Archive for the ‘Excerpt’ Category

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Is that cover something or what! So rich in color and so chilling at the same time. Perfect for the story contained inside the pages.

Check out my review. You might have found your next mystery suspense read!

Title: Touching Death
Author: Becky Johnson
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 209
Genre: Mystery/Suspense

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My Review

I’m huge on character driven stories and really enjoy a strong female protagonist. I got that in Touching Death, along with a fun mystery.

Rachel is down but not out for the count. Her rich boyfriend dumped her for some arm candy, and the creep stole her money, even though he’s got plenty of his own. She’s living in a box, a tiny flat, with a mattress on the floor and empty cupboards and fridge. She does have all of those designer clothes though. They come in handy for working as curator at the museum.

The author has a great character in Rachel. She doesn’t whine about her predicament. She’s not vindictive towards her ex, much. And she keeps her financial woes close to the vest. It was sad yet uplifting to meet such a wonderful character. Did I mention her sense of humor? She has plenty of that too.

It’s finally here, the biggest night of Rachel’s life. She set up the main exhibit for the museum and poured her heart and soul into it. Things don’t go as planned at the opening event. She stumbles upon a dead body, and it mysteriously disappears by the time she leads the police to its location.

Now she has a big red target on her back, and not much help forthcoming from the doubtful police. She’s going to have to use her “woowoo” to solve the case, or she might be put on display as: dead girl here.

 Rachel’s touch/know gift, her ability to touch objects and sense things, ramps up the suspense. There are some pretty dark scenes she’s witness to. I think the author gave this book a great title to represent her story.

There’s the potential for some romance too. I like how the author had her character’s become friends, with room for their relationship to develop into something more.

If you like a good paranormal mystery with some suspense and a touch of romance, I “sense” you’ll enjoy Touching Death.

4 Stars

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Synopsis

Rachel Angeletti knows things. She always has. With one touch she sees secrets, emotions, lies. Her gift helps her to be the best museum curator in Chicago. It also makes her personal relationships difficult.
Her life is complicated enough when a run in with her ex and an unanticipated vision sends her reeling. One touch and she sees death. One touch and she is thrown into the midst of killer’s dark fantasy. Now Rachel is in a fight for her life against a killer she knows too little about.
With danger stalking her around every turn Rachel is in a thrilling race against the clock. Can she catch a killer before he catches her?
Touching Death will take you on a riveting, page-turning, journey into the mind of a killer and the heart of a survivor.

For More Information:

  • Touching Death is available at Amazon.
  • Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.

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Book Excerpt

I was eleven the first time I saw someone die.

It was hot. The kind of hot where your shirt sticks to your back and every breath feels thick and heavy. The waistband of my plaid, pleated school uniform was itchy. It was always itchy, but in Chicago in early September with the temperature in the nineties, I could barely stand it.

“Look,” my best friend April gave my arm a sharp and eager tug, “I can’t believe he’s talking to her.”

I looked across the museum where she was pointing. Jonathan Adams. With his dark hair and blue eyes he was the cutest guy in our class. He was talking to Carol, the prettiest girl in our class and our sworn enemy. April had such an intense crush on Jonathan. She had already named their children and when we played the name game she always wanted to get him.

While April plotted revenge on her arch nemesis, I looked across the Ancients room in The Chicago Museum of Anthropology and Archeology to where Billy Masters stood by a glass display case. His hair was unruly and stuck up in odd peaks from his forehead in complete disregard of the rules. His white, button-down shirt hung out over his waistband. Technically, he was wearing the school tie; he just wore it tied around his belt loop, a bright red flag of rebellion. I never wanted to admit it, but when I daydreamed and played the name game, I was always looking for Billy Masters.

Our class slowly moved through the large room. My teacher, Ms. Daniels, stood at the front of our group lecturing on the Egyptian Empire. With her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun, her stockings sagging around her skinny legs, and her soft and squeaky voice the lecture didn’t keep my attention. Her high-pitched voice faded to the background as I gazed at the surrounding exhibits. They were all so beautiful and fascinating. My imagination ran wild with stories and images. I imagined hands cupping a bowl or pulling a comb through a child’s hair. In my mind’s eye a thousand stories and possibilities ran wild.

We walked through the center aisle of a room, clustered with pottery and remnants of houses. I felt the strangest urge, the almost all consuming desire to touch. My fingertips itched. The power of it drew me. The crumbled edges of the pottery bowl almost begged me to touch them. Only a velvet rope and a few feet separated me from that tantalizing edge.

One touch. No one will know.

I didn’t even realize I’d stepped forward until the velvet rope stopped me from going any further. Vaguely, I heard my teacher discussing social structure and family groups, but the pounding of my own heart overpowered all other noise.

Rachel, the past whispered, “come. See. Life and death.”

I reached my hand out and my fingers brushed the edge of the bowl.

Laughter.

Raised voices.

Yelling.

Screams.

Crying.

The images bombarded me — a woman sat in front of a fire pit making dinner for her family. A dispute nearby grabbed her attention. Two men were fighting. The crowd surged and pulsed with the energy of the fight. Screamed words sounded foreign to my ears, but the emotion made perfect sense — fear, anger, uncertainty.

Only the woman with the bowl saw the little boy standing too close to the fighters. Only the woman with the bowl saw the danger. She screamed his name. Her screams went unheard in the din. The crowd moved with the fight, their bodies cutting off her view.

The bowl was clutched tight in her fingers as she struggled forward, pushing people aside. It grew eerily quiet. The crowd slowed, then paused responding to a different energy. Shoulders and heads slumped as they parted before her. The little boy was on the ground. A bloody rock lay near him. She dropped the bowl as she surged forward, screaming.

I awoke on the ground in front the display my face wet and my throat raw with the echo of the screams still ringing in my ears.

~~~~~

Author Becky Johnson

 becky-johnson

Books are Becky Johnson’s passion and always have been. She used to get in trouble in school for reading during class!
Becky has Master’s degrees in social work and history, and for her day job she is a social worker. In her writing she tries to answer a question that is important to both social work and history: Why? She always wants to know why people do the things they do or feel the way they feel.
When not reading or writing she enjoys yoga, photography, cooking, and makes a pretty mean chili!

Her latest book is the mystery/suspense, Touching Death.

For More Information:

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew!

Check out my list of reviews HERE.

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I love my cozies and have some fun ones to share today.

Fun titles and colorful, whimsical covers!

Check them out.

And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!

Murder At The Mansion

A Kelly Jackson Mystery

by Janet Finsilver

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Genre: Cozy Mystery

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Synopsis

Fortunes, fineries, and foul play . . .

It’s whale-watching season in Redwood Cove, and B&B manager Kelly Jackson’s battening down the hatches for the tourist rush at Redwood Heights—a Victorian-style estate owned by her boss. And due to recent jewelry thefts, her duties include keeping track of the many dust-covered artifacts spread throughout the property. But when Kelly finds Sylvia Porter’s lifeless body, menial tasks don’t seem so terrible.

Enlisting the help of a ragtag group of brainy retirees, aka the “Silver Sentinels,” Kelly’s on the hunt for clues hidden behind the mansion’s glamorous façade and for a killer who may want to make history of her next!

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Excerpt

“Welcome, everyone. My name is Lily Wilson, and I’ll be leading the tour today. If you have questions, please don’t hesitate to ask them. There’s a sign-in sheet on the check-in counter. We’ll be starting at one o’clock, which is in five minutes.” She turned in my direction and said, “I’d like to introduce the manager of one of Resorts International properties, Kelly Jackson. She’s in charge of Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast.”

The members of the group smiled an acknowledgment. A short man in a denim shirt and khaki pants raised his hand. Lily smiled at him and asked, “Is there something you’d like to know?”

He pointed to the entrance to the parlor. “What is that shield above the doorway?”

“Redwood Heights was built by Reginald Brandon. That’s the family coat of arms,” Lily said. “There is an official Brandon crest on file. However, Mr. Brandon wanted to design his own to reflect life in the West. On his shield he chose to put the silhouettes of two rearing stallions, symbols of strength. Rifles instead of swords crossed over the top of them—the weapons of that era. Tall redwood trees filled in the area behind them and were the source of his wealth. You can see his motto for loyalty and honor on the banner.”

I enjoyed her explanation. It added another dimension to an object that had just been an interesting piece.

A tall woman with a long brown braid down her back pointed to a picture. “Is this Mr. and Mrs. Brandon?”

“Yes, that picture is of the Brandons,” Lily replied. “The woman in the picture is the second Mrs. Brandon. As with many wealthy families and historic estates, there are questionable stories in their past. Redwood Heights is no different.”

“How so?” asked the woman.

“We don’t have any pictures of the first Mrs. Brandon. She was the belle of glittering New York high society who found herself in remote Redwood Cove. She disappeared not long after arriving. Some say she ran off with a lover. Rumors cropped up that she took a sizeable amount of Brandon’s money, changed her name, and left to enjoy San Francisco’s growing attractions.”

The cadence of Lily’s voice took the story beyond a runaway wife. Her tilted head and arched eyebrow led you down a path of mystery and intrigue. The visitors moved a little closer.

Lily leaned toward them and whispered, “Some say she never left at all.” Her words lingered in the dead silence.

Everyone was still—frozen in that past time. Goose bumps popped up on my arms. Someone coughed, and the spell was broken.

“After a time, Brandon married again. They had no children and, alas, the house went to a distant cousin.”

I’d been mesmerized by the tale. Snapping out of it, I looked around. Sylvia still wasn’t there.

“The tour will meet in the parlor. Restrooms are down the hallway to your right,” Lily instructed the group.

I walked up the carpeted stairs to the second floor, running my hand over the smooth oak railing. It had taken hundreds of polishings to develop the fine patina and rich glow.

Sylvia’s room was the first door at the top of the staircase. I knocked quietly. When there was no response, I knocked harder. She must really be a sound sleeper. I tried the door, but it was locked. I rushed downstairs, retrieved her room key, and glanced at my watch. If Sylvia hurried, she’d still have time to make the start of the tour. Arriving back at her door, I knocked again.

“Mrs. Porter, it’s Kelly. The tour is starting in a couple of minutes.” I got no response, so I unlocked the door and peeked in. Sylvia was sitting in front of her dressing table, her back to me.

I opened the door a little farther. “Mrs. Porter?” I stepped inside the room. In the filtered light from the curtained windows, Sylvia’s image reflected in the mirror. Her eyes were closed, and her head rested on her shoulder. She must have dozed off before making it into bed for a nap.

My attention was drawn to a brooch on the left side of Sylvia’s blouse as I approached her. I hadn’t noticed it before. It was a lovely piece—a large egg-shaped pearl surrounded by a burst of red.

I touched Sylvia’s shoulder. No response.

“Mrs. Porter?” I gently shook her.

Sylvia’s head rolled forward and hung down. Her dangling hair covered the side of her face.

I gasped, and my heart began to pound. I looked more closely at her. The burst of red wasn’t part of a pin—it was blood.

~~~~~

Author Janet Finsilver

Lyrical Cozy murder author

Janet Finsilver and her husband live in the San Francisco Bay Area. She loves animals and has two dogs—Kylie, a Rhodesian ridgeback, and Ellie, a boxer/coonhound mix. Janet enjoys horseback riding, snow skiing, and cooking. She is currently working on her next Redwood Cove mystery.

Website / Kensington Books / Facebook / Twitter

Buy links:

TEA CUPS AND CARNAGE: amazonkindleAppleGoogle, KoboNook
MURDER AT THE MANSION: amazonkindleAppleGoogle, KoboNook

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Tea Cups And Carnage

A Tourist Trap Mystery

by Lynn Cahoon

Lyrical Cozy tea cover

Genre: Cozy Mystery

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Synopsis

The quaint coastal town of South Cove, California, is all abuzz about the opening of a new specialty shop, Tea Hee. But as Coffee, Books, and More owner Jill Gardner is about to find out, there’s nothing cozy about murder . . .

Shop owner Kathi Corbin says she came to South Cove to get away from her estranged family. But is she telling the truth? And did a sinister someone from her past follow her to South Cove? When a woman claiming to be Kathi’s sister starts making waves and a dead body is found in a local motel, Jill must step in to clear Kathi’s name–without getting herself in hot water.

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Excerpt

Limping home, I saw Greg’s truck parked at City Hall. I went in through the side door that took me to the police station. Amy kept going, heading home to shower before returning to her job as city hall receptionist.

Greg stood by Esmeralda’s desk and raised his eyebrows when he saw me. “Rough workout? I’m glad I was too busy to go today.”

“Oh, you’ll get yours. Don’t think demon trainer didn’t notice you were gone.”

“Okay. So why are you here?” He pushed a curl back out of my face. “Too far to walk home after the workout?”

“You’re just mean, you know that right?” I sank into the couch. It did feel amazing just to veg for a second or two. Okay, so Greg could have been right about my real motives for the impromptu visit. “Actually, I wanted to know about your call-out last night. I’m assuming this was a murder and not an old guy dying in his sleep.”

“And you deduced that from?” He watched me closely.

Shrugging, I sank deeper into the cushions. No wonder Greg didn’t mind sleeping in his office every so often. The couch was amazing. “No one blabbed, if you’re thinking of blaming Toby. You didn’t call, and you’re still wearing last night’s clothes.”

He chuckled. “You’re right. I guess I’m more transparent than I thought. We don’t know much about the murder, except the guy checked in a few days ago under a false name. Of course, the motel doesn’t ask for any verification or even a credit card. Cash only out there.”

“So he’s not a local.” For some reason, this made me feel better. Sure, it was sad someone had died, but people died all the time. I just didn’t want it to be one of my friends.

“Not that I can tell. But I think it’s the biker who’s been racing up and down Main Street. He fits the description.” Greg shrugged and grinned. “And, there’s a bike parked outside his room. Yep, I’m a trained investigator, I notice these things.”

“Big guy?” I thought about how the elderly woman had almost been smashed by the rider just a few days ago.

“Nope. He’s tall, maybe six feet, but if he weighs more than a hundred fifty soaking wet I’ll buy you dinner.” Greg groaned as he stood and walked across the room to his desk. He pulled me to standing. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?” Now that I was upright, my stomach growled reminding me I hadn’t eaten all day. I dug into my tote and pulled out a protein bar.

“Trick me into telling you more than I should.” He pointed to the door. “Out of here. I’ve got work to do.”

I took a bite of my protein bar as I walked out. Pausing at the door, I turned back to look at him. He was already typing into some document. “I take it I won’t see you for dinner?”

“Not tonight. But I’ll be over on Sunday at the latest.” He paused. “Are you working the festival that day?”

“Just the morning shift. We’re closing the main store and only running the food truck that day.” I adjusted the strap on my tote, feeling the weight on my screaming shoulder blade. I walked out of the office and wondered how bad the murder had been. Just because it was a stranger that lay in the morgue, didn’t mean someone from South Cove hadn’t been involved or known the guy.

Or why else would he have been here?

~~~~~

Author Lynn Cahoon

Lyrical Cozy tea author

New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Lynn Cahoon is an Idaho expat. She grew up living the small town life she now loves to write about. Currently, she’s living with her husband and two fur babies in a small historic town on the banks of the Mississippi river where her imagination tends to wander. Guidebook to Murder, Book 1 of the Tourist Trap series, won the 2015 Reader’s Crown award for Mystery Fiction. Visit her at www.lynncahoon.com.

Kensington Books / Twitter / Facebook / Website

TEA CUPS AND CARNAGE: amazonkindleAppleGoogle, KoboNook
MURDER AT THE MANSION: amazonkindleAppleGoogle, KoboNook

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Click on the banner below to follow the tour and comment.

The more you comment, the more chances to win!

Goddess Fish Promotions

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky horseshoe below!

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Pork banner

Be honest! Would you buy this book just because of the wicked cover art?! I sure would.

But, never fear, after you read the synopsis and exclusive excerpt, you will want it all the more!

Check out Pork.

And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!

Pork

by R S Anthony

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Genre: Contemporary Suspense Thriller

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Synopsis

High school is torture for Steven Walthurst, and home isn’t a whole lot better. The only place that offers respite is an abandoned tree house at the edge of town. But something lurks in the nearby woods, and the long line of elm trees has a clear message for Steven: keep out.

Then one day, Steven finds a little girl lying unconscious, perilously close to the woods. As the two get to know one another, Steven experiences real friendship for the first time—and gets closer than ever to knowing the darkness that skulks between the trees.

He dedicates himself to keeping his new friend safe, but the tranquility of their fragile hidden world doesn’t last long. When an act of cruelty pushes Steven to his limits, his secrets—and those of the dark woods—come close to unraveling, threatening to destroy the one thing making his teenage life bearable. Can Steven save everything he’s built from crumbling under the pressure?

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Enjoy The Exclusive Excerpt

“Hello, Mrs. Walthurst,” Sandy said when she saw Steven’s momma on the couch. She thought his momma looked a little tired, but Steven knew she was drunk. At least she was fully clothed in a decent nightie and sitting upright instead of half-naked in a drunken stupor.

“Hello,” his momma replied with a pleasant expression. “How are you, child?”

“This is my friend from school. Her name is Sandy,” Steven said.

His momma rose from the couch and walked over to them with a big smile.“Oh, what a beautiful name, Sandy!” His momma’s voice was high. “And what beautiful hair you have. Fiery,” she said, taking Sandy’s braid in her hand. “Tell me, what’s your favorite color?” he heard his momma ask Sandy just before he rushed into the kitchen.

He decided to make peanut butter sandwiches and slapped the pieces of bread together as quickly as possible before stumbling back into the living room. His momma was still talking to an impressed Sandy on the only other chair in the room.

“And then all the noblemen in the city came to visit Princess Atillia before she was taken by the dragon for a hundred years as promised,” Steven’s momma finished a story he’d never heard before.

“Let’s go, Sandy,” he said, desperate to get her out of the house. His momma’s mood could shift any moment now.

“Where are you two going?” His momma turned her attention to Steven.

“We’re going to study in the library,” Steven lied. Sandy stared at him.

“So you’ve been spending all your time with Sandy?”

“No. Sandy’s only joining me for today,” he said, reaching for Sandy’s hand.

“Well, you two should go on, then. Don’t let this old woman jabber on at you.” She smiled at Sandy, and Sandy returned it kindly. “I’ll see you later, son. Sandy, you have to come again another time and I’ll tell you what happened to Princess Atillia.”

“You mean there’s more?”

“Of course there is, dear. She can’t die in the dragon’s dungeon, can she? She’s a princess.” His momma made the grand gesture of a noblewoman and Sandy smiled.

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Author Rosemary Anthony

Pork author

Rosemary Anthony writes suspense fiction with a twist. She has a Bachelor’s degree in Management from the University of Science Malaysia and recently made the jump from writing official documents to writing fiction novels. Blessed with 17 nephews and nieces, she finds the world of young adults to be a thrilling source of inspiration for her books.

Rosemary lives in a small town in Malaysia and travels as often as possible to broaden her cultural horizon. You can find out more about her books, giveaways, and new releases on:

 

Facebook / Instagram / Twitter / Goodreads

Her debut fiction Pork can be found on:

Amazon

NOTE: “Pork” will be free on Amazon June 21-23, 2016

 

What others are saying:

“Stay with this new author. She’s impressive.” – G. Harp

“The plot is elaborate leading to an unexpected twist in the end which I loved. It is a very good read– you won’t be disappointed!” – D. Mantzari

“…makes for an entertaining read, just prepare yourself to have a few WTF moments while enjoying the experience…” – Book Mafia Blog

“The author has a lovely writing style with clear, sparse prose that allows the story to breathe. Bit by bit each character plays a part in unraveling the mystery…” – The Welshbird

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Click on the banner below to follow the tour and comment.

The more you comment, the more chances to win!

Goddess Fish Promotions

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky horseshoe below!

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Nighthawk banner

I have such a wonderful post to share with you today.

Author Jeremy Flagg is here with a fun interview.

I have his science fiction/dystopian book, Nighthawks to show you.

And a thrilling excerpt.

Plus a giveaway. So don’t forget to enter!

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An interview with Jeremy Flagg

Can you describe your dream home?

My dream home would be a cabin in the woods. I grew up in Northern Maine and I have always wanted to go back when I’m ready to retire. I figure I could build a cabin, live a simple life and try very hard to stay off the grid. There’s something romantic about it. I love the idea of seclusion and being able to sit with my thoughts and just pick apart the universe. The only thing I would need is wifi, without that I wouldn’t be able to look up how to plant a garden or watch repeats of House.

If we were to come to your house for a meal, what would you give us to eat?

It would most likely be steak tips on the grill. If I have the time, I love firing it up and marinating some tips for dinner. However, with my writing schedule, I’m noticing more and more often I’ve been eating out again. I need to curb that, I enjoy cooking and it gives me a break from the laptop. It also doesn’t hurt that I look dashing in an apron!

Tell us about the absolute BEST fan letter you have received.

My Suburban Zombie High series is largely inspired by the outlandish students I deal with as a teacher. There are times when I can’t resist talking about with them. Last summer I received a message from one of my students who showed a picture of her reading my book. I was flattered she was reading it and looked forward to what she had to say. She revealed to me she had gotten permission from her English teacher to use it as her optional summer reading. I had to admit I was amused with her exuberance, but I was extremely flattered that she would pick my novel as her optional summer reading. Still to this day, I’m not quite sure how her teacher felt about the whole zombies eating all the teachers in a school. This could be why he avoids me at staff meetings.

If there was a piece of research you could do in person, what would it be?

Part of Children of Nostradamus takes place in a radiation riddled post-apocalyptic Boston. Since I can’t visit that, there are some scenes in the sequel novel I’m working on now that would take me into the abandoned subway tunnels below Boston. Otherwise, the book has parts that happen in a warehouse in New York City and I’d love to see it in person. Right now, I’m making a lot of assumptions based on what I saw on the subway, so it would be awesome to see it up close and let my senses soak it up.

Who designed the book cover for the book you are touring?

This book jacket was designed by the lovely folks over at http://www.derangeddoctordesign.com. I was nervous at first since I work in graphic design and have a fairly high standard of design. Designers are notoriously egotistical, but I was happy to see my fears were quickly set aside. They listened to my notes on the cover from liking grunge, to being inspired by dark horror, and my love of typography. When I saw the preliminary cover I was nervous to give a critique but they were beyond professional. We batted around some ideas and they quickly turned my ideas into a great book cover. I’m very pleased with how they collaborated, definitely somebody I hope to work again with in the future.

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Nighthawks

Children Of Nostradamus #1

by Jeremy Flagg

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Genre: Sci-Fi / Dystopian

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Synopsis

Twenty-six-year-old painter Conthan Cowan takes art to a shocking frontier…

 

His debut exhibit features the transformation of his high school friend, Sarah, as she went from a shy, soft-spoken girl to a Child of Nostradamus—an individual gifted with extraordinary abilities. Living in a society where the Children of Nostradamus are captured by the government, Conthan’s exhibit draws attention from officials and protesters alike.

 

A government psychic may be dead, but that doesn’t stop her from manipulating the future…

 

The deceased White House aide is only remembered for her failed assassination attempt on the president decades before Conthan was born. Foreseeing her own death, she scribed letters to bring together specific Children of Nostradamus on a mission that will change the world.

 

On the night of the gallery exhibition, Conthan receives one of those letters…

 

Whispers from the past direct him to visit Sarah, the subject of his paintings, who like many Children of Nostradamus, is being detained in a government research facility. It’s there he finds himself aligned with a rogue group of Children on a mission to prevent a dark future.

 

As a dark future unfolds, there’s only one hope to stop the destruction of the world…

 

The Children of Nostradamus.

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Excerpt

Conthan Cowan,

As you ponder the situation laid out in front of you, it is clear that things will never be the same. Before you are many decisions, but alas, beyond this point I cannot see nor predict your future.

You are an element that seems to defy the strands of probability. I fear that before you lies a path that will test the fortitude of your soul. I wish I could give you more than a simple direction. I have done everything in my power to see you safe to this point. I wish I could tell you that somewhere on the other side of the darkness will be you, standing triumphant. However, I cannot. For that, I am sorry. What I can do is start you on your hero’s journey.

Go to Sarah.

With Regards,

Eleanor P. Valentine

~~~~~

Author Jeremy Flagg

Nighthawks author

I’m high school graphic design and marketing teacher, at a large suburban high school in Massachusetts. Working as a high school educator and observing the outlandish world of adolescence was the inspiration for my first young adult novel, “Suburban Zombie High.”

My inspiration for writing stems from being a youth who struggled with reading in school. While I found school assigned novels incredibly difficult to digest, I devoured comics and later fantasy novels. Their influences can be seen in the tall tales I spin.

I took the long route to becoming a writer. For a brief time, I majored in Creative Writing but exchanged one passion for another as I switched to  Art and Design. My passion for reading about superheroes, fantastical worlds, and panic-stricken situations would become the foundation of my writing career.

I participated in my first NaNoWriMo in 2006 and continue to write an entire novel every November. Now I am the NaNoWriMo Municipal Liaison to the Massachusetts Metrowest Region. I also belong the New England Horror Writer’s Association and to a weekly writing group, the Metrowest Writers.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / LinkedIn / Instagram

Amazon / B&N

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

~~~~~

Click on the banner below to follow the tour and comment.

The more you comment, the more chances to win!

Goddess Fish Promotions

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky horseshoe below!

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Sister Dear banner

A Domestic Suspense To Die For! Well, if that doesn’t grab you, I’m sure the excerpt will.

Come on in and check out Sister Dear by Laura McNeill.

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Title: Sister Dear
Author: Laura McNeill
Publisher: HarperCollins/Thomas Nelson
Pages: 336
Genre: Domestic Suspense

Sister Dear cover

Synopsis

All Allie Marshall wants is a fresh start. But when dark secrets refuse to stay buried, will her chance at a new life be shattered forever?

Convicted of a crime she didn’t commit, Allie watched a decade of her life vanish. Now, out on parole, Allie is determined to clear her name and reconnect with the daughter she barely knows.

But Allie’s return to Brunswick, Georgia, sends earthquakes through the small, coastal community. Even her daughter Caroline, now a teenager, challenges Allie’s claims of innocence.

Refusing defeat, a stronger, smarter Allie launches a campaign for the truth, digging deep into the past. Her investigation threatens her parole status, her own safety, and the already-fragile bond with her family. What Allie uncovers is far worse than she imagined. Her own sister has been hiding a dark secret—one that holds the key to Allie’s freedom.

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Book Excerpt:

In her final minutes as an inmate at Arrendale State Prison, Allie Marshall’s body pulsed with tension. Eyes averted, managing any movements with robotic precision, she remained on guard.

Only moments to go.

A sliver of time. Not even a quarter hour. An unremarkable measurement, when held up against the billion other moments in any person’s natural life. But after a decade inside, those last twelve minutes seemed the longest span in all of eternity.

To her right, rows of monitors blinked and recorded everything across the sprawling campus in Habersham County. Though the angles differed, the subject never changed: women in identical tan-collared shirts and shapeless pants. Inmates on work detail, in the cafeteria, in dormitories.

A corrections officer sat nearby, her pale-blue eyes scanning the screens. To this worker, to all of them, Allie was GDC ID, followed by ten numbers. Nothing more. Inside the thick metal bars, Allie’s life was suspended, a delicate fossil in amber.

Until now. Ten more minutes.

Her reflection stared back, unblinking, in the shatterproof glass window near the door. Green eyes flecked with gold, dark-blonde hair tucked in a loose ponytail, barely visible brackets at the corners of her lips.

Maybe, Allie thought, she’d forgotten how to smile and laugh. Happiness seemed unreachable, as if the feeling itself existed on the summit of an ice-tipped mountain shrouded by storm clouds. Indeed, the rush of pure, unadulterated joy belonged only to those with freedom. Allie’s memories of it—her daughter’s birth, Caroline’s first smile, first steps—were fleeting and distant.

Instead, the perpetual motion of prison, the waking, sleeping, and sameness, all blended together, like a silent black-and-white movie on a continuous loop.

Until the news of her parole.

At first, the concept of liberty seemed impossible—a hand trying to catch and hold vapor. The judge had sentenced Allie to sixteen years, and she fully anticipated serving each and every one of them. She didn’t believe she’d be granted an early release—she couldn’t—until she stepped beyond the walls and barbed wire and chain-link fence, barriers that kept her from everyone and everything she’d ever loved.

Allie focused on breathing, stretching her lungs, exhaling to slow her pulse. Her own belongings, a decade old, lay nearby. Keys that wouldn’t open doors. A watch with a dead battery. A light khaki jacket with a photo of then five-year-old Caroline tucked in the pocket, one pair of broken-in Levis, and a white cotton shirt. Gingerly, with her fingertips, she reached for the clothing, then gripped the bundle tight to her chest.

A second guard motioned for Allie to change quickly in a holding room. With the door shut, she pulled the shapeless prison garb over her head and picked up the shirt. The material, cool and light, brushed against her skin like gauze. Allie shivered.

For ten years, all she’d known was the rasp of her standard-issue navy jacket, the scrape of her worn white tennis shoes along the sidewalk.

Back in Brunswick, Allie had filled her closet with easy summer shifts and crisp linen pants. Now her body was different too—the soft curves had dissolved, leaving lean muscle behind. The jeans hung loosely around her waist and hips. The top billowed out in waves from her shoulders.

Nothing would fit, she reminded herself. Not much in her past life would.

And that was all right.

When she walked out of Lee Arrendale State Prison, home to thousands of female inmates, Allie didn’t want reminders. No indigo tattoo inked down her back or neck. No numbers or symbols etched into her arms or fingers. The only external validation of time served was a faint scar that traced her eyebrow.

The real proof of her internment lay underneath it all. Below the seashell white of Allie’s skin, hidden in blood, tendons, and muscle, the experience indelibly marked on her soul. An imprint made by incident, mistake, and tragedy.

Evidence, and lack of it.

“I’m innocent,” she’d insisted to everyone who would listen. Her lawyers fought hard, rallied a few times, but in the end, the jury convicted her. Voluntary manslaughter.

A year later, Allie’s appeal failed. Then money ran out. Her father turned his attention back to his veterinary practice after his cardiologist warned the stress of another trial might kill him. Her mother did her best to minimize worry while Emma, her tempestuous and fun-loving sister, assumed the role of doting aunt and guardian to Caroline.

And there was Ben. Sweet, thoughtful Ben. The man who’d wanted to marry her, who said he would love her always. Even after her arrest, he’d promised to wait for her if the worst happened. Allie couldn’t live with herself if he’d sacrificed everything—his rising political career, his reputation, and his life for a decade or more. She’d broken it off, knowing it would wound him terribly. When he’d finally left, when she saw him for the last time, it was as if the very core of her being had been torn away, leaving a vast, gaping emptiness she couldn’t fill, despite how hard she tried. Allie closed her eyes. She’s convinced herself it was the logical thing, what made sense. She had done her best to forget him. It hadn’t worked in the least.

The days and months blurred. Entire seasons dissolved, shapeless and gray, like the ink of fine calligraphy smeared by the rain.

The squawk of the prison intercom barely registered in Allie’s brain. Sharp insults and threats were routine, eruptions of violence expected. Even along the brown scrub grass and wooden benches of the prison yard, there was no escape. Allie always tried to disappear—pressing her body close to the concrete walls, becoming a chameleon against the barren landscape.

The women in Arrendale weren’t afraid of punishment; most had nothing left. Some bonded with other inmates for favors; others paid for protection with cigarettes, food, and stamps. For those prisoners who had lost everything; inmates with little hope of parole, life was almost unthinkable.

Clutching her hands in her lap to keep from shaking, Allie watched as a woman collapsed in the cafeteria, stabbed in the jugular with a plastic fork. The next week, a fellow inmate in her dormitory was choked to death, purple fingerprints visible on the woman’s throat when the guards discovered her body. Allie was haunted with grief for weeks after a young girl, only four years older than Caroline, tried to hang herself with a scrap of fabric.

Despite it all, despite the desperation that seemed to permeate the very air she breathed, Allie had survived.

In another few minutes, her younger sister, Emma, would arrive, as bus service didn’t run from Alto to Brunswick. Tomorrow she’d meet her parole officer at noon. And like every parolee, she would receive a check, courtesy of the Georgia Department of Corrections, enough to buy shampoo, a bar of soap, and a comb for her hair.

Allie blinked up at the clock, almost afraid the time might start going backward. She forced her eyes away, squeezed them shut. If she tried hard enough, her mind formed a picture of her grown daughter’s face. In her daydreams, she’d imagined their reunion a million times, rehearsed every possible scenario. She worried about the right words to say, how to act, and whether it was all right to cry. The enormity of it was impossible to contain, like holding back the ocean with a single fingertip.

All that mattered now was seeing Caroline.

The buzzer sounded long and loud; its vibration shook the floor. The burly guard sighed and lumbered to her boot-clad feet. She stood inches from Allie’s shoulder, her breath hot and rank from a half-eaten roast beef sandwich.

Locks clicked and keys rattled. The barrier, with its heavy bars, groaned under its own weight. An inch at a time, the metal gate heaved open. Soon, there would be nothing but empty space standing between Allie and the rest of the world.

She felt a nudge.

In that moment, Allie heard four words, precious and sweet.

“You’re free to go.”

~~~~~

Author Laura McNeil

Laura McNeil

Laura McNeil is a writer, mom, travel enthusiast, and coffee drinker. In her former life, she was a television news anchor for CBS News affiliates in New York and Alabama. Laura holds a master’s degree in journalism from The Ohio State University and is completing a Ph.D. in Instructional Leadership at the University of Alabama. When she’s not writing and doing homework, she enjoys running, yoga, and spending time at the beach. She lives in Northern Alabama with her family.

Her latest book is the domestic suspense, Sister Dear.

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Witch of the Cards Banner TOUR 851 x 315

Witch of the Cards

by Catherine Stine

29416179

 

Genre: paranormal historical suspense

Publisher: Konjur Road Press

Date of Publication: March 16, 2016

ISBN 13: 978-0-9848282-6-5

ISBN-10: 0-9848282-6-5

ISBN 13: 978-0-9848282-7-2

ISBN 10: 0-9848282-7-3

Number of pages: 265

Word Count: 76K

Cover Artist: Mae I Designs

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Book Description:

 

Fiera was born a sea witch with no inkling of her power. And now it might be too late.

Witch of the Cards is historical, supernatural romantic suspense set in 1932 on the Jersey shore. Twenty-two year-old Fiera has recently left the Brooklyn orphanage where she was raised, and works in Manhattan as a nanny. She gets a lucky break when her boss pays for her short vacation in Asbury Park. One evening, Fiera and her new friend Dulcie wander down the boardwalk and into Peter Dune’s Tarot & Séance, where they attend a card reading.

Fiera has always had an unsettling ability to know things before they happen and sense people’s hidden agendas. She longs to either find out the origin of her powers or else banish them because as is, they make her feel crazy. When, during the reading, her energies somehow bond with Peter Dune’s and form an undeniable ethereal force, a chain of revelations and dangerous events begin to unspool. For one, Fiera finds out she is a witch from a powerful sea clan, but that someone is out to stop her blossoming power forever. And though she is falling in love with Peter, he also has a secret side. He’s no card reader, but a private detective working to expose mediums. Despite this terrible betrayal, Fiera must make the choice to save Peter from a tragic Morro Cruise boat fire, or let him perish with his fellow investigators. Told in alternating viewpoints, we hear Fiera and Peter each struggle against their deep attraction. Secrets, lies, even murder, lace this dark fantasy.

Witch of the Cards teaser 3

 

Enjoy the Excerpt

The absinthe put me in a dreamy state. Added to the mix was the sensual comfort of sitting next to Peter, who served as a buffer between Alyse and me.

Somewhere in the room, a chorus of faint voices floated around, high and sweet. Or was the sound merely in my head? How could it be? Peter asked me a question, but it took three repetitions for me to understand him over the low-slung jazz notes infused with the chorus of invisible soprano cherubs singing at me.

“Have you always had a talent for the unseen?” I heard him ask.

“Whatever do you mean? It was you who saw things that weren’t there.” I had to right myself because I found myself swooning so much I nearly fell into Peter’s lap.

“But it was you who eked it out of me.”

“Little old me?” I giggled.

“Yes, you,” Alyse agreed. “I was there, too. You have some strange talent. Can you describe how it works? You must be aware of it.”

Everything was turning light and frothy like a magical cake icing. The barkeep was chatting up the fellows at his counter, the card players exhaled in cheery gusts of laughter, and the waitresses flounced around like so many sunny meadow flowers. I didn’t see the harm. “I do sense things. Always have.”

“What kind of things?” Peter and Alyse asked in tandem. Their unexpected accord matched the soprano voices singing harmoniously in and around my head.

I giggled again. “Do you hear them?”

“Hear what?” Peter looked around, spooked.

“Children, little voices.”

Alyse’s brows creased. “What are they saying?”

“They’re singing.” But the entire mood of the room had changed in an instant. Their radiant energy soured. The children of the ether weren’t singing any more. They were starting to weep, over something very sad.

Over me.

How did I know this? No idea. A hard frost shot through my bones. I took a big gulp of the absinthe. Perhaps it would block out the voices, the wailing of innocents.

“What is it?” Peter took my hand. His concerned touch cut through the horrible, chilling ache and melted me. “What’s the matter, Fiera?” His face paled, and right then, I knew he heard them too. “They’re crying, aren’t they?” he whispered in my ear, tickling my soft lobe. “Crying over you.”

“Yes.” I leaned on him, letting the voices cry for me.

We hugged and I swear I felt his sudden, hot tears melt through the shoulder fabric of my dress. It was infinitely sad, infinitely tender.

The invisible cherubs whirring inside my head took translucent form and slipped out of me. They soared around the room like hardscrabble angels, flitting past Dulcie as she danced; sliding, their soft baby feet gliding over the long bar counter, and right through the man with the hookah. He glanced up for a moment as if he, too, felt the supernatural breeze. Then he bowed his head back down and took a pensive draw on his smoking device. Eyes closed, I saw green paisleys and floating leaves, the rushing of a cold stream bubbling under me, which filled me with terror. I came to with a gasp.

“What is it?” Alyse asked. How could I tell her of this suffering, shot through with spectacular floating objects, and my strange, sudden affinity with Mr. Dune?

“I see children weeping,” I admitted. “They’ve been hurt.”

“How?” Her voice grew anxious.

I silently asked them. “They’re babies. They can’t say.”

When I looked over at Peter, it was obvious he was in the same deep trance he’d been in when we first met. His eyes were glazed as if whatever he was experiencing was far from this basement speakeasy. “What is it? What do you see?” I whispered.

“They’re fading. They’re dying. They’re being—”

“Snap out of it, Mr. Dune.” Alyse gave him a stern shaking. “You’ve had too much absinthe.”

 “It’s not that!” I insisted.

“Then tell me what it is, Fiera,” she said.

“It’s a vision. Of something real from long ago.”

“How long ago?”

“As long ago as there is a long ago.” I sounded ridiculous. Alyse Bone was right. The absinthe was crazy making. Or was it the taffy? I leaned into Peter’s limp shoulder, reached over and shook him, too, but with more patience than Alyse had.

His eyes fluttered open, and he gazed at me with that same calm as when he awoke after the séance. As before, his expression was clear of emotion, blissfully unaware of what he’d whispered to me minutes ago.

“Well, there you are,” he slurred. “You look positively ravishing. Dance?”

“Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” I bumbled to my feet.

“You two really drank the coffin varnish.” Alyse gave an unbecoming snort as she rose and drifted away.

Perhaps I was too far-gone, but I didn’t care. Peter and I danced and danced. The speakeasy filled with the overflow from the convention hall dance—young lovers, bootleggers with wide ties and cigars, older women with twinkling earrings and heavy bosoms, even a prostitute or two. They wore too much rouge and sat brazenly up at the bar with the gin rummies.

This time, I couldn’t say whether I stepped on Mr. Dune’s polished wingtips. He probably couldn’t be sure if he knocked his bony legs into mine. We had more nips of absinthe, and I wolfed down another green-swirl taffy. Before I knew it, I was leaning provocatively against Peter and laughing like a wild banshee.

I remember gaping up at him to see his black hair all disheveled and him indistinctly mumbling. And thinking that he was the most gorgeous human being I’d ever seen. I remember Peter and I howling at the crescent moon over the ocean, and the shocked sideways glance of the hotel proprietor as we stumbled in.

I recall pulling out the Tarot, and laying them out on my rug. I recall babbling at him—about a witch and a swindler and a boat. I can still picture his expression of shocked surprise.

And I remember Peter’s lips branding my forehead—how could I ever forget that—while shocks of his lush black hair dangled deliciously on my burning cheeks. The last thing I recall before things went dark was kicking off my shoes.

 

About Author Catherine Stine:

Catherine Stine

 

Catherine Stine’s novels span the range from futuristic to supernatural to contemporary. Her YA sci-fi thrillers Fireseed One and Ruby’s Fire are Amazon bestsellers and indie award winners. Her YA, Dorianna won Best Horror Book in the Kindle Hub Awards. Heart in a Box, her contemporary YA was an Amazon Hot New Release in Teen and Alternative Family for over eight weeks. She also writes romance as Kitsy Clare. Her Art of Love series includes Model Position and Private Internship. Book three, Girl and the Gamer, launches this summer. She suspects her love of dark fantasy came from her father reading Edgar Allen Poe to her as a child, and her love of contemporary fiction comes from being a jubilant realist. To unwind she loves to watch “bad” reality TV and travel to offbeat places.

 

Website / Newsletter / Blog

Pinterest / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter

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Tour giveaway

One $40 gift card, two hand-painted heart-boxes (by Catherine) with secret treasure inside, one signed paperback of Dorianna by Catherine Stine, one signed paperback of Witch of the Cards by Catherine Stine, one brand new collector Tarot deck along with an envelope full of special swag!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Has she already fallen prey to the vicious stranger hunting her?

 

Publication Date: Jan 26, 2016
Genre: Psychological Thriller/Crime Fiction

Life turns from barely tolerable to complete hell when Maddy Eastin’s impulsive plan to win back the attention of her absentee father backfires. Word of her scheme spreads through her high school, but when mockery escalates to cyberbullying, Maddy and her failed stunt become headline news. But the worst is yet to come…

A disturbed man is fighting the overwhelming urge to surrender to his true nature—a moral code molded by a sadistic father who taught him that a girl needs proper training to become the perfect subservient woman. As he watches Maddy on the evening news, his already fractured psyche completely splinters. She’s the girl he’s been waiting for.

When Maddy disappears, she’s labeled a runaway even though her mother believes it was foul play. Will the two detectives investigating Maddy’s disappearance find her before it’s too late? Or has she already fallen prey to the vicious stranger hunting her?

This psychological thriller unfolds through the viewpoints of five deeply flawed characters. Each is on their own emotionally charged journey that ultimately intersects in a collision course of devastating consequences.

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Enjoy this Excerpt

Lily unlocked the craft store’s two front doors, then stood aside to allow a couple of impatient women to enter.

Gotta get your early morning scrapbooking fix, don’t you, ladies?

She forced the biting retort to stay firmly in her mind. Outwardly, she smiled, greeting the women, who were already racing down the center aisle.

When did I become so bitter?

Lily had always thought of herself as a pleasant person, the type to consider another person’s feelings over her own. She believed she was the sort of friend others wanted in their corner. One who would roll up her sleeves and jump in during the tough times. So how was it that she could deal with other people’s problems so well, yet completely fall apart during the rough patches in her own life?

It seemed to her that having single-mom status thrust upon her had been the tipping point. She didn’t know how other women did it. There was no time to grieve over a spouse walking out when every waking moment was either spent trying to earn enough income to keep their whole house of cards from crashing down or being an emotional cheerleader for Maddy in order to get her through.

When Tom had still been part of the family, at least there had been someone else to pass the baton to once in a while. He may have travelled a lot with his job, but whenever he was home, he and Maddy were always together. Those were the times Lily could take a break. Take time for herself, to recharge and in turn have something to offer back to her family. Lily had been running on empty for so long now, she had nothing left to give.

At least I don’t have to listen to someone constantly belittle me anymore.

She was glad for that, but still felt sad when she thought about no longer having a man in her life who loved her. She didn’t know which was worse—Tom’s stinging verbal attacks or being alone.

            What would happen if I just sat in the middle of this store and refused to move?

Lily cracked a smile as she pictured herself plopping down on the floor in full tantrum mode.

Maddy got to do it, why can’t I?

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Kelly Miller grew up shivering in Illinois but now enjoys the year-round sunshine in Tampa, FL. Her debut novel, “Dead Like Me,” won second place in the best mystery category of the 2011 FWA Royal Palm Literary Awards competition. It was also named a semi-finalist in the mystery category of The Kindle Book Review’s 2013 Best Indie Books Awards competition. The Detective Kate Springer series continues with the second book, “Deadly Fantasies.” In Kelly’s newest book, “Splintered” which is a 2015 Kindle Scout winner, she introduces her readers to a whole new cast of characters. Visit www.kellymillerauthor.com to get a glimpse into the inner workings of her writing life.

 

 

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What did you think of that excerpt? Sound like something you’d enjoy?

I love psychological thrillers. Getting into peoples minds. Reading about what makes them tick.

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It’s a thrill to be hosting Janelle Jalbert’s WINGDOG: Soul Pup, A Magical Mutt Memoir Cover Reveal Today!

Such a sweet cover. Sroll down to learn more!

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About the Book:

Wingdog 2

Title: WINGDOG: SOUL PUP, A MAGICAL MUTT MEMOIR
Author: Janelle Jalbert
Publisher: Synchron8 Publishing
Pages: 359
Genre: Memoir

It’s love at first sight…for both of them. An abandoned yet tenacious pup with one blue eye and one brown eye beats the odds and is enlisted as one woman’s WINGDOG. It’s a role he takes seriously, but he knows that his human needs more than just another set of eyes and ears. He must show her how to laugh and how to love again. His loyalty knows no bounds, and he takes his duties seriously riding shotgun as the pair travel life’s highway.

A dog may be man’s best friend, but the truth is…A WINGDOG is truly a woman’s gift.
For readers who enjoy contemporary canine classics such as MARLEY & ME, THE ART OF RACING IN THE RAIN, and A DOG’S PURPOSE, Janelle Jalbert’s ‘Magical Mutt Memoir’ combines the best of these storytelling traditions. Told as a memoir – adhering to how events unfolded – one woman seeks establish a new life after moving across the country from California to North Carolina.

Her chance at a new normal arrives in the form of Goose, a pup that melts not only her heart but also the hearts of everyone that he meets. As they travel coast-to-coast and places in between, the bond that the two share proves that love and loyalty can transcend even the greatest of obstacles.

WINGDOG: SOUL PUP is a heart-warming, emotional – and oftentimes comical – tale of how one pup becomes the consummate WINGDOG only to transform into the ultimate Soul Pup.

For More Information

  • WINGDOG: Soul Pup, A Magical Mutt Memoir is available at Amazon.

Book Excerpt:

First Date

Yes, I slept with him on our first date. It felt so good to have his warm body against mine. He was gorgeous and sweet as slumber set in, and I couldn’t help but curl up closer. We were already doing our own version of spooning, just hours after meeting. Everything was once again right with the world thanks to his warmth by my side. It was a case of love at first sight that grew deeper in the darkness of the bedroom around us.

I couldn’t help but run my fingers through his fur as his brindled coat rose and fell with deep, sleep-filled breathing. His fur was the perfect texture, not too course but without fluff. The hairs behind his bouncy ears were already my favorite, so silky fine. He sighed as I continued rubbing up and down his side before once more scratching behind his ear. With the ear rubs, he pushed closer into me. His sixteen pound body firmly tucked at my hip.
Ah, I’m home.

I wasn’t sure if it was my thought because it could have easily come from the pup at my side. For the first time in weeks, I began to doze off, peaceful and content. The neighbor problems that plagued my previous weeks faded away with his comforting presence.

Sometimes it does all work out. Bad things can lead to great opportunities.

The stress of moving from California to North Carolina evaporated. The distress that plagued me eased. It was what I’d been craving: a chance to forget and to enjoy life again. It was what my soul needed. I sighed and let go. All was good, at last.

* * *

The day started like most of late when I got sidetracked by my inbox after clicking on the message. A small, brown puppy snuggled face-to-face with a tabby kitten appeared. The expression in the picture wasn’t curiosity. It was more like a big brother protecting a younger sibling. The other picture was of the same puppy looking up at the camera. His brown ears were as big as his head. The look in his eyes was that of questioning intelligence, and only the slightest hint of his blue left eye opposite the brown one showed. He seemed to know it was not simply a picture being taken.

It took less than thirty seconds. I was in love.

Immediately, I hit reply. He’s adorable. I’d love to meet him!

With that, a flurry of emails was exchanged. I rushed out into the silvery, fall day, filled with clouds. I stopped at the ATM before getting on the highway for the trip down to Rock Hill from Charlotte. It felt odd to pull money out to buy a dog. Granted, I rescued pups before, but this felt different. Then, it hit me. There’s something not all together right about exchanging money for a living creature’s spirit, and that thought caught me off guard.
“What’s that all about?” I muttered as I turned down the onramp to Highway 85, heading south. I shook off the feeling with the thought that it helped pay for his care rather than buying him per say.

As I made the transition to the 77 near uptown Charlotte, I started thinking of names for the pup. Angie named him ‘Ace of Spades’ or Ace for ease, but that wasn’t right. I knew that instantly. My dogs have always named themselves. He’ll let me know. I thought, but still names flitted through my mind.

What do I want from all this? That made me laugh. It’s a dog adoption, not a marriage. The truth was already apparent. This was going to be bigger than a simple custody transfer. The anxiety over recent events with neighbors at my apartment complex threatened to rear up again. I needed someone…something…to help watch my back. I wanted a right-hand man…a wingman…or, in this case, a ‘wingdog’.

That’s it! Goose. Like the wingman in Top Gun, he’d be my extra pair of eyes and ears. I loved it immediately and settled on it before remembering that the dog does the choosing.

“Okay, just keep it in mind,” I mumbled as I got off the highway and made a convoluted trip to the apartment. I texted Angie from the parking lot because I couldn’t make sense of the numbers in the complex, so she agreed to bring him down to meet me. I waited in the car for a few minutes, laughing at myself for having a bit of ‘first date’ jitters about meeting a puppy.

They seemed to appear out of nowhere and stopped at the end of the walkway.

I got out, and as soon as I cleared the bumper, he spotted me. It was magic – a connection in an instant – as he leapt towards me despite his leash. His eyes lit up like I’m sure mine did. With a big smile and open arms, I walked up to him at Angie’s side and said hello. He barely reached my kneecap, but his eyes were wide and bright. I dropped to my knee. Given my earlier thoughts about marriage, I chuckled and shook my head to clear the whole proposal analogy from my head. He nuzzled into me immediately and toppled me onto my rear.
Who are YOU? I haven’t seen you before. He did a once over with his nose. Yep, you smell nice. You’re a good one. How ya doin’?

I smiled ear to ear as I situated myself, sitting cross-legged so the little guy could sniff away at will. If that isn’t an enthusiastic yes, I don’t know what is. My heart swelled as his furry little body shivered with excitement. His wild tail matched the leaping in my chest. I looked into his wide, trusting eyes: one brown, the other blue. It was a match. You choose me too! I thought as I wrapped my arms around the brindled bundle showering me in warm wet pup kisses.

“We found him on the highway. He was in bad shape, but we nursed him back to health. He’s been dewormed too.”

He sat listening to the conversation like he would chime in at any time, sneaking glances at me as Angie debriefed me about his circumstances.

How could someone be so evil to such an adorable boy?

“Several people have come to look at him, but the brindle coloring gives the impression of a pit bull.” Angie sighed. “He’s incredibly friendly, but the people who’ve come to see him have scared him as well as my husband and me. It’s like he knows they’re not right. My husband and I figured they were looking for fighting dogs, or even bait dogs, when they start asking about his bloodlines.”

A chill traveled down my spine at the thought of people looking to sacrifice a loving creature for a blood sport.

Angie continued, “That’s why we’ve been saying that he’s a Jack Russell mix. We’re not sure though, and we can’t keep him anyway.” Angie went on to explain about their impending move as Goose scanned the yard of the apartment complex.

Hold on. His name isn’t Goose yet. I thought as my mind and heart made the leap. He gets a vote. Remember?
to chit-chat about, I opened the passenger’s side door and cradled him in my arms. His warmth traveled to my core as the soft bundle of brown, black and white fur rested close to my heart. A sigh escaped as I held him to my chest before placing him on the seat.

Shotgun! He perked up and sniffed the interior, which was already filling with the smell of kibble.

His investigation stopped abruptly and he stared at Angie and me. He knew something was different. This wasn’t a casual, meet-someone-on-a-walk encounter anymore. It was a strange new car. He looked at Angie. Thank you. I’m happy. She’s a good one.

Angie sighed.“Bye, Ace. You’re a good boy.”

He seemed to smile as he stretched, puffing out his puppy chest. Then he got distracted by the straw to my iced coffee. He was at ease, and inside of two hours, I became a pup mom. Life wasn’t going to be the same again.

About the Author

Janelle Jalbert

Janelle Jalbert had two light bulb moments at the age of 10. One involved teaching. She began teaching her stuffed animals daily lessons after school. The other was the result of an obsession with reading. Just like her dad, Janelle loved to plow through books like any child racing to the presents under a tree on Christmas morning. Her favorite YA series featured a main character that aspired to be a writer, and Janelle exclaimed “I wanna do that!”

Flash forward to a decade or so later, Janelle pursued her love of teaching, but her passion for writing remained a glowing ember. It took a car accident to get Janelle writing once again. She wrote and published Success Skills for Middle and High School Students (2001) to help her students with their major educational transitions. Not one to do the same old thing as everyone else, Janelle had a hint of things to come when she was looking for a “different” topic to focus on for her master’s thesis. She was drawn to Magical Realism. Years later, she blended her love for helping others and creative entrepreneurialism with her writing and contributed a chapter to
Conscious Entrepreneurs (2008). It was another hint of what was to come for Janelle with the theme for her segment in the anthology being a call to take charge of your life by becoming the star of your life by step into your own spotlight.

It sounds simple enough, but Janelle’s journey towards fulfilling her early dream was not that straight-forward…for either better or worse. After transitioning from the traditional classroom to online teaching and moving from K12 to university teaching, Janelle decided to pursue a doctoral program. While juggling teaching, studies, and growing a college admissions counseling business, Janelle had another light bulb moment during a trip to a NASCAR race weekend in Fontana.

Janelle and her sister were always around cars and loved racing. One of their rituals was making the trek to racing events in Southern California. That morning in the spring of 2009, Janelle watched people walking in and out of the garage as practice sessions were going. Again, she heard the voice “I wanna do that!” Given that she was teaching English and doing studies in education, it was a fleeting moment that she quickly forgot.

Three months later, after covering graduate schools in the Los Angeles area for examiner.com, Janelle got a wild idea. She asked her editor in education for the sports editor’s contact information and pitched him the role of Southern California Motorsports Examiner. Not only did she land the position, she was also named NASCAR Truck Series Examiner. By the time that NASCAR returned to Fontana that fall, Janelle was working the garage as a reporter and photographer. In fact, it wasn’t until she was halfway through her first morning there that she remembered what happened during the spring race. It was a little bit of magic, a touch of nerve, and some talent that had Janelle smiling that October day. Janelle went on to travel the country covering motorsports, including moving to North Carolina for an extended period, while still teaching and pursuing graduate work.

The unlikely fairytale story did not an easy happily-ever-after ending though. As her fortieth birthday approached, the rumblings of a major life change began. Even though Janelle loved teaching, she realized that education was not where she needed to be. Then the universe reaffirmed her belief when her teaching position was phased out. Though Janelle was already growing a small business startup, she struggled to find her footing.

Months later, Janelle walked out of a local restaurant and was hit with a story idea that grabbed her. She hadn’t worked on fiction since she was a teen, but the story kept screaming to her. Another voice gave her pause though. “You need to do it in 30 days.” It seemed illogical and even melodramatic. (No, it wasn’t a NANOWRIMO challenge
either.) Still, she began drafting. It flowed, even if it wasn’t in linear fashion, and Janelle felt the fire back in her life.

Then, Janelle learned why there was a 30-day warning. She was about 90% done with the draft when her father went to the hospital. He was diagnosed with a brain tumor and had surgery days later. Though he pulled through the procedure, doctors explained that he had multiple advanced cancers. In the weeks that followed, Janelle finished the draft while her dad battled cancer. He was too ill to read it and passed on New Year’s night. The person who gave Janelle the love of the written word was gone, but life was to take a few more turns.

By spring, Janelle pursued writing in all types of formats, from copywriting and ghostwriting to other genres, to pay the bills. In March, she submitted to Flash Fiction Magazine and was published on the first attempt. A month later, she took another leap and pitched a book to another publisher. The topic was rejected, but they asked if she had any expertise in the other areas that they were seeking. By the end of the week, Janelle had a book contract to write Wine for Beginners. While drafting that book, Janelle also asked to contribute on a regular basis to Flash Fiction Magazine which led her to develop a collection of stories.

Within months, Janelle finished the draft of Wine for Beginners. After finalizing the submission, she poured a glass of bubbly and went to celebrate with her mother and sister. The elation did an immediate 180. Instead of toasting for a much needed celebration, she was helping her sister prepare to go to the emergency room. Less than 12 hours after pouring the glass of bubbly, Janelle’s sister lost her fight with complication from a life-long disability.

So, Janelle’s still working on that happily-ever-after ending. In November 2014, Janelle publishing a collection of flash fiction title Flash 40: Life’s Moments. Wine for Beginners was released in 2015, and the novel, Triangulating Bliss, which rekindled Janelle’s writing passion is due for release in the Fall of 2015.

Janelle currently resides in Southern California, with her pack of pups. When the dogs allow, Janelle regularly returns to her second home of sorts in North Carolina. Her interests are diverse and keep life interesting by giving her experiences that make great stories. More than likely, you can find Janelle enjoying a good wine with friends, feeding her wanderlust beast, or giving into her guilty pleasure of a HEA story in film or written form.
Her latest book is the memoir, WINGDOG: Soul Pup, A Magical Mutt Memoir.

For More Information

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From The Ashes Of Ruin Series

by Matthew D. Ryan

FromTheAshesOfRuin Drasmyr  FromTheAshesOfRuin children lubrocious  FromTheAshesOfRuin Sceptre

Genre: Fantasy

Synopsis

We vampires do not make easy prey. Our weaknesses are few, our strengths many. Fear is something we do not know, and death but a distant memory. So tread softly, pray to your god, and gird yourself with silver when the moons arise and night’s dark prince awakens. We fear not the wizard, nor the warrior, neither rogue, nor priest; our strength is timeless, drawn from darkness and we know no master save the hot lust of our unending hunger. We long for blood, your blood and no blade, nor spell, nor clever artifice, can keep us long from our prize. Feel our teeth at your throat, your life ebb from you, and know as darkness comes to claim you that the price of your folly is your everlasting soul.

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Enjoy this excerpt from Drasmyr

There’s a woman in chain mail standing across the room from me; her sword is leveled at my chest. I can smell the enchantment on the blade, it’s a strong one; maybe even strong enough to cause me harm. Still, I’m not too concerned; it’s at least a ten foot lunge and I know I move faster than she does. Indeed, she’s the one who is looking worried. My display of strength and the death of her comrade have shaken her resolve.

She’s got a pretty face, flushed with excitement but strong and in control. It is her neck that really draws me, though, so soft and inviting, filled with the warm blood I desire. The curve of her flesh glistens, waiting for a well-placed gentle kiss.

She’s breathing rapidly now, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her trek up through the castle has sapped much of her strength. And the fear she feels is naked in her eyes. Now, she’s

getting ready to pounce, just a little too much tension in her stance, her eyes just a little too focused. She couldn’t give me more warning if she were to ask my permission first.

She moves in with remarkable speed, her blade striking out like a serpent’s tongue. Even winded, she still manages to cut my cape, then prances away with her back toward the wall, ready for anything. Anything, except me.

~~~~~

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

FromTheAshesOfRuin author

 

Matthew D. Ryan lives in northeastern New York on the shores of Lake Champlain. He has been deeply involved in the fantasy genre for most of his life as a reader, writer, and game designer. His writing has been featured at Aphelion.com and YesteryearFiction.com. He is the operator of the web-site matthewdryan.com which features his blog, “A Toast to Dragons,” (http://matthewdryan.com/a-toast-to-dragons-the-blog/) a blog dedicated to fantasy literature, and, to a lesser extent, sci-fi. He is the author of the dark fantasy novels “Drasmyr,” “The Children of Lubrochius,” and “The Sceptre of Morgulan,” as well as a growing number of fantasy short stories including: “Haladryn and the Minotaur,” “The River’s Eye,” and “Escape.”

Drasmyr: Smashwords / Amazon / B&N

The Children of Lubrochius: Smashwords / Amazon / B&N

The Sceptre of Morgulan: Smashwords / Amazon / B&N

 Author Mailing List / Website / Twitter / Facebook / Pinterest

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I’m excited to share The Reader with you today.

This is the third book in The Rifters Series.

Come on in and check it out.

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The Reader

The Rifters Series #3

by M. Pax

The Reader cover two

Genre: Fantasy

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Synopsis

With the rift closed for the season and no more monsters to fight, Daelin Long gets bored as librarian in the podunk town of Settler, Oregon. A job interview and her brother’s arrival present a tempting opportunity to escape, until her brother and her best friend, a ghost, disappear.

While Daelin searches for them, more mysteries pile up: dead people coming back to life, portraits of the town founders replaced with strange white trees, and people on the other side of the rift returning. It’s impossible. The portal that allows monsters from other universes to come to Earth is sealed until next summer.

The Rifters, a secret group protecting our world, believe the troubles are nothing more than the tantrums of an offended ghost. Daelin disagrees. If she’s right, the evil hell-bent on destroying Earth has new technology making the rift more deadly.

Before the monster summons the next apocalypse, Daelin must find it and destroy it.

Book 3 in the Rifter series.

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Excerpt

Earl Blacke put on a pair of optilyzers. They resembled aviator goggles from the 1920’s but performed a very different function. They had no buttons, operating by feeding off the energy of auras. Earl peered at Dante. His aura was nonexistent except for a few deep violet spikes. “Why aren’t you glowing like a purple alien candle?”

Dante bordered on fidgeting.

“Does this embarrass you?” Earl asked. “You don’t like showing your non-Earthly colors?”

“I can conceal my aura, and for your safety I do.” Dante lifted his chin and surveyed the clearing carefully. “I’m not the issue. Why you’re seeing your girl is.”

“What if whatever brought her here is masking its aura? You may not be the only thing with such an ability.”

Dante stopped so short, Earl smacked into him hard enough he had to back pedal two steps to regain his balance.

“I’m not a thing. I’m a sentient being with rights. Just like you.” Dante spat then continued to investigate.

“Since you’re not human, you don’t have human rights. What kind of rights are you talking about? Alienable rights, I suppose.” Unable to help himself, Earl guffawed as if he had never laughed in his life. It had been awhile since the urge tickled him.

Dante whirled and smacked Earl on the nose. “Get to work. If something is afoot, you’ve scared it into the next universe by now.”

Gripping his stomach, Earl fought to settle down. “What are we hunting for? You seem to have something in mind.”

“A purple glow. When you find it, holler.” He wiggled his fingers to get Earl moving. “Scatter, and don’t all go searching in the same place.”

~~~~~

Author M. Pax

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  1. Pax is author of the space adventure series The Backworlds and the urban fantasy series The Rifters. Fantasy, science fiction, and the weird beckons to her, and she blames Oregon, a source of endless inspiration. She ghost hunts for fun with a group of curiosity seekers, docents at Pine Mountain Observatory in the summers as a star guide, has a cat with a crush on Mr. Spock, and is slightly obsessed with Jane Austen.

Learn more at these links:

Website / Twitter / Facebook

See what inspires The Rifters on Pinterest : https://www.pinterest.com/mpaxauthor/the-rifters/

The first two books in the Rifters series can be read for free by becoming an M. Pax Reader. at – http://mpaxauthor.us11.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=5e298cfbe42080a411dcdd9a3&id=c01a285202

Amazon

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Bookcessories

iBook / Nook / GooglePlay / Kobo / Smashwords / inktera / Scribd

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For a list of my reviews go HERE

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To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky horseshoe below!

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