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Writing in the Modern Age


Writing & Guest Author Blog

Blog Tour Feature and Giveaway: DAEMON BLOOD by Mary Maddox

3/7/2022

2 Comments

 
Hi, readers! We have a real treat in store for you today, a spotlight on a book by Mary Maddox, a talented author! 

Mary, an author I met on my journey, has a book tour running right now.

Let's check out the details, shall we?

Daemon Blood
Mary Maddox
(Daemon World, #3)
Publication date: March 8th 2022
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Horror

Our war will not unfold in your imaginary heaven. We will fight on Earth with human beings as pawns and weapons.

Lu Darlington is a seer, bound to the daemon Talion through ritual and blood. It’s not a role she enjoys, but she has little choice: daemons take what they want and destroy whoever stands in their way.

So Lu’s surprised when Talion doesn’t punish her for her newfound ability to keep him from possessing her whenever he likes. In fact he’s pleased. The stronger she is, he explains, the more powerful he becomes.

And he needs that power, because a war is brewing in the daemon world, a war that will be fought by—and through—humans.

Lu’s friend Lisa Duncan can’t see daemons but she’s seen what they can do and so has stayed far away from Lu for years. After a bizarre attack on Lisa leaves half a dozen people dead and she learns it’s just the first skirmish in the daemon war, Lisa realizes the safest place to be is with Lu.

Then Talion sends Lu away to teach her skills to another seer and Lisa must stay behind to look after Lu’s son Solly, conceived through a daemon ceremony with Talion. At four years old Solly’s seer abilities are already so strong Lisa is sometimes more afraid of Solly than for him.

As Talion’s enemies grow bolder, Lisa and Lu face attacks from every direction. There seems little hope any of them will survive—until Talion and his allies devise a plan.

The only problem is how much it will cost.

“With Daemon Blood, Mary Maddox has crafted a timeless tale of good against evil. With compelling characters and a keen sense of the darkness that lurks within us all, Daemon Blood will stay with you long after you turn the final thrilling page.”

— David Sodergren, Author of The Forgotten Island

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play


Author Bio:

Mary Maddox is a suspense, horror, and dark fantasy novelist with what The Charleston Times-Courier calls a “Ray Bradbury-like gift for deft, deep-shadowed description.” Born in Soldiers Summit, high in the mountains of Utah, Maddox graduated with honors in creative writing from Knox College, and went on to earn an MFA from the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop. She taught writing at Eastern Illinois University and has published stories in various journals, including Yellow Silk, Farmer’s Market, The Scream Online, and Huffington Post. The Illinois Arts Council has honored her fiction with a Literary Award and an Artist’s Grant.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter


GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Intriguing! Mary is providing us with an exclusive playlist for her new book...

Compiling a playlist for Daemon Blood was a challenge for me. I admire playlists in movies, the way the music underscores and sometimes provides ironic commentary on the story. I strived to meet that high standard in this playlist. My knowledge of music is less than encyclopedic, though. I listened to numerous songs and musical passages to discover new songs, and tracked down pieces I knew by ear without knowing what they’re called. I’m mostly satisfied with the twelve songs in the playlist, but I suspect that somewhere in the vast universe of music I could have found music that complements my story even better.
The playlist below is eclectic, to say the least. I’ve tried to select music to represent the diverse characters and bizarre events in Daemon Blood. I hope you enjoy it.


Amy Winehouse--Rehab
Igor Stravinsky--The Firebird
Gustav Holst--Mars from The Planets
Emmy Lou Harris— Pledging My Love
Iggy Pop--The Passenger
Lords Of The New Church--Dance With Me
Sonny Rollins--There'll Never Be Another You
Aaliyah--Rock The Boat
Erik Satie--Gymnopédie No.1
Khalid--Talk
Samuel Barber--Adagio for Strings
The Doors— Strange Days
 
The complete playlist is here.


Awesome! Thanks so much, Mary!

Let's also give kudos to Mary's sponsor:
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​Grab a copy
 of this one! 

Thank you, Mary, for letting us know all about your adult fantasy/horror novel. It sounds like quite a tale!
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Thanks for stopping by to let us know about your new release, Mary! ♥

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog post here.

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2 Comments

New Release Feature: Fiona Tarr’s romantic suspense DEADLY DECEIT and Sale on Book 1

12/3/2021

1 Comment

 

Hi, readers! We have a real treat in store for you today, a new release by Fiona Tarr, a talented author! 
 
Congratulations on your latest book! 
 
Let's check out the details, shall we?

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Book Info
 
Title:  Deadly Deceit - Book 3 - Foxy Mysteries Series
 
Author:  Fiona Tarr
 
Genre:  Mystery/Crime Fiction/Romantic Suspense

 
Blurb:  

How much will the truth cost?

When Liz Jeffreys changed career paths from high-class escort to PI, she knew it would be exciting. What she never expected was to be investigating the attempted murder of Detective Jack Cunningham’s powerful father—not after everything the corrupt Judge had done, especially sanctioning a hit on her.

Jack is close to cracking the case, until his apartment is raided by a specialist task force investigating outlaw motorcycle gangs. When they find drugs, Jack finds himself on suspension and under investigation. Despite their past and his father’s history with Liz, Jack must turn to her to clear his name and solve his father’s case.

With their budding relationship heating up, Liz will do anything to uncover who framed Jack and help clear his name. But is she willing to lay her life on the line to save his father, after everything he’s done?

Curl up, grab a cuppa and indulge yourself with this mystery, slow burn romantic suspense novel. For lovers of J.D Robb, Janet Evanovich and Melinda Leigh.


Release Date:  December 1, 2021

Genre:  Mystery/Crime Fiction/Romantic Suspense

Sounds like quite a reading experience here!

Purchase Link: https://books2read.com/u/mlEqPW

Also, book one, Death Beneath the Covers, is on sale for a limited time until December 7th, just for 99 cents!

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Check out the whole series!
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Don't miss this new release...

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About author Fiona Tarr
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Fiona's stories are Captivating, Bold, Passionate Suspense reads no matter the genre, from her Historical Fantasy to the most recent Mystery suspense series, these themes prevail. 
It turns out writing is in the blood. Fiona's Great Uncle was Australian Literary author George Johnston (My Brother Jack) and although her style is different, her Uncle's social commentary tone is evident. 
Fiona lives in Noosa Australia with her husband, and not far from her two adult sons. A self-confessed people watcher, Fiona loves to interpret body language and social cues, which you'll find evident in her character development. 
Recently compared to Melinda Leigh and Janet Evanovich, Fiona's mystery/romantic suspense novels have been well received.
Join Fiona's Reader Team and discover what motivates her stories, the process she uses to research and to be the first to know about future releases. Just copy and paste this link. 
https://www.subscribepage.com/c8s0o4_copy
 
Links:
 
Bookbub profile
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/fiona-tarr
 
Facebook
https://www.facebook.com/fionatarr.atime2write
 
Instagram
https://www.instagram.com/fionatarr/
 
Website
http://www.atime2write.com.au
 
Goodreads
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8423164.Fiona_Tarr

​

Wow, this looks riveting!

Thanks for stopping by to tell us about your new release, Fiona. Get your copy of this romantic suspense novel, readers! 
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Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age guest article here.

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1 Comment

Blog Tour Feature and Release Blitz: TAKEDOWN by Evelyn Sola

10/29/2021

0 Comments

 

Hi, readers! We have a real treat in store for you today, a spotlight on a book by Evelyn Sola, a talented author! 

Evelyn, an author I met on my journey, has a release blitz running right now.

Let's check out the details, shall we?

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Title: Takedown
Author: Evelyn Sola

Release Date: October 29, 2021
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Steamy, Humor, Romantic Comedy, Accidental Marriage Theme, Multicultural Romance

 
Mellie lives her life risk-free and would do anything to keep her heart safe. But when Adam shows up in Vegas, all her careful plans go right out the window. Mellie and Adam quickly discover that what happens in Vegas, doesn’t always stay in Vegas. Readers who enjoy diverse contemporary romances will devour Takeover by Evelyn Sola, a diverse accidental marriage romance.

BLURB:

Mellie
I was not a gambler. No way. I’ve built an existence free of risk and adventure. From my career to a small life with my closest family. I was not going to do anything to jeopardize my heart. But when my neighbor and number one menace to my safe plans showed up in Vegas, I did what every adventurous (not!) woman would do. I got drunk and married the man.
Adam
What happens in Vegas is supposed to stay in Vegas. Then, I went and married Mellie Dupree. That woman I’ve been chasing for two years is now my wife. She claims she doesn’t remember our wedding, but I was there, and I know she’s not telling the truth. Then again, neither am I.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58930569-takedown

Purchase links:
Amazon: 
https://amzn.to/3zCbkrU
Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/braRjk

Intriguing! How about a look inside?

EXCERPT

            I don’t think I breathe until the wheels of the plane leave the ground and we’re soaring through the air, away from the biggest fuck up of my life. But as I look out of my window, I know I’m only delaying the inevitable.
            He’ll come. He’ll find me. There’s no way he’ll keep this a secret. But I shake my head and tell myself that I don’t care. It’s not just up to him. He’ll realize he’s made a mistake too. We’ll talk to Tina, she’s the sister of my brother’s wife, a former lawyer turned restaurant owner. She’ll walk us through the annulment process. It will happen quickly, and things will return to normal.
            Yes, that’s exactly what will happen, but when I close my eyes all I can see are blue eyes looking down at me while a man dressed as Elvis tells us to repeat after him. I have no desire to remember my vows, but I remember his. I can practically hear him now. His voice deep and sincere as he promised to love, honor and cherish until death do us part.


Your book sounds so compelling!
 
Readers, you'll have to check out this read! Or, add it to your Goodreads bookshelf or save it to your BookBub wishlist!

​While we're at it, h
ow about some more teasers? ;)
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Awesome! Thanks so much, Evelyn!

Let's also give kudos to Evelyn's sponsor:
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Grab a copy of this one! 

Thank you, Evelyn, for letting us know all about your 
steamy, humorous, accidental marriage, multicultural romance novel. It sounds like quite a sexy, romantic tale!
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A Boston native, wife, mother, and wine enthusiast. If she’s not writing, thinking about writing, you will find Evelyn with a book in her hands. While a new publisher, she’s been writing for years, and she will continue to write for many years to come. 
 
Evelyn is obsessed with assertive and confident men who will stop at nothing to get their woman. Her stories are filled with love, passion and humor.

She currently lives in Chicago, IL with her husband and two daughters.


Follow:
​
Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Reader Group | Goodreads | BookBub | Newsletter | Amazon

​​

Thanks for stopping by to let us know about your new release, Evelyn! ♥
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https://books2read.com/u/braRjk

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age guest article here.

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0 Comments

Blog Tour Feature: LOVE AND OTHER SINS by Emilia Ares

10/22/2021

0 Comments

 

Hi, readers! We have a real treat in store for you today, a spotlight on a book by Emilia Ares, a talented author! 

Emilia, an author I met on my journey, has a blog tour running right now.

Let's check out the details, shall we?

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THE NEXT BIG COMING-OF-AGE DRAMA SWEEPS READERS UP IN AN EMOTIONAL TALE OF LOVE, FAMILY, AND VIOLENCE IN CONTEMPORARY L.A.
 
Mina’s life is going according to plan, she’s acing AP Calc and is perfectly content with her non-existent social life.

Oliver is ready to burn down his old life and start from scratch – complete with a new name and emancipation papers – in L.A.

When the two are thrown together through circumstance and develop an unexpected connection, they discover how hard it is to keep the past in the past in Love and Other Sins by Emilia Ares.


Title: Love and Other Sins
Author: Emilia Ares

Release Date: October 19, 2021
Publisher: SERA Press
Genre: Young Adult Fiction
Pages: 326


BLURB:

Mina's life is going according to plan; she's acing AP Calc and is perfectly content with her nonexistent social life. Though only a high school junior, Mina knows time is an investment, and she's putting all her capital into academics. Oliver, a child abuse survivor who grew up in the foster care system, is ready to burn down his old life and start from scratch-complete with a new name and emancipation papers-in L.A. When the two are thrown together through circumstance and develop an unexpected connection, they discover how hard it is to keep the past in the past.

Love and Other Sins is an emotional coming-of-age YA drama about family, love, violence, and the residue of abuse set against the backdrop of contemporary Los Angeles. When Mina meets Oliver, you'll remember your own first love and just how fast it swept you under.

What were the bonds that bound us?

Was it purely physical attraction?

Circumstance?

Or perhaps it was a mutual gravitation toward inevitable pain.
​

Love and Other Sins is a moving story about what it means to be young and vulnerable in today's society. This young adult romance will make you laugh and cry and give you hope for tomorrow because there are people like Mina and Oliver who refuse to let themselves be defined by their pasts or circumstances. If you love reading books like Looking for Alaska or Thirteen Reasons Why, then this is definitely for you.

Content warning: sexual assault, recollections of child abuse, discussions of suicidal thoughts, and mention of miscarriage.

Goodreads:  
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59049008-love-and-other-sins
BookBub: 
https://www.bookbub.com/books/love-and-other-sins-by-emilia-ares

 
Purchase links:
Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/Love-Other-Sins-Emilia-Ares-ebook/dp/B09F1HD3GJ/​
Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/m0BnQ7

More about the book...

Oliver and Mina develop a strong bond as the threads of their old lives begin to unravel and they are forced to reckon with family history that violently refuses to remain in the past.

“I wanted to tell the story of a first-generation Russian immigrant girl and a street-wise foster care system boy who find love,” says Ares, known as an actress for roles in American Horror Story and Bosch.“ Love and Other Sins discusses the nuanced experience of growing up in America with immigrant parents as well as the critical flaws of the foster care system.”


Intriguing!

Let's chat with the author for a bit...
 
Emilia, nice to have you here on Writing in the Modern Age! Glad you could stop by!
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Marie Lavender (host): You've been a working actress for many years. How has writing fit into your life, or how did you transition to writing?

 

Emilia Ares: Funnily enough, I began writing while on one of my sets. I was doing a film and sometimes we have to wait for hours in between takes. In those situations, it’s best to do something to take your mind off the scene in order to keep the acting fresh and the reactions surprising. Reading is a great go-to, but there had been this story and these characters – Oliver and Mina ­– who were living in my head and nagging at my brain. I just had to get them on paper, so to speak. I wrote a chapter of their story into my notes on my iPhone and I also jotted down what else would probably happen later on in the story. When I got back to town, I wanted to show it to my younger sister, Sofia, who was reading a lot of YA at the time and ended up becoming an English major. She’s the one who encouraged me to keep writing and turn it into a book. She said she loved it and couldn’t wait for more. I don’t think Love and Other Sins would have existed without her encouragement.

 

Marie: What have you learned about storytelling from TV projects you've acted in like American Horror Story and Bosch?


Emilia: I’ve learned a ton about storytelling from the TV and film projects I’ve acted in, especially the importance of a strong emotional connection with my characters. Creating a backstory for my characters on and off the screen was vital. More times than not, my character’s backstory was not provided to me either because the project was high profile and the full script was kept under wraps or because I was playing a guest star whose history was not explicitly discussed or mentioned in the script itself. So, I’d have to invent the backstory.

 

That process is very similar to writing characters in a book. I used my knowledge of how the character was described in the breakdown that was provided during the casting process including any traits, qualities, strengths, weaknesses, quirks. I would then make an educated guess about what this person ultimately wants/needs from life, taking into consideration the character arc in the scene/overall story to create a reasonable history for them. In the case of American Horror Story, I would ask myself where does Princess Anastasia Romanova come from? What makes her tick? What life events shaped her? Empowered her? Scarred her? What are her secrets? And how do those things effect how she walks, talks, speaks, et cetera? The backstory is usually never discussed, but always exists in the thoughts of these characters, which ultimately informs their actions. The more specific the backstory, the richer, what actor’s call 'the life' of the character is.

 

This was great practice for when it came time to create Oliver and Mina’s backstories. I would just pretend they were characters I was going to play. I entered their minds the way I would when I played my characters on set. This might be a different approach than most traditional writers and it’s most likely why I wrote in first person. I was documenting the moments as if they were happening to me in real time. Later, I rewrote the novel into past tense to give the storytelling and pacing more flexibility.

 

Marie: Why was it important for you to write young people who are independent and self-reliant, not dependent on parental support to go after their goals?

 

Emilia: I honestly didn’t set out with the goal to write independent and self-reliant characters. I just wanted them to be interesting and, as it turns out, self-reliant people interest me. But I’m glad Oliver and Mina developed into the people they became because there are plenty of teenagers out there who are on their own and could use someone like Oliver to identify with.

 

Mina is actually very reliant on her mother for moral support when we first meet her. However, this novel begins during the part of her life when she starts to break free from that support and she ventures off to discover who she is and what she wants. She will have many hardships ahead. We get to follow her down that tumultuous road and witness her slay the dragons or succumb. Oliver, on the other hand, built himself up from the most terrible circumstances and found his own silver lining. He doesn’t have any family. He’s alone, therefore he’s independent out of necessity, not choice. I hope his story is inspirational to the youth who feel hopeless.

 

Marie: How did your own young adulthood prepare you to write this book?

 

Emilia: My time as a teenager was as dramatic and angsty as anyone else’s. Everyday there was drama, rumors, gossip, bullying. No matter how hard I tried to keep my head down, it felt as though it was inescapable. When I talked to my adult friends about their high school experiences, I came to understand that we all felt that way. You know, it’s funny ... as trivial as everything seems now, in the grand scheme of things some of those moments really did matter and did shape me into who I am today. The most painful moments became my biggest life lessons. I knew what I had to do to never feel that way again. I learned who I had to stay away from and who I had to gravitate toward. It wasn’t all bad, though; I had some great friends to get me through the tough parts. Those were the parts that were most similar to my life. Nyah was written based on a combination of a few of my friends and my sister. Lily was inspired by my mom.

 

Marie: What books and authors inspired you in your writing?

 

Emilia: The Stranger by Albert Camus because it challenged everything I ever knew or thought I knew about the hero of a story and made me feel so uncomfortable reading it.

 

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, not only for the revelation this novel brought to literature but also for the story behind writing it. Dostoevsky didn't write it because he wanted to, he wrote it out of necessity. He wrote what he knew, the conditions and ramifications of a sick, drunk, impoverished Russia.

 

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins because by the time 2008 rolled around, so much had already been written and said about a potential post-apocalyptic nation but somehow, Collins was able to put forth a fresh take on dystopia. I admire that very much. There is always more room for your voice, your perspective, your story.

 

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe because, again, it was very critically controversial. People didn't know how to feel about it. On the one hand, Achebe ended up writing it in English, the language of colonialism which caused disagreement amongst many African critics in regards to the ultimate message of the novel. On the other hand, this was a novel that went against most of what was written about African culture at the time. It showed European colonialism from a different perspective portraying Igbo life from the point of view of an African man, a rich and sophisticated culture with a deep history, language, and beliefs.

 

But some of the first books and authors who inspired my love for storytelling were The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, and Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson.

 

Marie: Great! It was such a pleasure to have you here today.

 

Emilia: For myself as well. Thank you for inviting me!

 

Marie: Of course!


​Hope to see you back here sometime...

​
(Waves goodbye to her guest.)

​Readers, how about a look inside Emilia's new release with a couple short teasers?


Excerpt 1
There was something about her - her eyes. Well, not so much her eyes, physically, but more like what they said about her: she had this look - a kind of restless intensity.

Excerpt 2 
It was intimate . . . a strange and beautiful feeling. We were breathing life into each other.
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Your book sounds so compelling!
 
Readers, you'll have to check out this read! Or, add it to your Goodreads bookshelf or save it to your BookBub wishlist!


Looks awesome to me! :)
​

Thanks so much, Emilia!

Let's also give kudos to Emilia's sponsor:
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Grab a copy of this one! 

Thank you for letting us know all about your YA fiction novel. It sounds like quite a read!
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Emilia Ares is an American film and television actress. Love and Other Sins is her debut novel. She graduated UCLA with a BA in Economics, and a minor in Russian. Literature and storytelling have always been her true passion.

Author links:
http://www.EmiliaAres.com/
https://twitter.com/emiliaares
https://www.facebook.com/emiliaareszoryan/
https://www.instagram.com/EmiliaAres/
https://www.tiktok.com/@emiliaares?

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21617409.Emilia_Ares
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/emilia-ares
Other links: https://linktr.ee/Emiliaares

Thanks for stopping by to let us know about your new release, Emilia! ♥

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age guest article here.

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0 Comments

New Release Feature: Francis H. Powell’s anthology TOGETHER BEHIND FOUR WALLS

9/20/2021

0 Comments

 

Hi, readers! We have a real treat in store for you today, a new release by Francis H. Powell, a talented author! 
 
Congratulations on your latest book! 
 
Let's check out the details, shall we?

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Together Behind Four Walls

With the sudden arrival of Covid 19 and the introduction of a lockdown, many people might have wondered how they would spend their time.

Writers, poets and artists decided to express their feelings in words and pictures during this turbulent period. From humour to deep thoughts Together Behind Four Walls captures the many facets of the human spirit during the pandemic.
 
Proceeds from the book will go to Marie Curie nurses who continued their great work during this crisis. The book, indeed will give all funds raised to palliative care charity Marie Curie.

The book was the idea of writer and teacher Francis H. Powell.
 
As the world first went into lockdown in March 2020, father-of-one Mr. Powell turned to poetry, writing short stories and doing drawings to help “process what was happening”.
 
This, he says, sparked the idea for creating an anthology of Covid-inspired writing which would explore the collective concept of confinement and the “many facets of the human spirit during the pandemic”.
 
The book includes some well-known contributors, including:

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Wendy Cope
Wendy Cope: among other accolades, the author of five collections of adult poetry, a judge of the 2007 Man Booker Prize, and was voted the listeners’ choice in a BBC Radio 4 poll to succeed Ted Hughes as Poet Laureate in 1998.
Roger Robinson: a celebrated writer, musician, and performer, who has won the T.S. Eliot Prize and the Ondaatje Prize.
Peter Finch: an author, historian, poet, and former Chief Executive of First Academi, the Welsh National Literature Promotion Agency and Society of Writers.

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John Hegley
John Hegley: a performance poet, comedian musician and songwriter, who was the presenter of the Border Television series “Word of Mouth”, and has appeared on Never Mind the Buzzcocks.
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Arthur Smith
Arthur Smith: an alternative comedian, presenter and writer, who famously turned down a lifetime achievement award in 2005 from the Perrier Award organizers and won the Panel Prize at the Edinburgh Fringe in 2007.
Neal Zetter: a comedy performance poet, children’s author, and entertainer. He has nearly 30 years of experience performing in locations such as West End comedy clubs and the Royal Festival Hall. He uses the writing and/or performing of poetry to develop literacy, self-expression, confidence, creativity and presentation skills.
Sally Kindberg: award winning Swedish born artist.
 
The book also includes other contributors from around the world.

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Release Date:  September 2021
Genre:  Memoir, Creative Self-Help, Inspirational Anthology


Sounds like quite a read here!

Purchase Link:
https://www.goldcrestbooks.com/together-behind-four-walls/

Here is an excerpt...
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Excerpt 2:
‘The Garden Wall’
by Francis H Powell

 
The garden wall loomed tall and bushes were full with leaves. Her garden was rugged, some might say it needed attention. However it brought her joy, it was her possession, nobody else’s. At the far end of the garden was a cherry tree, which for a short period was covered in white frothy blossoms. It was to her mind the jewel of the garden, despite the fact it did not provide her with many cherries, which for the most part were devoured by greedy birds. There was a rope hanging from one branch, and in summer she could laze in an hammock chair, sheltered from the sun, either reading or just passing the time away.
Surrounding the tree was long grass and some wildflowers, including columbines, harebells, cornflowers, fox-gloves, and, depending on the time of year, wild daffodils. The lawn was shaggy and unkempt, with moss creeping and spreading like an uncontrolled fire. There was an inundation of ivy. She brought some decorations for the garden, ceramic pots and urns, as well as small ethnic sculptures - nothing of any value, but to her they added some character. Both sides of the lawn were lined with an incongruous assortment of flowers and a spindly rose bush that produced orange flame roses. She had a wooden wine barrel full of kale, swiss chard and mustard greens. She brought some rustic garden furniture and would eat outside when the weather permitted.
She’d bought the house to live with her partner at the time, but as they were about to move in together, he’d walked out on her. She had wondered, from time to time when they were together, if he was really the type who would manage the toils of a committed relationship. Of course, he was great fun, amusing, pleasant to be with, but not the type to have to deal with the practical side of life, the humdrum things everybody has to do, part of the daily grind.
Once their relationship got too serious, it was time for him move on; he’d got cold feet, the fun of the relationship died down when too many elements of practicality crept in. He had left her a handwritten note. In truth, it hadn’t amounted to much. At first the overall feeling was sadness, but then anger had set in. Once she read it a few times to take the words in, she screwed it up in her hand and hurled it at her bin in disgust. Then she sat down and wept.

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Please support the book by following it on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/togetherbehindfourwalls
or Instagram:
https://www.instagram.com/togetherbehindfourwall/

About Marie Curie Nurses
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Marie Curie nurses in our communities and hospices provide hands on nursing care to patients at the end of their lives. Throughout the Corona Virus Pandemic, our nurses have been at the frontline of care, looking after patients with all terminal illnesses, including caring for people with the virus.
The need for our work has never been greater. At the time when our nurses are in such demand, we have also faced a devastating loss in our income.
When living with a terminal illness it is vital that you can access crucial support, care and information.
Your support in buying this book, is enabling our frontline staff to continue to provide that expert care along with the vital bereavement advice and guidance we also provide to carers and families having to deal with loss and grief.

About author Francis H. Powell
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Born in 1961, in Reading, England, Francis H Powell attended Art Schools, receiving a degree in painting and an MA in printmaking. In 1995, Powell moved to Austria, teaching English as a foreign language while pursuing his varied artistic interests, adding music and writing.
He currently lives in Brittany, France, writing both prose and poetry. Powell has published short stories in the magazine, “Rat Mort” and other works on the internet site “Multi-dimensions.” His two published books are Flight of Destiny and Adventures of Death, Reincarnation and Annihilation.


Buy the Book
https://www.goldcrestbooks.com/together-behind-four-walls/

Wow, this looks fantastic!

Thanks for stopping by to tell us about your new release, Francis. Get your copy of this anthology which is dedicated to the human condition today, readers! 

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https://www.goldcrestbooks.com/together-behind-four-walls/

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New Release Feature: Michael Aronovitz’s THE SCULPTOR!

9/10/2021

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Hi, readers! We have a real treat in store for you today, a new release by Michael Aronovitz, a talented author! 
 
Congratulations on your latest book! 
 
Let's check out the details, shall we?

 book cover image for The Sculptor by Michael Aronovitz depicting a distorted sad female sculpture with a red background hinting at a horror theme

Here is the book blurb for The Sculptor.

At age seven, Michael Leonard Robinson commits his first murder, turning tragedy into an aesthetic. By the time he turns eighteen, he has become an expert with computers, gaming systems, and the art of video imaging. And now in his forties, fully realized, he has long erased his digital footprint. He is thirty years ahead of our most advanced scientists, military ops tacticians, and elite information tech specialists. He is a master of disguise. He can invent projected realities.

Of course, Michael Leonard Robinson could work his dark vision on a global scale, yet he doesn’t need “the world” for a fetishistic thrill, just a police captain, his receptionist, a detective, a rookie junior officer, his sister and mother, and a lot of dark theater. 

Robinson appears to these characters in disguise, film clips, and flashes as he torments them. Their multiple viewpoints are puzzle pieces.

When they fuse to finish the puzzle, the final sculpture becomes clear.

Release Date:  E-book - September 7, 2021 /Paperback - October 12, 2011

Genre:  Serial Killer Mystery

 

Publisher Link:  https://www.skyhorsepublishing.com/9781949102543/the-sculptor/

Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/mdDdAw

 

Here is an excerpt...

 

Chapter 24

Beauty in the Eye of the Ripper’s Beholder

 

Captain Canfield ran into the storm. Cold stingers to the face, the front lawn was muddy, his clothing lay on him like lead. It was dark, the wind shaping the rain in what looked like the billowing cloak of some massive dark horseman, with intermittent moonlight coming through the road foliage and cemetery border trees.

Canfield took a position in the grass, gun leveled. He didn’t have a clear shot, not as a sniper would have had with a rifle with a scope.

Across the street on the sidewalk was the huge figure. He was smiling. His feet were spread, his left arm clamped around Erika’s waist, his right palm pressed to her mouth. She was straining hard, arms pinned to her sides, feet kicking insane bicycle pedals against his thick legs. Her T-shirt had ridden up; you could see the shape of her waist. Her ponytail had come loose, and wet strands were plastered to her forehead and jawline like skull-fissures.

The big man spoke. His hat pushed a shadow across his forehead, but below that his skin looked bad—spoiled and cracked like a leper’s. It was the caked-on makeup. The moisture out here had begun to erode it.

“Captain,” he called. “Advantage perp. You can’t risk discharging your firearm. And your prerogative is clear. As the first officer on the scene, you are to look after the safety of the victim before securing the arrest. And if the citizen endures physical harm at the crime scene, you are obligated to care for the injured before arresting the offender.” His grin became monstrous.

“Officer,” he said, “I’d like to report an injury.”

He took the hand covering her mouth and groped it up the side of her face. She squirmed, kicking harder, and he pawed at her, fingering. She jerked her head, and he smeared the cat’s eye makeup in a hash-mark up her left temple. He pulled back across, and she let loose a gargled scream, kicking like a frenzied horsefly held by the wings. He mashed his hand-heel into the other side of her face, slipping down along the bone like wet marble, and this time he streaked thick mascara onto her cheek, hooking down like an athlete’s smeared eye-black. He made an adjustment, and with the base of his thumb, his ring finger, and pinkie he cupped her chin, holding her still. He had to work it like the old Spock Vulcan “live-long-and-prosper” sign, but he spread his middle and index fingers back across the bridge of her nose, then started spider-crawling them up toward her right eye.

Canfield screamed “No!”

The monster’s two fingers were poised like a claw, uneven tongs.

He pushed in, over the eyeball, deep into the socket. Blood squirted up over his middle knuckles. She screamed herself raw, her kicking went nuclear. He let go of her mouth so he could work in the thumb, forming a pincer-grip. For a bare moment it cleared the horrific sightline; he dug in his fingers, and Canfield could see Erika’s eyeball slip from one side of the socket to the other as the monster worked in deep, trying to get to the back of it. Blood wept down his wrist, but the rain washed it away, making the effect seem ghostlike and illusory. He yanked, her head jerked forward, give, but no climax. He couldn’t pull it home, stubborn muscles and nerve fibers proving their elasticity, and he re-angled his elbow, bunched, set, and ripped that eye straight out of its socket.

She stopped kicking.

Thick blood welled in the dark crater and poured down her cheek. The rain doused and diluted it, ebbing down her face with the beat of her heart, tendrils and threads gyrating there on her cheekbone like algae floating off coral in a current. She was twitching, hanging there in his arms. He slapped her cheek and she jolted awake, shrieking incoherently, body in spasm, the broken doll, the lunatic stage-puppet.

He set her on her feet in front of him, bending his knees so she was still mostly blocking the line of fire. Both big hands moved to her hips to steady her, and he walked her back to an oak tree.

He whispered something in her ear. It took a moment. Then he smacked her hard on the ass and barked:

“Go!”

He ducked behind the wide tree and she ran, faster than one would have ever expected, moaning and crying, lumbering desperately away toward Sproul Road.

Canfield pounded after her, grass to driveway. Cutting across the corner of the neighbor’s lawn, he noticed quite academically that they had been gardening, planting shrubs. Passing through the line of them at the perimeter, he stepped on a trowel. It hurt, fucked his rhythm, and his ankles banged together; he went down. He hit the street, skinned an elbow, quick-rolled, and somehow managed to cradle the gun without having it blow a hole in his stomach. He didn’t allow himself time to recover. He sprang up and broke into a straight sprint, thinking, “Knees high, push hard, strong kick, arms in sync,” and by the time he caught up, she was almost to the streetlamp. She stumbled and collapsed, trying to grab hold on her way down, and he caught her from behind just in time to save her from falling onto her face. He went to the ground with her, held her, turned her so he could look at her.

She’d been truly violated, disfigured, it was real, no illusions. She had two faces now, the left profile all sleek cuts and angles, the makeup bird-winged up off her left eye giving her a futuristic look like a runway model, yet turned to the right, her profile was that of a ghost-witch, her long skull and jawline accented by the rough crater peering at you with blank recognition. She looked very much like the kind of thing you bought in an island hut, stuck on a voodoo stick with beads hanging off of the fist-guard. She was sobbing, still convulsing.

Canfield wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t know the words. He wanted to give her some kind of gentlemanly reassurance, but he didn’t know that song either. What came out was mechanical, almost programmed.

“What did he say to you?” he said softly, flatly. He felt terribly about it, but he was who he was.

“What?” she said. “What? When, Bill, what?”

“Easy,” he said. “What did he say to you in your ear? Just now. I’ll catch him, but I need all the data.”

She started weeping again and buried her face in Bill Canfield’s chest, shoulders shaking.

“He told me,” she said, voice muffled, “that I had to run hard, I had to run like the wind, toward Sproul Road. He said that I had to run straight into traffic. He said he was going to flush my right eye down a toilet, and if I didn’t run as fast as I could he’d hunt me down, find me at the hospital, at work, in the parking lot, the grocery store, my apartment.”

She pulled back and looked up at Canfield with her left eye.

“He promised he would give me round two,” she said. “He promised he’d rip out the other one.”

 

So, what are readers saying about this book?

★★★★★ “The Sculptor is one of the most grimly terrifying serial killers in recent literature.” - Horror scholar and editor ST Joshi

 

Whoa...what a disturbing teaser!


Get your copy of this serial killer mystery today, readers!

 

About the Author:

 

Michael Aronovitz is a college professor, rock critic, and author of dark fiction. His published novels include Alice Walks, The Witch of the Wood, and Phantom Effect, his collections – Seven Deadly Pleasures and The Voices in Our Heads. Aronovitz has published more than forty short stories, and has appeared in magazines and anthologies such as Weird Tales, Searchers After Horror, and Apostles of the Weird. His short story titled “How Bria Died” was featured in The Year’s Best Dark Fantasy and Horror, 2011, Prime Books, and currently, Aronovitz has much of the above-mentioned work being translated into German and re-released by Firma Edition Barenklau. His lifetime collection of novellas and short stories, titled Dancing with Tombstones, will be published by Cemetery Dance Publications in the fall of 2021, and his fourth novel titled The Sculptor will be released by Night Shade / Skyhorse in the fall of 2021.

Author Links:

Website: michaelaronovitz.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/michael.aronovitz

Twitter: https://twitter.com/michaelaronovi2

Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/2yprVlr

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/551323.Michael_Aronovitz

FictionDB: https://www.fictiondb.com/author/michael-aronovitz~99909.htm

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Interview with Author DJ Swykert

7/22/2013

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My guest today is DJ Swykert. Hello, DJ! Welcome back to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here again.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?
book cover image for The Death of Anyone a mystery thriller novel by DJ Swykert depicting a beautiful dead woman lying on the ground with a film noir impression on the gray background and book title  

My new book, The Death of Anyone, introduces readers to a DNA search technique not in common use here in the U.S., Familial DNA. A lot will be written on this subject as the real life trial of Lonnie David Franklin, The Grim Sleeper, unfolds in California this year. The book also introduces a new character for me, a female homicide detective. It's not the first time I've written from a female POV, but she's the first in this role. I’m hoping the book will appeal to an even broader audience than Children of the Enemy, or Alpha Wolves. There is a romance along with the mystery in the plot and some real science.

The Death of Anyone was released by Melange Books in Minneapolis the end of February. It’s available at: Melange Books, Lulu, Amazon, and Bookwire.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

I first heard about Familial DNA Searches while working as a 911 operator in 2006. It came up in a conversation with officers. I thought at the time it would make an interesting premise for a book. I began writing the mystery some three years later after leaving the department. I had just finished editing a first draft of The Death of Anyone in the summer 2010 when news of The Grim Sleeper’s capture in Los Angeles was released. I read with interest all the information pouring out of L.A. regarding the investigation and the problems confronting prosecutors. All of which are explored in The Death of Anyone.
 
This sounds fascinating!

So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I don’t know if I ever actually 'decided' to be a writer. I remember the first thing I wrote, a bad poem to a pretty girl, I was a teenager, and Tennyson’s "Flower in the Crannied Wall" gave me the idea to try my hand at poetry. I still recite Tennyson’s poem. I think my desire to try writing novels came from reading them, in particular Hemingway and Fitzgerald, and when I was younger, Mark Twain. I simply enjoyed the storytelling, and think I inherited a little storytelling ability from my grandfather, who was really good at spinning a tale. 

My grandmother did the same thing.  LOL. 

Do you have any favorite authors?

I’ve already kind of answered this; Tennyson, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Mark Twain. You can add Byron, Auden, Chekhov and Annie Proulx to the list. Oh, hell, there’s a host of great writers, my list could go on for pages. But these always have stuck in my head. 

I know what you mean.  I have WAY too many to count.  

So, do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

Currently, I write mornings on a desk in the garret, as my girlfriend calls it, on the third floor of our townhouse. But I’ve written just about anywhere I can find something to write with, even on a bunk in the Houghton County Jail, er… that was just once, for a short while on a traffic violation. 

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers? Any advice?

Keep typing, and submitting. I believe in the old Hindu saying: Given enough time, coincidence is inevitable. There is a measure of coincidence in finding a home for your writing. You have to have skill, a good story, but also some luck. You can improve your odds by applying The Law of Large Numbers, which allows prey species to survive by reproducing in large numbers. Your writing can survive in the same way, get it out there, and keep putting it out there. Be productive. And keep your fingers crossed.

Good advice. 

So, readers, here is the the blurb for The Death of Anyone.

Detroit homicide Detective Bonnie Benham has been transferred from narcotics for using more than arresting and is working the case of the killer of adolescent girls. CSI collects DNA evidence from the scene of the latest victim, which has not been detected on the other victims. But no suspect turns up in the FBI database. Due to the notoriety of the crimes a task force is put together with Bonnie as the lead detective, and she implores the D.A. to authorize an as yet unapproved type of a DNA Search in an effort to identify the killer. Homicide Detective Neil Jensen, with his own history of drug and alcohol problems, understands Bonnie’s frailty and the two detectives become inseparable as they track this killer of children.

Here's an excerpt from The Death of Anyone. 

Benham arrived first, no sign of Russo or Jensen. She got a table and told the maitre de to send them over when they arrived, and that there would be a third party, a Detective Lagrow. As he seated Benham, the maitre de informed her, “The show starts at about 12:30 pm. We have a couple of new dancers."

Benham screwed up her nose, gave him a curious eye. “Dancers?”

The maitre de nodded. “Yes, belly dancers. We have a new one I’m sure your friends will appreciate. She’s very good-young, friendly.”

Benham just shook her head. ”I’m sure they will,” she said as she sat.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Whoa, the brake in her head told her. You know you, you know your history. You know what a slip can do to you. Doctors, psychologists, treatment, rehab, counselors, AA, each and every one of them flashed across her head as her mind absorbed the offer. “Just a coke, or, actually, would you just bring me a black coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Benham sipped her coffee and looked through her brief notes of the case. They were very brief, there was little to put in them. A young girl, perhaps ten, dead, strangled, almost for certain assaulted, lying in an alley for a few hours. And it had only been a few hours—Pierangeli seemed pretty sure she hadn’t been there long. She was found at around nine-thirty am, so she died maybe around eight am. She lay there, choked, defiled, beautiful, and dead, and nobody was looking for her. She had to have been taken pretty early this morning, so it’s been about five hours she’s been gone, and nobody loves her enough to miss her. Benham could feel the anger rising from within, from the source where feelings come from, from deeper but inclusive of the stomach, from the birthplace of emotion.

A hand touched her shoulder and startled her. “Me and Jensen are here, bring on the dancing girls,” Dean Russo bellowed, joyous almost, and that irritated Bonnie a little. There was nothing to be happy about this day.

“You’ll get your wish. The belly dancers will be here in a few,” Benham said, with a bit of obvious disdain that Russo picked up on.

“You picked the place.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bonnie answered, feeling a little sorry now she sounded so disapproving. “Yeah, I picked it. Didn’t think about belly dancers, but, hey, we’re here, and I love pastitio, and they have the best. Sorry if I sound pissy, it’s only because I am. Once you see the girl, you won’t be dancing in the street either.”

Russo quit laughing. “How long you been in homicide, Benham?”

Bonnie could see she rubbed something, “A couple of months.”

“You were in narcotics?”

“Yeah, I was in narcotics. I was in it and it—I was narcotic.”

There was a pause. Jensen looked across at Russo, glared a little, trying to shut him up with a look. And out of the corner of his eye let Bonnie know he saw her, too. He wanted her to keep this cool.

But it was a little late, and Bonnie was a bit volatile. “You know fucking well I was in narcotics. And you fucking know why I’m in homicide. I got myself transferred out for becoming more narcotic than narc. Quit beating around the bush. What’s your point?”

Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/4A52gA

 

Author Bio
  photo of author DJ Swykert

I’m a blue collar person from Detroit. I’ve worked as a truck driver,dispatcher, logistics analyst, operations manager, and ten years as a 911operator, which was the very best job of them all. I write stories like you’d watch a movie and put them down on paper. I have written in different genres; crime, romance, literary and The Death of Anyone, which is a
mystery/suspense story with romance and science in it. 

The last sentence in my writing bio is always: He is a wolf expert. I am not a biologist. I raised two arctic hybrids, had them for eleven years, and have written two books in which the wolves join the other protagonists. 

I have been fortunate enough to have my writing appear in: The Tampa Review, Monarch Review, Sand Canyon Review, Zodiac Review, Scissors and Spackle, Spittoon, BarbaricYawp and BULL. The other books I have written are Children of the Enemy, a novel from Cambridge Books, and Alpha Wolves, a novel by Noble Publishing.

Links:

Blog: www.magicmasterminds.com

Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/david.swykert?ref=ts&fref=ts

LinkedIn:  http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=193494247

Other Links:  http://www.gypsyartshow.com/2013/03/the-death-of-anyone-by-dj-swykert.html

http://www.omnimysterynews.com/2013/01/please-welcome-novelist-dj-swykert.html

 

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Interview with Author Steve Christie

7/15/2013

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My guest today is Steve Christie. Hello, Steve! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?
book cover image for Good Deed by Steve Christie depicting an close up shot of a chess piece on a chess board  

It's a crime thriller titled Good Deed. It was published at the end of last year. It introduces DI Ronnie Buchanan, an intelligent and astute man with a wry sense of humour. The story starts with a normal girl who made a bad choice, a stranger doing a good deed which he will regret and two inept, opportunistic thieves who steal something which they are ill equipped to handle. Add an upset crime lord, his unscrupulous fixer Vince, then sit back as the mind games begin, the twists unfold and enjoy a breathless tour around Scotland as DI Buchanan tries to solve the case.

It's available as an eBook on Kindle and Kobo and on paperback from Amazon. It is also available at The Book Depository, Ringwood Publishing and from all good UK Bookshops.


Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

The old adage "no good deed goes unpunished". Every now and again you'll either pick up the newspaper or watch the news and see some story where some Good Samaritan helps someone out of a sticky situation only for it to come back and, pardon the phrase, bite them on the arse.

LOL.  So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I've always fancied giving it a go. I used to write short stories for my kids when they were younger.  They seemed to enjoy them and now that they've grown up a bit, I thought I'd get my teeth stuck into something a bit more substantial.  So I wrote Good Deed, my first novel.

Do you have any favorite authors? 

Loads. Lee Child, Patricia Cornwell, Ian Rankin. I've recently been getting into George R.R. Martin. I'm currently reading through his A Song of Ice and Fire series.

Do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

I work long hours, I seldom get home before eight p.m. each night, so I usually don't get around to my writing until about 10 p.m. Once my kids are settled down Ill put on some music, on my iPod of course, I don't want to waken any one up! Then I'll usually write for maybe about two or three hours. This, of course, means that I end up going to work the following morning looking like a crack addict! LOL.

*Laughs.* Oh, yes, I'm familiar with burning the midnight oil for a story.  

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers, Steve? Any advice?

Stick at the writing and learn to accept rejection and criticism. It comes with the territory.

Good advice.  So, inquiring minds want to know.  What are you currently working on?

I'm writing my second DI Buchanan novel Cold Shot. It's a dark tale of revenge set during a particularly nasty winter in Aberdeen.

Here is the blurb for Good Deed.

Good Deed is a fast paced crime novel that captures the reader from beginning to end.

Described by one reviewer as “Christopher Brookmyre on speed, with more thrills and less farce”, the gripping story of Good Deed rattles along relentlessly, leaving the reader breathless but enthralled. Good Deed introduces a new Scottish detective hero, DI Ronnie Buchanan, who is certain to quickly attract a legion of fans.

The events crammed into Good Deed take Buchanan from his base in Aberdeen on a frantic journey around all the major Scottish cities as his increasingly deadly pursuit of a mysterious criminal master mind known only as Vince comes to a breath-taking climax back in Aberdeen.

The pace of Good Deed is exceptional and unremitting. It is the kind of book that demands to be read in one sitting, but most readers will be so breathless as the saga unfolds without pause that they will need occasional rests before eagerly returning for more.

Here's an excerpt from Good Deed.

Lucy Kennedy pulled off the motorway following the road signs to the Road Chef restaurant just outside Dundee.

It was notoriously expensive but she had no choice, she was exhausted and in need of some caffeine.

She had made good time despite the earlier mishap with the flat tyre but thanks to a helpful stranger shed been back on the road in about ten minutes.

As she entered the restaurant, dazed from the long drive she failed to notice Mark and Liam sitting outside in their parked car but they noticed Lucy leaving hers and forgetting to lock up.

“Here we go,” said Liam. 

Mark and Liam were two habitual criminals who prowled the country seeking victims at roadside restaurants and other such places, they never failed to be amazed by the amount of road users who shattered from a long drive and in need of a coffee would stumble into these restaurants leaving their cars unlocked making their job so much more easier.

Once they had left their vehicle and entered the restaurant, Liam would pull alongside in his car giving Mark cover to rummage through the car to see what bounty awaited them.

On this particular day they struck gold.   

“Holy shit!” said Mark as he unzipped the tartan holdall lying in the back seat. What he'd found were two large packages of white powder well wrapped up in cling film, he knew they must contain a drug of some sort, smack, speed or coke it didn't really matter because judging by the quantity it would be worth a whole load of cash on the street. He took the packages out of the bag, zipped it back up and jumped into Liam's car “wait ' till you see what I've got here buddy” he showed Liam what he'd found.

“Check this, man, it's got to be worth a small fortune.”

“Jesus,” said Liam. “What’s a lassie like her doing carting all that shit about on her own?”

“No idea but it's our shit now, let's go.”

They pulled out of the car park, re-joined the motorway and drove off under the grey, cloud covered sky towards the centre of Dundee.

Lucy, totally unaware of what had just happened, carried her overpriced espresso to the nearest table, sat down and peeled open the small stick shaped packets of brown sugar, poured them into her cup and began to stir her coffee for an inordinate amount of time. She had things preying on her mind some bugging her more than others the main thing of course being how the hell she had gotten herself involved as a drug courier. It had started off small time, a block of weed here and there. Her flat mate Julie had convinced her it was easy money and right enough it did help supplement her meagre university grant, but then she'd got greedy, she took on bigger and bigger amounts, and now four kilos of coke.

She reminisced on how it had all started. It was a typical student's night out, a meal at the local curry house, followed by a pub crawl round Newington. They were a party of six, a strange mix of people, Lucy, her flatmate Julie, Deborah, a mature student big on size and personality, Joe and Eric two gay guys who shared a flat on the floor below and Eric, the cause of all Lucy's troubles.

Eric was a strange guy, the cool student that no one really knew much about, Jim Morrison reincarnated. He picked up the tab for everything, the meal, the drinks, even the taxi home.

She remembered thinking, Jesus this guy must have money coming out his ass, only later on that night back at her flat did she find out where this money came from.

“I deliver a few packages,” he told her as he skinned up a joint on one of Lucy's album covers, one of her favourites. “It’s easy money,” he said. "I could fix you up with the main man if you like".

And that was it, Lucy was in. No more shitty own brand label food from the local supermarket, no more eking out her meagre grant, life was looking up. Or so she thought.

Because of her straight looking plain appearance she was perfect for the task, .because she was so perfect she found herself getting all the bigger jobs. She was quite happy at first, let's face it bigger job bigger pay off. But then the paranoia set in, this couldn’t last; eventually she'd get caught. What would her family say? What if she ended up in jail? All that studying would have gone to waste.

Well, this would be the last, she wanted out and she'd tell them today as soon as she dropped off the package but she’d have to be careful how she went about it, it wasn't like packing in any normal job, a quick goodbye, a few drinks at the end of the last day and then you're off, these guys were scary so she would have to be tactful.

She bought another coffee to go, got her car keys out of her bag and returned to her car to complete the journey.

When she got to her car her heart skipped a beat, shit!, it's unlocked, panicking she looked in the back seat, the holdall was still there, she caught her breath, tried to calm down a bit and got in her car and headed on her way.

Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/bMwN6A

 

Author Bio

picture of author Steve Christie

A Real Ale Loving Scottish Crime Writer. Originally from Aberdeen, now residing in Edinburgh. This is my first novel, available October. Im currently working on my second novel featuring Ronnie Buchanan, working title Cold Shot.

Links:

Find out more...http://about.me/stevechristieauthor

Check out the video on Youtube!  http://youtu.be/nRjrh74zDXE

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/steve.christie.167?fref=ts
Twitter:  @schristieauthor
LinkedIn:  http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=143876790&locale=en_US&trk=tyah
Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6458799.Steve_Christie


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Interview with Author Susan Mac Nicol

7/8/2013

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My guest today is Susan Mac Nicol. Hello, Susan! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?
  
book cover for Together in Starlight by Susan Mac Nicol depicting a mysterious handsome man staring straight at his audience

My latest publication is called Together in Starlight. It’s the second in my Starlight trilogy. It came out in February this year. 

Together in Starlight continues the story of Bennett Saville, an actor living in London with his fiancée, Cassie Wallace, a woman who’s ten years older than him. They met each other through fairly tragic circumstances in the first book, Cassandra by Starlight. After a rather tumultuous beginning, they’re still together. 

Bennett is on the road to stardom, being catapulted to fame through his theatre work in London and his current project as the leading man in a remake of ‘Lost Horizon’. Cassie is an astute business woman, who provides the love and support her lover needs in the crazy world of show business. She tends to put the brakes on him when he gets all ‘prima donna’ which is pretty often.

This couple get embroiled in any kind of trouble you can think of, I have to say. From suicides of jumping off motorway bridges, to schizophrenic mothers and psychotic stalkers, ex-husbands with a grudge and supernatural happenings, Cassie and Bennett are in the thick of it. They have a tendency to attract kooks and trouble in equal measures.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

The series as a whole was prompted by two things. One was an incident in my home town of Essex, when some idiot threw a concrete bucket from a foot bridge onto the motorway and badly injured the woman driving under the bridge at the time. The other was the presence of a rather wonderful actor here in the UK called Benedict Cumberbatch, who I love, and he just had to be the role model for the character of Bennett Saville. I am what is known in the ‘Cumber’ trade as a ‘CumberCougar’ and I follow this young actor’s career with interest and more than a few drools down my chin. I’ve never fangirled before. This whole obsession with an actor thing is very new to me.

Once I had my very own virtual Benedict Cumberbatch in the form of Bennett, and had a writer’s privilege to do absolutely anything I wanted with him, I began writing the story. Of course, the fact that Cassie is my own age has absolutely nothing to do with anything. I promise. Honest. I was not sitting there writing steamy sex scenes, thinking of….well, you know.

So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I’ve always written. Songs, poetry and novels. I have some poetry published on etherbooks and of course I have two full length novels and two short stories already published with my publisher, Boroughs Publishing Group. 

(*Gives a wry grin*) It appears that once I started I wasn’t able to stop.  I’ve now written nine full length novels, three of which are in the pipeline and contracted to Boroughs, awaiting publication. The other four are all completed, just waiting for an available slot to thrust at my poor editor and say , "Here, Jill, want another one?" I love to see her squirm…

I’ve also written a screen play based on my debut novel, Cassandra by Starlight, which I’d like to show around and see if I can stir some interest in making a TV series. But that’s a little ways away at the moment

Do you have any favorite authors? 

I do. My favourite author is Stephen King, creator of the slavering beast, Cujo and the psychotic, child eating clown, Pennywise. I love the way he writes, his characters and his descriptive scenes. I’m also a huge Jonathan Kellerman fan, and love his ‘Alex Delaware’ novels. But I’m also an avid reader of gay male romances and soak them up like the proverbial sponge. I have a lot of favourite authors in this genre and it’s really hard to pick one as being the top one for me. But if I did, it would be the amazing Josh Lanyon. He writes stories that make you feel the characters are real, interspersed with a lot of witty humour and I love that in a book. Kindle Alexander is another one of my absolute ‘must haves’. Along with A. J. Rose, L A. Witt, Sue Brown, Sage Marlowe, Rory Ni Colleain, Harper Fox, Susan Laine, Barbara Elsborg -the list goes on. (If I didn’t mention one of you, sorry, rest assured you are all still loved. I just ran out of breath.)

Do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

Hmm. I thrive on chaos when I write. So where better than to sit than in the corner of the couch in the lounge, with husband, daughter, son and dog constantly on the move, asking me questions I don’t hear because - honestly? I’m not bloody listening – and hearing the blare of the television, the echo of my daughter’s Walkman or whatever it is she’s got, and the panting of the dog as he’s just come from a walk and is knackered. Oh yes, it’s just as well I like chaos in my house. I have a study, but if I went up there, my family would never see me.

I have a full time day job in the lovely city of Cambridge. So I get home about six p.m., eat the food someone has prepared (I don’t cook much – luckily my family enjoy it but it’s not of my favourite things to do unless it’s heating up a microwave dinner). I then sit down, laptop on lap, and write until midnight, one am. Then it’s up as six a.m. to start the day again. This, ladies and gentlemen, is my life. I do love it, but I’d rather not have the day job, be in the country somewhere in my country manor, gazing out over the grounds while the handsome groundsman walks bare chested across the field with his gun.

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers. Any advice?

I belong to a writing circle and one of my buddies has this plastered across the top of his blog. “Writers write. The rest make excuses.” It’s sort of become our circle mantra. The best thing you can do as a writer is put the words down. Don’t wait for a good time, till the baby’s stopped teething, till the kids have left the house, the robins have roosted or the cake has baked. Just sit down, arse to chair and either pick up a pencil or pen and write on paper, or type onto a computer. But don’t procrastinate.

The other thing I’d strongly advise is start getting ready to be a guru of social networking. If you think your book is going to be published and the publisher is going to do everything for you – think again. Authors nowadays have a huge responsibility to market themselves and their skills themselves. An author needs to learn the skills of promotion and there’s no time to start building that ‘author community’ like the present. 

Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Amazon, Shelfari, Goodreads, tumblr, Wordpress, LinkedIn, Google+, Instagram, Flickr, Soundcloud, Vimeo, YouTube –the list goes on. A personal website is a good choice and, of course, a blog.

I run seven Facebook accounts for role playing activities with my characters. I have nine Twitter accounts, ten Gmail addresses and heaven knows what else.  I am constantly trying to remember who I actually am. I also administer three Facebook pages. So it’s an intensive, hands on job but it has to be done.

The writing, dear writers, is the easy bit. The work comes after that first book has been signed for. You may as well get a head start now.

Here is the blurb for Together in Starlight.

For superstar actor Bennett Saville and his fiancée Cassandra Wallace, returning to “The Val” theatre in London means greed, lust, and ghosts from the past—and that’s off stage.

Bennett Saville is sexy. At the height of his career, the English star of stage and screen is everything a woman might desire, as fiancée Cassandra Wallace well knows. They’ve seen the world together, from L.A. to Shangri La. Yet shadows persist, even in the spotlight. At home they face lust, greed, and ghosts from their pasts—and that’s offstage. There is also “The Val”. Bennett’s aged London theatre holds a mystery four centuries old, cast in starlight, waiting to be shown. Intensely personal, impossibly passionate, that play must go on…and Cassie and Bennett must see it through together.

Here's an excerpt from Together in Starlight.

Bennett Saville stood at the window of his hotel room looking out over the Hengduan Mountains surrounding the mystical town of Shangri-La in Tibet. He’d been there nearly six weeks now filming his new movie, and had yet to tire of the view of the valley and the towering mountains that seemed to surround the hotel like a massive rock shield. The October sun shone down on the valley and the green fields surrounding the hotel.

Across the river in the distance he could see the small figures of farmers as they went about their business. Small white forms of sheep were speckled like popcorn about the grassy hills. He sighed, stretching his lanky frame, wincing as his muscles protested against the activity.

The day’s filming had taken its toll on him, not least of which was his backside from sitting on a mule most of the day. The mule had not particularly taken to him. He supposed wryly that when two immoveable and stubborn objects met there was bound to be some friction. He turned as someone swore behind him, and saw his fiancée, Cassie Wallace, struggling under the weight of her now packed suitcase as she manoeuvred it off the bed. She strained to pull the suitcase over to the door where it would wait to be taken down by the hotel porters in the morning.

He observed her with raised eyebrows. Despite his suggestion that she get a suitcase with wheels, she’d insisted on taking her tried and trusted old green one—the one with no wheels and which in itself was a fair weight even without the mountain of clothes inside it.

Cassie muttered as she gave the case one final kick in annoyance and looked up at him.

Her eyes challenged him to say something, anything. He turned away with a hidden smile.

She flopped down onto the bed and groaned. “I can’t believe we have to leave tomorrow.”

She opened her arms and spread them out behind her, her T–shirt straining at the move and showing the generous curves beneath. Seeing Bennett’s predatory look, she hastily sat up again in case he had any ideas about pouncing on her. They were due downstairs for their last lunch together with the rest of the cast and crew in about five minutes.

“I thought you were looking forward to getting home?” Bennett said. “You’ve been itching to get back to business. That phone of yours hasn’t stopped since we left London.”

He sat down on the bed beside her, his green eyes observing her, admiring her tanned skin from the sunshine of the Tibetan summer and the small freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose. Her strawberry-blond hair, worn long but now even longer past her shoulders, had streaks of gold where the sun had bleached it.

All in all, he thought the six-week holiday she’d had whilst he was filming had done her good. After the events of the last twenty-one months together, it was good to see her looking so perky, healthy and downright sexy.

She nodded. “I know. I am. It’s just that it’s so peaceful here. I know you’ve been filming but I’ve never seen you look so relaxed either. This trip has been good for both of us.”

He regarded her ruefully. “What with all the past events, you and your car accident, Eric’s death, Mum’s psychotic episode and you landing up in hospital again and that bloody Laura woman stalking me, I’m surprised we’re not both basket cases.”

She sighed. “I can’t believe our Tibet trip is nearly over. I know when you get back you’ll be busy filming in the London studios—Waverly is it?”

Bennett nodded. “It’s a huge and very sophisticated studio in Chalk Farm. It’ll be great seeing how the rest of the film comes together there.”

“Perhaps, Bennett, when we get home, I might be able to convince you not to fall asleep with such regularity at your desk,” Cassie said drily.

He grinned. Whilst he’d been in Tibet, many were the nights he’d fallen asleep in front of his laptop, his script open, various research websites being bookmarked and copious notes in his untidy, almost illegible scrawl in the margins of his script. He knew it drove Cassie to distraction.

“You know me, Cass. I’m a little obsessive.”

Cassie stared at him in amusement. “A little? Bennett, you disappear in the middle of the night to God knows where, for hours on end, stalking about, talking to yourself and looking like a crazy person.”

He smiled, knowing this to be true.

Cassie continued her diatribe. “You wander up into the mountains, down by the river and I never quite know where I’m going to find you or when you’ll be back. It can be quite dangerous out there.”

He shrugged. “When the muse is on me, Cass, I can’t help it. I need to get things perfect or it doesn’t work for me.”

“That’s all well and good, sweetheart, but if you hadn’t noticed, ignoring me doesn’t make me go away. And you can be such an autocrat. It’s your way or no way.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “An autocrat? Cassie, that’s a bit cruel.”

Bennett grinned at the exasperated face of his fiancée. “I guess we should be getting downstairs for lunch. I was planning on an afternoon siesta with you but judging from the sound your stomach is making, I imagine you’re hungry again. I can’t make love to a starving woman. It’s too distracting.”

He stood up and reached out a hand to her. She took it as she stood up and they
walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind them.

Downstairs in the outside courtyard the lunch buffet was in full swing. The full cast and crew of Lost Horizon were helping themselves to a spread of both Chinese and Tibetan local fare including roasted yak which Cassie hadn’t wanted to try. Bennett found it delicious. But despite that, Cassie refused to taste it. He acknowledged that neither of them had developed the taste for the local butter tea.

Mingmei Cheng, Bennett’s co-star and love interest in the film, smiled when she saw them, wandering over to join them. She was stunningly beautiful, a slim exotic Mandarin woman with long black hair and small hands that waved like butterflies when she talked. Bennett was well aware that the one part about the making of the film Cassie couldn’t get used to was the on-camera love scenes and intimate moments between him and Mingmei. Although the film’s director, John Lammington, managed them tastefully and there was only what was needed on show, nothing gratuitous, he knew she still couldn’t bear to watch Bennett and Mingmei together in that way.

“Most of the time you’re half naked,” she’d grumbled when they’d talked about it recently.

He’d smiled at her discomfort. “Cassie, mostly I have my shirt off. My pants and everything else are still on for most of the scenes. And when they’re not, well, there’s not really any contact. Honest.”

She’d scowled. “Well, I still don’t like watching it. Mingmei is so beautiful and tiny and it just looks wrong when she has her hands all over your bare chest. Sometimes I want to scratch her porcelain face. That makes me a really bad person, Bennett.”

It hadn’t helped that he’d chuckled loudly at her comments. “You jealous harpy. You know I’m acting. I promise.”

Seeing them now, Mingmei smiled at them sweetly. “Bennett, Cassie,” she said softly in her lilting dialect. “I’m glad you decided to join us. I thought perhaps you might be having a siesta.” She smiled slyly.

Bennett smiled, watching Cassie’s face flush instantly. He did tend to have a proclivity towards afternoon ‘siestas’ with her when he could get them and it appeared the whole
crew knew about them.

“No, we were hungry and looking forward to lunch. I shall miss all of this when we get home.” Cassie waved a hand around at the tables laden with food.

Bennett looked at her with raised eyebrows. “The way you’ve been eating whilst we’ve been here I shall have to employ you your very own chef when we get home to keep you stocked up on Kung Pao chicken and roast pig.”

He frowned worriedly. “Actually, thinking about it, I think we should call the airport and pay to increase our baggage allowance. We might need to offset it against the extra weight in the plane when you get in.”

Cassie punched him hard in the arm making sure her knuckle was extended. He yelped and rubbed his arm but the smile didn’t leave his face. Mingmei watched on with amusement.

“You bastard!” Cassie hissed. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

Bennett realised he’d perhaps overstepped the boundary. Cassie was sensitive about the fact that she was older than him and always told him she had to work harder to keep her figure in shape. He loved it just the way it was.

He pulled her close, planting a kiss on top of her head. “You look wonderful to me, Cassie, just the way you are. I love your curves.”

She wasn’t mollified by his words, glaring at him fiercely. She was stopped from responding as John Lammington came up and slapped Bennett on the back.

“Bennett! Glad you could join us. We thought you’d gone for a lie down. I thought you might have been a bit stiff after riding that crazy animal this morning.” 

He winked at Cassie who felt her face blush red. The double entendre was not lost on anyone. Mingmei looked down, smiling.

Bennett chuckled softly as Cassie went even redder. “No, no siesta. The woman needed feeding again.”

He made sure to stay out of the way of Cassie’s fist as he wandered over to the table to pile a plate with food. Cassie muttered a rude but very audible swear word at him under her breath, making sure she piled her plate high. She sat next to Bennett at the long communal table. He was amused at her defiant stand.

“So, Bennett. Looking forward to getting back to London and the dreary October weather?” John took a swig of the local Lhasa beer he was partial to.

Bennett shrugged. “I’ve enjoyed it here. It’s been an incredible experience. But Dylan is chomping at the bit to get his latest production up and running. He opens in December and needs some help. So I’ll be giving him a hand at the Val in between filming the rest of Lost.” He looked at John wryly. “Assuming I have any free time at all, that is. You can be a real slave driver.”

The Val as it was lovingly known, real name the Valedictorian, was the theatre that Bennett, Cassie and Dylan owned in London. Dylan Donahue was Bennett’s best friend and business partner, and Bennett had given Cassie thirty-five percent of his shares when they got engaged last year. He’d thought it the perfect engagement gift. He knew she loved the ambience, the quirkiness, camaraderie and drama that went on there.

John chuckled. “Now, Bennett. That coming from one perfectionist to another.” John helped himself to another beer. “Isn’t Dylan’s play some sort of musical about some Australian lady gang?”

Bennett nodded. “It’s about the Razor Gang wars in the mid-1920s in Sydney. He’s done a hell of a job in getting something like that into a musical, but I think it works.”

John grinned. “I understand you aren’t contributing to the stage show. Not your ‘cup of tea’.” He mocked Bennett’s accent.

Bennett shook his head ruefully. “I’m not fond of singing in public and I’m not the greatest dancer. I’ll stick with drama rather than make a fool of myself trying to belt out a tune.”

“I can vouch for that statement,” muttered Cassie. Bennett saw she was still unforgiving about the weight comment. “Bennett has a tendency to be very noisy when he’s trying to sing Pavarotti in the shower.”

“But I do have other talents you like in the shower, sweetheart.” Bennett regarded her lazily, not wanting to be outdone. He sniggered as Cassie once again blushed pink.

John gave a great laugh. “You two really keep us all amused with your bickering, you know that? It’s been like having two teenagers on set.”

He stood up. “Well, packing beckons. I still have a ton of things to sort out before we leave tomorrow afternoon.” He looked gloomy. “I suppose we’ll be taking that dodgy tour bus to the local airport and then flying to Lhasa Airport for the flight home. It’s going to be a long couple of days to get home.”

John hadn’t enjoyed the bus ride to the hotel, having white-knuckled it all the way due to the driver’s fairly erratic driving narrowly missing the long drops over the side of the mountains. He sighed. “See you kids later.”

Bennett sat back in his chair, closing his eyes, enjoying the rays of the sun on his face. Hearing a little voice beside him, he opened his eyes to see little Soong Li, the daughter of one of the hotel managers, smiling shyly at Cassie as she held out a small carved wooden bird.

Cassie smiled at her as she sat up. “Hello Soong Li. This is beautiful. Is it for me?”

She leaned over and took the small bird gently from the child’s outstretched hand. “Did you make this yourself?”

The little girl nodded. “I want you to take it back home with you,” she said in slightly broken English. “To remind you of me and Shangri-La.”

Cassie often took the child on her travels with her, mule riding, climbing the nearby mountains and wading down in the river collecting any item of interest the pair could find. The little girl had taken a shine to Cassie and was constantly fascinated by the colour of her hair and the freckles appearing on her face.

Bennett watched the two together now, seeming so comfortable with each other. Cassie couldn’t have any children of her own. She’d been unable to do so even before his mother had attacked Cassie one evening and injured her so badly that it had simply cemented the fact that Cassie would never be a mother.

The closest they’d get would be Bennett’s five-year-old nephew, Sean, who lived with Bennett’s father at the family home. Bennett and Cassie enjoyed taking him out occasionally but were always glad to see him home to Edward’s.

Cassie hugged the child and Soong Li ran off to join her friends playing nearby. She looked over at Bennett, smiling. “If you’re finished stuffing your face, I suppose we could go for a walk down by the river. It’ll be the last chance we get.”

He extended his arm to her and they walked out of the hotel courtyard into the dusty road leading down to the river. It was quiet, the clouds settling low upon the horizon and the warm breeze slightly unsettling Cassie’s hair, causing it to blow across her face.

She brushed it back absentmindedly as she walked. “Have you spoken to Sean recently?”

Bennett was in the habit of calling his nephew with an update on how many yaks he had seen, what the stupid mule had done next and generally painting a vivid picture for the child of what it was like to be in Shangri-La.

Bennett nodded. “I spoke to him last night. Apparently he’d had a bad day at school, some kid pinched his lunch and when Sean found out, he punched him in the nose. Mary had to go down to the school and placate them.” He grinned. “I’d say he’s definitely a Saville.”

Cassie kissed him affectionately on the chin. “Given his uncle’s temper, it sounds like the fruit hasn’t fallen far from the tree albeit a little removed.”

Bennett’s temper was legendary, something he sometimes struggled to control. The last year had certainly tested this to the limit. More than once Cassie had found herself having to defuse him.

They’d reached the river now, sitting down on the grassy bank, taking off their shoes and planting their feet in the cool running water.

“Did you ever think we’d be where we are now?” asked Bennett suddenly. “I mean sitting here together in Shangri-La in Tibet. Sometimes it all seems rather surreal.” He glanced at Cassie as she watched the water run over her feet.

“You know I believe things happen for a reason,” she said slowly. “Everything has a purpose. I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing now than sitting here with you in this magical place. January last year I was just plain Cassie Wallace. Now I’m Cassie Wallace, engaged to a young, filthy rich, sexy man in her bed. Who could possibly have seen that coming?”

She leaned over and kissed him. He pulled her towards him and the kiss grew deeper and more intense. Bennett wound his fingers through her hair, pulling her closer, enjoying the feel of her warm body and the sunshine on his back. After a few hot and heavy moments they pulled apart.

“I think it’s time for that siesta,” Cassie said huskily, running her fingers down his chest, pausing on his flat stomach and slipping her hands under his loose shirt.

He drew a breath as her hands found the warm skin beneath. “I certainly don’t think we should carry on here, we have an audience,” he murmured, kissing her ear, his tongue darting in and out causing her to shiver.

Cassie looked up in panic and Bennett chuckled. “There’s no one watching, Cassie. I mean that lot over there.” He pointed to where half a dozen curious yaks were congregating by the river bank, observing them through large brown eyes. Cassie giggled when she saw them.

“Whilst I could quite gladly ravish you here and now, I don’t relish the thought of doing so with them watching me. I don’t like competition.” Bennett stood up, picking up his shoes.

Cassie did the same and together they walked back up to the hotel. The lobby was fairly quiet. Everyone was probably in their rooms packing for tomorrow’s early get away. Their hotel room was cool and the breeze wafted in through the open windows. No sooner had they closed the door than Bennett pulled Cassie towards him, his mouth finding hers again, his tongue running its way across her top lip and finally finding its way into her mouth.

Universal Reader link:  https://books2read.com/u/mB2vEM

 

Author Bio  

  picture of author Susan Mac Nicol

Sue Mac Nicol was born in Leeds, Yorkshire, in the United Kingdom. At the age of eight, her family moved to Johannesburg, South Africa where she stayed for nearly thirty years before arriving back in the UK in December 2000.

Sue works full time in the field of regulatory compliance for a company in the financial services industry in Cambridge. But she still finds time to work until the small hours of the morning doing what she loves best – writing. Since her first novel, Cassandra by Starlight, was penned, Sue has written the other two books in her Starlight trilogy, six other novels, two short stories and a screen play based on Cassandra. Her passion is keeping herself busy creating worlds and characters for her readers to enjoy.

Sue is a member of Romance Writers of America and Romantic Novelists Association in the UK. She is also a member of a rather unique writing group, called the Talliston Writer’s Circle, which in itself has a story all of its own to tell and lives in the rural village of Bocking, in Essex, with her family.

Her plan is to keep writing as long as her muse sits upon her shoulder. Her dream is to one day get that big old house in the English countryside overlooking a river, where she can write all day and continue to indulge her passion for telling stories.

Website - www.susanmacnicol.com

Twitter - @SusanMacnicol7

Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/susiemax77

Blog -  http://susanmacnicol.wordpress.com/

 

The Whole 'Starlight Series': 

book cover image for Cassandra by Starlight by Susan Mac Nicol depicting an elegant man and woman standing together but she is turned away

Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/braXKY

cover image for Together in Starlight

Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/mB2vEM

book cover image for Forever in Starlight by Susan Mac Nicol depicting a couple standing with a starry background this is the final book of the trilogy

Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/mZrEnB

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

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Interview with Author Rebecca L. Frencl

7/1/2013

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My guest today is Rebecca Frencl. Hello, Rebecca! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here again.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?

book cover for Ribbons of Moonlight by Rebecca L. Frencl depicting a dark haired young woman in a fancy dress turned away looking at a mysterious ray of light in the middle of the forest

RIBBONS OF MOONLIGHT was released by Solstice on February 13, 2011. I thought it was pretty appropriate that a romance novel came out the day before Valentine's Day.  

Ribbons of Moonlight won the Best Romance 2012 contest after the first of the year! It's a time travel romance--Emma goes back in time to 1773 while on holiday in England for her friend's period wedding. Her coach is robbed by the highwayman who turns out to be much more than she ever expected. Connor drags her out of the coach and into his world turning her heart upside down. The red coats are on his tail and while he has a secret ally, there is also a traitor in their midst. This all seems so familiar to Emma. Can she figure it out and help save Connor while keeping her heart intact? 

RIBBONS OF MOONLIGHT is available in both ebook and print versions at the Solstice website, Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Smashwords.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

This book was actually inspired by one of my favorite narrative poems "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes. It was a challenge to write a book based on a tragic poem while keeping true to the heart of the poem, but not having the book have such a dismal ending! 

Great! So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I think I've always written. I remember my favorite toy as a kid was a typewriter my mom and dad gave me for Christmas. I used to write plays for my cousins. I think I wrote my first "book" in 7th grade and I haven't looked back since then. Though, I have expanded my horizons. While, fantasy is still my first love, I've also really learned to love romance, mystery and paranormal as well. 

Do you have any favorite authors? 

Wow. Too many. It also depends on the genre. In fantasy, I love David Eddings and Mercedes Lackey. Though in young adult, I am a sucker for Rick Riordan and Veronica Rossi. I adore Elizabeth Peters' Amelia Peabody mysteries and Lynn Kurland's time travel romances. Diana Gabaldon and Robin McKinley will always have a special place in my heart for their inspiration. 

Do you write in a specific place?  Time of day?

I write wherever and whenever I get the chance. On the couch, at my desk, on a park bench--between meetings, during a test the kids are taking, while my little girl is swinging from the monkey bars. My life is a little crazed so I snatch the time when I can. 

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers. Any advice?

Don't write what you know--write what you love and keep writing. Perseverance is the secret in this business. There's a quote I recently found that really speaks to me, "If it's important you'll find a way. If it's not--you'll find an excuse."

Don't find an excuse. Find a way.  

Here is the blurb for Ribbons of Moonlight.

Emma Sanders:

She’s a damsel in distress—a 20th century miss dragged back to the 18th with no way home and no idea how she got there in the first place.

Connor MacAllister Kane:

He’s the reason she’s in distress--a British highwayman, and a minor noble with not much more to his name than a title and a Robin Hood-like charm who robs the wrong coach.

Now, Captain Nelson Rawlins of His Majesty’s Royal Dragoons, a former childhood friend of Connor’s who sacrificed friendship for duty is on the hunt for the Highwayman and traitors to the crown. The longer Emma stays in Connor’s time, the more she’s drawn to him and drawn into his troubles. She and Connor find themselves struggling to stay one step ahead of the Captain and his corrupt Commander and keep Connor and his roguish cousins from the hangman’s noose. As the Commander’s grip on the countryside tightens, the people need Connor even more, but Rawlins is hot on his trail and there’s a traitor in their midst. Can Emma use her twentieth century wits to keep both Connor and her heart safe?

Here's an excerpt from Ribbons of Moonlight.

 

 

Chapter One

 

She looks so beautiful. 

That’s all Emma could think as she watched her oldest friend in the whole world dance in the arms of the man who loved her. 

With a sigh, Emma touched her champagne glass to her lips. The bubbles burst across her tongue and burned down her throat.  

“Well, Chelle,” she whispered, “we’ve come a long way since our days in the ‘burbs. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more.” She raised her glass to her friend then turned out of the terrace doors leaving William’s strains of the love theme from The Highwayman behind her.

            A cool breeze caressed her skin shifting the ruffles at her neckline and elbows. Emma took a deep breath. The perfume of the Old English roses and night-blooming jasmine smelled as sweet as the wine in her glass. She paced the weathered granite walk, heels catching a little on the weather roughened stones, and braced her arms on the balcony rail to look over the amazing Kircaldy Manor gardens. She leaned over the glass-smooth balustrade and brushed her fingers against the climbing red roses. Petals cascaded and their perfume rose. The guidebook in her guest room back at the inn told her that Kircaldy was one of oldest gardens in this area, dating back to the 1600’s. The tangled roses and curved white stone walks glimmered in the bright starlight. Emma leaned back and tipped her face to the sky. You couldn’t see this many stars in Chicago. The moon looked closer too; huge and swollen with only a thread of cloud across its face. 

Clematis vines crawled up the railings. Delicately closed candy-striped blooms brushed her knuckles. A gentle breeze ruffled the blossoming cherry tree to her right, stirring the stems of the strawflowers. 

            The music behind her changed, shifted from the love theme into a pulsing dance beat that made her rib cage thrum. Glancing over her shoulder back into the ballroom, she watched her friend reach out a hand to Tom Cruise, accepting his congratulations on her wedding. Emma shook her head in amazement with a smile. Yes, Michaela Evers, star of the sleepy summer hit The Highwayman, had definitely come a long way from the small Chicago suburb she’d shared with school librarian Emma Sanders. I don’t think I’ll ever really get used to rubbing elbows with the stars, Emma mused. 

            The bride’s dress whispered silk over silk as she stepped through the terrace doors. “Emma, dear, what in heaven’s name are you doing out here?”

             A seed pearl crown glinted amid the elaborate twists of Michaela’s long blond tresses. The filmy veil was pushed away from her face to pour in a shimmering wave to her hips. Moonlight danced on the diamonds around Michaela’s throat.

            Emma smiled and traced a finger over the tanzanite star hanging from a white gold chain around her throat. Michaela had given it to her as a bridesmaid’s gift just the day before. Emma had tried to tell Michaela that the suite of necklace and earrings had been far too expensive, but she should have learned long ago that when Michaela set her mind to something, she always won.

            “Good lord, Em, you’re missing all the dancing.” 

Michaela latched onto Emma’s arm and pulled her back into the twinkling lights of the Kircaldy Grand Ballroom. Michaela linked an arm through Emma’s and smiled at Megan Daly, star from TV’s Through the Sands of Time, as they passed. 

“Lovely lady,” Michaela muttered. “Too bad she’s stuck on that trashy soap.” 

            “If I recall, a certain star started on a trashy soap. Night Heart wasn’t exactly classic cinema,” Emma replied and set her empty champagne glass on a tray borne by a butler in gleaming black tie and tux.

            Michaela laughed, snagging two canapés from another tray. She handed one to Emma and nibbled on the other. “Oh, Em, you’re the one thing I really miss since I moved to California.”

Emma sniffed at the fancy swirl of pink and white cream on what she thought was a cracker. It smelled fishy. “Well, Chelle, I miss you too.” She stuffed the concoction in her mouth and rolled her eyes in bliss. Whatever it was, it was really good. She looked around for that tray-wielding waiter. 

“Then move to California, Emma.” Michaela’s hand tightened on Emma’s arm. “I worry about you all alone in Chicago.”

Emma swallowed and patted her friend’s hand. Her gaze followed Lester Brym and Alan Saddler as the two muscle men made their way to the bar. “I’m not moving to California, Chelle, and I’m hardly alone.” She pulled her gaze from the action stars to smile at her oldest friend. “I have Alfred.”

Michaela snorted. “That stupid parrot is older than you are.”

“Yes, but he keeps me company and besides, I like living in Chicago.” 

Kim Pierce, the fashion editor of Delirious swooped in to step between the two women. She looked over both Emma’s and Michaela’s period gowns.

“Lovely, just lovely,” Kim murmured. She smoothed her short ebony swing of hair back behind her ears. “A word with you, Miss Evers, or should I be calling you Mrs. Kalver now?” She chuckled and dug into her palm-sized bag pulling out a small notebook. “I’d like to have a word with you about scheduling an interview with you and the designer?” 

“Oh, Em, will you excuse me?” With an apologetic glance, Michaela walked away, smoothing down her embroidered silk gown. 

Emma watched her friend wander off, chattering excitedly to Pierce about the young designer who’d designed all her gowns. Emma brushed a hand over the pale blue silk skirt of the gown Michaela had especially designed for her as maid of honor. It was lovely. A pale blue bodice laced up the front, embroidery and touches of lace at elbow and neckline—just enough to give it a delicate feminine look. The skirt was full and heavy, the type she’d have loved at ten, perfect for spinning around and around.

Emma laughed at herself and leaned against one of the huge marble pillars that supported the carved vaulted ceiling of the great hall. With the cool marble at her back, she watched the revelers whirl by. Candlelight glowed from the wall sconces, bathing everything in a shimmering, shifting light. Shadows wove around the columns and the dancers in the uncertain illumination.

Many of the guests had loved Michaela’s idea of a period wedding and dressed for the occasion. Some wore silks and satins, others muslin, and tartan. 

Emma turned away from the dance floor. She didn’t belong here. She knew that. This glittering world wasn’t hers. It was Michaela’s and she’d never be comfortable there. 

The first time she’d visited Michaela in L.A., Michaela had dragged her to every Hollywood hotspot she could find. 

“I think she was hoping I’d snag a star,” Emma murmured to herself and then shook her head. No Hollywood heartthrob would look twice at a librarian from Chicago.

She pushed away from the column, making her way toward the main doors. Now free of Kim Pierce, Michaela was fully engaged in talking to Luke and Kyle Tredari. Michaela wouldn’t notice if Emma slipped away a little early.

As she approached the doors, the Kircaldy hostess slid out of the office near the doorway. The small woman wore a trim tailored suit in cherry red. Emma looked at it with a little bit of envy wishing she had the courage to buy something bold like that.

“May I help you, madam?” the hostess asked.

“I’d like a ride back to the inn, if you wouldn’t mind calling one of the carriages?” 

Emma rubbed her temples.  It was only ten or so and she was already exhausted. A bath and book in her charming and comfy room sounded so good right now. 

“Of course, Ms. Sanders.” The hostess ducked out the door and very shortly one of the carriages rumbled up to the marble steps. 

Emma felt like a queen, letting the coachman help her into the leather cab of the carriage. Another one of Michaela’s brainstorms was to have all the bridesmaids and guests taken from the church to the hall in coaches—the exact type the highwaymen would rob. 

Emma settled back in the seat. The carriage took off with a jolt, but soon settled into a rocking motion. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the squeak of the carriage rigging were very soothing. The tight knots of tension at her temples began to unravel. She pushed aside the leather curtain and looked out the narrow window. 

The moon bathed the private country road in sliver moonlight. The road stretched like a white ribbon winding through the trees that, according to her guidebook, were over four hundred years old. The night was still and quiet, the only sounds the jingle and clop of the carriage rigging and the horses’ hooves. Not even a breeze whispered through the trees at the road side. 

Emma let the curtain fall back into place. It would be about a half hour or more before they reached the little period inn. She slipped off her shoes and snuggled on the seat, her head pillowed on her hands. The gentle swaying of the cab lulled her. Quiet, alone, safe, she felt her eyes drift shut. With a sleepy little sigh she gave in. 

The carriage jolted to a halt. Emma slid neatly from the leather seat and onto the hard floor of the carriage. Silk and leather obviously weren’t good bed fellows. Her skirt pooled around her. 

“What in heaven’s name?” she muttered. 

With less grace than a baby giraffe she scrambled from the floor and smoothed her skirts back into place Carefully, she dropped to the seat again. 

With a frown, she reached for the door handle intending to ask the driver what in God’s name was going on. It disappeared under her hand, whipped open from the outside. 

“Just lovely,” the man towering in the doorway muttered. He was a dark shadow highlighted only by slashes of moonlight. When he smiled, a beam of moonlight showed missing teeth. Emma’s eyes widened, her heart leaping painfully in her chest. With her hands fisted in her skirt, heart pounding she first heard the voices murmuring outside the cab.

Good lord, she thought a shiver skating up her spine, how many of them are there? 

 

Chapter Two

 

Emma pressed her back against the leather seat of the carriage and stared at the man, her mouth slightly ajar. She didn’t recognize him as a guest from the wedding. He was tall with dark messy hair and a toothless grin she didn’t like at all. 

She swallowed hard and pressed a hand to her throat. Should she scream? What if Michaela had organized the entire scenario and she spoiled the fun by trying to kill the poor actor in front of her? 

“Who are you?” Her voice trembled far more than she anticipated.

“Good idea, luv, why don’t we get to know each other a little better?” he asked levering himself into the carriage. His hair was matted and the stench of horse and sour sweat filled the cab. He licked his lips as he reached for her neckline. A beam of moonlight showed her his grime encrusted nails and hairy knuckles. “Pretty little bauble, that.” She could feel her skin crawl at the thought of that filthy hand touching her. She clutched the necklace he was admiring and shrank back further. 

Emma brought both feet up to chest level, startling the man with a look under her skirt, and kicked. Both feet punched him hard in the chest. Words Emma could barely understand pierced the night as he lurched backward from the carriage to land on the road, arms and legs sprawled.

Quickly, Emma repositioned herself on the seat, back pressed against the opposite door, ready for another attack. Whoever these people were, she wouldn’t let them take her easily. Ugly laughter, both sadistic and frightening, increased the tremble in her hands.

“She’s a lively ‘un. I’m gunna enjoy this.”

Male laughter poured through the door, followed by insults she would rather not hear. 

Good lord, there must be at least five of them. Emma scrambled for her shoes and slipped the two-inch heels on. If she’d had them on when she’d kicked, the man would be gone for good. She wedged herself in the corner of the carriage and drew up her feet, ready to kick out again. She gripped the seat leather with clammy hands, her gaze intent on the swinging door.

Where was the driver? Where the hell were the cops? 

The door at her back whipped open. Emma tumbled out of the carriage in a froth of pale blue skirts. Startled, she screamed and braced herself for her collision with the road. Hands hooked under her arms, stopping her from a painful crash. 

Well and truly over her fright, she kicked and punched, trying to remember every dirty trick she’d been taught about self-defense. The man stumbled. Triumphant, she leaned into him. If he fell he’d let her go. 

“Spirited little dabchick, eh?” 

I’ll show you spirited! Emma skinned her heel down her assailant’s shin.The arms around her tightened. 

“Bloody hell!” he yelled and lifted her right off her feet.

“Let me go!” Emma twisted against the arms that held hers pinned to her sides. “Just wait until the cops get here! I’m filing every charge in the book!”

“Just a bit bats, is she?” A voice off the side asked. “Need a hand there, boy?”

Emma looked over to see the dark-haired man she’d forcibly ejected from the carriage. The man started forward to take hold of Emma. A desperate plan formed in her mind and she settled within the powerful embrace. She watched the dark-haired man approach her as though she’d turned into a wild animal. Her heart thumped in her chest. She blew annoying twists of hair from her face.

When he got within kicking range, she used her captor’s strong hold to lever herself up and kick at the man again, with her shoes on this time. The man howled. His hand whipped up to cover a gash that ran from his forehead to his chin. Blood trickled from beneath his hand.

Emma’s eyes widened. She’d done it! Maybe they would leave her alone, now.

“That’ll be enough of that, Miss.” Her captor’s low, liquid voice slid down her spine. “Stop trying to take a piece of us. Your virtue is safe enough for the moment,” a brief pause, “and your life as well.”

Emma stilled, shaking with rage in the man’s arms. She’d seen enough episodes of The New Detectives to know that a kidnapper’s word was worth spit, but she needed to get him to let her go. If he let her go, she might be able to find a chance to escape. She took a deep breath that turned into a gasp when she realized that her captor’s hands were fully over her breasts. 

“Get your hands off of me,” she ordered, her voice low.

“Will you accept our word, miss?” The arms tightened one last time. “Or do we continue this invigorating and rather entertaining romp?” 

He pressed his groin into her lower back.  A gasp slipped past her lips. All the wrestling around had aroused him. She felt it clearly even through her layers of petticoats and skirts.

Her stomach jumped with nerves. “I’ll accept your word for exactly what it’s worth,” she whispered.

The arms stayed locked for a moment as her captor seemed to weigh her words. Then, he released her abruptly. Her stomach lurched. She let out an alarmed cry, but the man caught her by the elbow until she regained her balance. With a deep breath, she gathered her skirts in her hands, and turned to look at her captor. 

He was tall. She had to tip her head back to look at him. She saw dark hair, longer than she was used to, pulled back into a tail. A small breeze tugged at some loose strands. His eyes were shadowed, but one dark brow rose at her study. She dropped her eyes from his face. He was dressed in a long coat, brass buttons gleamed in the moonlight.  She couldn’t quite tell the color of the coat, the light was too uncertain, but the white shirt beneath shone in the moonlight.  

With a wary glance she looked around. The coach still sat in the road, the horses stamping in their traces. One man stood with the horses, the reins in his hands, another popped out of the carriage cab shaking his head. Two more secured the unconscious driver to a tree. Emma saw a trickle of blood slipping down his face from under the powered wig. 

They were all dressed like her captor in long coats and boots and they were all staring at her. She swallowed, a lump in her throat. She wondered if they could see the pulse jumping in her throat? She clasped her hands together and looked back at her captor.

“What do you want from me?” she asked making herself look up at him. 

He must be one of Michaela’s more eccentric movie friends. She also noticed for the first time that there were horses tethered to the nearby trees. This looked like something out of a movie set. In fact, it looked like a scene directly out of The Highwayman.

With a scowl, she tore her eyes away from his extraordinary face and looked around the clearing. She fisted her hands on her hips.

“This is absolutely ridiculous. Did Chelle put you up to this?” she demanded glaring up at him. “I can see it now.” She threw her hands up, “Chelle thought I’d need a little excitement in my life so she put you all up to waylaying me from the reception.” 

Emma looked around at the four actors loosely ringing her, their mouths hanging open. She looked back at her captor. 

“I must admit it’s awfully authentic. And she does have amazing taste in men, but I told her before that I’m not interested.” She brushed invisible dirt from her skirts and turned away from the man. “Well, it’s been exciting, but I’m exhausted. Tell Chelle you tried to get me to go along with it all, but that I just wasn’t in the mood.” She started back toward the carriage. “Someone nudge the driver and tell him the jig is up.”

“She’s not a little bats, Connor,” the man who’d originally grabbed for her said, “she’s absolutely stark staring.” 

“Something’s not quite right here, Adam,” Emma heard the man murmur as he reached out and grabbed her as she passed. Emma tried to shrug his hand off her arm. 

“I told you I’m not interested. I want to get back to the hotel.”

The fingers tightened around her arm. Her intended retort died on her lips. His eyes were not amused. He wasn’t laughing. Boy, he’s good. 

Her gaze darted around the clearing. He was correct, something wasn’t quite right here. The men were not dressed in quite the same style of clothes as she’d seen at the wedding. They were also dirtier than the average party-goer. The man who’d said she was bats was the worst—matted hair and missing teeth. One of the other had dirt smeared down the side of his face. The sleeves of the coats were raggedly and the boots mud encrusted. And if she wasn’t mistaken, that man over in the corner just pulled a musket out of a saddle holster. Weaponry had not been included in any of the costumes she’d seen and that one looked way too authentic to be a prop. 

She turned back to Connor’s unsmiling face. She felt her breath hitching and forced herself to take deep slow breath. She wiped sweaty palms on her skirt.   

“You’re not an actor, are you?” she asked quietly. 

He shook his head. 

She looked at the other men. They moved closer and the smell of horse and fire smoke wafted over. Moonlight gleamed on a pistol barrel in one hand.  “They’re not actors either, are they,” she whispered making him bend down to hear her.

He shook his head again.

They stood nearly nose to nose for a silent moment, her eyes intent on his. “If you’re not actors and you’re not here because Chelle sent you, who are you and what do you want?” Her breath hitched again, coming faster. Her heart hammered in her chest and her knees felt weak. Emma didn’t think she’d be able to run now if she wanted to. 

A satanic smile lifted the corners of his full lips. He leaned forward until Emma smelled campfire smoke on his jacket. She wanted to step back, but couldn’t. She needed to hear his words, to know why they’d stopped her carriage and fairly accosted her. Connor raised his eyebrows and beckoned her to come closer. Against her better judgment, she tipped her head and moved another inch.

 “We’re highwaymen, milady,” he whispered in her ear, “and what we want is…you.”

Universal Reader link:  https://books2read.com/u/4joPnY

 

Author Bio  

   picture of author Rebecca L. Frencl smiling face woman dining out with friends

When I was a kid growing up in the near Chicago suburbs I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to teach and I wanted to write. I’d spend hours over the little typewriter Mom and Dad bought for me when I was little clattering away at stories and plays I’d wheedle my cousins and brother into performing. I think I wrote my first “book” in 6th grade and had a friend illustrate it for me. I never really looked back from there.

Now, I can say that I’ve achieved both of my goals. I’ve been teaching 8th graders for more than 15 years, sharing my love of words with hundreds. I always tell my kids that it’s not that they don’t like to read they just haven’t met the right book yet. I make it one of my missions in life to put those books into their hands.

My love of literature lead to my debut Solstice novel, Ribbons of Moonlight. I’ve always loved poetry and “The Highwayman” has always been a personal favorite. I always thought there was more to that story and now there is.

So, here am I living—still living in the Chicago suburbs, a little further out than where I first started, but I can still see the skyline on my drive in to work. I married my high school prom date and we share a beautiful little girl, two spoiled hound dogs and a love of reading and all things Disney. Overall, I’m happy where I am, but I’m also looking forward to seeing what the next several years bring. Hopefully, it will bring me several more books on this author page!

You can find me at:

http://rebeccalfrencl.blogspot.com/

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Rebecca-L-Frencl/115163871892050?ref=hl

https://twitter.com/rlfrencl

Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/Rebecca-L-Frencl/e/B00EQDG5C4/

 

The Shattered Prism was just released in June 2013 through Solstice Publishing.

book cover image for The Shattered Prism by Rebecca L. Frencl depicting a woman dressed in a Medieval costume holding a sword while another lady plays the harp with magical swirls dancing around

Universal Reader link:  https://books2read.com/u/3LwyAJ    

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