from its life destroying magic, but she was tainted. He clamped his wings to his back and tightened his arms around her smaller form. If he'd been mature, he could have protected her from the ravages of the mist. But, newly born, he lacked the raw power needed to shield even himself.

Had he saved her from imprisonment only to have the Veil strip the life from her now?

A sizeable weight slammed into his back, overbalancing him. Teeth savaged the flesh of his right shoulder. He released the child, and twisted, catching his attacker under the jaw. The beast yelped and rolled.

Before he could recover, another streak of ginger and black colored fur blurred across his line of sight. With a flash of teeth, a smaller Death Hound bitch was snapping at his throat. He lunged. His teeth sank into her thick ruff. Altering his grip, he slammed the hound into the underside of the balcony's stone railing. Stone chips and white powder dusted the air.

Blood coated one side of the hound's wide head. She flexed her broad shoulders, freeing herself from the rubble. A snarl exposed steel gray teeth.

When she came at him again, he raked the hound's belly with his hind feet. Without the hardness of maturity, his talons didn't penetrate the thick fur. The beast sunk her teeth into the meat of his thigh. He grunted in pain and bashed the creature in the side of the head with one fist. Desperation lent strength to his weary muscles, and he disengaged the hound.

A second beast leapt on his back. It clawed and bit at his wings as it sought a firmer hold on his exposed neck. He snaked his tail around the beast’s middle. With a snarling effort, he heaved it into the first creature. Both beasts slid through the hole in the stone railing. Surprised yelps faded into the abyss beyond his range of vision.

His heavy panting rasped louder than the roar of the wind to his own ears. Ignoring the throb of new injuries, he scooped the child into his arms.

After catching his breath, he leapt onto the balcony's outer stone wall and dug his claws into the surface. Balancing there, he looked out towards the misty wall of the Veil. It stretched as far as he could see in either direction. The winds whipped past him, constant in its attempts to scour him from the side of the tower. He wrapped his tail around the railing and closed his eyes, praying the Divine Ones would give his Sorceress strength enough to survive the Veil.

The baying of Death Hounds decided him. Wings extended to their fullest, he launched from the balcony, hurtling toward the mists. Even braced for a second trip through the Veil didn't lessen the surprise when he hit its outer border. Syrupy mists slowed his flight, sticking to him like burning honey. He pumped his wings harder, desperate for speed. Magic plucked at him, shredding his personal shields.

The first tendril of mist touched the child. Her eyes snapped open. Body ridged, she arched her back and sucked in a deep, gasping breath. Her cry of anguish sliced through him, stabbing into his soul. She screamed as fast as she could draw breath.

Please, he begged of the Divine Ones. Please let her survive this. I can do whatever I must to mend what was done to her, just let her live.

After a time, the child quieted, unconscious—not dead, but he still didn't relax. The journey through the Veil felt like a lifetime. With each powerful wing beat, he fought the swirling currents of magic within the Veil, but made little headway. Terror uncoiled in his middle. The Sorceress would never survive the trip back to his Realm. It was taking too long. He changed his course and flew with the current. Faster and faster the magic swirled around him. The current drew him along until the outer edge of the Mortal Realm's Veil appeared in front of him. He sensed the deadness beyond—the Mortal Realm's lack of magic. He closed his eyes and prayed.

With a heave, the magic spat him and his small burden out into the Mortal Realm. Cold, thin air shocked his body. His wings collapsed. Panicked, he flailed, trying to find which way was up. A single moon shone in the night sky. He oriented himself, leveling his erratic flight enough that he didn’t spiral out of control.

Gliding, too exhausted to maintain his height, he drifted lower. Below him a well tended road with a line painted down its center vanished off into the distance. On either side, a row of smooth wooden poles, like trees stripped of their branches, lined the too-perfect road. Wires suspended between the dead-tree-poles swayed in the wind. He angled away from the odd road and whatever might travel upon it.

Below him the land changed. A long narrow lake, ringed with white ice, now cut across the landscape. The lake's dark center rippled with its own drama. Cries of panic and the splash of water caught his attention. He glided lower until he skimmed above the snow-covered trees skirting the lake. The sounds of struggle grew weaker. Above those sounds, a desperate chant rose up from below.

Out in the water, a small boy clung to a sheet of ice. On shore a young woman worked on the body of a girl, trying to push water from dead lungs. Voice hoarse with grief, the woman chanted a healing song. The song resonated in his soul, familiar. But she sang it wrong, and this land lacked the magic required to perform such a spell. Besides, the tether holding the girl's soul to her body had already faded away, breaking the link of flesh and spirit.

Landing at the edge of the lake, he summoned shadows for concealment. This small, mortal drama didn't need more panic. Shifting the Sorceress, he took the strain off his injured shoulder, and then looked around, seeking shelter from the cold. He approached a stand of evergreens when a pale figure glided into his midst and looked straight at him. His magic didn't work against the dead, and the ghost of a young girl watched him with sad eyes. She looked from him to the lakeshore and back again.

The ghost's pale skin and dark hair reminded him of the child he held. It could have been the Sorceress wanting to say good-bye to him, dead before they had even gifted each other with names in this life. He shuddered and mantled his wings to shroud himself from the ghost's sad gaze. He glanced down at the warm, living child in his arms. Reluctantly, he placed her on the ground, sheltered by the branches of an evergreen. When he looked back to the ghost, she tilted her head to one side and gave him a questioning looked. He nodded.

A beautiful smile crossed the ghost's face and she glided out of the trees, leading him back to her grieving family.

He skirted around the younger woman, her eyes still vacant as she rocked the girl's body in her arms. The ghost's mother? There was nothing he could do for the woman—he feared her mind was broken.

At the edge of the winter-locked water, an old woman continued to cast a long rope out across the frozen surface. She chanted a spell with each toss, her face serene with concentration. The boy made a frantic grab at the rope and lost his grip on the ice. He slipped into the water.

Exhaustion beat at the gargoyle. His wounds continued to seep life-blood and magic, weakening him until even his wings quivered, but he dropped to all fours, and loped into the frigid water. The cold tore a growl from his throat.

After he swam to the spot he'd last seen the boy, he dove, beating his wings to reach the bottom of the lake. Underneath the surface was as dark as a moonless night, but he sensed the heat from the boy's body and swam towards it. He gripped the slight body in his arms, and then pushed off from the bottom, kicking and swishing his tail until he broke the surface.

He snorted water from his nose. Hot breath clouded in front of his face. After he tossed the boy's body on to the ice, he scrambled at the slick surface with his claws until he hauled himself out of the water. His legs shook and lungs burned, but he clamped his teeth into the boy's hood and dragged him off the ice.

The youngling's chest no longer rose or fell, but his heart still fluttered feebly. The gargoyle fed more of his waning magic into the boy, urging the heart to beat while he pushed water from small lungs. A racking cough and a deep breath, followed by more retching told him he'd succeeded. He barely noticed. His skin was hardening—not from the cold—but from the need to sleep and heal before death claimed him. He forced himself to walk to where he'd left the Sorceress.

She still slept—but at least her life force was stronger. He could rest peacefully, knowing he'd saved her.

"You're a Gargoyle." It was the old woman who'd scoured up the bravery to address him. Her words were strange; a language he did not know, so he took their meaning from her mind.

He nodded—exhaustion had stolen his words. Picking up the Sorceress, he licked her face. She mumbled in her sleep, words too slurred for him to understand. He gathered his fading magic and placed a weaving around the child's mind so she would forget. Forget him, and their long history. Forget whatever task the evil possessing her would urge her to complete--to forget even herself.

With that done, he turned his attention back to the old woman.

The woman tilted her head to look up at him. Grief shone in her eyes, but she was composed as she held the boy close to her body. "This is what the Coven's dream meant. Death and life mixed together in one terrible and wonderful night. Forgive us, old one. We did not expect one of your Kin to ever cross into our world again." She bowed.

He did not understand most of what she thought, but he sensed she was not one of evil intent. This woman was the best he could do for his young Sorceress.

"Protect the child. Raise her as your own," he said into her mind. He hoped she would understand and not panic. "She will be a great worker of magic, even in this realm with its dwindling magic. Raise her, guide her, teach her the difference between the paths of light and dark, but tell her nothing of magic, or of me. Her mind is damaged from the journey through the Veil. It's best if she remembers nothing of her past for now. When I'm strong, I will awaken. In this realm it may take many seasons before I'm healed enough to awaken on my own."

"You saved my grandson….while you couldn't save my granddaughter, I'm in your debt. Thank you. I shall raise and protect this little one in her place."

"Your granddaughter is there." He pointed to where the small ghost hovered by the trees. She was already fading. Soon she would make her journey to the Spirit Realm. "I still have power enough so you can say goodbye." He held out his blood smeared talons to the old woman. She wiped some off his talon at the same time the ghost appeared at his side. The blood misted away when the ghost touched him. Under the glow of moonlight, the ghost grew solid once more. He regarded the grandmother. "You have until the first grey light of dawn, and then the magic in my blood will fade and your loved one will pass on. Find a fire to warm the boy or he will make the journey with the girl."

"My humblest thanks, Lord Gargoyle. Our home is near," the old woman said, grief a raw edge in her tone. She gestured him forward. "Come, you are safe with us. I prepared a place for you in my garden as my dream advised."

He followed, his mind already closing in upon its self. As his body shut down, his heart rate slowed, blood became sluggish in his veins. Stumbling through shadows, he encountered a well-tended garden surrounding a cottage. At its center, two small rings of standing stones circled a large flat pedestal. So exposed; it wouldn't have been his first choice for a long stone sleep, but his body gave him no alternative. He made it to the pedestal and managed to perch upon its snow covered surface. His thoughts strayed to the Sorceress a final time. Finding this family, the grandmother's mention of a dream--it was too convenient.

Fear stirred in his heart, but there was nothing else he could do. The last of his heat bled from him, hardening his skin to stone. Darkness claimed him.

Stone's Kiss

As a child, a near-drowning accident stole Lillian’s old life. Her new life began the moment she awoke at the foot of a brooding, stone gargoyle.

Years later, Lillian still finds comfort in Gregory, her gargoyle, never guessing he is more than cold stone until demonic creatures called the Riven attack. Gregory senses her terror and wakes from his healing sleep.

After the battle, Lillian learns the humans she thought were her family are a powerful coven of witches at war with the Riven. Lillian is something more than human, a powerful worker of magic, an Avatar to the gods. Gregory has been her protector for many lifetimes, but troubles in their homeland forced him to flee with her to the human world. And it wasn’t an accident which stole her memories—it was Gregory. He suspects Lillian is host to an infant demon, one capable of evil greater than the Riven.

Despite everything, Lillian fears she’s falling in love with her guardian. While she might be able to defeat the Riven with Gregory’s help, she doesn’t know if her fragile new love can survive the evil growing in her own soul.

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In Shadows

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