Charity Sunday: RWJ Barnabas Field of Dreams

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!


A few weeks ago, I saw a news feature of a playground in Toms River, New Jersey. The B.W.J. Barnabas Health playground is very special because it’s designed to fit every level of ability a child can manage. (The playground can also be used by adults who have special needs and even some recovering from surgery.) The design of the playground is phenomenal, all due to the vision of Christian Kane, the town of Toms River, and corporations who pitched in to help. Kane’s brilliant idea is to benefit his son who was severely injured in a car accident as an infant, but who now, and age 8 or so, wants to play baseball.

The mission of the complex is: The Toms River Field of Dreams (TRFOD) is a project with a mission to encourage and engage our communities (Monmouth and Ocean Counties), with a focus on those with special needs, in physical and social activity by building a community complex to provide opportunities for special needs individuals of all ages and abilities to engage, explore and socialize together.

If you check out the website, scroll down the Home page and watch one of the videos that describe this amazing place. You’ll see why I’m so impressed. This donation will be going to the Toms River complex, where they still have work to finish. But these types of playgrounds can, and should, be available all over the country. Think of the joy! Thanks for your help!!


My book this month is a fantasy and study in adults who need special things, things that will—mysteriously—make their dreams come true. Your Desire

Your Desire by Dee S. Knight

Blurb:
Your Desire. A mysterious shop appears in town for one reason: to bring the spice of passion and the thrill of love to one special person. Magic is in more than the item purchased—it’s in the heart of the buyer, often hidden, usually surprising. And after enchantment takes hold and the fantasy is fulfilled? The store fades from sight and memory, only to reappear somewhere else. Maybe in your town…?

Buy link:
Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt:
The whir of a sewing machine traveled across the ether. As intended, the sound blended with the those of a lawn mower in Cleveland, a blender in Dallas, an electric razor in Seattle. Some people, those specially attuned to properties outside the normal realm of humans, heard buzzing that could have been a sewing machine, but it was faint and truly indistinguishable for what it was. More like a mosquito at the ear. They heard it but couldn’t decipher exactly where to swat, so they did their best ignore it.

Of course, the sound was not supposed to be heard, and therefore not investigated. The very few who did hear it clearly, who also heard Nigel and his granddaughter clearly, well, they generally resided in a hospital setting where three squares a day were provided and tranquility came in the form of little green pills. At the least, they saw a shrink three times a week. Their knowledge wasn’t taken seriously.

This worried Nigel, but what could he do? It wasn’t his fault humans had devolved to the point where they no longer believed in enchantment. He shook his head and tsked as he sewed. When he was a boy learning the business from his grandfather as his granddaughter now learned from him, no one would have believed the universe could get to this point, where people believed in the “magic” of technology but not the magic that could be found in their own hearts.

Of course, challenges were exciting, and skeptical humans certainly kept him on his toes.

Absently, he hummed as he completed the final seam on the full, purple satin skirt. He pulled it from the machine, snipped the threads and shook the material out before pinning it on the dress form.

“Edwina! I have the skirt finished. Come here, dear.” Standing back to cast a critical eye over how the skirt hung, he held up an artist’s rendition of what the final product should be. He looked from drawing to garment, made a few small adjustments to the pleating around the waist and nodded in satisfaction.

“Hey, Gramps,” his granddaughter said, bounding into the room.

For the millionth time, he mentally cringed at the lack of style in today’s youth. Their kind had the ability to appear any way they wished. Glancing in the mirror, he saw a debonair David Niven reflected back. The sleeves of his snowy white shirt were rolled to his elbows, but the Windsor knot in his tie was perfect, as was the knife-sharp crease in his trousers and the shine on his shoes. When he rolled down his sleeves and put on his jacket, he would look every inch the gentleman. Quirking his brows in approval, he unconsciously ran a fingertip lightly over his moustache. Instead of selecting what he would consider an appropriate shell, Edwina—a name which screamed propriety—chose to look like a bag lady gone wild.

Like today, for instance. Long blond hair, streaked with pink and purple, pulled up into a ponytail to hang down the side of her head. Black lipstick and eye shadow. Two earrings in one ear and four in the other. A bright orange tank top and faded jeans—separated scandalously by a good three inches of bare stomach—looked as though they’d been worn (and torn) for centuries. And her feet—her lovely, dainty feet!—were shod in horrid, ugly brown things that not even the most desperate soldier in Caesar’s army would have donned.

When he had questioned her once about her appearance, she’d said with delight that she was starting her own trend. A Lauper-Madonna-Pink look. It was not something he’d understood. Today, after a quick perusal, he leaned closer.

“What is that?” He swiped his thumb across her cheek, then examined what was on the pad.

“Body glitter. Isn’t it cool?” She grinned at him.

Her enthusiasm, as well as her utter lack of self-consciousness, brought the slightest of smiles to his eyes, even as his mouth formed a moue of reproach.

“Yes, well.” He wiped his thumb on a handkerchief pulled from the pocket of his jacket, hanging on the wall behind Edwina. “‘Cool’ is what ice cubes provide. I don’t know what body glitter is good for.”

Giggles flowed from her, reminding him of when she was a small girl instead of the nearly grown youngster she was now. Where had the centuries gone? Despite the shudders her wardrobe caused, he loved Edwina enormously and strove to give her the very best education in what they did, which was make dreams come true.

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

Powered by Linky Tools

Click here to enter your link and view this Linky Tools list…

New! Valkyrie Love by Viviana MacKade

Valkyrie Love by Viviana MacKade
Valkyrie love never comes easy.

Blurb:
Brenna left Asgard with a curse on her name and a broken heart.
A Valkyrie now free and independent, for millennia her life had been great. Just great.
Then a bleeding Elf knocks at her door holding a baby.

Alexander Reed left the Marines and lost the wheel of his life.
A soldier without a worthy fight, he became everything he despised.
Until he ends up in the wrong backyard at the wrong time.

Fljóða, Queen of the Light Elves and last of her lineage, is an infant with a death sentence on her head.
Hunted by the Night Elves, her survival brings Brenna and Reed together for the ultimate mission: take the little Queen to safety in the Vanaheim Realm, deep in the Roots of Yggdrasil.

Not simple, but straightforward.
Or so it seemed.
Between flaming giants, demons, and an army of Half Breed determined to kill the Queen and conquer all the Elvin Realms, Brenna and Reed will have to face their inner monsters.
Monsters appearing in the form of feelings neither want but cannot control.

Buy links:

Amazon Kindle ~ only 99 cents while in preorder

Amazon  Vella ~ Get 3 episodes FREE

Follow Valkyrie Love on tour! Find the dates at www.viviana-mackade.blog

An interview with Brenna:

NA: Brenna, welcome! We’re anxious to know more about you.

Where were you born? Where do you live now? What do you like and dislike about it?

Brenna: Technically, I was created in Asgard, never born. Now I live In Montana. I love what Reed and I are doing there. Shoveling snow sucks, though.

NA: If I searched your name online, what would it say?

Brenna: That it means Sword, which is exactly why I picked it.

NA: Do you have any bad habits?

Brenna: Oh, Reed would have a field day answering this question. I’d say, not listening to (his) advice on combat moves and general fighting would be the biggest. It got me into some trouble, that’s for sure. I also leave dirty cups in the sink.

NA: Which dead person would you most want to meet? Why?

Brenna: I met so, so many famous people, the kind that changed history’s course, that I can be satisfied. If I had a chance, I’d like to meet Reed’s mom and dad. I’ve never had that. They must have been great, because they raised a great man.

NA: Who do you trust the most? Who do you not trust?

Brenna: I started out trusting the circle made of my closest “family”. Got burned badly, so didn’t trust anyone after that. Enter Reed. I trust him.

NA: Do you have a pet? If yes, what is it? Is it a rescue or breeder?

Brenna: We sort of have this dog. His name is Dog. Because, you know, he’s one. So he appeared one morning, everything was covered in snow and freezing, and this guy looked at us, just looked. So now we have a dog. I’ve never had a pet. I like it.

NA: Have you ever eaten food straight from the ground or from the tree? What was it?

Brenna: You should really read our story. Then things we ate…

NA: If someone told you a secret, are you likely to keep it?

Brenna: Definitely.

NA: When you met the other main character, what did you like about them? What did you dislike about them?

Brenna: He was an exceptional fighter, and that was the reason why I proposed him the mission. I didn’t like how he asked all these questions about me. I wasn’t sure about the answer back then, and it got me mad.

NA: What will the reader like about you right away?

Brenna: That I’m a badass with a very interesting sword, and not afraid to use it.

Viviana bio and links:
Beach bum and country music addicted, Viviana lives in a small Floridian town with her die-hard fans and personal cheer squad: her husband, her son, and her daughter. She spends her days between typing on her beloved keyboard, playing in the pool with her babies, and eating whatever her husband puts on her plate (the guy is that good, and she really loves eating). Besides beaching, she enjoys long walks, horse-riding, hiking, and pretty much whatever she can do outside with her family.

Find Viviana:

The best way to know me is through my website (and the books I host):  http://www.viviana-mackade.blog/

 On FB

On Twitter

Amazon Author page


New! The Moon Crossing a writing partnership

The Moon CrossingWhat do a scifi/fantasy romance writer and historical romance writer have in common?

Well for Jan Selbourne and me it was a mutual love of writing.

After reading Perilous Love, I became a fan of her writing. In Perilous Love, Jan dragged me through a gambit of emotions including being very annoyed I had to go to sleep and wouldn’t get back to her book until much later the next day.

Jan and I talked writing and went back and forth a bit. I’m not sure how the conversation started but I said we should write a book together. I love her style and her attention to detail, so I thought we could work together to create a story.

It started more in fun – well, what could we write together. I don’t know how we settled on alternate history but it seemed to work. History was involved which hit on Jan’s strengths and it being tweaked and a bit different.. well that describes me I think.

Both Jan and I write as we go. There’s no grand plan or outline. We sit down and write. How in the world were we going to write a story together? So we talked through ideas. Some were rubbish and others were brilliant. Once we had a rough idea of where we thought we were going, we started writing. We started this in 2020 so with all the COVID and political unrest and difficulties, we tapped into the conspiracies of government and big business. Corruption is one of the themes in the book but also coverups.

Jan picked the names. I hate picking character names. In my head they are character 1 or character 2 or something similar until they coalesce into something more. One thing we did discuss was Susan needed to be strong. Moments of stress didn’t result in her breaking down in tears or falling apart. We tapped into her fears and let the reader see them. At one point, she’s walking through a dark tunnel. She feels like the walls are closing in and her fear climbs. Tapping into those feelings are key for the development of the character and progression of the story.

We opted to swap chapters. I’d write one then she’d write one. When it was her turn to write, I had to force myself to not go in and read behind her. I loved reading where she took us and our characters. After reading her chapters, I had to catch my breath. I tapped into the characters and thought okay, what’s next?

There were moments when I thought ‘huh, hadn’t planned to go there’ but as I read what she wrote, I was amazed and thrilled. Her writing inspired my writing. I hope mine did the same for her.

There were times she said – I’m writing this scene – I was perfectly okay with that because there were scenes I knew I wanted to write. I think our styles complimented each other nicely. By tapping into our strengths, I think it gave our story more depth and breadth. I also think it strengthened our friendship.

BLURB:
USA Today Bestselling Author Eileen Troemel and 2019 winner of Coffee Pot Book Club Book of the year silver medal for Historical Fiction Jan Selbourne present an alternate history, sweet romance of life after the Moon Landing in 1969.

In 2030, World Correction Center – the Earth’s most secure prison – is a miserable place to land. Since it’s on the moon, it’s inescapable. It contains the worst criminals Earth has ever seen. So why are the brilliant minds across the globe being sent to this black hole of the justice system?

When world-renowned archeologist Micky Cooper is charged with embezzling, his sister Susan knows it’s a set up. It’s up to her to prove his innocence. Susan thinks she might be paranoid but she swears she’s being followed and should she trust the nice man whose cousin has disappeared as well? Was it just a chance meeting or is he against her too?

Teaming up with Greg Tanner, a man equally resolved to prove the innocence of his cousin, Samantha Tanner – a world leading linguist. Susan and Greg seek clues wherever they can find them but they’re barely keeping one step ahead of those who want them to stop.

They begin to unravel the web of lies, fraud and cover up. Just when they start to put the pieces together, Susan and Greg are forced to run for their lives. With a nudge from Samantha, they find someone to help. Is this woman an ally? Or simply part of a greater conspiracy to hide the truth? What exactly is on the moon and why are the Earth’s greatest minds being sent there to serve time?

Buy link:
Universal: https://books2read.com/mooncrossing

Excerpt:
Finally at the front, she saw the little line on the sidewalk. The signs said no matter what, stay behind the line. Why? Did they think her powerful enough to break through a steel cage and bullet proof window? She forced a smile on her face as she fought her own rebellious nature. Putting her toes on the line, she raised her eyes to meet those of the officer.

The officer behind the window glanced her way. She flashed a sweet almost innocent smile to charm him. He paused momentarily, “State the name of the prisoner.”

“Micky… Michael James Cooper,” Susan heard the whir of the computer through the thick walls as the officer typed in her brother’s name. Biting her lip, she waited.

The officer stared at the screen, an eerie green reflection on his face. He glanced at her, frowned, and glanced back to his screen. “He’s not assigned,” the officer said.

“Can you tell me when he will be assigned,” Susan asked stepping closer to the window. She stepped over the line, but no one burst out of the doors to drag her away.

With his Adam’s apple bobbing, the officer looked into her pretty blue eyes. He licked his lips as he took in her tight sweater and her curves. Pencil skirts highlighted her narrow waist and flat stomach. Susan saw the desire she endured from men since she got breasts at ten. Men. She tried to keep the disgust she felt hidden.

“He’s been assigned,” the officer said reluctantly shifting his eyes back to the screen. “There’s no backlog of prisoners. They either get a prison in the US, or they go off to WCC.”

“What’s WCC?”

“World Correctional Center,” he informed.

“Sergeant Brady,” she read off his name from the tag on his gray uniform, “I know you get a lot of flak from people all day long, I don’t want to cause trouble. I want to send my brother some food and other creature comforts.”

Sergeant Brady adjusted his belt as he stood behind the glass and metal counter. “Most likely they sent him to the moon,” he said. “Those designations always take longer to get in the system.”

“May I ask you a simple question,” Susan said putting on her ‘I’m a dumb girl act’.

“Anything I can do to help,” Officer Brady said, grinning when she gave him a half smile.

“I thought they only sent the worst criminals there,” she said leaning forward to give him a better view of her cleavage. “I know Son of Sam and Charles Manson were sent to the dark side of the moon. Why would they send my brother who… well he did something with the computer, and they said he stole money.”

“It’s all up to the International Department of Justice,” Officer Brady said leaning towards the glass. “They assign the prisoners to the prison.”

“You’re so kind,” Susan beamed at him. “Who can I contact…”

“You can’t and you are beyond the line,” snapped an officer behind Brady, who jumped to attention.

“Oh, forgive me,” Susan said stepping back. This man was not swayed by her helpless girl act. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Turning away from the head of the line, Susan felt a flush rush across her face. How dare they? The dark side of the moon. Why send her brother? They convicted him of embezzlement. Murders, mass murderers, traitors were all sent to the dark side of the moon.

Meet the Authors:

Eileen TroemelEileen Troemel:
USA Today Bestseller Author Eileen Troemel writes action packed and emotionally powerful fantasy, scifi, romance. She’s versatile and writes in many genres.  She’ll try almost any genre if it means she can tell a good story.  In addition to her writing, she loves to read, crochet, and research genealogy.  Her best days are spent with her family of three adult daughters and her husband or writing. 

LINKS:
Website: https://eileentroemel.com/ 
Twitter https://twitter.com/EileenTroemel
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/EileenTroemelAuthor/ 
Instagram https://www.instagram.com/eileentroemel/
LinkedIn https://www.linkedin.com/in/eileen-troemel-6667825b/
MeWe https://mewe.com/i/eileentroemel
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7868345.Eileen_Troemel

Jan SelbourneJan Selbourne:
Jan Selbourne was born and educated in Melbourne, Australia and her love of literature and history began as soon as she learned to read and hold a pen. After graduating from a Melbourne Business College her career began in the dusty world of ledgers and accounting, working in Victoria, Queensland and the United Kingdom. On the point of retiring, she changed course to work as secretary of a large NSW historical society. Now retired Jan is enjoying her love of travelling and literature. She has two children, a stray live in cat and lives near Maitland, New South Wales

Website: https://nomadauthors.com/JanSelbourne/index.html
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/JanSelbourne
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jan.selbourne
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14661584.Jan_Selbourne?from_search=true
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Jan-Selbourne/
/B0184OSZ6E/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/jan-selbourne-2817b6140/

Internet research and The Last Dragon: Daryl Devore

Welcome, Daryl! i’m almost finished reading The Last Dragon now–review to follow! (Love the cover!)

Happy birthday, The Last Dragon!

The Last Dragon by Daryl Devore

Internet Research – A writer’s friend and worst enemy

Silly me, I decide to write a medieval fantasy romance. *shakes head* What do I know about medieval times? No cell phones. There were knights. Damsel in distress needing saving. And they spoke a different form of English than we do. Cuz, like, ya know – English changes.

Why is Internet research a writer’s friend? What ever the question is, the answer is at our fingertips. No having to go to the library and dig through the reference section. Although being the daughter of a retired librarian, I will confess, I love libraries and all those books. But being able to get the information on my laptop and not having to get dressed and brush my hair to go out to the library, is a great delight and time saver.

Why is Internet research a writer’s worst enemy? A deep dark rabbit hole. I’ll just look up – clothes in medieval times. Which led me to food in medieval times. Which led me to castles in medieval times. Which led me to — sanitary practises in medieval times. Ewww. I have still not gotten over the repulsion of that research.

Times may be difficult right now, but flush plumbing and deodorant are a blessing!

In my next book, which is also a medieval fantasy romance, I am torn between being truthful about the actual conditions the people lived in or sticking with Hollywood’s version. And… believe me when I say – the Hollywood version is winning!

Snippet
She sniffed as she neared the berries, but could not catch their sweet scent. Her mood slipped. Not a red fruit anywhere. A crow sat atop a nearby tree and cawed.

“Ye couldn’t have left just a few?” Derry waved her basket at it. “Those were probably the last berries of the season.” The black bird tilted its head and screeched again. ‘Tis not to be my lucky day. A patch full of sweet fruit gone and a handsome man stolen by Ailith and Isa. Best to attend to breakfast. She turned and followed the path back to the cottage.

After milking the cow and leading her and her calf to the small pasture, Derry carried the bucket into the cottage and placed it by the trestle table. She picked up two wooden mugs, bowls and spoons and placed them on the table. She poured a handful of nuts and dried fruit into the bowls and reached for the clay jar filled with honey. After drizzling the amber liquid over the nuts, she placed the jar back on the shelf and filled the mugs with warm milk.

Wrapped in her woollen shawl, the old woman entered and sat. “Ye were gone when I awoke.”

Derry did not know why she lived with this woman. She was not kin to her, but as it seemed like it had always been this way. She did not question.

“I went to pick berries up at the little patch on the hill.” Derry untied her headscarf and placed it on the table. “But the birds had a feast before us. Did ye sleep well?” Derry settled on her stool and lifted her spoon.

The woman nodded.

“On my way to the patch I found a man. He was hurt. His aura was golden. I mended him. Not like those covered in the darkness.” She licked a bit of honey off her spoon. The sweetness filled her mouth.

“Then ye must eat.” The woman patted her arm. “Ye must also rest.”

“When I have finished.” Lost in her thoughts, Derry munched a mouthful of honey covered nuts. He was delightfully handsome. Large muscles on his arms. A broad chest and a fine chin. But now he is in the hands of Ailith and Isa. Will I ever find a husband?

With the meal over, Derry rinsed the dishes with water from a bowl then returned to their little sleeping area. She fluffed the straw mattress, tossed in a handful of wormwood leaves to ward off pests and settled down. Closing her eyes, she released a silent prayer. Please don’t let the blackness haunt me. Allow me to rest. Fill my dreams with visions of the fallen man. Not the icy blackness which scares me so.

The Last Dragon by Daryl Devore

Blurb and Buy Links
What do dragons, knights and romance have in common? GrabThe Last Dragon by Daryl Devore a copy of multi-published author Daryl Devore’s medieval fantasy romance – The Last Dragon and discover the answer.

A sorcerer craving dominance merged with a dragon, the power overwhelmed him causing him to split into three dragons. Demora ruled thought, but was lost in time. Yidithe offered protection, shining like the light of the sun. Ayrradex craved chaos, revelling in destroying souls.

Many knights died, attempting to slay the devil beast. One knight, Prince Hawkyns, did not fear death. He’d lost everything. Away on a mission when Ayrradex attacked his father’s kingdom, Penrythe, Hawkyns returned to find his noble father – feeble and defeated. His wise mother – crazed. His beautiful wife and unborn child – dead. Only a pile of ashes remained for him to bury. He knelt before his King and vowed to slay the devil-beast or be slain.

Derry was born with powers that terrified her parents. They delivered her to a nunnery to be raised in secret. Jathe, a wise sorceress, discovered the young girl and trained her to one day use the secret hidden in her soul.

Legends spoken around campfires hinted the sole way to destroy Ayrradex was when the hearts of a knight and a golden dragon became one. But after a vicious battle with Ayrradex, the golden dragon was thought to be dead.

Can Prince Hawkyns’s bravery and Derry’s powers end the reign of the devil-beast’s terror?

Book links
Amazon US
Amazon print
Books2Read (universal)
Pinterest

Bio and Social Media
Two writers in one. Daryl Devoré writes hot romances with sexy heroes and strong heroines and sweet romances with little to no heat. She has several published books available on Amazon in ebook or print book and available at other book retailers via Books2Read.

Daryl (@daryldevore) lives in an old farmhouse in Ontario, Canada, with her husband and 2 cats. Daryl loves to take long walks on her quiet country road or snowshoe across the back acres, and in the summer, kayak along the St. Lawrence River. She has touched a moon rock, a mammoth, and a meteorite. She’s been deep in the ocean in a submarine, flown high over Niagara Falls in a helicopter, and used the ladies room in a royal palace. Life’s an adventure and Daryl’s having fun living it.

Blog – Romance – Sweet to Heat

Twitter

Bi-monthly Newsletter

MEWE

Pinterest

Instagram

Facebook

Website

Amazon Author Page

GoodReads Author Page

LinkedIn

Book Bub

New from Helen Henderson! Windmaster Golem

Windmaster Golem by Helen HendersonLet’s chat with Helen!

HH: Thank you letting me visit the Nomads. However, I’m not here to talk about myself, but to introduce Kiansel of Givneh. Her tale is told in Windmaster Golem, the newest release in the fantasy romance series The Windmaster Novels. She’s asked me for help with a decision. Rather than try to describe her, the cover of Windmaster Golem is included. I’ve been assured the likeness is very accurate.

Kia, why don’t you tell me a little more?

KIA: The men and women of my family have been leaders in the Tmeple of Givneh for many generations. My brother, Brantly, wears the robe of the Oracle and currently leads the flock. For myself, I help teach the little ones the path to a good life.

HH: You asked for help with a decision?

KIA: For the past few seasons, I’ve felt this need to travel to somewhere. Images in my mind showed me where to go. This past full moon it was almost unbearable. My feet started moving of their own accord.

Her eyes glazed over in memory before the light returned to them.

The summoning was to the Council Isle, the hearthome of all mages, and the location of the School of Magic.

Tense shoulders told of the conflict within her.

I belong to the temple. But the lure of magic is a siren song I am not sure I can resist. To follow the Way of magic means I have to turn my back on my family, my heritage, and the teachings of the Oracle.

HH: Only you can answer which call to answer. Talk to your brother and your father. They will help you know which path to take. There is more, isn’t there?

I waited as Kia dropped her gaze to the hands clasped in her lap.

KIA: The call to the council fire is not the only ethereal contact I’ve had. Someone stalks me. Not even the protective wards around the temple prevent his spying. Last night he broke through my meditation with his whisper of “Come to me, little wizardling. Come to me and live.”

HH: Thank you Kiansel for sharing this time with us. To my readers. As to her decision, I won’t spoil what the future holds. Her decision and journey is told in Windmaster Golem.

Read about Windmaster!Windmaster by Helen Henderson

Blurb:
Kiansel, sister to the current Oracle of Givneh, is expected to one day assume the mantle and lead the temple’s followers. Her emerging powers force an impossible decision. To answer the siren call of magic requires she turn her back on her family, her heritage and the teachings of the oracle.

Banishment to a remote village as healer, a position he despised, fueled Relliq’s desire for revenge. The discovery of a mythical city and an army of clay soldiers provided the means to control all mages–including the one he wanted most—Kia.

Brodie, weaponsmith for the School of Mages couldn’t refuse the archmage’s request to act as escort for a healing team fighting a curse upon the land. But how can a man without any magic of his own fight a curse or protect a friend from an invisible stalker?

Buy Links:
Amazon
Kobo
More ebook sites

The Windmaster series by Helen HendersonExcerpt:
Cold enveloped Kia. Her hand stopped in mid-knock. Although she knew no one was in sight, she still looked over her shoulder and scanned the street. Use of the postern door was restricted to senior members of the temple. I will not betray Brantly’s trust in me, she thought. Neither Brantly my brother, nor Brantly the Oracle of Givneh.

Ghostly fingers caressed her hair. The touch slid down her arm, not a lover’s touch, but that of an icy wind. The feeling of a presence was so strong she put her back against the wall. What heat the stones retained from the noon-day sun did nothing to warm her skin—or soul.

No one is there, reality encouraged.

No one you can see, caution answered.

For long moments she stood watching the street. Finally, the bags of vegetables she had purchased at the market grew heavy. “This is ridiculous,” she growled. “There is no one there.” This is just a case of nerves.

A toss of her head cleared an errant strand of hair from her face. A whispered incantation to cloak herself from the prying eyes of villagers and she knocked.

The hidden door slid open to reveal the same young soldier who was on duty when she left earlier that morning. “Greetings, mistress.” However, instead of the usual wave, he brushed past her and scanned the street.

He feels it too. Her unease growing stronger, Kia stepped over the threshold into the darkness of the building. Hurry up and close the door, she silently urged. Then she sent a prayer winging skyward that the sanctuary of the temple would stop whoever, or whatever, spied on her.

Author Bio:
Helen HendersonAlthough the author of several local histories, and numerous articles on the topics of American and military history, antiques and collectibles, Henderson’s first love is fiction. Her work in the museum and history fields enables a special insight into the creation of fantasy worlds. The descendent of a coal-miner’s daughter and an aviation flight engineer, her writing reflects the contrasts of her heritage as well as that of her Gemini sign. Her stories cross genres from historical westerns to science fiction and fantasy. In the world of fantasy romance, she is the author of the Dragshi Chronicles and The Windmaster Novels. In her books, she invites you to join her on travels through the stars, or among fantasy worlds of the imagination.

Contact Links:
Blog
Twitter
Goodreads
Facebook
Amazon
Email
Bookbub

There’s magic in the air #MFRWHooks

This is a blog hop. Be sure to check the link at the bottom to see posts from other authors!

Your Desire by Dee S. Knight
Blurb:
Your Desire. A mysterious shop appears in town for one reason: to bring the spice of passion and the thrill of love to one special person. Magic is in more than the item purchased—it’s in the heart of the buyer, often hidden, usually surprising. And after enchantment takes hold? The store fades from sight and memory, only to reappear somewhere else. Maybe in your town….

Buy link:
Kindle Unlimited

MFRW Book HooksExcerpt:
Allison Hayes berated herself for the millionth time as she hurried up the street. Spending her lunch hour shopping wasn’t her greatest desire, but she had little choice.

Why had she agreed to help at the reunion yet again? Hadn’t she been masochistic enough when they’d celebrated being out of high school five years? She’d handled all of the arrangements then. And when the tenth anniversary arrived, hadn’t she accepted the tasks of tracking down everyone in their class, bringing in the entertainment and setting up the welcome dinner?

As the third reunion approached, she’d determined to stay out of it. Yet here she was, sucked in again. At least this time she only had responsibility for handling the welcome table for the mix-and-mingle dinner on Saturday. The opening ceremonies, as it were.

“And I think that will be the extent of my appearances, too,” she mumbled. Why emphasize the chasm that existed between her and her classmates one more time?

The first reunion hadn’t been so bad in that respect. Everyone either had recently graduated from college or was trying to establish their place in the world in some way. She’d felt on equal footing. At the next, she had been among the few who weren’t married, one of only a handful who hadn’t left the Lexington area. This year, she knew she would be almost alone in her single status. Probably a few of her classmates had been divorced and remarried, even, sampling two or three times what she hadn’t known at all. She would feel odd and provincial, still being unmarried and never having left their small hometown.

Walking with purpose down Main Street, she headed for the Belk’s department store. The reunion committee, in its infinite wisdom, had decided to make the introductory party a retro theme.

“So much more fun,” her friend Mary had explained on the phone last week.

“Fun? But I don’t have anything I can wear to a retro party. I’m not even sure what retro clothes are,” Allison had complained.

“Sure you do. Now look, Allison, you must be there. I’m really counting on you. It’ll be fun, you’ll see. Have your hair styled in a flip and find an old bridesmaid’s dress somewhere. Somehow they always look like they’re from the fifties.” With that bit of sage advice she’d hung up to take care of some child-related disaster in the making.

So here Allison was, on her lunch hour and only a few days before the event, trying to find something that filled the requirements. Tugging on the door to Belk’s, she saw the sign posted on the glass: “Closed due to broken pipe. Please visit us again later this week.”

“Great.” Heaving a deep sigh, she wondered where else she could find the kind of dress she needed, in—she glanced at her watch—thirty minutes. Nowhere. She groaned knowing she’d now have to do more shopping than could be handled in a lunch break.

Viewing her reflection in the glass, she noted the lines of fatigue already there, and the week wasn’t over yet. Leaving her plain face starkly exposed, her brown hair was pulled back in a bun, its luster normally hidden under a nurse’s cap. She looked tidy and efficient in the white uniform. But she hurt from the hours on her feet combined with the walk uptown, making her lean to the right in order to take weight off her left leg. The ache added to her weary expression. The last thing she needed was to go shopping.

“Damn!” She hadn’t wanted to go to the reunion in the first place and now she had to rearrange her schedule in order to find a dress she really didn’t want to buy. She turned to trudge back up the street toward the hospital.

Suddenly, a noise caught her attention and she glanced up to find the source, a sign hanging over the sidewalk, squeaking on its hinges. Your Desire, the sign said in fine script. Vintage Clothing. An arrow pointed up the alley where Allison saw another, smaller sign hanging over a doorway. Puzzled, she looked up and down the street. She’d never noticed this sign before. She hadn’t especially noticed this alley, to tell the truth. Vintage Clothing.

“What do I have to lose?” she murmured, dragging herself up the alleyway.

Pushing open the door, she experienced a rush of anticipation, a tingle up her spine. She walked into a store surprisingly different than what she’d expected. From the outside, the storefront appeared tiny. Inside, shelves and racks spaced on each wall extended far into the back, making the shop very deep. She supposed because the windows fronted the alley, the natural light that filled the space seemed filtered, creating a hazy, gauzy ambience.

She stepped farther inside. Background music was loud enough to be heard but not overwhelming. A song by a swing band ended and a Hit Parade ballad by Perry Como began. To her left she saw a Victorian wedding gown hanging on the wall. To her right, a flapper era dress, complete with fringe and sequins. Surely these were reproductions. No one store could have such a wide range of exquisite originals.

“May I help you?”

She started, slapping her hand to her chest. “Oh, I didn’t see you.” The man standing beside her looked like someone she thought she should know. An actor or something. That was it! One of those old actors. What was his name…?

He smiled and she forgot to remember.

Powered by Linky Tools

Click here to enter your link and view this Linky Tools list…

Seeing stories as a journey: Amber Polo

Every Story Is a Journey

The Pharaoh and the Librarian by Amber PoloAfter writing for twenty years and publishing eight books, I finally figured out my brand—journeys. A road trip across country, a trip back in time, or a peek into a character’s mind, words take us on journeys. We don’t always know where we’ll end up, but sometimes we sit back and enjoy the journey.

The Pharaoh and the Librarian started as a prequel to a series. I rewrote. And rewrote. Along the way I asked for critiques. Editors said many nice things and some things I ignored. I sent the last version to my dream editor through Reedsy. She told me the same things. And finally I listened. She said the manuscript had an intriguing theme and series of events with an episodic life story kind of feel. And that it wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

I told her that her comments mirrored my life as well as my writing and, if I hadn’t been so shocked at the revelation, it would be funny. Yes! Intriguing theme? Series of events? Check. If I drew a map of my life it would be a maze of cross country travels. Yet episodic worked for me. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Looking back, I see each of my books as a journey. I even included some maps to help the reader follow along. Recovered, the third in my shapeshifter librarian series, my favorite and the most episodic, featured villains chasing my protagonists across the country. Looking even further back, my first romance novel “Hearts in the Vortex,” had a traveling-around-Sedona episodic feel.

So what’s next? It’s time for me to pull out a manuscript that’s as close to autobiographical as I’ll ever write. And, no surprise, my protagonists jump all over the country living episodic lives. Over a 20 year period they stop at many of the places I loved on my own cross country adventures, not knowing the other is also there. (Yes, I do believe in coincidences.)

What’s most fun about a journey? Sharing the beloved places with friends and readers. Hope readers will join my two Egyptian girls and their journeys to a new world.

The Pharaoh and the Librarian by Amber PoloBlurb:

What if Cleopatra faked her death and escaped on a pirate ship? While her sister sailed for Wales with the most valuable ancient books from her Library of Alexandria? And they both landed in an imagined new world filled with crypto-creatures and historical humans?

Trekking to the desert of 1st century New Mexico, Cleo from the Yucatan and Alex from Nova Scotia, they’d need bravery and help from friends and lovers to evade inner demons and determined villains across an uncharted wilderness.

Alternate history- Fantasy-Romance – Adventure!

Map: The Pharaoh and the Librarian by Amber PoloExcerpt:

When Alex emerged from her hut the next morning, Dylan lay in wait. She looked up into his glowering countenance. “What do you want?”

“My sister told me you plan to accompany your books on the voyage? She must be mistaken.”

“She is correct. That is my plan.”

“Are you mad?”

She shrugged and walked on, facing forward, ignoring the giant Druid at her heels. “Perhaps.”

“Alexandria, wait. The journey is long and dangerous. And very cold.”

“So be it.” She kept walking.

He grasped her arm and made her stop and face him. “I’m not talking about ordinary danger. Entire ships do not survive the three-month ocean journey. The crossing is treacherous. Filled with hardships. A ship is no place for a woman.”

Her body stiffened. “No place for a woman! You told me Viking women captain ships.”

“You are no Viking.” He stepped back and rubbed his head.

Her face reddened. “I am Alexandria Ptolemy of Egypt. I will accompany the most valuable library in the world to its new home. If you refuse to go, then stay.” Alex turned on her heel and marched to the caves to continue preparations for the journey. She might not be as courageous as Cleo, but she could be as stubborn.

***

Months later, Alex furrowed her brows against the bitter cold wind. If this was what Vikings called spring, they were truly mad. The ships she’d purchased with Egyptian gold had arrived. Her library, now well-protected inside shells and sealed in skins, was packed into their holds. And, with word that the ice had cleared from their chosen route, Dylan and the Viking captain Skrymir, a giant man with a mustache curled like the horns of a wild mountain sheep, were ready to sail.

Gwynne led them, blue cape furling, to the standing stones for a Druid ceremony. Alex smiled, for the Druid queen no longer appeared ferocious. Her friend’s blue-stained face was lined with kindness and concern.

“Are you determined to make this voyage, dear daughter of the pyramids?”

Alex nodded. “I must go with my books to see them to a safe land.”

“Dylan is an adventurer, but a good sailor and navigator. Many have trusted their lives to him.”

“My library is more important than my life.”

Gwynne embraced Alex. “I have enjoyed your company and wished for you to stay here in Wales, but I understand your dedication. I, along with my librarians, will fight off the Roman wolves as long as we can, so none will know you have left. We have our swords, shields, and magic caldrons. My second, Boudicca, is most formidable. And Y Draid Goch, our Red Dragon, defends Wales.”

Alex held her friend tight. She would miss the Druid Ovate. She’d learned much from her and spent many days with books and tea of lemon balm and peppermint, and many evenings with mead and stories.

Gwynne’s eyes closed. “I have seen a vision. Your books safe in a valley where you will build a new library.”

“Thank you. I will do my best to make that happen.” As comforting as Gwynne’s vision had been, fear of the unknown filled Alex’s heart. Cleo had often called Alex an obsessive introvert who shunned life. Now she must prove Cleo’s words wrong.

Gwynne stepped to Alex and removed Alex’s cape. Then with a flourish took off her own blue cape and placed it over Alex’s shoulders. “May this keep you warm and safe with Druid magic.”

Alex felt the weight of the cape like a comfort and her eyes teared with gratitude. Through the blur she saw Gwynne point to the sky. She looked up and saw a crimson flash soar over the standing stones, then circle back. Flames burst from the dragon’s jaws. It flapped its sharp forked tail. The people below cheered.

“There is one more gift.” Gwynne waved Dylan to her side. “Come to the Circle.”

Alex and Dylan followed Gwynne to the center of the standing stones.

Gwynne’s eyes shone with tears as she took Alex’s left hand and placed it in Dylan’s right. “Alexandria of Alexandria, daughter of Pharaohs, I give you my most precious gift, my brother Dylan, Prince of the Anglesey Druids, and Lord of Ynys Môn.”

Alex’s mouth opened letting in a gulp of frigid air. “What do you mean?”

Dylan squeezed her hand. “My sister is giving me to you.”

Gwynne smiled. “My brother understands it will be a long and dangerous voyage. With Dylan as your husband, you will have protection.”

“No,” Alex protested, attempting to pull her hand back from Dylan’s warm grasp. “This cannot be. I have vowed never to wed.” She looked into Dylan’s sea-blue eyes. “Tell your sister she is mad.”

Dylan held Alex’s hand fast. “I bow to the authority of my Druid queen. Gwynne, make haste with the ritual. My bride and I sail with the tide.”

Alex opened her mouth to protest but only a very un-royal sputter escaped.

With that, Gwynne spoke quickly in the dialect Alex had not yet mastered, and in minutes Dylan had transferred a gold ring from his finger to hers and clasped her in a warm embrace. She stood stunned when Gwynne ordered, “Now circle the stones. Then all will be complete.”

Dylan’s voice was gentle. “Come with me three times around the stone circle and it shall be done. I promise you shall not regret what my sister has decreed.”

 Available: Amazon print and ebook

Bio:

Amber PoloAmber Polo, constantly asking “What if…?” has a hard time writing in one genre. Best known for The Shapeshifters’ Library urban fantasy series which asked what if librarian dog-shifters faced book-burning werewolves, she shares her love of libraries and fascination with creatures and places, real and not-so-real, in The Pharaoh and the Librarian.

Author of award-winning fantasies and Arizona romances, Amber relaxes stressed writers and readers. Her book, Relaxing the Writer offers a catalog of suggestions and simple exercises while her calming CDs help almost anyone relax and find restful sleep.  Heads in the Clouds won Best Romance in the New Mexico-Arizona Book Awards and her essay “Trick or Treat” won the national Story Circle Network Susan Wittig Albert LifeWriting Competition.

To learn more about Amber and her books, find her at:

Website and Blog

Facebook Author Page

Amazon Author Page

Goodreads

More magic! #MFRWHooks

Your Desire by Dee S. KnightBlurb:
Your Desire. Two stories about a mysterious shop that appears for one reason: to bring a special person the thrill of love and the spice of passion. Magic reveals the hidden, usually surprising, desires of the heart. Then the store fades from sight and memory, only to reappear somewhere else. Maybe in your town….

Buy link:
Amazon KU

MFRW Book HooksExcerpt:
“Here comes Allison now. We’ll ask her.” His voice was loud enough to be heard throughout the ER. She slipped through the opening to see Frank sitting on the edge of the bed. Walter Neeley, the ophthalmologist, stood in front of him. Mike stood apart, his arms crossed over the metal cover of the hospital chart held tightly against his chest. His face was serious but a look of mischievous glee colored his eyes as he observed the verbal sparring between the two men. Beside him stood Richard Matthews, head of neurology, who nodded a greeting to her.

“Ask Allison what?” She knew she’d have to referee something, based on the bull-headed expressions of both doctor and patient. Frank and Walt had already turned toward the opening in the curtains when she slipped in. This damn noisy dress.

“I want to hold Mr. Hughes overnight. He refuses. Says he’ll be all right at your house.” Walt Neeley arched a brow at her. “As he’s your friend, perhaps you can convince him that it’s in his own best interests to be admitted for the night.”

Unconsciously, she moved to stand beside Frank, touching his hand to let him know she was there. His head followed her every movement. “Actually he’s not my fr—”

“Tell him there’s no need for me to remain here overnight, Allison. If he’d give me something for this damn headache, I’d be fine. Well, if I could see, that is.” He practically growled out the last.

“They can’t give you anything that will make you sleep.”

“But it hurts like hell.”

“I know, but buck up,” she stage-whispered.

He snorted and turned away.

“Actually, Frank,” she stated in her most persuasive tone, “it is in your best interest to stay here. If anything should happen, the staff and equipment you need will be here.”

“No.”

Damn it! She couldn’t take him home. Besides the obvious medical risks, there was the unsettled feeling she experienced around him. It was unreasonable, but there, nonetheless. Why wouldn’t the obstinate man allow them to admit him so she could go home alone to her safe and ordered life.

“Mr. Hughes.”

Frank turned his head, his recalcitrant expression carved in stone.

“You don’t seem to realize the seriousness of your condition. You have a contusion, and as Nurse Hayes suggested, that’s bad enough. But if the swelling of your brain worsens during the night, you’ll need care she can’t give you at home.”

Frank seemed to consider this. “Dr. Matthews, is it?” He asked but continued without waiting for confirmation. “I think I do understand the seriousness of my condition. If you and the staff here haven’t explained it thoroughly enough, my own doctor, after examining the test results you sent, has told me plainly that I’m a jackass if I leave here tonight. However, he’s well aware of my nature and knows I’m a man used to taking judicious risks. I trust Ms. Hayes. She’s a well-trained nurse, is she not?”

“This has nothing to do with Allison’s capabilities,” spit out Walt Neeley.

“This has to do with your welfare and the liability of the hospital if you leave and something happens.”

She sighed, knowing the men could butt heads all night without resolution. “What about the blindness?”

Walt spoke. “As far as we can tell, the problem is trauma-induced and will resolve itself when the swelling goes down. Tonight he’ll have to be checked every two hours.”

“Allison will do that.” Frank didn’t give the slightest intimation that she might say no.

She looked at him, really looked at him. He acted the tyrant, totally commanding, used to having every whim fulfilled and order followed without question. But there was an odd hesitance under it all. She’d noticed the characteristic earlier, too, when they were making their way out of the pasture. Discomfort, almost fear.

His hands fisted on his legs, his brows puckered ever so slightly in worry. Other than those tells, no one would know he wasn’t the controlling force he pretended to be. Maybe only she saw he had the false bravado of a man used to being in charge, suddenly finding himself at the mercy of fate. If so, she might not understand his attitude but she wouldn’t betray him.

She tried one more approach. “What if I stayed with you? I’d be here each time the nurse woke you up.”

He shook his head. “If you won’t take me home I’ll call my assistant. He’ll come down immediately and we’ll drive back to DC tonight.”

Walt Neeley threw his hands up and snorted in disbelief. Frank’s lips turned up in a tiny smile, probably secure in the knowledge that he’d presented an alternative worse than going home with her.

Mike gave a one-shouldered shrug when she glanced at him. “I strongly advise he be admitted.” Frank opened his mouth to speak, but Mike cut him off. “If he insists on going, we can’t stop him. You’re one of the people I’d entrust him to. If you want him, of course.”

All four men waited to hear her judgment. “I suppose he could sleep on the sofa in the office. I wouldn’t want him climbing the stairs.” She spoke out loud, but more to herself, reasoning what to do. “I can get him back here very quickly if need be.”

“Good.” Frank spoke as though her decision had been a foregone conclusion all along. His hands relaxed on his thighs.

Dr. Matthews slid by on his way out of the cubicle. “You’ll have to sign an AMA form. That’s Against Medical Advice.” He turned to look sternly at Frank then at her. “I wish you’d reconsider, Mr. Hughes.”

“I appreciate your advice, Doctor, but get the form, please.”

“I’ll see to the rest of the paperwork so you can get home,” Mike said. He threw Allison a worried look before following the neurologist out of the cubicle.

Walt lounged against the wall, arms crossed, staring at her. “I assume you know who this is, Allison? If anything happens with someone of his position, I’d hate to think what the repercussions might be.” He studied her.

“I had no idea you were friends with—”

“She doesn’t need you telling her about her friends, Doctor. And I’d appreciate your restraint when it comes to the rest of the staff. No one needs to know what I do since it has no bearing on why I’m here.”

“Huh!” Walt pushed himself away from the wall. “Call if you need help tonight, Allison. And I hope you make sure he pays for the fence, and your hospitality,” he advised before leaving.

“What is it with you people and fences?”

Fantasy and magic are the key #MFRWHooks

Your Desire by Dee S. KnightThis is a blog hop. Be sure to check the link at the bottom to see posts from other authors!
Blurb:
Your Desire. A mysterious shop appears in town for one reason: to bring the spice of passion and the thrill of love to one special person. Magic is in more than the item purchased—it’s in the heart of the buyer, often hidden, usually surprising. And after enchantment takes hold? The store fades from sight and memory, only to reappear somewhere else. Maybe in your town….
Buy link:
KU https://tinyurl.com/ux3asvo

MFRW Book Hooks

Excerpt:
The whir of a sewing machine traveled across the ether. As intended, the sound blended with the those of a lawn mower in Cleveland, a blender in Dallas, an electric razor in Seattle. Some people, those specially attuned to properties outside the normal realm of humans, heard buzzing that could have been a sewing machine, but it was faint and truly indistinguishable for what it was. More like a mosquito at the ear. They heard it but couldn’t decipher exactly where to swat, so they did their best ignore it.

Of course, the sound was not supposed to be heard, and therefore not investigated. The very few who did hear it clearly, who also heard Nigel and his granddaughter clearly, well, they generally resided in a hospital setting where three squares a day were provided and tranquility came in the form of little green pills. At the least, they saw a shrink three times a week. Their knowledge wasn’t taken seriously.

This worried Nigel, but what could he do? It wasn’t his fault humans had devolved to the point where they no longer believed in enchantment. He shook his head and tsked as he sewed. When he was a boy learning the business from his grandfather as his granddaughter now learned from him, no one would have believed the universe could get to this point, where people believed in the “magic” of technology but not the magic that could be found in their own hearts.

Of course, challenges were exciting, and skeptical humans certainly kept him on his toes.

Absently, he hummed as he completed the final seam on the full, purple satin skirt. He pulled it from the machine, snipped the threads and shook the material out before pinning it on the dress form.

“Edwina! I have the skirt finished. Come here, dear.” Standing back to cast a critical eye over how the skirt hung, he held up an artist’s rendition of what the final product should be. He looked from drawing to garment, made a few small adjustments to the pleating around the waist and nodded in satisfaction.

“Hey, Gramps,” his granddaughter said, bounding into the room.

For the millionth time, he mentally cringed at the lack of style in today’s youth. Their kind had the ability to appear any way they wished. Glancing in the mirror, he saw a debonair David Niven reflected back. The sleeves of his snowy white shirt were rolled to his elbows, but the Windsor knot in his tie was perfect, as was the knife-sharp crease in his trousers and the shine on his shoes. When he rolled down his sleeves and put on his jacket, he would look every inch the gentleman. Quirking his brows in approval, he unconsciously ran a fingertip lightly over his moustache. Instead of selecting what he would consider an appropriate shell, Edwina—a name which screamed propriety—chose to look like a bag lady gone wild.

Like today, for instance. Long blond hair, streaked with pink and purple, pulled up into a ponytail to hang down the side of her head. Black lipstick and eye shadow. Two earrings in one ear and four in the other. A bright orange tank top and faded jeans—separated scandalously by a good three inches of bare stomach—looked as though they’d been worn (and torn) for centuries. And her feet—her lovely, dainty feet!—were shod in horrid, ugly brown things that not even the most desperate soldier in Caesar’s army would have donned.

When he had questioned her once about her appearance, she’d said with delight that she was starting her own trend. A Lauper-Madonna-Pink look. It was not something he’d understood. Today, after a quick perusal, he leaned closer.

“What is that?” He swiped his thumb across her cheek, then examined what was on the pad.

“Body glitter. Isn’t it cool?” She grinned at him.

Her enthusiasm, as well as her utter lack of self-consciousness, brought the slightest of smiles to his eyes, even as his mouth formed a moue of reproach.

“Yes, well.” He wiped his thumb on a handkerchief pulled from the pocket of his jacket, hanging on the wall behind Edwina. “‘Cool’ is what ice cubes provide. I don’t know what body glitter is good for.”

Giggles flowed from her, reminding him of when she was a small girl instead of the nearly grown youngster she was now. Where had the centuries gone? Despite the shudders her wardrobe caused, he loved Edwina enormously and strove to give her the very best education in what they did, which was make dreams come true.

Powered by Linky Tools

Click here to enter your link and view this Linky Tools list…

Set sail to magic! Windmaster by Helen Henderson

Windmaster by Helen Henderson

WINDMASTER Blurb:

Revenge set Ellspeth, captain of Sea Falcon, on the path to her destiny, but prophecy controlled the journey. Despite his insolent attitude, she is attracted to the dark-haired dockworker she hires to help unload the vessel’s cargo. But the supposed dockhand is Lord Dal, the last member of the Council of Wizards, and her passenger. Bringing him back from near-death releases Ellspeth’s latent powers and threatens her captaincy. For to have magic she must give up the sea. Dal and magic have another risk associated with them, a cult determined to rid the world of magic and all who wield it.

Trapped within the Oracle’s Temple, Ellspeth must choose between her own survival, saving the future of magic… or love

Excerpt:

Dal’s low tones at last broke the silence. “Captain Ellspeth, I owe you a debt for summoning me back from the void. It is a debt that cannot be repaid.”

Ellspeth chose her words carefully. “You owe no debt, Lord Dal. The Sea Falcon would have been lost without your aid.” Despite the fact that legend said debts to wizards had been known to have steep consequences, her loyalty to clan and ship pushed her into a decision. Taking a breath, Ellspeth gave the formal response of her own indebtedness. “It is I who owe you.”

The wizard’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Then, my fair captain, let’s call it even.” His expression grew serious. “Why did you not pursue the Way?”

Her pulse raced, and she looked away from Dal’s unflinching stare. “Only mages study the Way. I have no power. I’m not a mage,” she answered with more force than she intended. Under the wizard’s scrutiny, she continued in a voice barely above a whisper. “I come from a family of traders and ship captains. From the first time my grandma took me to sea I knew I belonged there.”

“You could be a wizard,” Dal persisted. “The power is within you. Deny you feel it.”

Ellspeth looked over the busy deck, anywhere but at Dal. She knew every crewman. She could tell the depth of water beneath the ship’s hull just by the sound, and the amount of sail needed for any given wind. The Sea Falcon was her ship.

“It was your magic combined with mine that saved the Falcon,” Dal persisted. “And, it was you alone who brought me back.” Ellspeth focused on the pennant flying from the center mast. Only the slap of waves against the bow broke the silence between them.

She stood, breaking the magic that held them private. “I’m Ellspeth of the House of Cszabo, daughter of Mirim, granddaughter of Rima. I am captain of the Sea Falcon. I am not a mage!”

Whatever else she would have said died with the look of disappointment on Dal’s face.

“You can’t deny,” Dal started. His voice faltered at Ellspeth’s icy glare. “I’m sorry. Captain. I did not mean to intrude on this lovely evening.” He pulled his hand back from its gesture of entreaty.

Ellspeth offered only a short word of parting and retreated to the sanctuary of the quarterdeck rail. She watched the mage light slowly disappear and the wizard’s features dissolve into shadow.

The next morning, Dal did not resume the discussion, and in fact, avoided all contact with her. Even though he didn’t pursue the matter, his words haunted Ellspeth. At times only the feel of the sun-warmed gold of her bracelets, the goal she had worked so hard for, enabled her to regain her equilibrium. No matter how hard she forced down the urge to feel the touch of magic or Dal’s hands on hers, it kept returning. The impulse to reach for him surged forward every time she saw him at his usual spot at the foredeck rail. His feet slightly apart as he leaned upon the slick wood, his gaze focused out to sea.

Magic and the sea don’t mix, Rima had always said. Ellspeth sighed, her grandmother had been right. Magic almost sank the Sea Falcon.

An inner voice countered for the side of magic. Dal had saved the Falcon at the risk of his own life.

No, his presence is a threat to the ship. I can’t wait to have him ashore.

Buy Links:

Amazon

Let’s meet Helen!

NA: How did you come up with the idea for your book?
HH: There was no single inspiration for Windmaster. I am not a sailor and don’t even like being in water over my head so writing about a ship captain is not something I would normally do. I was taking a writing course and there were several specific criteria to be met. I was reading a lot of fantasy at the time so that was the genre chosen. I like strong heroines who can fight as well as any man. Add in a little magic and a touch of romance (courtesy of the talented Carol McPhee) and the world of windmaster was born.

NA: What sort of research did you do to write this book?
HH: Although I have toured more than a few reproduction tall ships, research on sailing vessels was needed to bring the world of windmaster to life. And where would the ships go? To make things interesting for my readers, and in connection with the tagline of being a tour guide, not every scene has the same setting. The epic quest that is Windmaster takes Ellspeth and Lord Dal from a mountain top into the depths of a cavern, and from a temple on a plateau to a Polynesian island.

NA: A fun fact about writing your book.
HH: The morning after a gang of footpads attacked Ellspeth, she stands before the door of the office of the leader of the House of Cszabo. Besides there to report on the event, Ellspeth has to ask her superior for a boon, for the leader to override another member of the house council. She uses the guild mottos above the door to get in the proper state of mind for the meeting. One of the inscriptions above the lintel was inspired by the quote “Loyalty before all else except honor.” (Lt. Vincent Hardy) from the movie Striking Distance

NA: What started you on the path to writing?
HH: Writing in one form or another has been my livelihood for more years than I like to admit. As a computer programmer, I wrote software code. Then as a system analyst I created the technical documentation and the user “how-to” manuals. After riding the tip of the needle that burst the dot.com bubble, I combined the technical and the general to write marketing literature for high-tech and insurance companies until those firms also disappeared.

Then I fell through a back door into a different kind of writing—journalism. Among the more unusual topics I’ve covered over the years are air shows and battlefield archaeology. (Yes, I do know a little something about the subject and have participated in digs using both traditional screen and trowel methods and the new-fangled metal detectors).

Walking a circle, brings one back to the beginning. As a child, I loved to write and tell stories of action and adventure. Despite being told repeatedly that if you write non-fiction you can’t write fiction, because I crossed from technical writing to marketing I refused to believe the rule. I worked on my craft, increased my portfolio. Finally, I took the plunge and started to submit fiction. One by one, pieces left my portfolio to find new homes in e-zines and print anthologies, and eventually to a contract with a small press. Romance learned to take its place alongside action. Eventually those early works grew into a series and the number of titles grew.

NA: What do your friends and family think about your being a writer?
HH: There are two distinct reactions to my being an author. As a rule my family and those friends who are not writers, think it is very cool. It is because of them that when I write, I always have the thought, “Would my mother approve of the writing.” So no super-hot (read explicit) love scenes, and the good guys–and gals–will always win. Those in the profession usually are very low key. They realize the tremendous effort that goes into creating a novel, let alone getting it published. And they know that no matter how hard you work, just getting a book in print doesn’t mean you’ll immediately become rich or famous.

NA: The biggest surprise you had after becoming a writer
HH: I always knew that marketing was a major part of being a published author. More than one writer has lost the glow of receiving a contract when they realize that promoting their book is not all fun and travel to book signings. I continue to be surprised at not just the amount of time that it promotion requires, but the amount of luck needed to be in the right spot at the right time, and how quickly things change as social media sites shift. New ones arriving and old ones changing their algorithms so what works today may become near worthless tomorrow.

NA: Do you outline books ahead of time or are you more of a by-the-seat-of-your-pants writer?
HH: Plotter and pantser, stream of consciousness or structured forms, I am all of them. I start out with more structure, then the characters take over and less planning is needed. I have to confess in school I hated parsing sentences and the outlining process. Most of the time, I ended up writing the story first, then, in a reverse of the assignment outlined the completed piece, rather than the other way around. An advantage of using the reverse process is that since the deadlines for the outline preceded the story, the assignments were always handed in on time. Today, things have changed somewhat. While I remain more pantser for short works, I create novel notebooks for longer works. Complete chapters have been rough drafted in a single setting during the storyboarding when the muse visited. Organization keeps pages from being lost and characters eyes from changing color. It should be noted my storyboards look more like first drafts, complete with dialog and scene descriptions than the terse, formal outlines of yesteryear some associate with being a plotter.

NA: What do you like to do when you’re not writing?
HH: Over the years I’ve dabbled in photography and quite a few other crafts. Beadwork, crocheting, knitting, and cross-stitch embroidery not only help keep fingers nimble and flexible for typing, they provide a creative outlet as well. Another activity (one unfortunately that is no longer available in my area) is to volunteer at historical museums. I’ve donned period costumes to give tours, coordinated events, and managed the museum and its collections. And of course, wrote material for the organization such as interpretive programs and documentaries.

NA: What are your top three favorite books of all time?
HH: I could answer with one of my books. From the first to the last, each are special in their own way. But that would be cheating. The topic is top three favorite books of all time. I pick a series. The Tower and Hive series by Anne McCaffrey, the Dragon Riders of Pern series by Anne McCaffrey, the Adept series by Katherine Kurtz and Louis Lamour’s series that recount the tales of the Sackett family. Again, cheating. They are series and more than three. The favorite book of all time could be something from a new-to-me author. Who knows it might be Lines of Fire Challenged by Janet Lane Walters or Akira’s Choice by Vijaya Schartz.

NA: Why did you choose the shirt you have on?
HH: Long sleeves keep out the chill at the start of the exercise program, and then can be pushed up to three-quarter length after the warm up. As to the color? Black. I am a volunteer and assist with one of the part pants. Since the instructors wear black, it is easier for me to shift into that mode and to be treated as an instructor if I dress like them.

NA: First thought when the alarm goes off in the in the morning?
HH: This answer will be very short. $%#@$$. I just got to sleep.

NA: What errand/chore do you despise the most?
HH: For the past few years I’ve been participating in a 52-week challenge where you write a blog post based on a specific prompt. This question made me think of two hop topics that were almost identical. In the hop I answered “What Would You Pay Not To Do” and “”If I Never Had To Do This One Task Again.” I won’t go into the answer to those, and instead say “Washing dishes.” No matter how often I wash them, the pile of dirty dishes never seems to end. The counter can be clean, all pots, pans and dishes washed, dried, and put away, then a single meal later, the kitchen that looked so clean a few hours later, looked like nothing had ever been done.

NA: What are you working on now?
HH: Windmaster Golem, a novel set in the world of windmaster that I started during NanoWriMo (also known as the crazy month for authors when we try to write 50,000 words in a span of a month) has snagged a late fall 2020 publication spot. But a twist on a dragon shifter story is fighting for equal time. You’ll have to visit my blog later this year to see which storyline wins.

NA: What is any question we didn’t ask that you would like to answer?
HH: OK, here goes. Describe your writing space.
The room designated as my formal ‘office’ is an organized chaos where only a hardy soul dares to trespass. Volumes on military weapons stand next to books on antiques and traditional crafts. Piles kept close at hand contain standard reference books and more. The Chicago Manual of Style and The Synonym Finder mingle with The Pirate Primer and Gaelic-English dictionaries

However, as with many writers, my office is where I am at that moment in time. Windmaster, was written in a variety of places including the hospital rooms and doctors’ offices where I spent hours as caregiver for a family member. For me, the best place to write is the mountains. The porch swing overlooking the woods or the waterfront dock in the sun summons the muse. My characters have learned to hide during the dark days of winter as the roadblocks to love and happiness grow with the snow drifts.

Author Bio:

Helen HendersonAlthough the author of several local histories, and numerous articles on the topics of American and military history, antiques and collectibles, Henderson’s first love is fiction. Her work in the museum and history fields enables a special insight into creating fantasy worlds. The descendent of a coal-miner’s daughter and an aviation flight engineer, her writing reflects the contrasts of her heritage as well as that of her Gemini sign. Her stories cross genres from historical westerns to science fiction and fantasy. In the world of fantasy romance, she is the author of the Dragshi Chronicles and The Windmaster Novels. In her books, she invites you to join her on travels through the stars, or among fantasy worlds of the imagination.

Contact Links:

Blog
Twitter
Goodreads
Facebook
Amazon
Email
Bookbub