tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64137386784803803672024-03-05T11:30:47.466-06:00From the MuseClaire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.comBlogger410125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-19947129091692348902014-09-19T12:03:00.000-05:002014-09-19T12:03:06.247-05:00Fantasy Friday with Deep Devotion by MC NorrisGood morning, everyone! I'm super excited to introduce a fellow author and friend, M.C. Norris. He's here talking about his upcoming release (available September 1 through Severed Press), which I highly recommend you check out. Jump on the series now--this is the first in four that Severed Press is putting out! So with further ado, let's get right to it!<br />
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<a href="http://www.toristclaire.com/Blog/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/DDV_-_Cover.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Deep Devotion by MC Norris" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-1875" src="http://www.toristclaire.com/Blog/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/DDV_-_Cover-187x300.jpg" height="300" hspace="5" width="187" /></a><b>Deep Devotion</b><br />
<b> M.C. Norris<br />
<i>Speculative Fiction</i></b><br />
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<i>Rising from the depths, a mind-bending monster unleashes a wave of terror across the American heartland. Kate Browning, a Kansas City EMT confronts her paralyzing fear of water when she traces the source of a deadly parasitic affliction to the Gulf of Mexico. Cooperating with a marine biologist, she travels to Florida in an effort to save the life of one very special patient, but the source of the epidemic happens to be the nest of a terrifying monster, one that last rose from the depths to annihilate the lost continent of Atlantis. Leviathan, destroyer, devoted lifemate and parent, the abomination is not going to take the extermination of its brood well.</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Deep-Devotion-M-C-Norris/dp/1925225011/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1411143502&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Pre-Order Now!</a></div>
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M.C. is pretty busy gearing up for this debut release. But he sent us a special guest. A sea monster. And if I make it through the interview alive I'm betting this will be pretty remarkable. Let's see how it goes...</div>
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<i><span style="color: #003366;">Guest Interview</span></i></h2>
<b>Claire</b>: So, <i>Deep Devotion</i> is making some big waves on Amazon right now. Last check, thirty-seven rave reviews and 4.6 out of 5 stars for a debut novel in the first two weeks. M.C. Norris must be doing something right, and we’re going to get to the bottom of that, but first, I think the question that’s on everybody’s mind right now is why <i>you</i>? Why did author M.C. Norris send in his sea monster for this interview, with all the available human characters in his book?<br />
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<b>Sea Monster</b>: I’m the perfect choice to illustrate a key point. <i>Deep Devotion</i> is different. It’s anything but formulaic. Norris outsmarts the genre at every turn.
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<b>Claire</b>: What makes this book stand apart, defying the trappings of its own genre?
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<b>Sea Monster</b>: Let me get inside your head a little bit—
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<b>Claire</b>: Uh…personal space. Really. Tentacles or whatever you call them to yourself.
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<b>Sea Monster</b>: Kind of an inside joke, there. If you’re expecting a bunch of military stuff, you’ll find none of that in <i>Deep Devotion</i>. Not a single military strike. Not one bullet fired. I’m going to scare the hell out of you, don’t get me wrong, but I’ll reel you in from a deeper level. My perspective is frightening, totally alien, but it’s not alienating. You’ll sympathize with me, and maybe I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.
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<b>Claire</b>: Tell me a little bit about the human characters in this book.
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<b>Sea Monster</b>: <i>Deep Devotion</i> is driven by some wonderfully flawed characters. There’s Kate, for starters. Hot mess. Kansas City EMT with a boatload of intimacy issues and debilitating phobias, all stemming from some childhood trauma. Had a little brother who drowned in a Kansas cow pond while she was supposed to be watching him. Kate blames me for that.
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<b>Claire</b>: Kate’s from Kansas. It says here that you live on the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. How can she blame you for her brother’s death? Did you really do it?
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<b>Sea Monster</b>: Won’t say if I did, and I won’t say if I didn’t, but I will say that I’ve got one hell of a long reach. I’m an unlikely suspect in that drowning, but you can’t rule me out. I’m crafty. I snatch thousands of human lives right out of the heartland.
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<b>Claire</b>: (Squirms a little) Are you—eating them?<br />
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<b>Sea Monster</b>: Come on. I’m a filter feeder. Pretty peaceful, really, unless you rub me the wrong way, and then I’ll show you my ugly face. Might decide to ruin your life, your marriage, take your loved ones away, drag them screaming right out of their world, and down into mine.
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<b>Claire</b>: Okay, that’s a little dark. But how does a person clear out in the middle of the continental U.S. go about rubbing you in the wrong way?
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<b>Sea Monster</b>: Mess with my family. And chances are, you already have. Like that person there, three miles to the left. Excuse me…gotta run.
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<b>Claire</b>: Well, good thing he was called away. He? Hm. It? Anyway… I’m kinda glad he jetted off when he did. From the reviews, I’m pretty confident I have indeed messed with his family. I’ll just scoot on out of here as well. Before it comes back. But you can stay and read an excerpt while I run.<br />
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EXCERPT<br />
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“Children don’t drown where water should not exist, not in the wishing pools remembered in the hearts of deserts. No, it could not be. What happened to Jeffrey was no accident. His was a willful killing, and a cruel one. There stood a mimic in the moonlight, connected by deeper roots to something else, something down in a pond beneath a pond, a grotto, where it fanned its saffron gills and waited, just as it had haunted the seas of time’s beginning. It waited for a chance to lure young life to an early death. Because that’s what it was all about. That’s all that it did.”</div>
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If the dull knocking of an oil pumper was the heartbeat of the plains, then the southwesterly winds were the region’s breath, unbroken by anything but barbed wire. The winds hissed daily through the barrens, until sundown quelled the breeze to a profound silence so stifling that it made the ears ring. At that hour, formless things, blanched as the dust and dry grass that wrought them, emerged from seams in the wastelands to ply soundlessly through the bluestem while the heartbeat of the plains kept on knocking. From atop some Osage post, a meadowlark bid the sun farewell with its piercing apogee, and another day was done.</div>
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At the heart of this vast desert, situated in a common cow pasture, was a something of a dimple in the parched earth, an old landmark. Arrowheads were common, here. The Naturals learned of this place by following the dauber swallows from their colonies of mud nests, and soon enough, it became a place of slaughter. Here was a scar, where the earth itself had been scalped to the bone, so bare and so cracked that no plant grew. Most years, it remained as such. But on good years, against all odds, this slight depression in the plains became a pond.</div>
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Summer days, its surface mirrored the sparkling blue skies. Buzzing things and crackling hoppers patrolled its muddy banks, all fringed with smartweed, green tangles and pink starbursts that writhed through the pocks left by wallowing cattle. It shimmered when the breeze tousled its glassy surface. Rings expanded, as tadpoles rose to kiss the sky, and descended, waggling, back down into their cool abysms. Whirligig beetles gyrated in their endless promenades. By day, the cow pond was a peaceful place, a crucible of life and flashing minnows that came from God knew where. But by the light of a dying sun, another presence within the pool seemed to awaken. Kate encountered it, not long after Jeffrey drowned.</div>
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Surrounded on all sides by pasture, where anthills tented the aggregate shells of a bygone seascape, Kate nested in the oasis in a snarl of smartweed at an hour when the lonely pond flattened black as a shark’s eye, and the stars burned coldly in the gulfs of space. This was Jeffery’s Place. In the weeks following his drowning, she came here with false hopes to commune with some lingering vestige of all she’d lost to this place. This was her vigil. Her penance. Her fault that her little brother drowned.</div>
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But she should not have come here, at this hour. Kate was just a child, naïve to the world’s evils, exposed in her openness to a sign, to some form of contact from the other side, and perhaps that is why Kate attracted the attention of a thing that she’d otherwise have not.</div>
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It rose in its funereal suit of oily mud, and glistened in the starlight. If this was her Jeffrey, then it was not but the husk of that sweet child, its eyes so dulled to a sinful complacence, its lips curled into a larval smile. Jeffrey was gone, but Kate could not turn away from the mirage of him. Because she understood in that moment that she was being visited by the very thing responsible. Children don’t drown where water should not exist, not in the wishing pools remembered in the hearts of deserts. No, it could not be. What happened to Jeffrey was no accident. His was a willful killing, and a cruel one. There stood a mimic in the moonlight, connected by deeper roots to something else, something down in a pond beneath a pond, a grotto, where it fanned its saffron gills and waited, just as it had haunted the seas of time’s beginning. It waited for a chance to lure young life to an early death, because that’s all that it did.</div>
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The nymph hooked its greasy finger, and it beckoned to her. It wanted to show her things, would only she hear its siren’s song and follow this bait into the pond, as three-year-old Jeffrey had done. If she would take its slick fingers into her own, then together, they would go down, down, into the world of drowned children, down to the places where the tadpoles lay torpid in the mud, and deeper still, to the pond beneath the pond, to the dark sanctuary where older things waited. There, in the pit of pits, lived her personal demon. It could not ease Kate’s burden, but it could certainly give her what she deserved.</div>
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YOU HAVE JUST READ AN EXCERPT FROM<br />
<span style="color: #003366;"><b>DEEP DEVOTION</b></span><br />
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<b>ABOUT THE AUTHOR:</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.toristclaire.com/Blog/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/MCNorris.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Author MC Norris" class="wp-image-1876 alignright" src="http://www.toristclaire.com/Blog/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/MCNorris-284x300.jpg" height="153" width="145" /></a></div>
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M.C. Norris is an active member of the Horror Writers’ Association, with nineteen published short stories, and three published novels to his credit: Krengel & the Krampusz (Severed Press, TBR 2014), Deep Devotion (Severed Press, TBR 2014), and The Dread Owba Coo-Coo (Severed Press, TBR 2014). The nineteen published short stories of M.C. Norris appear in a variety of magazines and anthologies, including: Withersin, Wrong World DVD, Brainharvest Magazine, Pseudopod, Dead Bait, and Malicious Deviance. Mike also won 5th in Chizine/Leisure Books 13th Annual Short Story Contest.
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<b>Keep in Touch</b>: <a href="http://www.mcnorrisauthor.com/" target="_blank">Website </a>| <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8476997.M_C_Norris" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> | <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/MC-Norris-Author/113066502126782" target="_blank">Facebook </a>| <a href="http://www.mcnorrisauthor.com/#!blog/c112v" target="_blank">Blog</a></div>
Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-39956430363567843182014-01-24T10:40:00.000-06:002014-01-24T10:40:00.814-06:00Happy Release Day! Immortal Sacrifice -- The Saga Continues!Good morning, everyone! Let's see, it was last winter when Immortal Trust came out, and it's well past time for another installment. You've been waiting patiently--and not so patiently for some--but here it is!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6q-168gVb3vV-4QT6_m3LFzm8kzsfaHMvXGnEGws26yyc1vKZAVhaMXURY8tA1p4tIDuuDGbZCGb1fVU3ZD2eucHtRb5f5Kjv3gfNljCKLejDtAA5SB0woxCcoJLx1Y27_2_bT_cQ9vV6/s1600/ClaireAshgrove_ImmortalSacrifice200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6q-168gVb3vV-4QT6_m3LFzm8kzsfaHMvXGnEGws26yyc1vKZAVhaMXURY8tA1p4tIDuuDGbZCGb1fVU3ZD2eucHtRb5f5Kjv3gfNljCKLejDtAA5SB0woxCcoJLx1Y27_2_bT_cQ9vV6/s1600/ClaireAshgrove_ImmortalSacrifice200.jpg" /></a><b>IMMORTAL SACRIFICE</b><br /><i>The Curse of the Templars, Book IV</i><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><i>In the wake of an Italian mobster’s death, the archangels
charge Immortal Templar Knight Caradoc of Asterleigh with protecting a necklace
that contains Christ’s tears. He vows to bring the relic home, never imagining
he’ll have to battle Isabelle Speranza, the only woman he’s ever loved and whom
he left in a futile attempt to protect her heart. Discovering she’s his fated seraph changes
everything. For the dark lord Azazel is
hunting the Templar mates.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><i>Isabelle lost her heart to Caradoc in a whirlwind affair
abroad, only to be abandoned in the middle of the night. When she encounters Caradoc in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Sicily</st1:state></st1:place> three years
later, her buried anger fuels desire that won’t be denied. Yet a dark shadow threatens their
reunion. Azazel has discovered her
greatest weakness, and her dreams promise unspeakable horrors if she fails to
procure the sacred necklace. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><i>As danger stalks her, Isabelle reveals an unbelievable
secret. To save them both, Caradoc must
accept her truths, even if it means turning from everything he’s sworn to
uphold.</i><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><i>Purchase Now! <a href="http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FImmortal-Sacrifice-The-Curse-Templars-ebook%2Fdp%2FB00HYZ2G42%2Fref%3Dsr_1_1%3Fie%3DUTF8%26qid%3D1390579738%26sr%3D8-1%26keywords%3DImmortal%2BSacrifice&h=xAQH4NBQm" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://www.createspace.com/4397864" target="_blank">Print</a> | <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/books/Immortal-Sacrifice/dgUblfV_Z0em1PufUx9R2g?MixID=dgUblfV_Z0em1PufUx9R2g&PageNumber=1" target="_blank">Kobo</a> | <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-immortalsacrifice-1401210-140.html" target="_blank">All Romance E-books</a><br />Barnes and Noble / Nook Coming Soon!</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><i>EXCERPT:</i></span></div>
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Bliss rocketed through her body,
lighting her up from the inside out.
This was what she’d wanted, what she’d craved, for nearly three
years. Caradoc holding her, kissing her,
telling her all the words he’d once whispered with just the touch of his
tongue.</div>
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Apologies flowed between them,
words she no longer cared about and yet somehow inherently understood. Urgency replaced the gentleness of his
mouth. The slow, sensual stroke of his
tongue became demanding. Possessive.</div>
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Isabelle surrendered with a
muffled cry, and they came together with startling ferocity. He hauled her close, eroding every last bit
of her rational thought with the press of his strong, hard body. Heat filtered through their clothing, warming
her skin and warding away the lingering chill in her veins.</div>
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Too long she’d known this only in
memory. Too long she’d relied on distant
sensations to nurse her soul-deep yearning.
But now it was real. Caradoc was
here. Kissing her as if nothing had
changed between them and they were once more locked away in a cottage in <st1:place w:st="on">England</st1:place>,
lovers who couldn’t get enough of one another.</div>
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The slide of his hand along the
length of her spine stirred her heartbeat into an erratic rhythm. Each staccato pulse shot zings of ecstasy to
every nerve ending she possessed until they all stood on end and her body
trembled with sensory overload. His
powerful arms surrounded her. His mouth
dominated. His broad chest offered
shelter from every catastrophe she could imagine.</div>
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She couldn’t get enough. Hungered for every bit of raw emotion that
Caradoc had once exposed her to. Craved
the feel of his skin sliding against hers, the sensation of taking him into her
body and knowing him only as a lover could.
She squirmed against the building ache within her womb and gave in to a
soft moan.</div>
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The sound, however, jolted her
back to reality, and the harsh realism sent her crashing through ecstasy to
land in a bruised heap on the cold hard truth.
This wasn’t the man who made her believe in dreams and fairytales. This was the man who’d sworn his love then
left her to wake up confused and alone.</div>
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Isabelle shoved out of his
embrace. “I’m not doing this,” she
rasped. Not in a hundred years. Make
that a hundred centuries.</div>
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She straightened her skirt then
bent over to pick up her purse that had landed on the floor some time
earlier. Slinging it over her shoulder,
she bolted for the door.</div>
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“Isabelle, wait!” Caradoc caught up with her in four determined
strides. His fingers wrapped around her
wrist. “I did not mean for that to
happen.”</div>
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“Of course not!” She gave her arm a fierce jerk at the same
time she opened the door. “You didn’t
mean it before, why should you now?”</div>
Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-4942745993651358162013-09-17T09:21:00.001-05:002013-09-17T09:21:15.827-05:00New Release - EXPLOSIVE - Black Opals 3Hi everyone! It's Release Day!!<br />
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Please give a warm welcome to EXPLOSIVE, the third book in the Black Opal series, by my alter-ego, Tori St. Claire. You can give it a try for only $2.99!<br />
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<b>KINDLE version will be live today</b> - Amazon has fixed my account.<br />
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For now: <a href="https://www.createspace.com/4226012" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Buy Paperback</span></a><br />
Buy Digital: <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/explosive-tori-st-claire/1116922858?ean=2940148404811" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Nook </span></a>| <span style="color: orange;"><a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/explosive-3" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Kobo</span></a> </span> | <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-explosive-1296285-149.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">All Romance eBooks</span></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEHyobs9Fbq0GvIx4CELdeyBSFpTkb-vsel5SNJ_487leWbX8xZJA2yHmDDaH6QhEwOdHLqXLcx931i8iN0-Syd5OFImArfay62HpVv1SiQiow1t-HdrwBqLrIOz2Q5O4OsiqYo0_8a2Vg/s1600/ToriStClaire_Explosive_200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEHyobs9Fbq0GvIx4CELdeyBSFpTkb-vsel5SNJ_487leWbX8xZJA2yHmDDaH6QhEwOdHLqXLcx931i8iN0-Syd5OFImArfay62HpVv1SiQiow1t-HdrwBqLrIOz2Q5O4OsiqYo0_8a2Vg/s1600/ToriStClaire_Explosive_200.jpg" /></a> <b>A man on the hunt...</b></div>
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Jayce Honeycutt never imagined returning to his hometown for a wedding would find him confronting the woman he intended to marry. Nor did he anticipate the passion they once knew would burn as hot and bright as ever. Only now Alyssa’s involved with Jayce’s former best friend, and Jayce can’t bring himself to interfere. When he learns Alyssa may be in danger, however, everything changes. As the threats against her life escalate, Jayce will stop at nothing to unveil the secrets she’s hiding. Even if it means risking his heart all over again.</div>
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<b>A woman on the run…</b><br />
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Ten years ago, a brutal attack forced Alyssa Martin into a world of solitary darkness. She threw herself into her career, but now her work has led her back into the nightmare of her past and thrust her into a deadly game. When her roommate employs Jayce for her protection, memories compound. She’s never forgotten their shared desire, and her body still craves his masterful touch. Yet Jayce is determined to break down her protective walls, and confiding in him is more frightening than the shadows stalking her. But someone else is determined to control her. To survive, Alyssa must trust in Jayce and bare herself completely.</div>
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<strong>CHAPTER ONE</strong></div>
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Of all the god-awful methods of torture Jayce Honeycutt could envision, weddings ranked at the top of his list. That was saying a lot, considering he’d spent the last ten years of his life disarming bombs for the CIA’s specialized, undocumented team of Black Opals. He’d done his fair share of making threats on US security go away as well, sometimes using those very same methods of torture on subjects that held critical information. But hands-down, a wedding beat every documented and undocumented coercion tactic he knew.</div>
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After the last fiasco, when Alexei Nikanova—one of the most esteemed Black Opals, no less—married a virtual terrorist, Jayce had his fill. No more weddings. No more people losing their goddamn minds and throwing away perfectly good careers in the name of the two-faced bitch called love.</div>
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That is, until his older sister Jasmine called a month ago. Now he was back in Boulder, Colorado, the last place on earth he wanted to be, not only attending, but participating, in a damn wedding.</div>
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He slammed his pickup into third and skidded around the corner. He’d endured the family dinner with the in-laws he’d never see again. Suffered enough polite handshakes, false hugs, and sugary sweet smiles to last a lifetime. Now he couldn’t get to the bar fast enough. One beer to take the edge off. Another to clear his head—around five he might just forget how Boulder had changed his life and how he’d once been dumb enough to buy into the fantasy of weddings and lifelong nuptials. True, he’d never made it to the altar. No, Alyssa hadn’t let it get that far before she vanished, she and their unborn child.</div>
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Grinding his teeth against the unwanted rise of memories, Jayce eased up on the accelerator. Just as revisiting the past would bring up trouble, so would getting a ticket. Kevin Clark, director of the Black Opals, would make him eat this one. The three in London had pushed his boss a bit too far. Not to mention Jayce’s attitude about Alexei’s wife. Clark had all but forced Jayce to accept Jasmine’s request to escort her down the aisle. Not that he would have refused. This gave him the opportunity to be near his younger sister, Jordan, at a time she needed company the most.</div>
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A bright orange neon sign announced that Jayce had reached his destination and welcomed visitors to the Rocky Mountain Taproom. He nosed into a parking space, killed the engine, and jumped out of the car. Pocketing his keys, he entered a world of sultry blues and even more sultry lights. For the most part, the bar was dead, as he’d expected on a Wednesday night. A few men gathered around the pool table. Near the bar, three ladies laughed over the sound of a crooning sax. They looked his way as he grabbed a barstool. One shyly lifted a manicured hand to wave.</div>
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Jayce nodded at the brunette. Cute, but he wasn’t looking for a piece of tail. Not tonight. In another hour he was supposed to meet Jordan. She’d said she wanted to talk. About what made Jayce’s stomach twist into knots. He didn’t want to confront those memories either. All they did was remind him how he’d failed the one person he was closest to. How he’d been so caught up in his own disaster he couldn’t bring himself to help his sister fight the bastard who raped her and subsequently convinced the entire town she’d brought it on herself.</div>
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Still, he owed it to Jordan to be there for her. With Jasmine’s wedding approaching, the date of the disaster so near, he couldn’t tolerate the idea of leaving Jordan alone right now.</div>
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“What’ll it be, handsome?” The bartender propped her elbows on a polished brass rail, bending forward until Jayce couldn’t help but notice her nipples were about to escape the low-cut tank top.</div>
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“Coors Light, bottle.”</div>
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Her mouth curved up in an approving grin, and she tapped stubby nails on the polished wood. “Hometown boy at heart.”</div>
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Jayce chuckled. “Yeah, something like that.”</div>
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As she fished a frosty bottle from the cooler, she cocked her head to study him. “Hey, don’t I know you? Class of 2000. Jayce…Harcourt?”</div>
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“Honeycutt.” For the life of him, he couldn’t begin to produce her name. He supposed that shouldn’t surprise him; he’d blocked most of that year out.</div>
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She set his bottle down and extended her hand. “Marcie Lauflin. We had Accounting I together.”</div>
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Accounting. Jayce bit back a grimace. No wonder he didn’t recognize a thing about Marcie. Alyssa had been in Accounting I. He couldn’t recall a single lesson—he’d singularly attended class so they could spend time together. It was the only way they could be together without worry of getting caught.</div>
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He slid his hand into Marcie’s and gave it a shake. “It’s a pleasure. I see Boulder hasn’t changed much.”</div>
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“Nah, it never does.” She grinned. “You know how it is. What brings you back to town?”</div>
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“Wedding. My sister’s.”</div>
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Marcie wrinkled her nose, echoing Jayce’s very poignant sentiment. “Ew.”</div>
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“Yeah tell me about it. Not exactly my cup of tea. But…family…” Lifting his beer, he offered Marcie a mock toast, then downed a hearty mouthful. The cold coated his throat and soothed the tightness in his gut.</div>
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“You ran with Brice McTavish, didn’t you?”</div>
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Wow. Talk about a name from the past. Though Jayce had cut Brice off along with everyone else in Boulder, they’d been tight as teens. Both of them just barely getting by, one foot in the grave, the other barreling on ahead, hoping they’d manage to graduate by the skin of their teeth. Neither wanted to be held back again. “Is McTavish still around?” It might be nice to revisit that particular person from his past. Have a few laughs while he was in town, a few beers, a few minutes of disbelief that they were still alive.</div>
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“He’s still here. He’s some big name attorney now. Criminal law. Folks tend to look the other way when he’s around, ‘bout like they did back then.” She laughed again and swept a white cloth over the immaculate bar. “He’s a regular here on Wednesdays. I’m surprised he’s not in yet.”</div>
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“Really?” The night was looking up. Beating McTavish at a game of pool would improve Jayce’s mood ten-fold.</div>
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“Yep. He must be hung up at the office.” With a frown on her overly-painted face, Marcie rose on her toes and looked over Jayce’s head at the front door. “Wait. He’s coming inside now. Hey, Brice!”</div>
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Jayce cringed as her brittle voice thundered over the music. Damn, no wonder she was tending bar. She could break up a fight with just a yell. No one would want to stick around long enough to hear it twice.</div>
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“Evening, Marcie,” Brice called in amicable return. “Got a Jim and Seven for me?”</div>
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“Got something better. Look who’s in town.” Marcie thrust a plump arm under Jayce’s nose. “Jayce Honeycutt.”</div>
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“Jayce?” Brice’s grin doubled in size as he slid onto the stool beside Jayce’s and thrust out his hand. “I’ll be damned. Never thought I’d see you around here again.” As Jayce fitted his hand in Brice’s and gave it a firm squeeze, his childhood best friend enveloped him in a brotherly hug. “It’s good to see you, man.”</div>
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“Good to see you too, McTavish.” That was the one, the only, truthful thing he’d said all night. He took Brice in quickly, observing he’d evidently bettered his life. Crisp lines defined a custom-tailored, dark grey, Italian suit. Beneath the stylish coat, white silk opened at the collar. His brown hair was cut short, no longer clinging to his shoulders or falling in his eyes. And he’d shaved. Something McTavish avoided in high school like most men avoided low-rate whores.</div>
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“So where you been?” McTavish asked as Marcie passed him his drink.</div>
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Jayce took another pull from his beer before issuing his concocted excuse. “I’ve been working security.”</div>
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“Security?” McTavish gestured at Jayce’s own imported black suit. “Didn’t know installations could dress a man like that.”</div>
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Chuckling, Jayce shook his head. “Not installations. Consultations. Custom designs for the wealthy.”</div>
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McTavish let out a long low whistle. “Nice.”</div>
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“Marcie says you’re an attorney now?”</div>
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“Yeah, gotta pay the bills somehow. After the first year of partying at CSU, I realized rent didn’t come free. Got my act together. Managed to graduate. Opened my own practice about four years ago.”</div>
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“Like it?”</div>
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“Love it.”</div>
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McTavish darted a jerky glance at his watch, then smoothed his free hand down his pants leg. Too many years of being trained to notice insignificant actions alerted Jayce to the absent gestures. Nervous. Hiding something. But what? And why?</div>
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Jayce didn’t have long to wait to discover the answer. As he swigged another drink, the men surrounding the pool table all did an about-face toward the door. He turned, curious what, or rather who, captured their immediate attention. At the sight of silken hair the color of rich chocolate, a waist so tiny it would make Scarlet O’Hara cry, and a smile that could silence an angel chorus, Jayce’s heart slammed to a halt.</div>
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Alyssa Martin. Holy fuck, he hadn’t prepared for her on any level. Let alone the way she sidled up to McTavish and planted an affectionate kiss on his mouth.</div>
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“Hey, babe. Who’s your—” Turning toward Jayce, her words abruptly stopped. Recognition flashed behind even richer brown eyes. In a heartbeat’s passing, her delicate face washed white. “Jayce,” she exhaled.</div>
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He couldn’t speak. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t produce a single word. Dozens rallied in his head. Questions she’d never answered—where had she gone, where did he screw up? What happened to our baby? Nothing worked its way past his dry-as-sand throat.</div>
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She blew out a breath that fanned the loose tendrils around her face and restored a bit of color to her fair cheeks. “You look…good.”</div>
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So did she. Fucking hot as hell. Slimming pencil skirt in khaki, a flirty summer blouse that accented her toned arms—she was every bit as beautiful as she’d been when he’d fallen head over heels for her. More so now that she’d filled out. Her breasts were full and pert, her hips narrow and defined. Her waist still so small he could fit his hands around it and touch his fingertips if he squeezed just a little. And her hair… God, her hair. She hadn’t cut it. Ten years, and it was still as long and glorious as he remembered. He’d bet his soul it would still slide like satin between his fingertips.</div>
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Old longing pitched his stomach in a violent circle, and Jayce struggled to put words in order. He had to say something. Something other than a demand for answers. He forced a smile he hoped was casual. “Hey, you.”</div>
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His stomach lurched again as Alyssa perched herself on Brice’s knee. Though he hadn’t seen her in a decade, though he had every right to want to strangle Alyssa Martin, the sight of her with Brice was like someone rammed a boot in Jayce’s gut. A steel-toed one that cracked a rib. Christ, the burn was agonizing.</div>
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His Alyssa, the woman he’d done everything he could to provide a life for, was with his best friend. Former best friend. Perched on his lap in a way that couldn’t be mistaken as anything but intimate.</div>
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The irrational need to put a bullet in McTavish’s forehead possessed Jayce. He turned away and stared at his beer, the malt flavor now as bitter as rotten hops. As a covert operative, he should have anticipated Alyssa might be in Boulder. But last he’d heard, she’d left the city. Her parents gloated when they informed him she’d gone to her aunt’s in New Mexico. It was the only bit of information they’d ever volunteered.</div>
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If they’d liked him better, if his family came from the same wealth as hers…</div>
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He clenched a hand around the cold glass and choked the timeless questions down.</div>
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“Jayce?”</div>
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Alyssa’s voice reached him distantly, pulling him out of thoughts he had no business entertaining. The faint touch of her hand on his shoulder seared like coals. He forced himself not to flinch.</div>
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“Should I…go, Jayce?”</div>
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Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-90752514671208982512013-09-16T21:15:00.000-05:002013-09-16T21:15:53.348-05:00Tori St. Claire EXPLOSIVE - Don't miss the giveaway!Hey all!<br />
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For those of you who haven't heard, EXPLOSIVE, the 3rd Black Opal book, releases tomorrow!!<br />
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There's a few important things you should know:<br />
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a. Amazon KDP has broken my account. They are trying to fix it, but...it simply won't be available on Kindle until they do. With the sheer number of folks who've signed aboard to help get the word out, I was in a position to have to keep moving forward with the release, and while I'm not responsible for their glitch, I do apologize to Kindle users.<br />
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b. It will be available, however, on Barnes and Noble for Nook, Kobo, and All Romance eBooks, as well as CreateSpace for the print copy.<br />
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c. It will release at $2.99 and stay on sale through October 1.<br />
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d. I have a giveaway going on through Goodreads -- enter to win a signed print copy!!<br />
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/" target="_new">Goodreads</a> Book Giveaway
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<div style="float: left;">
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18486617"><img alt="Explosive by Tori St. Claire" src="http://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1379100147l/18486617.jpg" title="Explosive by Tori St. Claire" width="100" /></a>
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18486617">Explosive</a>
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<h4 style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin: 0 0 10px; padding: 0;">
by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5220793.Tori_St_Claire" style="text-decoration: none;">Tori St. Claire</a>
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Giveaway ends September 20, 2013.
<br />
See the <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/65472" style="text-decoration: none;">giveaway details</a>
at Goodreads.
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<a class="goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink" href="http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_choose_address/65472">Enter to win</a>
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<script charset="utf-8" src="http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/widget/65472" type="text/javascript"></script>Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-67025742404544431182013-08-06T12:34:00.002-05:002013-08-06T12:34:12.539-05:00EXPLOSIVE - Tori St. Claire Cover Reveal, Exclusive Excerpt, and Giveaway!Yay! It's finally here -- the smokin' hot cover for Explosive.<br />
<br />Explosive continues the Black Opals saga with Jayce, who you met in Lie to Me as Sandman. (For those of you who might be leaping into the darkly seductive world of undercover operatives, don't worry, all Black Opals books stand alone.)<br />
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So, I'm going to show the cover here, but to be entered for the giveaway or read the exclusive two-part excerpt, you're going to have to hop over to Scorching Book Reviews and Love to Read for Fun. They've split the excerpt in two parts. Be sure to stop at each to get a glimpse of Jayce and Alyssa.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicB7xmqlLDfIV9bMwTp__Iw80F1cRkk31hzq4dvvkjX857AgDuyPlvMoeO-71Zr9rwb_0LtNPtclDeR7ZEHqb4f6JO7BuQNs27_xCceYu7XUIorQZueGy5nWcPF1boQbcca-e4Az_92WZM/s1600/ToriStClaire_Explosive_200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicB7xmqlLDfIV9bMwTp__Iw80F1cRkk31hzq4dvvkjX857AgDuyPlvMoeO-71Zr9rwb_0LtNPtclDeR7ZEHqb4f6JO7BuQNs27_xCceYu7XUIorQZueGy5nWcPF1boQbcca-e4Az_92WZM/s1600/ToriStClaire_Explosive_200.jpg" /></a><br />
<b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">EXPLOSIVE</span></b><br />
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<i>Black Opals, Book III</i><br />
Tori St.Claire<br />
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<b>A man on the hunt...</b></div>
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Jayce Honeycutt never imagined returning to his hometown for
a wedding would find him confronting the woman he intended to marry. Nor did he anticipate the passion they once
knew would burn as hot and bright as ever.
Only now Alyssa’s involved with Jayce’s former best friend, and Jayce
can’t bring himself to interfere. When
he learns Alyssa may be in danger, however, everything changes. As the threats against her life escalate,
Jayce will stop at nothing to unveil the secrets she’s hiding. Even if it means risking his heart all over
again.</div>
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<b>A woman on the run…</b></div>
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Ten years ago, a brutal attack forced Alyssa Martin into a
world of solitary darkness. She threw
herself into her career, but now her work has led her back into the nightmare
of her past and thrust her into a deadly game. When her roommate employs Jayce
for her protection, memories compound.
She’s never forgotten their shared desire, and her body still craves his
masterful touch. Yet Jayce is determined
to break down her protective walls, and confiding in him is more frightening
than the shadows stalking her. But
someone else is determined to control her.
To survive, Alyssa must trust in Jayce and bare herself completely.</div>
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Start reading the excerpt at <a href="http://scorchingbookreviews.blogspot.com/?zx=530e6e3018dab1b7" target="_blank">Scorching Reviews</a></div>
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Read part two at <a href="http://lovetoreadforfun.com/2013/08/cover-reveal-explosive-by-tori-st-claire.html#comment-3425" target="_blank">Love to Read for Fun</a></div>
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And spread the word that Explosive is coming September 17th and will be available for 2.99!</div>
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<br />Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-64585941194904594552013-07-12T11:35:00.003-05:002013-07-12T11:35:58.965-05:00Fantasy Friday with Karen Greco - Giveaway!Good morning, readers! Today I'm bringing Karen Greco in with her debut Urban Fantasy, <b><span style="color: #351c75;">Hell's Belle.</span></b> Lets take a look at this book that sounds really fascinating to me!<br />
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<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Hell's Belle</span><br />
<i><b>Hell's Belle Series Book, One</b></i><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Genre: Urban Fantasy</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Date of Publication: June 17, 2013</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">ISBN: 1484830202</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Cover Artist: Jeff Brennan</span><br />
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<i>Half vampire, half human, Nina Martinez spent most of her life underground as part of an elite secret team of government agents that quietly take down rogue monsters, the human world none the wiser. She moves back to her hometown of to keep an eye on the recent uptick in supernatural activity, and to help run the bar she co-owns with her aunt. Her attempt at a “regular” life, not to mention a budding relationship with smoking hot FBI agent Max, is cut short because of a string of ritual murders targeting the city's community of witches. </i></div>
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<i>But Nina's investigation unearths deadly secrets from her long buried parents. Now the target of supernatural assassins, could Nina be the most dangerous vampire hybrid to ever exist? No wonder she can’t get a date. </i></div>
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<i>An urban fantasy set in a decaying Providence, Rhode Island, HELL'S BELLE is a fast-paced, adrenaline-fueled roller-coaster ride through a city on the cusp of becoming an urban wasteland. HELL'S BELLE is an energetic, expansive, and cinematic beginning of a new series in the urban fantasy genre.</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hells-Belle-ebook/dp/B00DEUDXH0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1371489020&sr=1-1" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Amazon</span></a><br />
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<i><span style="color: #351c75;">Karen is going to share some fun info today with a top 10 list of what inspired her love of the supernatural. So take it away, Karen!</span></i><br />
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I have always loved movies, and the scarier the better. But I prefer suspense and chills to simple gore-fests. These ten movies had a profound impact on me at a very young age, and I consider them key influences to my work as a writer now.<br />
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MAGIC<br />
I think this was Anthony Hopkins' first American movie. I watched it when I was about 9 or 10, in an old roadside motel in upstate New York, near Niagara Falls. It was on television. I was so frightened; I covered my face but watched through my fingers. A demented, psychopathic dummy that murdered people--how could I NOT watch?<br />
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DRACULA<br />
The first movie I ever saw was Dracula (the one from 79, with Frank Langella as the Count). It was on at the video store when my dad was buying our first VHS player -- one of those early 80s monstrosities! Anyway, the store had it on, and I watched while my dad picked out the machine. Since it was a long, long process, and I pretty much watched the whole thing. I was riveted. Of course, now I know that it was an absolutely brilliant cast, with Trevor Eve as Jonathan Harker, and Laurence Olivier as Van Helsing. No wonder I loved it.<br />
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(Quick note. Clearly my parents didn't really monitor what I watched--I also saw Lipstick when I was around that age. And the 2nd movie I ever saw was Ordinary People, which frightened me far more than Magic or Dracula! Third movie was a Cheech and Chong. Clearly they had very relaxed viewing standards, but I think I turned out okay regardless.)<br />
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THE EXORCIST<br />
A young girl. A demon possession. A priest who lost his Faith. I was a little older when I saw The Exorcist, and was struggling to get through CCD (Sunday school for Catholics) without experiencing the wrath God (really, the wrath of my Hell-hath- plenty-of-fury Priests). So I related to this film in about a million different ways! And let's just leave that to the armchair psychotherapists.<br />
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ROSEMARY'S BABY<br />
Roman Polanski's classic. That cast was extraordinary—Mia Farrow, John Cassavettes. And no one does weird old lady better than Ruth Gordon.<br />
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PSYCHO<br />
Really, every Hitchcock movie should be on this list, but Psycho is iconic. Norman Bates set the bar high for sociopathic killers on film. And that shower scene proved that sometimes seeing less is often more frightening than seeing everything.<br />
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WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE<br />
This movie, like Psycho, proves that you don't have to be supernatural to be a monster! It also taught me about how even awful, unredeemable characters have their own reasons, however false, for being so evil. Finding the humanity in such awful characters is what gives them real dimension. Plus, Betty Davis and Joan Crawford!<br />
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THE OMEN<br />
Oh Damien. Another film that I related to in so many ways! It kicked off my life-long fascination with Great Britain--I loved the locations in this film. And the rabid Rottweilers partially inspired my character Dog. I was also fascinated by the idea that pure evil (in this case, demon spawn) could one day be a political figure, and not necessarily by satanic misdeeds but chosen by the people to lead. The idea that you do not know that this person you admire and respect it really the root of all evil. That's more frightening than Freddie Krueger, I think.<br />
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THEATRE OF BLOOD<br />
My list would not be complete without at least one Vincent Price movie, and Theatre of Blood hits all the right buttons. It's simply over-the-top, and Price is chewing the scenery. Great fun.<br />
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HALLOWEEN<br />
I was probably about 13 when I saw Halloween for the first time. This film kicked off my adoration for John Carpenter. For a long time, I religiously watched all Michael Myers movies, up until the one with LL Cool J. While most of my friends were Team Jason, I was totally Team Michael. Loved the Halloween franchise way more than Friday the 13th. Jamie Lee Curtis suffered no fools.<br />
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THE WAR OF THE WORLDS (radio broadcast)<br />
Okay, not a movie and more sci-fi than horror, but my 5th grade teacher played Orson Welles' infamous radio broadcast during class and it influenced me profoundly. I was fascinated by the fact that a fictional program could be so real that it actually sent people into a panic. I am not a huge fan of stories about aliens and alien invasions (I even loathe the movie Alien), but this adaptation of the H.G. Wells novel is a classic spine tingler.<br />
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I think I can relate to the love of many of this. The Omen is one of my favorites! What are your thoughts, readers?<br />
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Before we part ways with Karen, she is also sponsoring a giveaway today. It spans the tour, but you'll need to enter to have a chance to win one of 10 copies of Hell's Belle. The winner will be able to choose which digital format: mobi or epub.<br />
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<a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112f310/" id="rc-ba112f310" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script>
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An award-winning playwright, Karen Greco has spent close to twenty years in New York City, working in publicity and marketing for the entertainment industry. A life-long obsession with exorcists and Dracula drew her to urban fantasy, where she can decapitate characters with impunity. HELL'S BELLE is her first novel.<br />
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17858864-hell-s-belle" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Goodreads</span></a> | <a href="https://twitter.com/karenThegreco" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Twitter</span></a> | <a href="http://karengreco.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Blog </span></a> | <a href="https://www.facebook.com/hellsbellebykarengreco" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Facebook</span></a> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000;">A Bewitching Books Guest</span></b></td></tr>
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<br />Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-55296828595687634582013-06-28T16:30:00.000-05:002013-06-28T16:30:00.211-05:00Fantasy Friday with Storm Clouds by M.E. Sutton -- GiveawayApologies, readers -- I had to deal with some emergency farm issues and this is making it to you late. However, I hope you'll be as excited about this discovery as I was. M.E. Sutton is here today to talk about Storm Clouds, her latest release. Look at this cover! It screams, "READ ME!"<br />
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<b>Storm Clouds</b><br />
<i>Hero’s Sword Vol. 2</i><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Publisher: Delabarre Publishing</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Date of Publication: April 24, 2013</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">ISBN: 9781619410558</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">ASIN: B00CIUR7HO</span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Genre: fantasy -middle grade</span></b><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CIUR7HO" target="_blank">Amazon</a> <a href="http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Storm-Clouds-Heros-Sword-Vol-2/book-Kp0dKAy5YUWzlSRrgDXrPg/page1.html?s=RVMNTiTb3UKeE4h0hB-Jzg&r=1" target="_blank">Kobo</a> <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-clouds-me-sutton/1115467010?ean=2940016415536" target="_blank">BN </a> <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/storm-clouds/id649061424?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a><br />
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<i>Eighth-grader Jaycee Hiller is beginning to fear she only imagined her trip to Mallory. But when a rainy afternoon leaves her with hours of playing Hero’s Sword, her favorite video game, she finds herself drawn back into the game – literally.</i></div>
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<i>STORM CLOUDS is the exciting second volume of the HERO’S SWORD saga – chronicling Jaycee Hiller’s trials in eight grade, and her exciting adventures in Mallory, the setting of her favorite video game. Jaycee enters the video game realm via a special controller and is caught up in the action of this fantasy realm.</i></div>
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<i>In STORM CLOUDS, a valuable jewel belonging to the neighboring estate of Devin, the Sapphire Star, is missing, stolen at the Fall Consortium. Lady Starla stands accused of the theft. Devin’s demands are clear: return the Star or they will take it back by force.</i></div>
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<i>Now it’s up to Lyla Stormbringer to find the Star and the thief. before Mallory finds itself at war.</i></div>
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M.E. is here today to tell us how the fantasy world of the game parallel or differ from our real world. Here's what she had to say! Be sure to read all the way through her post -- there's a <b><span style="color: #990000;">giveaway </span></b>at the end!</div>
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Whenever you get the opportunity to create a world, you inevitably end up with similarities and differences to the “real world,” no matter if your world is your neighborhood, Middle Earth, or the moon. The world of Hero’s Sword is no exception.</div>
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The estates that make up the Empire, essentially the world of Hero’s Sword, look very familiar to real life – if we were living about 600 years ago, that is. The Middle Ages, especially between the 12th and 15th centuries, are a good comparison for the basic world of Hero’s Sword. If you think of rolling countryside, grand manors, quaint towns, and three basic social classes – peasant, townsman, and noble – you’ve to the general idea. It was the time when men wore a lot of steel and women wore elaborate dresses. At least if you had money, that is. If you didn’t, well, your wardrobe was considerably less opulent.</div>
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When I think of Mallory, I often picture the French countryside of the times. The roads would be dirt or cobblestone, depending on where you were. Like France at the time, the economy is largely based on agriculture, with large farms dominating the landscape. There would be some trade in the towns – people dealing in cloth, shoes, or spices. And like the fiefdoms in the real world, the common folks would swear loyalty, and pay taxes, to the ruling landowner. In Hero’s Sword these are the estate owners who, although they don’t have titles, fill the same role as those barons and counts of medieval times.</div>
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Also like medieval France, the main method of transportation is the horse – either riding one or horse-drawn carts and carriages. Weaponry would be similar – bows and arrows, crossbows, and swords mostly (although I suppose the Imperial army has pikes too).</div>
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So if you go to an encyclopedia, or Wikipedia for that matter, and look up “12th century France,” you have a pretty good idea of what Mallory, and any other estate of the Empire, looks like. And yes, I deliberately stayed away from magic in the world of Hero’s Sword – at least anything resembling real magic. Some day people who deal in herbs and healing, and the superstitions that were common to the times, may make an appearance. This is another similarity to “real life,” where you can’t get out of trouble by reciting a spell or drinking a potion.</div>
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But what about the differences? Well, if you are comparing Hero’s Sword to modern life, of course things are very different. Both are inhabited by people (as opposed to elves and dwarves), but all of our modern conveniences, such as flushing toilets, running water, or cars, are missing. No firearms either – and I’m not sure if that makes the world of Hero’s Sword more or less “civilized”!</div>
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The other major difference is the characters, particularly Jaycee/Lyla. In “real life,” Jaycee Hiller is a girl in eighth grade, about 13 years old. She’s not quite a child, but she’s not an adult either. She has knowledge and skills appropriate to her age and society. She’s probably awesome at working electronics, but if you put a sword in her hand she’d be a bit lost. Not to mention the fact that she wouldn’t be strong enough to swing a very big sword.</div>
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Lyla Stormbringer, on the other hand, is definitely older. Not very old, but probably in her mid-20s. She possesses skills at archery and swordsmanship that Jaycee does not – although obviously Jaycee would know how to do those things in a video game. For the purposes of the book, however, Lyla needs to have those skills. Otherwise, she’s not going to be taken seriously – and that definitely wouldn’t work for the book. Because she is older, Lyla also doesn’t have to fight against a natural doubt that a child would be up to the task of saving the lady of the manor or averting war. Of course they trust Lyla, of course she’s capable.</div>
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That’s probably the biggest difference between the world of Hero’s Sword and “real” life. In the game, Jaycee is a strong, capable, confident young woman. In “real” life, she’s still kind of a wall-flower, not quite ready to believe she could be a real-world Lyla.</div>
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And that’s the question to be answered, not just in Storm Clouds, but in the entire series. What can Lyla teach Jaycee about surviving the real world? And will Jaycee learn those lessons or not?</div>
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It should be fun to find out, don’t you think?</div>
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<span style="color: #351c75;"><i>Claire: I do think it should be fun to find out, and I have added this on my list of books for my two boys and I to read together. Looking forward to it!</i></span></div>
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Now for the giveaway!!</div>
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ME is providing an e-book copy in the winner's choice of format for today's stop. Leave a comment below!</div>
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But that's not all. There's also a tour-wide giveaway that you can enter through Rafflecopter. Enjoy folks!!</div>
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<a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/6f0d6f1/" id="rc-6f0d6f1" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script>
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<b>About the Author:</b><br />
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3SB5DO6DC35aoOmpfLCl7_bWksTxULjXh-EK1fguxZ2K3DPNWL0Grh7U_bKHr6zEXu5x0-ZIJLnaY1jjtllC8sBAmggL2jBADspmizieA3REXoZDAgvH9LeRmZp5NsiyIyBqoeDkw12Vc/s266/MESutton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3SB5DO6DC35aoOmpfLCl7_bWksTxULjXh-EK1fguxZ2K3DPNWL0Grh7U_bKHr6zEXu5x0-ZIJLnaY1jjtllC8sBAmggL2jBADspmizieA3REXoZDAgvH9LeRmZp5NsiyIyBqoeDkw12Vc/s266/MESutton.jpg" /></a></b></div>
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A software technical writer by day, Mary Sutton has been making her living with words for over a decade. She writes the Hero’s Sword middle-grade fantasy series as M.E. Sutton, and The Laurel Highlands Mysteries series as Liz Milliron. She lives in Pittsburgh, PA with her husband and two children.</div>
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<a href="http://marysuttonauthor.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> | <a href="http://theresabodyinthelibrary.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Blog </a> | <a href="http://twitter.com/mary_sutton73" target="_blank">Twitter</a> | <a href="http://www.facebook.com/AuthorMarySutton" target="_blank">Facebook</a> | <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6588083.M_E_Sutton" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com/M.E.-Sutton/e/B00ACAN7PS/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">Amazon Author page</a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000;"><b>A Bewitching Books Guest</b></span></td></tr>
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Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-37007147604552906512013-05-18T07:41:00.000-05:002013-05-18T07:41:00.747-05:00Second Round of Triple Crown - Preakness Day!Given that <b><span style="color: #351c75;">Seduction's Stakes </span></b>is just re-released, and the fact I'm once again forced to be somewhere else during race day (this time soccer), I thought I'd share my picks with you for the Preakness. In case you're unaware, the race is today, and we're discovering who, if anyone, will have a shot at the coveted Triple Crown.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000;">ORB: Preakness Favorite, 2013 Kentucky Derby Winner</span></b></td></tr>
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<br />Difficulties arise here because the races are so close together, and that is playing in to many people's odds. I'm not a huge fan of really anyone in the field, except, for once, the favorite: Orb. There are two other horses I feel have even a chance: Departing and Governor Charlie. Yes, Goldencents is up there in many people's predictions, the sloppy track at Churchill being excused for his poor showing. I'm not buying it, even though I liked him for the Derby.<br />
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So, with all that said, and after much mulling over what I think my three candidates will do... For me, this is my Trifecta!<br />
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1. Orb<br />
2. Departing<br />
3. Governor Charlie<br />
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A couple of caveats... Governor Charlie lost training time. Training is important, but there's a certain amount of 'not forgetting' that comes with a horse who knows its job. I'm really oversimplfying and doing an injustice to the hard work put into training, but put simply, the horse has to go around a circle to the left, insanely fast, without crashing into another horse. Training really, to me, is the level of Jockey experience. In this case, Mylute takes that cake. But I don't like Mylute for win, place, or show.<br />
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Departing has a history of wins under his belt, and it wouldn't surprise me if he does overtake Orb. Of all of them, he shows the most promise in doing so. I really wish he'd run the Derby so I could have seen him against Orb. This horse stands to be a wildcard. I still don't believe he can pull ahead for a win. Show it is.<br />
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And Orb. I don't know whether I really <i>like</i> this horse for his ability, or whether I like the <i>hope</i> we might happen onto another Triple Crown winner. I hate to see the run for the three jewels come to a grinding halt with Orb being beaten at the Preakness. So my fingers and toes are crossed that he takes home the trophy and we will have much angst and nail-biting at Belmont coming up.<br />
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We'll see what happens, I guess! (And you can decide whether you ever want to listen to my picks again!)<br />
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Just as a reminder, don't forget Seduction's Stakes is available now.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe3-NXGmlL1Exb6gBQ4r9X2-EAcMu6kv8xilSJfZDg3sl7y7UT9ZC1b-OObQzH9N69VQMgwGOKaMVmSMqorXuah4LHalR6x1gXGbtC1E7akSKsrvLNDFCao5luisS3aviFNMYuxD0qX5YZ/s1600/ClaireAshgrove_SeductionsStake200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe3-NXGmlL1Exb6gBQ4r9X2-EAcMu6kv8xilSJfZDg3sl7y7UT9ZC1b-OObQzH9N69VQMgwGOKaMVmSMqorXuah4LHalR6x1gXGbtC1E7akSKsrvLNDFCao5luisS3aviFNMYuxD0qX5YZ/s1600/ClaireAshgrove_SeductionsStake200.jpg" /></a><i>McCleery Racing didn't become a Thoroughbred racing powerhouse by betting on longshots. Maddie McCleery made it a multi-million dollar player through hard work, logical decisions, and a commitment to never involve herself with men who lived on the sport of kings. But when she sets her sights on a two-year-old colt her rival owns, she never imagines the lengths she'll go to, to bring the future champion home. <br /><br />Riley Jennings wants unobtainable Maddie almost more than the Triple Crown. After his Kentucky Derby win, however, he sees a way to sure-fire victory. His proposed wager stacks the odds in his favor - if her horse wins the Preakness, he'll accept her terms. If his horse comes in first, they'll negotiate his way. <br /><br />When the dust settles on the wire, will love claim final victory, or will unexpected tragedy stop them in the gates? </i></div>
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Available on all popular digital platforms and in print, but here's the Kindle link: <span style="color: orange;"> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Seductions-Stakes-ebook/dp/B00CMSQGP6/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1368859102&sr=8-1&keywords=seduction%27s+stakes" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Seduction's Stakes</span></a></span>Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-39300103621688260422013-05-04T07:00:00.000-05:002013-05-04T07:00:00.723-05:00Derby Day Picks and Just Released!Good morning, everyone! It's DERBY DAY!!<br />
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And for this racing enthusiast, there couldn't be a better day. I love, love, <i>love</i> kicking off the run for the Triple Crown.<br />
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This year's Derby is interesting on so many levels. We have a woman jockey, a black jockey, horses that could be full of surprises, and what promises to be a sloppy track. We have turf runners, unproven candidates, and some last minute jockey change-ups. All in all... very fun times.<br />
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Have you made your choice on who's going to take home the trophy?<br />
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Here's my picks, along with my very brief whys:<br />
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WIN - Revolutionary<br />
I'm a Pletcher fan, for starters, and Calvin Borel is a world class jock, and they have a post position that suits Borel. But when it all boils down to why I picked this dark bay contender, it's strict gut feeling. For more solid reasons: it's all in the pedigree. This horse is born to win.<br />
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PLACE -- Orb<br />
I don't want to like Orb, because everyone else does. But, damn it, I do. He's done really well, really recently, and while I just can't see him overcoming Revolutionary, I can't see anyone else in the field who can overcome him.<br />
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SHOW -- Palace Malice<br />
Now, before you laugh, look at the running history on this colt's sire side. By Curlin, he's bred to improve with age, and he's just now three. His recent performances show betterment in more difficult stakes. I'm totally behind this horse, not to mention, he's also a Pletcher horse :)<br />
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4th -- Normandy Invasion<br />
I think he's a dark horse waiting to surprise us all. He's performing well in exercise runs and showing a lot of vigor. The only surprise I see happening is he might just place in the money.<br />
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5th -- Goldencents<br />
Really, Normandy Invasion and Goldencents, to me, have about equal odds. <br />
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And as a mention... I would really like to like Charming Kitten, simply because I am a huge Prado fan. It would please me immensely if this horse would pop into the money. But as much as I would like for that to happen, I just don't see this turf running cutting it on synthetic track. <br />
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So. All that said, I'm celebrating the Derby with the re-release of Seduction's Stakes! It's a little-known book I published, my first book folks, and I hope you'll grab a copy!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCefLnpAnE_PQO_y3gm6TVH_sCuF1edM2CD8gzsSu-sJ0XumT7WcaA7gGaa89dbr75OFWA6l5GUPSBdrT7Ibu6JRJY3-pMkbftzeVHHlLZTkpOqGy9Nia1WRNM9pj0lPPqEMCo_Qrnei_/s1600/ClaireAshgrove_SeductionsStake200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCefLnpAnE_PQO_y3gm6TVH_sCuF1edM2CD8gzsSu-sJ0XumT7WcaA7gGaa89dbr75OFWA6l5GUPSBdrT7Ibu6JRJY3-pMkbftzeVHHlLZTkpOqGy9Nia1WRNM9pj0lPPqEMCo_Qrnei_/s1600/ClaireAshgrove_SeductionsStake200.jpg" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Seduction's Stakes</span></b><br />
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<b>"<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">"Hot, Hot, hot. Seduction’s Stakes is a sexy race to the finish line." USA Today Bestselling Author, </span><a data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=1344501052&extragetparams=%7B%22group_id%22%3A0%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/nanamalone?group_id=0" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;">Nana Malone</a>"</b><br />
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McCleery Racing didn't become a Thoroughbred racing powerhouse by betting on longshots. Maddie McCleery made it a multi-million dollar player through hard work, logical decisions, and a commitment to never involve herself with men who lived on the sport of kings. But when she sets her sights on a two-year-old colt her rival owns, she never imagines the lengths she'll go to, to bring the future champion home.<br />
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Riley Jennings wants unobtainable Maddie almost more than the Triple Crown. After his Kentucky Derby win, however, he sees a way to sure-fire victory. His proposed wager stacks the odds in his favor - if her horse wins the Preakness, he'll accept her terms. If his horse comes in first, they'll negotiate his way.<br />
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When the dust settles on the wire, will love claim final victory, or will unexpected tragedy stop them in the gates?<br />
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<br />Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-262411561069709152013-04-11T02:38:00.000-05:002013-04-11T02:38:00.095-05:00Welcome Author Liia Ann White and Giveaway!Good morning, everyone! It's Thursday, and you know what that means -- a new voice (sometimes just to me) for me to share with you. Please welcome author Liia Ann White, who's here today to talk about her new release, <b><span style="color: #674ea7;">Dark Waters</span></b>. (I'm seriously liking this cover, by the way. It's gorgeous!)<br />
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<b><span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: large;">Dark Waters</span></b><br />
Liia Ann White<br />
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<i>Randor is a Fae assassin. As the most feared military officer in the Faery Realm, he only got out by striking a deal with the late King to become an assassin for hire. Something he was only able to do because of his place as adopted family member. When he’s ordered to kidnap the Unseelie Faery Princess and deliver her to the Seelie Queen, he doesn’t think twice, until he sees his target. Adora. Unseelie Princess. Most beautiful being in existence and feared witch warrior and his soul mate. Disobeying orders is something he’s never done before. But when he brings her into the Human Realm; his home, he has no regrets. Until his Elvish friend, Kiel, disapproves and an unexpected attack raises questions about his loyalties. The only way that could have happened was if Kiel tipped off the Queen's witch, Maleficent.</i></div>
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<i>Adora was fearless, powerful and intensely unhappy. Until she was kidnapped by a mysterious stranger, who happens to be her half human, half Seelie soul mate. After being attacked, Adora, fearing she'd lose Randor, admits her feelings for her soul mate. The two of them just need to find a way they can survive together - away from the feuding kingdoms. Entering the Seelie castle, under a pretense of needing the witch's help to bind Adora's immense power, they ask for Maleficent, whom they plan to eliminate so she can no longer track them. </i></div>
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<i>When all hell breaks loose, they're involved in a fight including the witch, Kiel and the Queen. A fight that not all of them will survive. </i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #351c75;">I asked Liia Ann to talk to us about her inspiration for the story. Here's what she had to say:</span></i><br />
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Thanks so much for having me today! <i><span style="color: #351c75;">(You're welcome, Liia)</span></i><br />
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When I saw this topic request for a blog post I beamed. She wanted to know what the inspiration for Dark Waters was. Well, there is about five different ways I can answer that, so here goes…<br />
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I’ve always loved fantasy. When done well, fantasy is my favourite genre. But there is a lot of it out now, books, movies, TV shows, that just don’t do it for me. If a fantasy book has not enough or too much description, I feel very disconnected from the plot. I’d had my own little fantasy series running around in my head for a while now and the opportunity came up for me to finally write a fantasy romance.<br />
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If you’ve read anything about me, you might know all my book ideas come from dreams. I have nightmares, vivid dreams and plain old weird dreams every single night. One night Adora appeared to me, with the basic appearance of a 21st century She-Ra (yes He-Man’s sister) in combat gear. She was tough yet vulnerable. Beautiful yet down to earth. And graceful yet deadly. She was everything I love in a heroine.<br />
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Several dreams followed with the appearance of Randor, the super sexy assassin, the outlay of the worlds they lived in, colours, trees, plants and buildings. I love blues, purples and greens – basically any cool colour, so that’s what I incorporated into the world. All the flora is a shade of blue or purple with green leaves and grass surrounding them.<br />
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When I write a book, it plays out in my head as a film, so I try to include all the aspects that I see in my book.<br />
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As for my inspiration for Randor? Who better than the always hot Ian Somerhalder as my favourite book character – Damon Salvatore :)<br />
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<i><span style="color: #351c75;">Let's take a peek at where her imagination led, shall we?</span></i></div>
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EXCERPT</div>
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Adora awoke lying on a cold, hard, stone floor. Her head ached and throbbed. What happened to her? She left the feast, headed for her quarters and...nothing. Her mind was completely blank.</div>
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So what was she doing on a floor? Sitting up, Adora rubbed her head and found she was shackled. Both her wrists and ankles were bound in iron cuffs. The metal shimmered with green energy. They’d been charmed, no doubt with a captivity spell.</div>
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Good gods, what am I supposed to do?</div>
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It was no use trying to free herself. Captivity spells were almost impossible to break without the proper words. Wait, could she pull the chains out of the wall?</div>
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Jumping to her feet, Adora stepped back until the chains were tight. They were attached by one hook embedded into the wall.</div>
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This should be easy.</div>
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Grasping the cold iron chains, she gave a mighty yank. The instant she did, pain shot up her arms. Adora hunched and winced as the cuffs around her wrists tightened, digging into her skin.</div>
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“The more you struggle, the tighter they become.” A deep male voice cut the silence around her.</div>
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She spun to find a man she didn’t recognise standing at the door of her small cell. He was tall and lean with muscle that she didn’t doubt held immense strength. His sky blue eyes shone in contrast with his tanned skin and brown hair. While this man was obviously Fae, there was something different about him. Something else emitted through his aura.</div>
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A smirk spread across his full lips as he took a step toward her.</div>
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Refusing to back away, she straightened and stood still. She was Princess Adora, first in line for the throne the Seelie Court and fearless warrior in the Seelie army. People feared her. She feared nothing.</div>
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“So, Princess,” he spoke as he continued to slowly approach her. “I’m supposed to deliver you to the Unseelie queen.”</div>
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Adora’s breath caught in her throat. The Unseelie queen had tried, many times, to invade the kingdom. But her soldiers never made it past the gates.</div>
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“But,” the stranger continued, “I think I’ll keep her waiting. Just for a little while.”</div>
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Adora cocked her head. What kind of soldier disobeyed his queen? “Who are you?”</div>
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YOU HAVE JUST READ AN EXCERPT FROM <span style="color: #351c75;"><b>DARK WATERS</b></span></div>
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Liia Ann will be awarding <b><span style="color: #cc0000;">a $10 Amazon Gift Card and a $10 Evernight Publishing Gift Card </span></b>to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found <a href="http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2013/02/virtual-book-tour-dark-waters-by-liia.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">here</span></a>: </div>
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<b>About the Author:</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyP-F7q42kWEJpChGCHJ-k_bKBm6NDHOEYmChQ_4iVEc5kRlckb-GUvDi_Z72Y4gj19N58XYzqTBESv37TQJ11Nyhi7SOau8RRk8tQBoFDlnUkL3ZD370Sd_4vBBdcLgoDJAGg8hWAwQUx/s1600/Authorpic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyP-F7q42kWEJpChGCHJ-k_bKBm6NDHOEYmChQ_4iVEc5kRlckb-GUvDi_Z72Y4gj19N58XYzqTBESv37TQJ11Nyhi7SOau8RRk8tQBoFDlnUkL3ZD370Sd_4vBBdcLgoDJAGg8hWAwQUx/s200/Authorpic.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Liia Ann White is an Australian author, hailing from Perth, WA.</div>
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She spent her childhood daydreaming about far off lands, creating her own unique characters, reading books about witches, faeries, demons, ghosts and a host of supernatural creatures. Eventually, she gained the courage to put her imagination to work.</div>
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A self-proclaimed geek, Liia collects Disney and Star Wars memorabilia and loves all things nerdy.</div>
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A vegan animal lover, she wishes to one day have her own rescue shelter for unwanted and 'unadoptable' animals. When not writing, she can be found reading or spending time with her dogs.</div>
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Liia is a member of Romance Writers of America, Romance Writers of Australia, Passionate Ink, Futuristic, Fantasy & Paranormal Chapter of RWA and Young Adult Chapter of Romance Writers of America as well as being the webmistress for YARWA.</div>
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Always interested in meeting new people, Liia can be found on facebook or twitter almost constantly.</div>
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<b>Keep in Touch:</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.liiaannwhite.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Website</span></a> | <a href="http://www.twitter.com/LiiaAnn" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Twitter</span></a> | <a href="http://www.facebook.com/LiiaAnnWhite" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Facebook </span></a></div>
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<b>Buy Links</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.evernightpublishing.com/dark-waters-by-liia-ann-white/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Evernight Publishing</span></a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Waters-Water-Lands-ebook/dp/B00B56GX9U/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1359517557&sr=8-6&keywords=liia+ann+white" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Amazon</span></a> | <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-darkwaters-1047801-140.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">AllRomanceEbooks</span></a> </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">A GoddessFish Productions Guest</span></b></td></tr>
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Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-83413742364793159192013-04-04T05:30:00.000-05:002013-04-04T22:28:13.605-05:00Welcome Author, Meggan Connors and Giveaway!Please welcome author Meggan Connors to the blog today, and her new Western Steampunk Romance. Did you hear that? I'll say it again. <b><i>Steampunk</i>.</b><br />
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Everybody squeal with me. (And for you just visiting the blog today, I'm a huge steampunk fan.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKUapT1cmb5F1_v0su8_0iNz1yIRba7Ywawg2jdnTxaj-SdkpRZx1Tdx_l_YYlyXvQwYGOnike2nCxg_M4XGXmqaOG7rQ5Z8f6c7klV7d6lZGNstDwZJFBKQZQwR7rBmzqa0hnQr_CQyyo/s1600/jessieswar-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKUapT1cmb5F1_v0su8_0iNz1yIRba7Ywawg2jdnTxaj-SdkpRZx1Tdx_l_YYlyXvQwYGOnike2nCxg_M4XGXmqaOG7rQ5Z8f6c7klV7d6lZGNstDwZJFBKQZQwR7rBmzqa0hnQr_CQyyo/s320/jessieswar-cover.jpg" width="199" /></a><i>She's about to become a pawn in a brutal game between nations... </i><br />
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<i>The American Civil War has raged for more than ten years. The outcast daughter of a famous inventor, Jessica White has struggled to salvage what little remains of her life. Then, one cold winter night, the lover she'd given up for dead returns, claiming the Union Army bought the plans for her father's last invention. But he's not the only one who lays claim to the device, for the Confederacy wants the invention as well. Both sides will kill to have it. </i></div>
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<i>...And only he can save her. </i></div>
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<i>As an agent for the Union Army, Luke Bradshaw is a man who will use whomever and whatever is at his disposal in order to complete his mission. An attack by Confederate soldiers ensures that Jessie will turn to him for help, but Luke can't help but wonder about the secrets she keeps--and if those secrets will ultimately prove fatal.</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jessies-War-Civil-Steam-ebook/dp/B00BWACFE6/ref=la_B00AVGKU4O_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1364249478&sr=1-3" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">BUY ON AMAZON</span></a></div>
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Her cheeks heated and she sniffed. “I wouldn’t try the patience of my very generous benefactor, if I were you. I might also mention a bath could make your presence a little more tolerable. You’re lucky I didn’t sic Muha on you.”<br />
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Luke looked at the wolf, who thumped her graying tail in eager canine devotion. “You wouldn’t bite me, would you, old girl?” Scratching her head, he caught Jessie’s eye. “See, she still loves me.”<br />
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“Well, that’s one of us.”<br />
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“Right.” He dug into the pocket of his vest, removed a small, folded envelope, and extended it to her. “I brought you something.”<br />
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The paper trembled, and it took Jessie a moment to realize his hands shook.<br />
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She folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t want anything from you, except your promise that tomorrow you’ll leave and you won’t come back.”<br />
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“Can’t promise you that, but I can give you this.” He shoved the envelope at her.<br />
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“Don’t overstay your welcome, Bradshaw.”<br />
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“I always do.”<br />
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A nervous laugh escaped before she could stop it, and she took the letter from Luke’s outstretched hand. It was well worn and wrinkled, the edges charred, as if it had been rescued from a fire.<br />
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She ran her hands over the paper, and she sensed smoke and the heat of flames.<br />
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With shaking hands, she opened the envelope. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to find, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t a photograph and a flood of memories.<br />
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Two young men. Union soldiers. Luke, clean-shaven and an older version of the boy she remembered, smiled broadly at the camera, his free arm around the shoulders of the young man standing next to him.<br />
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Gideon. His black hair and eyes, skin and high cheekbones showed the native blood he and Jessie shared. His mouth was set in a somber line, but she recognized the mirth in his eyes. Luke had never failed to amuse her brother.<br />
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On the bottom of the photograph, written in Gideon’s strong, precise hand, was, Me and Luke. October 28, 1867.<br />
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The day he died.<br />
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She put the photograph down beside her and turned to the second piece of paper, and her throat tightened as she began to read.<br />
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Jessie,<br />
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We leave for South Carolina today. Luke and I are assigned to different airships, but we’re both expected to be there by this afternoon. We don’t expect much resistance. There are rumors the Rebs have developed a weapon against our airships, but I’ve been working on something with Pop’s blue silver alloy. If it works, the Rebs will never be able to take us out of the sky. I only wish Luke were on my ship.<br />
<br />
Don’t worry about us. Any day now, and we’ll be back where we belong. Luke sends his love. I’ll take care of him for you—don’t you worry. You take care of yourself and Pop.<br />
<br />
–Gideon<br />
<br />
The letter they’d received from Gideon’s commanding officer had assured her father that her brother had died quickly when his ship had plummeted to the earth and burst into flames. She had pretended to believe the lies for her father’s sake.<br />
<br />
She traced Gideon’s words with the tip of her finger, trying to feel some remnant of her brother’s presence in the strong lines of his penmanship. New pain built in her chest when she realized her efforts were futile—his energy wasn’t there. His letter contained his words, but no trace of him.<br />
<br />
“I always meant to come back.” Luke’s voice sounded rough. “I walked all the way back to the crash site, looking for him or something of his. I was given this. I’ve carried it ever since. I always meant to give it to you.”<br />
<br />
She set the photograph in her lap. She memorized this last image of her brother, dressed as a solider with his best friend by his side.<br />
<br />
Luke put his hand on her shoulder.<br />
<br />
She flinched. “Don’t. You should have sent this when you found it.”<br />
<br />
He dropped his hand. “I wanted to give you the letter in person.”<br />
<br />
“Go away.” The words came out strangled.<br />
<br />
“Jessie—”<br />
<br />
“I wish you had been the one to die that day.”<br />
<br />
This one small memento of her brother ripped her open and tore out her heart all over again. The pain was as raw as the day she’d learned of his death.<br />
<br />
“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished the exact same thing.”<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~@~~</div>
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YOU HAVE JUST READ AN EXCERPT FOR <b><span style="color: #351c75;">JESSE'S WAR</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;"><b>~GIVEAWAY~</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoT4l7a0kK1IikwKkG65B_zpM63EExAl1JJ5su4dXskGZ5N_ENy-yiYIIV1uIDjI0Dw6rhPUlxBFi3AVMux82eCLfqnXTw-Ra6Cwv93f2zUuAP6Sus7h3XYouWIrDTP387qRDA-D6WNDR/s1600/4_3+jessie's-war-prizes-animated.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoT4l7a0kK1IikwKkG65B_zpM63EExAl1JJ5su4dXskGZ5N_ENy-yiYIIV1uIDjI0Dw6rhPUlxBFi3AVMux82eCLfqnXTw-Ra6Cwv93f2zUuAP6Sus7h3XYouWIrDTP387qRDA-D6WNDR/s200/4_3+jessie's-war-prizes-animated.gif" width="133" /></a><br />
<br />
Meggan will be awarding a silver pocket watch pendant and a cameo choker, and a signed paperback copy of The Marker, her historical romance to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour (US/CANADA ONLY). So don’t forget to leave a comment and follow the tour. The more you comment, the better your chances of winning! <br />
<br />
<i><b>Complete tour dates can be found <a href="http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2013/01/virtual-book-tour-jessies-war-by-meggan.html." target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">here</span></a>.</b></i><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About The Author:</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzOOKARlk-g2qejuYJX3KECxXJ4QAMCXW0xxBfgBSNhIIP60wf6C9ha37-jgzLPFoqOngmcO5IVC9OqaQsizW5wdbi5yWUZ8K3zR0NKL2KgzYOFkA_r4j4WdWWkfbilOLEksFziA2vmuIt/s1600/Author+Meggan+Connors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzOOKARlk-g2qejuYJX3KECxXJ4QAMCXW0xxBfgBSNhIIP60wf6C9ha37-jgzLPFoqOngmcO5IVC9OqaQsizW5wdbi5yWUZ8K3zR0NKL2KgzYOFkA_r4j4WdWWkfbilOLEksFziA2vmuIt/s1600/Author+Meggan+Connors.jpg" /></a></div>
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Meggan Connors is a wife, mother, teacher and award-winning author who writes primarily historical and steampunk romances. As a history buff with a love of all things historical, she enjoys visiting both major and obscure museums, and reading the histories of the Old West and the British Isles. She makes her home in the Wild West with her lawman husband, two children, and a menagerie of pets. When she’s not writing, she can usually be found hiking in the mountains, playing in the snow, or with her nose in a book. Favorite vacation destinations include the sun-kissed hills of California, any place with a castle or a ghost (and both is perfect!), and the windswept Oregon coast.<br />
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Links:<br />
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Website: <a href="http://www.megganconnors.com/"><span style="color: orange;">http://www.megganconnors.com</span></a><br />
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Twitter: @megganconnors<br />
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<br />Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-69037892337319665562013-04-02T06:07:00.000-05:002013-04-02T06:07:00.263-05:00Tuesday Teaser - Immortal Trust ContinuesGood morning, readers! <br />
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I hope you've all had an opportunity to pick up <b><span style="color: #351c75;">Immortal Trust!</span></b> If you have, I'd love to hear which book is your favorite so far. There's three others to choose from: <a href="http://www.claireashgrove.com/ImmortalHope.asp" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Immortal Hope</span></a>, <a href="http://www.claireashgrove.com/ImmortalSurrender.asp" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Immortal Surrender</span></a>, and don't forget <a href="http://www.claireashgrove.com/ImmortalProtector.asp" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Immortal Protector</span></a>, the companion novella to the series.<br />
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Since it's Tuesday, our teaser this week is the conclusion of chapter one from last week. With much, much ado, let's see what happens with Chloe and Lucan.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHVQpvTwi47rLMgGfq75F58ZcHHC-DWnWwDsWCpIk4TJs0-IgZlWfBBsWObVO26cOAUAworPJRzXAXrAZqIoOUekaod14PnIOXC67Gxt1VxsfGSJWHHcJzGaXwal5Ir360nI03qe5boOu/s1600/Immortal+Trust.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHVQpvTwi47rLMgGfq75F58ZcHHC-DWnWwDsWCpIk4TJs0-IgZlWfBBsWObVO26cOAUAworPJRzXAXrAZqIoOUekaod14PnIOXC67Gxt1VxsfGSJWHHcJzGaXwal5Ir360nI03qe5boOu/s320/Immortal+Trust.JPG" width="198" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Immortal Trust</span></b><br />
<i>The Curse of the Templars, Book III</i><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Immortal-Trust-Curse-Templars-ebook/dp/B00AEC9JTM/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1361433423&sr=1-2" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Purchase Now!</span></a><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>When archaeologist Chloe Broussard accepts the contract to lead a dig in Ornes, France, she has no idea she will uncover Veronica's Veil. When she does, she discovers a danger far greater than the demons that stalk her in the night. Azazel wants her, as well as the Veronica, and his chosen minion is her brother. Her hope lies with immortal Templar Knight, Lucan. Her life depends on oaths she knows nothing about.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>For countless centuries, Lucan of Seacourt has lived with the knowledge that his brother killed their family. Now, as Azazel's darkness eats away at his soul, old betrayal stirs suspicion. He trusts no one. Not even the seraph who can heal his dying spirit.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>With the fate of the Almighty hanging in the balance, Lucan must find faith in something more terrifying than the dark lord's creations. He must learn to believe his heart.</i></div>
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<b><span style="color: #351c75;">"The engrossing Curse of the Templars series hits another high note with its third installment, packed with the tension and passion fans have come to expect..."</span></b> - <b>Romantic Times Reviews 4/4</b></div>
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****<br />
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Lucan’s eyes hardened like steel and clashed with Chloe’s annoyed scowl. She turned her back on the three imposing men, unwilling to let Lucan’s handsome face sway her into better spirits. Held back by the insistence from the Vatican that she wait until their representatives could be present, her team had missed a full day. A delay that would cost them dearly if the overcast sky made good on its threat of snow.<br />
<br />
She stomped inside the trailer, letting the door bang shut behind her. Determined to ignore the twinge of guilt her unprofessional attitude brought, she dropped into her desk chair and folded her arms across her chest.<br />
<br />
As expected, Lucan and the other two blocks of stone ducked through the doorway and entered the single-wide’s makeshift office. They formed a triangle in front of her desk—two blond corners at the rear, with Lucan as the point man. She let her gaze wander across the masculine faces. At Lucan’s right, the slightly taller, sandy blond wore a haggard expression. As if he had seen more from life than his midthirties warranted. He regarded her with subtle curiosity. Like a colleague who assessed a competitive peer. Beside him, the other blond’s expression brimmed with humor. Soft brown eyes crinkled at the corners, as if he enjoyed some inside joke.<br />
<br />
Her gaze shifted to Lucan, and a strange tightness possessed her skin. Her work took her to the four corners of the world. She’d seen, spoken to, and even worked with handsome men. For that matter, her brother had been known to make women titter stupidly when he walked into the room. But this man . . . His broad shoulders screamed strength. His narrow waist said he knew the meaning of a hard workout. Yet, the way he looked at her, as if he could read her very thoughts, made her wholly uncomfortable. Behind the unmistakable sharpness of annoyance, interest fringed his unusual gray eyes. And the raven hair that fell almost to his shoulders suggested an uninhibited nature that contradicted his neat attire.<br />
<br />
A shiver raced down her spine as the word <i>naughty </i>flitted through her thoughts.<br />
<br />
He quirked a dark eyebrow. One corner of his mouth threatened to yield to a self-assured smile.<br />
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Heat crept into Chloe’s cheeks. She quickly averted her gaze and shuffled a stack of papers from one side of desk to the other. Handsome maybe. Cocky she could do without. Particularly if she had to work beside him for the next several months. She’d had her fill of trying to prove herself among her colleagues.<br />
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Fixing her stare on the less threatening face to Lucan’s left, she cleared her throat. “Is there a particular reason you decided to show up today?” Sarcasm crept into her voice. “Why not tomorrow? By then we might have a foot of snow to dig through and three extra pairs of hands would be welcome.”<br />
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With the smoothness of brandy, Lucan’s deep British accent washed over her. “I fear we are both victims of miscommunication. We were instructed arrive this evening, milady.”<br />
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Milady? Chloe blinked. The antiquated title prickled her arms with goose bumps. She left her chair to give herself a bit of breathing room and drifted to the long countertop behind her. Picking up a printed copy of the Vatican’s communication, she flicked the corner of the paper. “It says here <i>Sunday </i>the nineteenth. I assumed we’d start the week promptly this morning.” Turning, she strode back to the group of men and thrust the paper at Lucan’s wide chest.<br />
<br />
He pushed it gently aside. Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a folded square of paper. As he pressed the creases smooth, Chloe groaned inwardly. She didn’t have to look to know what that sheet of paper would say. Inevitably, his copy would read <i>Monday </i>the twentieth. Her luck wouldn’t have it any other way.<br />
<br />
She accepted his outstretched offering and scanned the paper, confirming her suspicion. Her angry sails deflated, she let out a heavy sigh. “I apologize.”<br />
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“No apologies are necessary.” Lucan’s mouth lifted with a smile. His eyes sparkled with the gesture, not unlike silver beneath bright sunlight. “’Tis understandable you would be upset.”<br />
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For a moment, Chloe could do no more than stare. If he’d been handsome moments ago, that warm smile made him breathtaking. Her gaze skipped down to his boots, making note of the thick expanse of his thighs, the way the denim fitted snug. As she again met his discerning stare, and that dark eyebrow quirked as it had before, her cheeks heated once more. Good grief, he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable by her appreciative appraisal. If anything, she half suspected he’d have no qualms mentioning it aloud if his friends weren’t present.<br />
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He took a confident step forward and extended his hand a second time. “Shall we try this again? I am Lucan.”<br />
<br />
Swallowing hard, Chloe slid her palm into his. His fingers tightened just enough to make the strength in his hands obvious, but his grip came nowhere close to painful. Pleasant almost. If it weren’t for the overwhelming masculine presence that flooded her awareness. She tugged on her hand, anxious to be free of the unsettling sensations that accompanied the scrape of his skin.<br />
<br />
The pressure around her fingers strengthened, trapping her in place. Lucan nodded over his left shoulder. “This is Caradoc.” He tipped his head at the other man. “And Gareth.”<br />
<br />
Chloe offered the other two men an uncomfortable smile. “A pleasure, gentlemen.”<br />
<br />
Lucan’s thumb brushed across the back of her hand. The light gesture carried entirely too much intimacy for her liking. She pulled back, and this time, Lucan’s fingers let go. Her palm slipped free, but his gaze imprisoned her. Suggestion glinted in those steely depths. A silent, yet bold statement that invited her to enjoy a bit of wickedly sinful abandon.<br />
<br />
She broke free from the rush of heat that infused her blood by returning to her desk. He might be drop-dead gorgeous, but colleagues and sex didn’t mesh. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. Nothing short of absolute desperation would let her entertain the notions Lucan’s eyes conveyed. And she hadn’t reached desperate yet. Two years without a man left her a bit hungry for physical satisfaction, but the lack of orgasms hadn’t erased all sense from her head.<br />
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Determined to communicate strict professionalism, she summoned her no-nonsense business demeanor. “So, gentlemen, since it’s so late, what do you say to an early start in the morning—assuming the weather cooperates?”<br />
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Lucan glanced toward the door. “There is nothing you require of us this evening?”<br />
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Chloe shook her head and forced her irritation aside. “No, we’ve done nothing today. I was instructed to wait until you arrived before we excavated any more relics that could belong to the Church.”<br />
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Caradoc gestured at the closed crates stacked on the countertop. “We would like to see the artifacts you’ve already unearthed.”<br />
<br />
“Those?” She chuckled softly. “Those aren’t what you’re here for. Anything that could possibly carry religious significance is in the other trailer. My brother, Julian, already left for the hotel. He has the keys, I’m afraid.”<br />
<br />
Lucan’s gaze narrowed with suspicion. “But the cars outside—no one is here with you?”<br />
<br />
At the reminder she’d have to close up the field office alone, Chloe’s chest tightened. Out here, especially at night, the presence that had hounded her the last eight years intensified. She didn’t know what, exactly, it was, but she understood one thing clearly—it didn’t like her.<br />
<br />
She ignored the chill that inched down her spine. “I’ve been doing paperwork all day. I’m used to working alone.” Just not at night. Never at night.<br />
<br />
A slight frown pulled at Lucan’s brow. “Do you have much work remaining?”<br />
<br />
“Oh, not much.” She gestured at the open record book on her desk. “I need to transfer notes on three more artifacts into the computer. Then I’ll head on back.” Forcing brevity, she laughed. “Just me and the trees. The quiet’s nice.”<br />
<br />
The tight downturn to Lucan’s mouth evidenced his disbelief. He twisted to address Caradoc. “Go on. I will stay with her.”<br />
<br />
“No!” Chloe blurted out. Lord no, not alone with him. She’d take the presence in the darkness over ten minutes alone with him. He posed a far greater risk. “I mean, thank you, but that’s not necessary. I’ve been here for a full month. I’m quite capable of locking up on my own. Rest assured, I won’t be fiddling with anything that would interest you.”<br />
<br />
Lucan eased out of his coat and draped it over the back of a nearby chair. “’Tis not the Church’s interest that concerns me, milady, but your safety.” Leather creaked as he sat down.<br />
<br />
“Till morn then,” Gareth chimed, his eagerness to be free of the trailer evident. He exited swiftly.<br />
<br />
Caradoc clamped his hand on Lucan’s shoulder in a brotherly gesture of support. “I shall inform Merrick we have arrived.”<br />
<br />
To Chloe’s horror, he too vanished out the door. Unable to look at Lucan, she stared at her blank laptop screen. “Maybe work can wait until tomorrow.”<br />
<br />
Her feeble excuse met a wall of determination. “Nay. Do what you must. I will . . .” Trailing off, he glanced around the trailer. On spying Chloe’s coveted, specially shipped from Tucson, latest edition of <i>Cosmopolitan</i>, he picked up the magazine and scanned the cover. A smirk drifted across his sensual mouth. “I will learn how to turn a weekend getaway into an erotic paradise.”<br />
<br />
Sheer mortification scalded her face. With a fierce push, she swiveled her chair around so she wouldn’t have to look at him and pressed the button to bring her laptop out of sleep mode. Torture. Not only did the Church seek to insult her ethics by demanding she cease excavation until their representatives arrived to oversee her work, they sought to torture her with a man who could define <i>erotic paradise</i>.<br />
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<br />Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-20685587555866097712013-03-31T06:07:00.000-05:002013-03-31T06:07:00.631-05:00Sunday Sevens and Immortal TrustGood morning, everyone!<br />
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We're back with another Sunday Seven clip from <b><span style="color: #351c75;">Immortal Trust</span></b>, the third book in <i>The Curse of the Templars, </i>which released on <b><span style="color: #990000;">March 26th</span></b>! If you haven't purchased it yet, here's another little tidbit. One of my favorite snipetts.<br />
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His body tensed as she drew nearer to the bed. She poured into his awareness, suffocating all thoughts but those of her. Of what he would like to do to her. Experience with her. His hands itched to slide through her hair as they had the night before. He craved the taste of her sweet mouth. If he could but draw her close, sample the honeyed flavor, take them back to the night before.<br />
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~~~~~~</div>
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<b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Immortal Trust</span></b></div>
<div>
<i>The Curse of the Templar, Book III</i></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Immortal-Trust-Curse-Templars-ebook/dp/B00AEC9JTM/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1361433423&sr=1-2" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">NOW AVAILABLE!</span></a></div>
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<div class="bodytext" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<i>When archaeologist Chloe Broussard accepts the contract to
lead a dig in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Ornes</st1:city>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region></st1:place>, she has no idea she will
uncover Veronica's Veil. When she does, she discovers a danger far greater than
the demons that stalk her in the night. Azazel wants her, as well as the
Veronica, and his chosen minion is her brother. Her hope lies with immortal
Templar Knight, Lucan. Her life depends on oaths she knows nothing about.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="bodytext" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="bodytext" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<i>For countless centuries, Lucan of Seacourt has lived with
the knowledge that his brother killed their family. Now, as Azazel's darkness
eats away at his soul, old betrayal stirs suspicion. He trusts no one. Not even
the seraph who can heal his dying spirit.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>
With the fate of the Almighty hanging in the
balance, Lucan must find faith in something more terrifying than the dark
lord's creations. He must learn to believe his heart.</i></span></div>
Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-65885247780100700892013-03-28T05:00:00.000-05:002013-03-28T05:00:02.742-05:00Welcome Author, Marie Astor and Giveaway!<br />
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Good morning, everyone! Please welcome Marie Astor, and her new book, <b><span style="color: #351c75;">To Catch A Bad Guy</span></b>!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6c-y37JH5_KFAthuDlCfqBxrUJnAkw9ih0kM0I7QLtBVK7POI5grGHhvU7ot6_nX1I-WSw4xh95UlCLK_XcD6jEy2LyOtbd2Ak37tpiijOrS1ir7dqhFb8Ze6HsmzoBLLojHSslnK5-s/s1600/Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6c-y37JH5_KFAthuDlCfqBxrUJnAkw9ih0kM0I7QLtBVK7POI5grGHhvU7ot6_nX1I-WSw4xh95UlCLK_XcD6jEy2LyOtbd2Ak37tpiijOrS1ir7dqhFb8Ze6HsmzoBLLojHSslnK5-s/s320/Cover.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">To Catch A Bad Guy</span></b><br />
Marie Astor<br />
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<i>Janet Maple’s stellar career ended with a layoff and her boyfriend of five years told her that he wants to be just friends. When she lands a job at one of New York’s premier boutique investment firms, Janet begins to hope that her luck is finally turning for the better. Not only is she happy with her new paycheck, but things also seem to be looking up on the personal front, as the company’s handsome attorney expresses keen interest in Janet. However, her euphoria is short-lived, as Janet soon discovers alarming facts about her new employer’s business tactics. When her boss dismisses her suspicions as groundless, Janet finds herself confiding to a cute IT engineer, Dean Snider. The closer she gets to Dean, the more Janet is tempted to break her rule of not dating co-workers, but what she doesn’t realize is that everything she knows about Dean, including his occupation and even his name, is a lie.</i></div>
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<i>Dennis Walker is a top-notch white collar crime investigator who will stop at nothing to put culprits away. When an opportunity for an undercover assignment at one of New York’s premier boutique broker dealers comes up, Dennis jumps at the chance, adopting a persona of geeky IT engineer, Dean Snider. While he may be an ace at his job, years of experience fail him when Dennis meets Janet Maple and finds himself torn between his professional obligations and his personal desires. Will he have to choose between his feelings and duty, or will he find a way to satisfy both?</i></div>
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<span style="color: #351c75;">Marie is sharing an exclusive excerpt and hosting a give away today. Let's jump right in, shall we?</span></div>
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EXCERPT</div>
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“Hello there.”</div>
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Janet turned around at the unexpected sound of a male voice. </div>
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“Hi.” Janet remembered the IT guy she had found in her office the day before. It was impossible to forget him. She had never seen anyone who was so incongruously good-looking and clumsy at the same time.</div>
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“It’s Janet, right?” The IT guy focused his blue-gray eyes on her. “I’m Dean.”</div>
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“Yes, I remember,” Janet lied, making a mental note to commit Dean’s name to memory. “Do you work on this floor?”</div>
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“Yep.” Dean nodded. “My desk is on the trading floor – this way if any of the traders need help, I can be summoned to their rescue.”</div>
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“Sounds terribly important.” </div>
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“It is.” Dean puffed out his chest. “Not really.” He shook his head. “The other day I had to explain to a guy that his monitor was black because he forgot to turn his computer on.”</div>
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“Oh…” Janet laughed a bit louder than she intended. “I’m sorry.”</div>
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“Is that your oatmeal?” </div>
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“Yes. I’m sort of on a diet,” Janet blurted out.</div>
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“I think it’s about to run over.” Dean reached for the microwave and popped it open just as the oatmeal was about to topple over the rim of the cup. “Here you are.” Dean set the oatmeal on the kitchen counter. “And if </div>
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I may add, you don’t need to be on a diet, Janet.”</div>
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“Thanks.” Janet blushed – was Dean flirting with her? If he was, she could not say that she minded it, except for the fact that she seemed to have forgotten what it was like to flirt with a cute guy. I’m sort of on a diet. Nicely done. And Dean was not even that good-looking; he was just mildly cute. What was going to happen to her if she were up against a real stunner? Would she unravel completely and blabber uncontrollably? </div>
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“Well, Janet, have a good one. I’ve got to get back to my charges. Who knows, while I was away, all kinds of disasters could have struck – knocked-out power cords or coffee spilled on keyboards.” </div>
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“Sounds serious. Good luck.” Janet grinned. “And thanks for rescuing my oatmeal.”</div>
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“You’re welcome, Janet.” The corners of Dean’s mouth lifted in a smile as his eyes met Janet’s for a moment. “I’ll see you later.”</div>
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“Bye,” Janet mouthed. Thanks for rescuing my oatmeal. She just brimmed with charm and mystique this morning. Enough with this nonsense, Janet snapped at herself. Her third day on the job, and instead of focusing on her work, she was flirting – correction -- miserably failing at flirting – with idle IT guys, and, how could she forget, lascivious attorneys. Her awkward encounter with Tom Wyman still made her cringe. Well, it takes practice to get better at things, Janet reasoned, so perhaps she should practice on Dean Snider for now.</div>
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Back in her office, Janet looked over the chart of Bostoff Securities’ corporate structure that Tom Wyman had given her yesterday. There were about ten different entities. The structure seemed odd to say the least, but Tom had cited a specific business purpose for each entity. His reasoning had made perfect sense when Tom had been explaining the set-up to Janet, but the moment he departed from her office, leaving a trail of masculine cologne, questions began to stir in her mind.</div>
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YOU HAVE JUST READ AN EXCERPT FROM <b><span style="color: #351c75;">TO CATCH A BAD GUY</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;">Giveaway!!</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZd8tecLQ0JyY5Vha2juJPrF6XTQ90ngHKOZ7Cz_cqZpjmrD5S61K_KOkup3ZSRKN8HS3kcqiET3Ck5ejTE2sq5oxcZiSz7qE85i06Hl4vLiUbLbojQ7tj0iTrGC4RomKorx2RQf862TsC/s1600/Astor-To-Catch-Prize-2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZd8tecLQ0JyY5Vha2juJPrF6XTQ90ngHKOZ7Cz_cqZpjmrD5S61K_KOkup3ZSRKN8HS3kcqiET3Ck5ejTE2sq5oxcZiSz7qE85i06Hl4vLiUbLbojQ7tj0iTrGC4RomKorx2RQf862TsC/s1600/Astor-To-Catch-Prize-2.gif" /></a></div>
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Marie will be awarding custom designed semiprecious jewelry pieces to five randomly drawn commenters during the tour.</div>
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Prize 1: Citrine quartz and prehnite sterling silver necklace</div>
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Prize 2: Red agate sterling silver necklace</div>
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Prize 3: Onyx sterling silver bracelet</div>
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Prize 4: Smoky quartz sterling silver earrings</div>
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Prize 5: Blue quartz sterling silver earrings</div>
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Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found <span style="color: orange;"><a href="http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2012/12/virtual-excerpt-tour-to-catch-bad-guy.html"><span style="color: orange;">here</span></a>:</span> </div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial;">AUTHOR Bio and Links:</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Marie Astor is the author of
contemporary romance novels This Tangled Thing Called Love, Lucky Charm, On the
Rim of Love, romantic suspense, To Catch a Bad Guy, and a short story
collection, A Dress in a Window. Marie
is also the author of young adult fantasy adventure novel, Over the Mountain
and Back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">If you would like to learn
more about Marie’s writing, please stop by her website: <a href="http://www.marieastor.com/"><span style="color: orange;">www.marieastor.com</span></a></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> or
visit her on Facebook: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/marieastorcollection"><span style="color: orange;">http://www.facebook.com/marieastorcollection</span></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Social Media Links:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Website:
<a href="http://www.marieastor.com/"><span style="color: orange;">http://www.marieastor.com/</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Facebook:
<a href="http://www.facebook.com/marieastorcollection"><span style="color: orange;">http://www.facebook.com/marieastorcollection</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">GoodReads:
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4665230.Marie_Astor"><span style="color: orange;">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4665230.Marie_Astor</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Twitter: @marieastor<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-60311092804115221682013-03-27T06:07:00.000-05:002013-03-27T06:07:00.778-05:00Writer Wednesday -- Understanding the Antagonist<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuQFK0aqpzoDfw9ZIo7MJTXCK4yh1200ZNO3KHJfcuehg6e4olF2sRuo1AJ60EgTZpJgpFC_llP7y1IJlTOubrOERMZBL3Co68_nECVRC5tDFXgZcJIaXdw0sxGN-omCAT5sU-OrXi7bf/s1600/13729_wpm_lowres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuQFK0aqpzoDfw9ZIo7MJTXCK4yh1200ZNO3KHJfcuehg6e4olF2sRuo1AJ60EgTZpJgpFC_llP7y1IJlTOubrOERMZBL3Co68_nECVRC5tDFXgZcJIaXdw0sxGN-omCAT5sU-OrXi7bf/s200/13729_wpm_lowres.jpg" width="119" /></a>Good morning, everyone! Welcome to Writer Wednesday, where I share my little tidbits about craft and fiction writing. Today, I'm carrying on about the Antagonist. In other words, the villain.<br />
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We all love to hate him, but have you ever stopped to think that as much as we hate the villain, we love the villain. Yes, it's true. For me, one of the worst villain's I've encountered is Hannibal Lector. I fear him, he repulses me, I wouldn't wish him on my worst enemy...and yet, I don't want the feds to capture him again.<br />
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Why is that? Well, I like to think it's because I'm not truly sick. He's <i>incredibly</i> brilliant--course the true psychopaths are--and the fact he was able to get free from such a condemning situation is also, well, brilliant. And that intelligence is a draw in some weird (sick?) way.<br />
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So let's talk about what makes a villain successful.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We've all met this guy...</td></tr>
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<b>A Villain Doesn't Just Wander Into The Pages</b><br />
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A villain is not the random guy stuffed into the plot who does atrocious deeds out of the blue. He cannot be stereotypical like our friend Snidely Whiplash to the right. A villain who does this is just...annoying... and a reader wants to swat him like a fly and get on with the plot.<br />
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Creating a true chaotic evil character is <i>exceptionally</i> hard in fiction, though totally plausible in gaming tables. A villain cannot "do" something "just because." He cannot be <i>stereotypical</i> and cartoonish like Mr. Whiplash.<br />
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<b>A Villain Has Motivation</b><br />
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If he can't be chaos personified, he must have motivation. By motivation I mean a goal, and a chain of actions, that the reader can relate to. He must be <i>human</i>. Even if that humanity is defined far different than our own.<br />
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One of my other favorite villains is Claudius in Gladiator. His humanity is different than mine, but his <i>motivation</i> is something I can, as a human being, understand. He felt betrayed by his father and wanted the same respect and success his father knew. He was denied his birthright, and in that era, it was an insufferable shame. Therefore, anyone who knew the truth and who could cast suspicion about his father's death, would be eliminated. When he acts against his nephew and sister, he has suffered the deepest of betrayals, and you understand, as that is transpiring, that when he finds out the fit is going to hit the shan.<br />
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<b>A Villain Does Not Set Out to Be Evil</b><br />
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Nobody ever decides they are going to be evil. In a villain's mind, he is doing the <i>right</i> thing, even if he knows society is against his actions. Think Waco. Think of all the pirates we love so much--they were villains to society. This all goes back to motivation and the very important question the author must know, without a doubt, <i>why is the villain doing this</i>? He is infallibly right at the core of his existence, and this must go back to his ideals, moral perspective, and perspective of the world around him. <br />
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I watched a National Geographic special about big cats where clearly the majestic lion was the villain. He purposefully and brutally hunted four cheetahs, which to the photographer (a cheetah researcher) was completely unlike lion behavior. In later analysis with a lion researcher they concluded one simple fact: Though the Cheetah does not impose upon the lion's hunting grounds or 'menu', it stands to reason that the Cheetah kills lion cubs if able, to protect its own population. Therefore the cheetah has become a mortal enemy of the lion, and made the horrific massacre completely plausible. Did the lion set out to be evil in the eyes of mankind? No. But to me, who saw the brutality and understands how terribly fragile the cheetah population is, this lion was a huge villain. (We'll say nothing about the fact the cheetahs fell into the Too Stupid To Live category in this particular scenario. Ahem!)<br />
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<b>A Villain Has Emotion</b><br />
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A memorable villain has emotion readers can bond with. The author can pull this out, making the villain more ...unforgettable. Again, we can go back to Claudius for this example--he is in pain with every betrayal. Yes, we want him to die and pay for his crime, but we <i>understand</i> and his suffering pulls at us. Another renowned villain is Magneto from X-Men. He's a holocaust survivor and he knows what evils humans can wreck upon the world. He is <i>afraid</i> of humans. And he is willing to do anything to <i>protect</i> the mutants.<br />
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The more emotion an author can wrest out of a villain, the more a reader can relate to him. So don't be afraid to dig deep and get into his mind.<br />
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<b>A Villain is Proactive</b><br />
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Just like your main characters, a villain cannot be <i>reactive.</i> I would go so far as to say the entire core of your plot is your villain. He must drive the action. Otherwise, he is ineffective and doesn't create the threat the author desires. This also somewhat translates to a villain must be alpha -- at least in his psyche. <br />
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<b>Most Villains Have A Streak of Goodness</b><br />
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If your villain has a soft spot (of the normal not deranged kind) for puppies, this makes him more likeable. If the author can portray this, even when he's at his most wicked, (or even better if a wicked moment is pre-empted by an unexpected softness) he again becomes more human. Like in Silence of the Lambs, the serial killer has a pet dog who he clearly adores.<br />
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This is really just the surface of villains, but if you, as an author, can keep these points in mind you're one step closer to mastering <i>The Villain</i>. The better you craft your bad-guy, the better your overall plot will stick in reader's minds.<br />
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Looking for a freelance editor? Check out<span style="color: orange;"> <a href="http://www.finish-the-story.com/">Finish The Story!</a></span>Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-71893922502567770642013-03-26T06:07:00.000-05:002013-03-26T06:07:00.627-05:00Tuesday Teaser -- Immortal Trust Out Today!Good morning, everybody! Today is <i>release day! YAY!</i><br />
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I'm so excited to have this third book out and share Lucan's story with everyone. A little secret here: In <a href="http://www.claireashgrove.com/ImmortalHope.asp" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Immortal Hope</span></a> I didn't particularly care for Lucan. As <a href="http://www.claireashgrove.com/ImmortalSurrender.asp" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Immortal Surrender</span></a> came around, I remember really being uncomfortable with having to write Lucan's story because I didn't have much of a feel for him. By the time I finished <b><span style="color: #351c75;">Immortal Trust</span></b>...I had fallen in love with Lucan. He surprised me now and then, and that really made the writing fun and enjoyable.<br />
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It's Tuesday, and that means more Teasers. Last week I shared the prologue. This week, I'm sharing the first half of Chapter One. So let's dive in!<br />
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<br />
<b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Immortal Trust</span></b><br />
<i>The Curse of the Templars, Book III</i><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Immortal-Trust-Curse-Templars-ebook/dp/B00AEC9JTM/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1361433423&sr=1-2" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Purchase!</span></a><br />
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<i>When archaeologist Chloe Broussard accepts the contract to lead a dig in Ornes, France, she has no idea she will uncover Veronica's Veil. When she does, she discovers a danger far greater than the demons that stalk her in the night. Azazel wants her, as well as the Veronica, and his chosen minion is her brother. Her hope lies with immortal Templar Knight, Lucan. Her life depends on oaths she knows nothing about.</i></div>
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<i>For countless centuries, Lucan of Seacourt has lived with the knowledge that his brother killed their family. Now, as Azazel's darkness eats away at his soul, old betrayal stirs suspicion. He trusts no one. Not even the seraph who can heal his dying spirit.</i></div>
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<i>With the fate of the Almighty hanging in the balance, Lucan must find faith in something more terrifying than the dark lord's creations. He must learn to believe his heart.</i><br />
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<b><span style="color: #351c75;">"The engrossing Curse of the Templars series hits another high note with its third installment, packed with the tension and passion fans have come to expect..."</span></b> - <b>Romantic Times Reviews 4/4</b></div>
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<i>~~~~~~</i></div>
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<b>Chapter One</b></div>
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<i>Ornes, France</i><br />
<i>February</i><br />
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Winter cast a gray pallor over snowcapped fields as the SUV wound down a narrow country lane. Lucan reclined in the passenger seat, outwardly the picture of perfect knightly composure. Inside, however, naught remained at peace. In the passing of nine miles, he would set his eyes upon his seraph. The weight of her identifying serpentine torc pressed into his palm. Though he kept his hand tucked into his coat pocket, his anxiety seeped out through the clench of his fingers. Would she welcome him? Or would he face the trials Merrick and Farran had when they found their eternal mates?<br />
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He shifted in his seat, crossed the opposite ankle over his knee. His right hand tapped against the passenger door’s armrest. Four days’ travel, and he had never known a more indefinite passing of time. Even after centuries of existence, when he had become accustomed to the never-ending setting suns, the short span of time was unbearable. Salvation came with this Chloe Broussard. Escape from the eternal suspicion that plagued his wakefulness.<br />
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Love too might grace his life—if the archangel Gabriel paired him appropriately. Though, in truth, Lucan cared little about the sentimental bonds. ’Twas the tie to brotherhood, the knowledge his fate would remain in the Almighty’s hands that mattered most. All else was naught but fancy. A trifle enjoyment of comfort the Templar cast aside long ago.<br />
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He breathed deeply to quell the rapid beat of his heart. If they did not arrive soon, he would rather shove open the door and walk. Whilst a foot journey would delay his inevitable meeting further, his mind would not be preoccupied with questions. Nor would he suffer this unexplainable hope he could not seem to cast aside.<br />
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“Rest easy, brother, we have but a few more miles.” Caradoc shifted behind the wheel. The grimace that crossed his face as his aching bones settled into the leather seat belied his own suffering.<br />
<br />
For a heartbeat, guilt swamped Lucan. He should not be so eager to embrace healing when those he cared about suffered. As a former commander and the second unto Merrick, Caradoc deserved his soul pairing far more than Lucan. Merrick and Farran each found theirs—Lucan had become convinced Caradoc would follow. But nay, Gabriel came to him. Bade him to take Caradoc, enlist Gareth from Europe, and deliver the serpents to Chloe before Azazel could ensnare her.<br />
<br />
Laughter in the backseat washed away Lucan’s brief unease. He glanced over his shoulder to find the younger Gareth grinning broadly. “Bah, Caradoc, you expect him to rest easy when he waits to discover whether his mate bears the face of an old crone or that of an angel’s grace?”<br />
<br />
Caradoc shrugged, but the hint of a smile fringed his grim expression. “’Tis naught more than a betrothal. We have all been down such paths. Tell me, Gareth, when you were pledged as a lad, did you pause to consider what the maid would look like?”<br />
<br />
Gareth’s laughter deepened. “Nay. She would bear me sons. More comely wenches were made for my pleasure.”<br />
<br />
The reminder of lives left behind tightened Lucan’s chest. Banter that should have lightened his heart only brought bitterness. Scenes of the family he had once known, and their violent demise. The maid he would have wed had killed those who shared his blood. Or rather, the forbidden love she gave to a man Lucan believed capable only of generosity and kindness. She brought that man, the one he had called brother, to an early grave as well.<br />
<br />
As if Caradoc sensed Lucan’s discomfort, he murmured. “Leave Enid behind, Lucan. She has no place in this.”<br />
<br />
Lucan nodded long and slow. Enid resided in the grave. Next to her beloved. He had thought little of her through the centuries. He would not make the mistake of allowing her to rise from the dead. Yet the irony of circumstance did not escape him. Chloe posed the same risks. She held the same power to bring brothers to blows. To shred ties that ran deeper than blood and destruct families. For he would kill for her, as he had killed to avenge his murdered father.<br />
<br />
She was his seraph. His to protect against all others, including his Templar brethren, should jealousy override sense and oaths. Already the fierceness of his preordained bond filled his blood.<br />
<br />
The road curved around a sharp bend, then flattened out once more. Tall pines sheltered the asphalt from the recent snows. Ahead, a row of vehicles tucked into the landscape marked their destination. Caradoc slowed the SUV and eased into the gravel parking lot. He shut off the engine, then swiveled in his seat. His gaze flickered between Lucan and Gareth.<br />
<br />
“Whilst we are here for Chloe, we cannot forget the Veronica. With it, Azazel can decode the angels’ language. Once Chloe uncovers the reliquary that protects it, he will stop at naught to obtain the sacred cloth.”<br />
<br />
Lucan met Caradoc’s heavy stare, understanding all he did not say. If Chloe were oathed by that time, she would remain untouched. If Azazel discovered her seraph’s blood before she spoke her vows, a fate far worse than death awaited. The previous attempts on Noelle’s life lent credence to the archangels’ belief Azazel wished to replace his lost lover, Lilith. Worse, should he possess a seraph, should he break the prophecy by claiming this one, Azazel’s ascension to the Almighty’s divine throne would all but become guaranteed. <br />
<br />
Gareth broke the heavy silence by opening his door. Cold air washed into the comfortable heat. Caradoc winced as the gust cut through his heavy coat, and Lucan braced himself for the wintry outdoors. He stepped out into the snow.<br />
<br />
Two mobile trailers sat beyond the memorial stones that marked this tiny village as a casualty of Hitler’s greed. Bits of rubble, chunks of buildings that once stood straight and proud, edged the gravel path to the trailers’ doors. Lucan surveyed the protruding rocks, sadness filling his heart. Such unnecessary destruction. Ornes could have become a great city like its sister, Verdun. ’Twas a good thing the European Templar commander, Alaric, deigned to accompany their quest. He would hate to see the nothingness his homeland had become. But like so many other strongholds that had once known glory, the le Goix legacy crumbled beneath the fist of time.<br />
<br />
Like Lucan’s beloved Seacourt.<br />
<br />
He shook off the momentary melancholy and fixed his gaze on the smaller trailer’s front steps. With purpose, he strode for the door. His brothers followed behind, their distance respectful.<br />
<br />
Halfway down the path, the door burst open. Dressed in a coat so large it dwarfed her, a woman bounded out. Her long auburn hair caught in the breeze and streamed out behind her. She approached at a determined pace, arms folded across her chest.<br />
<br />
Lucan’s pulse jumped as Chloe Broussard marched directly toward him. ’Twas time. Four days finally came to fruition with this moment. He found his smile, hoped it did not falter like the anxious stuttering behind his ribs. Letting go of her torc, he withdrew his hand from his pocket and extended it in greeting. “I am Lucan. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you.”<br />
<br />
She came to an abrupt halt two feet before him. Her gaze dropped to his hand, before lifting to his face. Amber eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed just as quickly. “You were supposed to be here this morning. It’s almost five, almost dark, and my team’s sat idle all day waiting on <i>the Church’s</i> representatives to supervise what we’re perfectly capable of not only excavating, but also documenting, cleaning, and preserving for shipment. But it seems <i>the Church</i> didn’t trust our integrity.”<br />
<br />
Lucan clamped his teeth together, silencing a defensive bark. God’s teeth, for once ’twould be nice if Gabriel made the bonding of seraphs easy.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #990000;">Come back next week for the second half of Chapter One!</span></b></div>
<br />Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-42572922685927832512013-03-24T06:07:00.000-05:002013-03-24T06:07:00.500-05:00Immortal Trust and Sunday SevensGood morning, everyone!<br />
<br />
We're back with another Sunday Seven clip from <b><span style="color: #351c75;">Immortal Trust</span></b>, the third book in <i>The Curse of the Templars, </i>which releases on <b><span style="color: #990000;">March 26th</span></b>! Two days from now, Yeah!!<br />
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~~~~~~</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF5pGtjsX0Cz1OB6JiLFBDm_5i4V2DK7ov0qrlqrG4ycY-QpKL9k7nieTGZ7SPZ86XWcFdHrL40uTXebGcP9RCNwev5oqGECEW4lOMG80auV38kmyCV9B7pf3_qpNXjU60somUDi7hApKZ/s1600/Immortal-Trust100x150.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF5pGtjsX0Cz1OB6JiLFBDm_5i4V2DK7ov0qrlqrG4ycY-QpKL9k7nieTGZ7SPZ86XWcFdHrL40uTXebGcP9RCNwev5oqGECEW4lOMG80auV38kmyCV9B7pf3_qpNXjU60somUDi7hApKZ/s1600/Immortal-Trust100x150.png" /></a></div>
Infuriated by her unwarranted attack on his honor, he strode across the room, grabbed her elbow, and spun her about. All thoughts of Julian forgotten, he stared hard into her eyes. “Two of us were present, Chloe. As I recall ’twas you who put your lips to mine first, and I who put things to a stop.”<br />
<br />
Color flooded into her cheeks. Her eyes flashed like brittle pieces of glass. She jerked on her elbow, but Lucan held fast, denying her escape.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~~~</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Immortal Trust</span></b></div>
<div>
<i>The Curse of the Templar, Book III</i></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Immortal-Trust-Curse-Templars-ebook/dp/B00AEC9JTM/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1361433423&sr=1-2" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">PRE-ORDER NOW!</span></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="bodytext" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<i>When archaeologist Chloe Broussard accepts the contract to
lead a dig in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Ornes</st1:city>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region></st1:place>, she has no idea she will
uncover Veronica's Veil. When she does, she discovers a danger far greater than
the demons that stalk her in the night. Azazel wants her, as well as the
Veronica, and his chosen minion is her brother. Her hope lies with immortal
Templar Knight, Lucan. Her life depends on oaths she knows nothing about.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="bodytext" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="bodytext" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<i>For countless centuries, Lucan of Seacourt has lived with
the knowledge that his brother killed their family. Now, as Azazel's darkness
eats away at his soul, old betrayal stirs suspicion. He trusts no one. Not even
the seraph who can heal his dying spirit.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i></i></span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>
With the fate of the Almighty hanging in the
balance, Lucan must find faith in something more terrifying than the dark
lord's creations. He must learn to believe his heart.</i></span></div>
Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-51008744018258080232013-03-22T09:13:00.000-05:002013-03-22T11:28:36.124-05:00Fantasy Friday with EusticeGood morning! Welcome to another Fantasy Friday installment! Today I'm spotlighting Eustice, the newest release from Alex Gulczynski. Alex has brought along an enjoyable excerpt for you today. He's also introducing you to the world he's created.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgif3KZn8eya9y6HinGooSdfY4YIJhqKH1Rf49M8L3Q3fygQJMBfaYp3b41mF-RlaL1jKU_szM49dJ1UnxcDkiteor_Gu68a-53Hjq77brqD0PG_obm-zpZwSwPv8ukzP5RydswdB9t5hZL/s1600/Eustice+cover+full.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgif3KZn8eya9y6HinGooSdfY4YIJhqKH1Rf49M8L3Q3fygQJMBfaYp3b41mF-RlaL1jKU_szM49dJ1UnxcDkiteor_Gu68a-53Hjq77brqD0PG_obm-zpZwSwPv8ukzP5RydswdB9t5hZL/s1600/Eustice+cover+full.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Eustice</span></b><br />
<i>Reaper Corps Book 1</i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">ISBN: 9781476255484</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">ASIN: B008I7N4ZA</span><br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Genre: Fantasy, Paranormal, Young Adult</span></i></b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Eustice-Book-Reaper-Corps-Volume/dp/1478205490"><span style="color: orange;">Amazon</span></a> <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/211379"><span style="color: orange;">smashwords</span></a><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Eustice P. Jennings awakens alone and confused on an ugly piece of office furniture in Purgatory. Being dead is the least of her problems as she is quickly drafted into the dangerous Reaper Corps and plunged headfirst into the endless conflict between Heaven and Hell. Friends and allies are few and far as Eustice struggles to find her place in a surreal world she never imagined could exist.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Let's take a peek, shall we?<br />
<br />
<b>By: Alex Gulczynski</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Let me paint you a picture.<br />
<br />
The sun glows warm and bright in the East. Wind gently blows through green leaves making a nice and relaxing rustling sound high above. A hammock sways gently on the breeze, begging for someone to lay in it and make it complete. Ice slowly melts as it cools beer and soda in a brand new cooler. Smoke wafts upward from a grill as animal flesh is rendered down to its tastiest state. The smoke is enough to kick the saliva glands into overdrive, but not enough to sting the eyes. Cars are pulling up and people are casually but gleefully sauntering over a freshly mowed lawn.<br />
<br />
This is my college graduation day. This is the day I successfully proved I can cram for tests, BS my way through an essay, and memorize facts by rote and dutiful dedication.<br />
<br />
This is the day I thought to myself, “Now what?”<br />
<br />
School was over with and done. I settled on a major in political science after abandoning my first goal of computer science. It didn't take long for me to realize that twelve hours in front of computer searching for a damned misplaced semi-colon was not for me. Political science called to me, not because I had grand dreams of going into politics or anything related to politics, but because it is a broad subject with math, history, and philosophy all tied together. I looked for a career in college but failed to find anything that sparked my passion.<br />
<br />
Though on this day, as I approach the hammock with a cold beer in hand, I thought to myself, “You like reading. You like fantasy worlds. You like making up characters. Why not write a book?”<br />
I followed this thought with an immediate, “Naaaah. You need to find a standard job and starting paying off your debt.”<br />
<br />
Ten years later I wrote Eustice. I couldn't get away from wanting to write a book. I couldn't stop myself from making up stories in my head. I couldn't stop myself from being bored out of my mind at each new job I took. And once I got past the first twenty or so pages, I couldn't stop myself from wanting to finally finish a book.<br />
<br />
I honestly don't know where the idea for Eustice came from or why this was the first idea I could put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and finish. I suppose it was inspired by On a Pale Horse by Piers Anthony. In that book a man shots and kills Death. He is then forced to take over the job. I read that book in my mid teens and it made a large impact. The book itself didn't make that large of an impact (it is still a good read though) but the idea behind it really gripped me. Something struck a cord about some Joe Schmoe becoming Death and having to file away souls like so many tax returns. That idea stayed with me and, perhaps, this is the result.<br />
<br />
Read it and decide for yourself.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
~~@~~</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
EXCERPT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~@~~</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
<b>Chapter 1</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Light pours in from behind my eyelids. Through my eyelids. My head pounds and surges with pain. What good are eyelids when they are so thin they don’t even do their job, I think bitterly. I fling my arm over my face to block out the light.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the darkness, with the reassuring slight pressure of my arm over my eyes, I find a few moments’ solace. Respite from the throbbing pain in my head. I sigh and try not to think of anything at all. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have always held a strong fascination with meditation, with people who could clear their minds and sit for hours in peace. I marveled at that ability to embrace stillness. I marveled at it because it was something I could never do. Having a clear, pristine mind was such an alluring but alien concept to me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My mind works continuously. I don’t want it to, it just does. I always felt like my brain and I were consistently at odds with each other. When I want rest and sleep, my brain constantly makes lists, reorders already existing lists, or looks for patterns in the world around me so it can make more lists. Subject doesn’t matter. It could be encounters with my friends, or a hyper fixation on a chance conversation with some new boy at school, or something altogether trivial, like why people toasted Pop-Tarts when they were so much better straight out of the package.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Oftentimes it was my homework mucking up my peacefulness. I have had it drilled into me numerous times from a young age how important education was to my future. I would stress about what paper I should write first. What reading chapter I should save for last. Would it be more efficient to do my math homework before my history? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The irony is that, in the end, it didn’t matter much, because I would spend so much time and energy thinking about how to do my homework in the best way possible that I wouldn’t allow ample time to actually do it. I would end up staying up half the night rushing through just those things that were due the next day, not doing my best work on them but still eking out a decent grade.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is how my life had evolved, a neurotic girl with a hyperactive brain. It doesn’t help that the brain is housed atop a short and stocky frame, either.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My parents always disapproved of my way of doing things. They told me that I was forming bad habits. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
College would be much more difficult than high school, and that I couldn’t just skate by like I was doing in high school.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I didn’t doubt them, they were probably right, but I argued with them. You see, I am stubborn too.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A stubborn, procrastinating, perfectionist. Not the best combination of character traits.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I sigh quietly to myself. The light is gone, but now my mind found a new thing to preoccupy my thoughts, killing whatever slight peace of mind I had found in its infancy. All I can focus on now is a quiet but persistent hum of some electrical device.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I try thinking of clouds to distract myself, but they soon hum and buzz with lightning. I try thinking of flowers, but soon buzzing bees begin to fly into them.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It is no use. I am going to find no rest here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Slowly, I move my arm from away from my face. I push myself up into a sitting position, feeling the hard, coarse fabric of the miserable little couch I was lying on. Eyes still closed, my head bent low almost to my knees, I run my hands through my dark, oily hair. I can’t remember the last time I took a shower. The prickling sensation of my fingertips dragging along my scalp eases some of the tension from my body.</div>
<div>
I wonder at how long I have been lying on this horrid excuse for a piece of furniture. My back aches. My neck is tight. My legs have nearly gone numb, and still I hear that perpetual hum, now like a high-pitched whine of a belt sander against the temporal lobes of my brain.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Carefully, I open my eyes. I keep my head pointed down toward the floor to shield myself from the harsh lights above. My vision is filled with nondescript, pale beige carpet, ugly in its plainness. With my hands half cupped, half pressed against my forehead, I begin to raise my head.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A large, green potted plant and a dark, heavy oak desk materialize out of the haze, as my eyes adjust to the sickeningly unsympathetic white fluorescent lights of the room. One flickers just beyond my perception and etches the high-pitched hum into my eardrums. Across the room stands a blank, off-white, sterile wall. </div>
<div>
The front of the room is frosted glass from ceiling to floor. One door stands in the middle of the glass wall. I can see another bank of fluorescent lights just outside the glass, and vaguely I can make out ghostly shadows moving farther out.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have an intense sense of déjà vu, as well as complete confusion as to where I actually am. </div>
<div>
This place reminds me of somewhere I’ve been. Somewhere I went to as a small child. Somewhere that must have left an impression, but, frustratingly, somewhere that I can’t seem to recall. My memory is fuzzy, like stale bread with green mold spotted on it. I close my eyes and try to scrap off the green fuzz as best I can.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
I finally decide that this place reminds me of my father’s office, designed to be plain and boring, yet suitable for everyone’s tastes. Not taking any chances at picking a color or shape that might offend someone’s aesthetic palate, but simultaneously not appealing to anyone’s liking. Or at least, I think it reminds me of my father’s office. For some reason, I’m having a hard time bringing up an exact image of the office. The mold is still there blocking any recollections.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But it doesn’t matter, I suppose. I hate this place from the moment I see it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I sit there for I don’t know how long analyzing the bland pattern in the floor below me, not knowing what to do or where I am. This place is eerily familiar, but I know I have never been here before. I try to force myself to remember how I got here, but, frustratingly, I can’t. I have odd sensations of a cold room, an orange light, and a sticky feeling oozing all over my skin. It doesn’t make any sense to me. So I just sit there in a dazed state.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Eventually, my curiosity gets the better of me. Ignoring the aches in my muscles and the throbbing in my head, I brave the intense buzzing lights of the room and scan over the desk as best I can. It is immaculate. A small singular stack of paper lies on the far end, neatly ordered with all the papers aligned. A white coffee mug stands near me with a handful of pens and pencils standing at attention in it. A nameplate stands absolutely centered near the front lip of the desk, but I can’t read what it says from my sideways angle. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Dominating the desk is an old and heavy-looking black typewriter.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It occurs to me that I have not seen a typewriter before. I mean, I know what they are, and I’ve seen them in movies or TV shows. But I realize just then that I have never actually seen a real one. It looks intimidating and sturdy enough to survive a bomb blast. I have a strong desire to touch it, press one of the keys and hear the clack as the letter block slams some ink into the fresh, white sheet of paper rolled into it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don’t even know where I am, but I decide to give in to my urge. I figured, what the hell. It is only one letter on one sheet of paper. Plus, I want to get up anyway to read the name on the nameplate. I might as well know whose office I am in.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I move to stand up, but as soon as I push myself off the couch, the muscles in my legs protest, freezing in place, and a large rush of blood to my head makes me feel dizzy and nauseated. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Carefully, I gently lower myself back down and hang my head between my knees, breathing deeply, trying not to throw up. I note with some dry humor that my vomit would probably blend in with the carpet. Maybe no one could even tell it was there. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The thought of puking fills my mouth with copious amounts of salvia, and I can feel the tightening of my lower jaw as my stomach prepares to launch whatever was in my stomach out of my body. This is not good. I fight with every inch of my being not to vomit right then and there. Furiously I try to think of something else, and immediately I can hear that insidious buzzing again. Thankfully, my mind is distracted and annoyed enough that my stomach is quelled.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sitting there, taking long, labored breathes, and gritting my teeth in frustration, I hear a latch turn, and I look up to see the door opening. And I think to myself, “God, what now?”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Chapter 2</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My mouth is dry, my back is frozen in place as I whip my head around to stare at the opening door. Nervousness floods my body and my belly fills with ice. I don’t know where I am or how I got here. I have no idea what type of person is walking through the door. I feel vulnerable and exposed. My breath stops.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Quickly, a small woman enters the room. Her posture is prim and straight, like she is dangling from strings. She wears black subdued heels but only to increase her size and stature. A long, dark skirt covers most of her legs, and a black, angular coat covers the rest. Her nose is long and hooked with slim wire-frame glasses propped up on the bridge. Her lips are blood red and her dark black hair is pulled back into a bun so tightly I think the skin on her forehead might tear apart from the strain.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She moves fast and briskly closes the door behind her. I feel naked as she fixes an intense stare at me.</div>
<div>
“You are awake.” She speaks like she looks: efficient and proper.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don’t say anything in response. Partly because I don’t know what to say and partly because I am not so sure my tongue is still working. So I just give a slight, stupid nod.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The lady stands by the door for a moment, scanning me with a penetrating look. She is sizing me up, making judgments and evaluations about my character. I feel the need to make a better impression, so I struggle to sit up a little more straight, bring my knees together and lay my hands flat on my thighs.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She gives a curt “hmmpf,” which I can barely hear and walks with long, precise strides around the far side of the desk, giving me a wide berth, and sits down. I feel like I should say something, but the lady speaks first.</div>
<div>
“Eustice P. Jennings.” She says plainly and neatly.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I flinch at my name being called out. I have never liked my name, but have never liked my nicknames either. My name is stuck to me and I am stuck to it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Reflexively, I respond with a meager, “Present.” And halfheartedly raise my hand. I am just trying to lighten the mood, but the woman does not seem to notice.</div>
<div>
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<div>
“You have caused me quite the bit of trouble.” Great. Already I have pissed this woman off and I don’t even know who she is or how I’ve done it. She motions to a chair across from her on the other side of her desk.</div>
<div>
Meekly, I get up. Fortunately, my legs and head both seem to function much better now. Walking over to the chair, I am unsteady and my knees threaten to buckle once or twice, but I sit down again without incident. I take the opportunity to check out the nameplate now that I am sitting right in front of it.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Beatrice A. Krugmen is etched in the bronze plate.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
“Beatrice A. Krugmen,” I think, rolling the name around in my head. Looking at the prim and proper woman with the hooked nose, blood red lips, and wire frame glasses, I quickly think, “fitting name.”</div>
<div>
Smaller letters beneath her name on the plate read: Division of Lost Souls, Lead Admin.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Division of Lost Souls? The strangeness of the title hits me like a slap to the face, but before I can give it much more thought, Beatrice clears her throat and speaks.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
“For some reason, the powers that be saw fit to not follow the proper channels. To not follow protocol and …” She eyes me as if this is all my fault, when I have no idea what she was talking about, “to not inform me of all this beforehand.” I get the feeling that being in the dark is not something Beatrice takes kindly to.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Beatrice pauses and brings her hands up to her face, index fingers pointed, she makes a rigid triangle under her chin. I think I can make out a few dark whiskers here and there dangling discreetly from her chin and upper lip. My attention snaps back to Beatrice’s eyes when she speaks.</div>
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“I do not like surprises. Indeed, I make it my job to eliminate them. You are a surprise. One I plan to get rid of quickly.” I don’t know why she tells me this other than to make me feel bad at what I’ve done to her. But I don’t even know what I’ve done!</div>
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I feel a surge of blood flush my cheeks. I don’t understand what is going on, but I know enough not to like the way this woman is talking to me, “Look,” I say more curtly than I probably should have, “I’m sorry for whatever has happened, but I don’t even know where I am right now, or how I got here.”</div>
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Beatrice lowers her hands, angling her body forward, and stares closely into my eyes. Immediately, I feel meek and at a disadvantage, but that just makes me dig in my heels and hold my ground. I try to be nice to people when I can, yet I also don’t appreciate this lady’s tone. I meet her gaze and stare back.</div>
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After several long seconds, Beatrice leans back. A small smirk briefly appears on one side of her mouth before it dies just as quickly, “No, I suppose you don’t,” is all she says.</div>
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Another handful of seconds pass and I feel the need to speak, but again Beatrice cuts me off before I can even start. She looks at a watch on her left wrist and then abruptly rises out of her chair. “The ceremony is almost over, but we can catch the end of it if we hurry.” She briskly walks around the desk and toward the door as she speaks. I can almost hear the carpet groan with pain as she thrusts her heels into it.</div>
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Pausing with one hand on the door, she leans over and grabs a large, black piece of clothing off a coat rack I didn’t even noticed before. As she opens the door, she throws the garment at me. It hits me square in the face. My nose is filled with the smell of dust and boiled cabbage.</div>
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<div>
“Put that on and hurry up.”</div>
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I stand up from my chair and fumble with the huge piece of cloth. I can’t even tell what it is yet. It looks like an old, thick, black bedsheet. I struggle to find any holes or discernible way to wear the damned thing.</div>
<div>
Beatrice rolls her eyes and a sound of frustration escapes her lips. She walks over to me, grabs the fabric and throws it over my head. Blackness fills my vision, and I almost gag on the musty smell pervading this horrid garment. The next thing I feel is Beatrice’s hand painfully grabbing my arm, “Are you always this slow?” she asks, annoyed, as she drags me out the door.</div>
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With only one arm, I fight my way through the darkness and desperately try to find a hole for my head to fit through. All the while, Beatrice pulls me along through a maze of what I assume are cubicles and other desks. I am vaguely aware of other people moving out of our way or doing work at their desks as we storm past them.</div>
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Beatrice stops to open another door, and I finally manage to find an armhole. After some more struggling, I figure out this black garment draped over my head is a robe of some sort. Huge and ungainly though. I am still having trouble finding the collar for my head to go through when Beatrice walks through the open door. The soft plop of her heels on the carpet turns into a hard echoing clip-clop as she walks out into a hallway.</div>
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Short of breath, I yank my arm from out of Beatrice’s grasp. The clip-clopping of her heels stops. Now I can hear the steady tap of one foot as she waits impatiently for me. With both my hands, I am able to find the hole for my head. I breathe deeply as my head emerges from its dank prison. </div>
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Beatrice’s hands are firmly planted on her hips, “Are you finished?” She asks before turning and continuing her fast-paced walk. I have to half jog just to keep up with her.</div>
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We walk down blandly decorated, harshly lit corridors. The walls are some reddish dark wood panels, the floor a polished checkerboard of black and white. The reflected glare from the fluorescent lights above renews my headache with a vengeance. </div>
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I try to take in the names and numbers etched on the doors that we pass, but we are moving too quickly. For whatever reason, I am already on thin ice with this icy woman and don’t want to dillydally any longer. My curiosity will have to wait.</div>
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We make a few turns down similar-looking hallways until we come to two large double doors. Beatrice pauses and smooths her tightly wound hair of nonexistent strands that might have escaped the stranglehold her bun has on them. She also brushes her shoulders and wipes her palms on her hips. Then she looks at me and frowns.</div>
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I look down at myself. I hardly recognize anything. My body is hidden in a voluminous black robe that drags on the floor and hangs loose over my hands. I can’t imagine I look good in it, but she gave me this damn robe and made me put it on. Why is she frowning?</div>
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<div>
I give a halfhearted shrug and try to pull the sleeves over my hands but with no luck. They just slide back down after a few moments.</div>
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Beatrice motions with her hands and mouths “put the hood up.” I don’t know why she is being so quiet, but not knowing is a common theme of the night.</div>
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<div>
Slowly, I feel around the back for a hood. The robe was so large with so many folds it is difficult to find. Eventually, with Beatrice still frowning, I manage to find it and pull it over my head. </div>
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<div>
Immediately everything changes. I can feel the waist of the robe cinch up and hug me just above my hips. It is tight but comfortable. My hands are freed as the sleeves shrink down to a normal length, and I have no fear of tripping anymore as the lower hem hangs just above my toes now, no longer dragging a mile behind me on the floor.</div>
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<div>
I am just about to remark how strange this all feels and how it works, when Beatrice opens the large double doors.</div>
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<div>
I step through and find myself in the middle of a large theater. There are rows of seats to my left sloping upward and rows of seats sloping down to my right. The room is hardly lit, making it difficult to properly see anything. A single light is illuminating the stage, and a single person stands in the center of the light. He is wearing a robe just like I am.</div>
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Straightaway, I sense something odd about his appearance. Though I can’t place what. He seems of average build. Not too big and not too small. He stands with his hands at his sides and seems comfortable in the lone spotlight. His hood is raised just like mine. Since the light is above him, his face is mostly covered in shadow, giving him a ominous look. Even worse is the little of his face I can see. It’s gaunt and too angular, too white.</div>
<div>
As I continue to look, something else peculiar jumps out at me that I didn’t notice at first. I can see his teeth. Why can I see his teeth? Then I notice with shock. He has no lips. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He has no skin at all. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
My jaw drops and my stomach flips over inside my belly. His chin is pure bone and his white teeth glare at me from across the stage with a sinister smile. I raise my hand to cover my open mouth and to preemptively fight off a deepening sickness in the pit of my stomach. </div>
<div>
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<div>
The room is silent and I can only continue to stare, frozen in place. Many awkward seconds pass, until Beatrice clears her throat.</div>
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<div>
“We have a late comer.” Is all she says. When nothing happens, she quickly adds with a note of distain, “Pardon the interrupt.”</div>
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<div>
The man without skin speaks. A gravelly baritone rumbles over the chairs and hits me in the face, “Well now. This is surprising.” He raises a hand and I have to stop myself from retching. His fingers are long, thin, and tapered to a point. They are also pure white. Pure bone.</div>
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<div>
“But where are our manners,” the bone man spreads out both his hands in a wide arc, “Class. Let us welcome our new guest.”</div>
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<div>
I hadn’t seen them before, but now a dozen or so other hooded and robed figures seated in the front rows stand and materialize out of the darkness. They all turn to look at me. In the darkness I can’t see their faces. Their hoods reveal only more darkness inside. Images of skulls leering at me through the shadows fill my mind. For a moment, I fear my knees will give way and I will collapse to the ground. Through sheer force of will, I hold firm even after what happens next.</div>
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<div>
One by one, the robed figures stare at me and give a nice, polite round of applause.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
~~@~~</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
YOU HAVE JUST READ AN EXCERPT FROM EUSTICE</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_CXUnaZEBlpExGMkKRrFKZMgohu3CLLdR8Ts2j9DJrmzqheAniYj5eQqitEDdluywRjRS6p926_rYxXTl9PRscyzRRfaPlSLocjwSu6nzRJ5yOcNzV7fSeLlTTslGqUnxTh8lcksNhMT_/s1600/IMGP0336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_CXUnaZEBlpExGMkKRrFKZMgohu3CLLdR8Ts2j9DJrmzqheAniYj5eQqitEDdluywRjRS6p926_rYxXTl9PRscyzRRfaPlSLocjwSu6nzRJ5yOcNzV7fSeLlTTslGqUnxTh8lcksNhMT_/s200/IMGP0336.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
<div>
<b>About the Author:</b></div>
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Eustice is Alex Gulczynski's debut novel. He is currently living in Seattle and teaching science to elementary students. He and his wife had their first child in December. He is using these sleepless nights to work on the next book to further the story of Eustice and Thayer. He hopes to have it out by March 2013.</div>
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Keep in Touch!: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Alex-Gulczynski-Author/198345420293644">Facebook</a> | Twitter: @alexgulczynski | <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6469072.Alex_Gulczynski">Goodreads</a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyvWLFT0NBQXfDIDIcvgBBYEctGgxjlGNzLB62Lrq5e9baDBZAA8NEITonJtGgjEW8LhrfCzSV3iIo5q-zjGnpCNvHcjbCRgGW-Gl_Y4fQ6xCyYLwLYHssJcvAp8PYGdpY-eqbk1DhJovk/s1600/Eustice+Button+600+x+425.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyvWLFT0NBQXfDIDIcvgBBYEctGgxjlGNzLB62Lrq5e9baDBZAA8NEITonJtGgjEW8LhrfCzSV3iIo5q-zjGnpCNvHcjbCRgGW-Gl_Y4fQ6xCyYLwLYHssJcvAp8PYGdpY-eqbk1DhJovk/s1600/Eustice+Button+600+x+425.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000;">A Bewitching Book Tours Guest</span></b></td></tr>
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Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-58066023229602233602013-03-21T05:57:00.000-05:002013-03-21T05:57:00.280-05:00Welcome Award-Winning Author, P.M. Terrell & GiveawayGood morning, everyone! Please take a few minutes to welcome Award-Winning Author, p.m. terrell, who is sharing her new book with us, Dylan's Song, and going to talk to us a little bit about my favorite place--Ireland!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-gUvzpNThETixHccFhbrRIK1J-ZPm-DDTbimpjxrov8ZTXoYEVs7BLmCR_SAhSmKF_q_bx0oGjFIfoUon5dCvPMVIqgBWySRGMEIzptYWoOUCtZcVfgkl-zVLzTQBrcv9rRTqI8H3Ln1x/s1600/Media_Kit_Book_Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-gUvzpNThETixHccFhbrRIK1J-ZPm-DDTbimpjxrov8ZTXoYEVs7BLmCR_SAhSmKF_q_bx0oGjFIfoUon5dCvPMVIqgBWySRGMEIzptYWoOUCtZcVfgkl-zVLzTQBrcv9rRTqI8H3Ln1x/s320/Media_Kit_Book_Cover.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Dylan's Song</span></b><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;">by: p.m. terrell</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>Dylan
Maguire returns to his native <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ireland</st1:place></st1:country-region>
with psychic spy Vicki Boyd. Their mission: to locate and extract a CIA Agent
who disappeared in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Dublin</st1:place></st1:city>
while on the trail of a known terrorist. But when Dylan receives word that his
grandmother is dying, he is plunged into a past he thought he’d left behind
forever. His mission and the dark secrets he’d sought to keep hidden begin to
merge into an underworld that could cost him his life. He must now confront his
past demons and the real reason he left <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ireland</st1:place></st1:country-region>—while Vicki harbors a
secret of her own.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<i>* * *</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Suspense Magazine says, “p.m.terrell’s writing is powerfully written and
masterfully suspenseful; you have to hang on for the ride of your life.”
Midwest Book Review says the Black Swamp Mysteries series is “page-turning
action, unforgettable characters, breathtaking descriptions and unexpected plot
twists.” And syndicated reviewer Marcia Freespirit says the series is
“riveting, spell-binding, sexy and intense!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">* * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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So tell us, p. m., Why Ireland?</div>
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<b>WHY IRELAND?</b></div>
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My father was always deeply involved in our genealogy so I learned from an early age that my ancestors had immigrated to America from Ireland and Scotland. When my mother’s brother journeyed to Ireland and found that their roots also originated in Ireland, it cemented my affinity for the Emerald Isle.</div>
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But a few years ago, I began to plunge into my Irish heritage in more detail while writing Songbirds are Free, the true story of my ancestor, Mary Neely, who had been captured by Shawnee warriors in 1780 near Fort Nashborough (now Nashville, TN) and held in captivity for three years as a slave before she was able to escape and find her way home. She was Scot-Irish, one of my father’s ancestors, who had made the difficult journey from Ireland to make a new way of life in America. The result for Mary Neely and her immediate family was disastrous: both her parents, William and Margaret, were killed by Indians in separate raids, as well as her youngest brother. Only two out of ten children survived past the age of 35.</div>
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It captivated me how they could have left the only home they’d ever known to move to a country they had never seen before. Their descendants now number in the hundreds if not thousands, many of whom contacted me after the publication of Songbirds are Free and the subsequent book, River Passage.</div>
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When I began researching the plot for Vicki’s Key, the second book in the Black Swamp Mysteries series, it was important for Vicki to fall in love fast and hard for what she thought was “the perfect man.” Of course, no one and nothing is perfect, which added to the plot in that suspense/thriller. I researched what women thought of as the perfect man and discovered the number one most loved accent in the world is the Scottish; the second is the Irish and the third is Australian. I decided on an Irishman because the cadence is softer and more melodic than the Scots and they have a reputation for being good-natured, happy and humorous. I also knew very little about Australia to fill in the backstory of the character.</div>
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Dylan Maguire was supposed to make an appearance in only one book but I must have been a bit too good at making him “the perfect man” because the editors said he HAD to remain as a main character throughout the entire series. He’s by far the most beloved character I’ve created to date. He had come to America to care for an aging Laurel Maguire in Vicki’s Key and his background had remained mysterious through the first few books. I knew at some point I would have to take the reader to his homeland to discover the real mystery behind his desire to leave all he’d ever known to come to America.</div>
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I fell in love with the Irish backdrop so of course there will be more mysteries set there in future books.</div>
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See -- I'm not the only author who is enchanted with Ireland. And I have to agree with p.m. on the Irish accent. Mmm!</div>
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Let's take a peek, shall we?</div>
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~~@~~</div>
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EXCERPT</div>
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~~@~~</div>
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“Why are you so adamant about not going back?” Vicki said. “I don’t understand.”</div>
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He strode to the back door. With his hand almost on the knob, he stopped abruptly and turned around to face them. “The flight is a hundred hours long.”</div>
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“It’s six hours,” Sam said.</div>
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“I’ll have jet lag for weeks!”</div>
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“Two days, tops.” Sam’s voice was becoming quizzical.</div>
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“Are you afraid of flying?” Vicki asked.</div>
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“<i>No!</i>” he bellowed. He opened the kitchen door. “The weather there is atrocious!”</div>
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“I can’t believe you’re acting like this is such an inconvenience for you!” Vicki shouted.</div>
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“In me whole life,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her, “it’s rained once.” He held up his finger. “One time!”</div>
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“Really?” Vicki said. “Once?”</div>
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“<i>And it’s lasted for thirty years!</i>” With that, he marched outside and slammed the door behind him.</div>
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Vicki and Sam stared at the door for a long moment without speaking. Then she turned to him. “I’m at a loss here.”</div>
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He continued staring at the kitchen door as if he hadn’t heard her.</div>
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“Do you know why he doesn’t want to see Ireland again?” Vicki asked.</div>
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“He can’t refuse a mission,” Sam said quietly. “You can’t pick and choose your missions in this line of work.”</div>
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Vicki turned to stand directly in front of him.</div>
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“Do you know,” she said in a stronger voice, “why he doesn’t want to see Ireland again?”</div>
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He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.</div>
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“You know, don’t you?”</div>
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He looked away from her. His eyes roamed the kitchen as though he was searching for something. Vicki stood her ground until he said, “No. I have my suspicions; that’s all.”</div>
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~~@~~</div>
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YOU HAVE JUST READ AN EXCERPT FROM <b><span style="color: #351c75;">DYLAN'S SONG</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-VR7qMuWHUuulgt_TEydT1WugjlsvJHzTfALlYY8qUZiSd1qU0zYgSBpX3W423xVO16-xv9-LpX2PoA-Z2ZxCk0_Y8k6uUAR_dy9AkvUCZSn8Jw-XJucM5vCDCu5CdtaOdOSyMl6krAX/s1600/VBT_PRIZE_Celtic_Knot_Necklace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-VR7qMuWHUuulgt_TEydT1WugjlsvJHzTfALlYY8qUZiSd1qU0zYgSBpX3W423xVO16-xv9-LpX2PoA-Z2ZxCk0_Y8k6uUAR_dy9AkvUCZSn8Jw-XJucM5vCDCu5CdtaOdOSyMl6krAX/s200/VBT_PRIZE_Celtic_Knot_Necklace.jpg" width="200" /></a><b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">GIVEAWAY</span></i></b> - p.m. also has a fabulous giveaway today. She will be awarding a Celtic Knot Necklace to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Look at this pretty trinket!</div>
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To be entered to win this prize, leave a comment below, and follow the tour, commenting as you go. The more you enter, the better your chances of winning! Complete tour schedule can be found <span style="color: orange;"><a href="http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2012/12/virtual-book-tour-dylans-song-by-pm.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></div>
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<b>About the Author:</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_eagQpThOy9KDcHzlmk7A4gSgf6zIEWsb10NStZIjYlRG-ZBr5Qg92picOb0cUEC0BcUOKQnIIWj2oZNRivIvnhMA8P_3l6sFEKKa-6I4WP5NkYkF1fvDNudm41zSI0AlWwz3AIZXA3Pv/s1600/Media_Kit_pmterrell_closeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_eagQpThOy9KDcHzlmk7A4gSgf6zIEWsb10NStZIjYlRG-ZBr5Qg92picOb0cUEC0BcUOKQnIIWj2oZNRivIvnhMA8P_3l6sFEKKa-6I4WP5NkYkF1fvDNudm41zSI0AlWwz3AIZXA3Pv/s200/Media_Kit_pmterrell_closeup.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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p.m.terrell is the award-winning, internationally acclaimed author of more than 16 books. <i>Vicki's Key,</i> one of the first books in the Black Swamp Mysteries series, was one of five finalists in the 2012 International Book Awards (Mystery/Suspense) and 2012 USA Best Book Awards (Mystery/Suspense.) <i>River Passage,</i> an historical work based on her ancestor's migration to Fort Nashborough in 1779-1780, won the 2010 Best Fiction & Drama Award. The Nashville (TN) Metropolitan Government Archives determined it to be so historically accurate that they entered the original manuscript into their Archives for future researchers and historians.</div>
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Prior to becoming a full-time author in 2002, terrell founded and operated two computer companies in the Washington, DC area. Her clients included the United States Secret Service, CIA, Department of Defense and federal and local law enforcement. Her specialty is in the areas of computer crime and computer intelligence. Her experience in these areas have greatly influenced her books' plots.</div>
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She is the co-founder of The Book 'Em Foundation, whose slogan is "Buy a Book and Stop a Crook" and whose mission is to raise awareness of the link between high crime rates and high illiteracy rates. She founded Book 'Em North Carolina Writers Conference and Book Fair, an annual event to raise money to increase literacy and reduce crime.</div>
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For more information on Book 'Em North Carolina, visit their<span style="color: orange;"> <a href="http://www.bookemnc.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">website </span></a> </span>or stop in at their<span style="color: orange;"> <a href="http://www.bookemnc.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">blog</span></a>.</span></div>
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p.m.terrell's website is <a href="http://www.pmterrell.com/"><span style="color: orange;">www.pmterrell.com</span></a> and her blog is <a href="http://www.pmterrell.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: orange;">www.pmterrell.blogspot.com</span></a>.</div>
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She can be found on Twitter @pmterrell, and on Facebook <span style="color: orange;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/author.p.m.terrell" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">here</span></a> </span>and on her <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/pmterrell/129318810431554" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">author page</span></a>.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000;">A Goddess Fish Promotions Tour Guest</span></b></td></tr>
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Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-55753412705143259642013-03-20T06:07:00.000-05:002013-03-20T06:07:00.239-05:00Writer Wednesday - What Should I Be Writing?This post is for a dear friend of mine. Or maybe two. Or three. Or yeah, you too, you know who you are.<br />
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At some point in every author's career -- usually at the beginning for most -- an author asks what he should be writing, or where is it most advantageous to be writing, or what genre is selling and so forth. I want to premise this blog with another blog article, from a woman I've not met personally, but consider a mentor in many ways: Kristine Kathryn Rusch. You should read <a href="http://kriswrites.com/2013/02/20/the-business-rusch-out-all-of-you/"><span style="color: orange;">This Blog Entry</span></a> -- where she discusses this same topic, far more eloquently, and from a different standpoint, than I do.<br />
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We've all asked an agent or an editor a variant of this question: "What's selling?" And we've all heard, and simultaneously rolled our eyes, the answer, "Write what you want."<br />
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We, as insecure authors nurturing children, want guidance. We want to up our chances at becoming the next bestselling author, the next #1 NY Times Bestseller, and the next big deal. Maybe we don't conceptualize the question that way at the time--we just want an agent to sign us!-- but it's there, lurking, and wanting satisfaction. And that satisfaction never comes.<br />
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<b>So what <i>should</i> you be writing? </b><br />
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I can answer that without hesitation. Write what you want.<br />
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Argh! Yes, I know, you'd like to smack me right now. But it's the truth, and if you're working with an editor or agent who <i>isn't</i> telling you what you <i>should be</i> doing, count yourself as blessed. Because that editor or agent is telling you, in so many words, write what you feel compelled to write, then we'll see if we can do anything with it.<br />
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In today's market that is a gift. An author has never been more free to make choices about his or her writing. Tired of being branded "like Evanovich"? Would rather be branded "A must read for Grisham fans!" This is your time to shine--the playing field is wide open.<br />
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<i>Write that book that is calling to you, and then think about what you can do with it.</i> <br />
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Don't believe me? Let me illustrate what happened to me for a little while. I'll start by saying, however, I have <i>never</i> been pressured by my agent or editors to write anything specific. I've never been <i>told</i>.<br />
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But I did open my mouth and ask my agent what she thought had the best chances after a bit of a pitfall on a particular idea. She gave me her thoughtful and very insightful opinions. I learned a lot in that conversation--about what the market was doing at that time, about where my potential books had possibilities (and didn't), and I walked away from the conversation totally energized...until it came to writing the first word on the project we agreed was the most marketable.<br />
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You see, I had another idea surging through the back of my mind. And I didn't <i>want</i> to be working on that project that we mutually agreed was the best option. Every word became a nail stuffed under my fingernails, until I didn't want to sit down at my computer and do anything.<br />
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One evening, on pins and needles, I communicated with her my frustration and my desire to work on this other project we had barely discussed. And I set aside the painful project and that block came undone. Words started to flow. I completed what I think is the best novel I've ever written, threw myself into a brand-new market, and my agent loves the story. (I must mention too that when I sent that letter I got nothing but support in response.) Am I worried about it selling? No, I'm not <i>worried.</i> Of course I want it to sell, and sell big!! But this book rocks, and if an editor doesn't feel the same, it will find a home somewhere and do well.<br />
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So you see, by seeking out "what the market wants" you aren't really following your passion for being an author. You're writing <i>someone else's</i> project, not your own, and while it's completely plausible to do an excellent job, if your heart isn't behind what you're writing, you'll stall out.<br />
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In today's market, writing from your heart has little to no bearing on your sales potential. If you want to write something for a niche market, you can conceivably corner all the sales in that market and still do quite well for yourself. Your "risk" which scares traditional publishers might end up the next "50 Shades". <i>There is nothing holding you back.</i><br />
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<b>Is it good to seek a little guidance?</b><br />
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Sometimes it can be helpful. In my case, when we had the initial conversation, I had about three ideas I liked equally as well. I just had a fourth come in and sideswipe me. If the fourth hadn't happened, the project we agreed on might have been just as fulfilling personally. But <i>stop looking for someone to tell you what to do.</i><br />
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This is your career. You went into it with hopes and aspirations. That hope, that passion, carried forward to the book you published. Don't let it go, and don't get stuck in <i>someone else's </i>mold. Particularly if you have a project that you believe in, that may not fit a nice and tidy label.<br />
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<b>What's a freelance editor's role?</b><br />
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I wanted to mention this too as an editor, because, with the wide-open horizons of self publishing, I see a lot of "non traditional" books. That's the upside of self publishing. You can publish <i>whatever you want.</i> But I believe that if I see a book come in under one label, and it doesn't fit the expectations of that label, it's my job as someone who's taking your money to say "I think you would do better if you market it this way." The opposite of that is, someone pays me, I work through the book, let it go, don't say a word, the book flops, and suddenly the editor is blamed. And the editor should be blamed, so I say.<br />
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It's not good business in my opinion to take on a project that's say, labeled romance, when I know that romance readers aren't going to get what they're expecting if they plucked this off the romance shelves. That can lead to negative reviews, which will ultimately lead to poor sales, and it can seriously damage a budding author's name. You've paid someone to make the words work right. Shouldn't that someone also offer their expertise on where what you've composed will likely grant you the best return on your invested dollar?<br />
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A freelance editor isn't "rejecting" your work in a conversation like this. She's not saying "You can't publish this". She's saying, "I see some inconsistencies for this market, that are not inconsistent in this other market, and if you make a small tweak here with your plot, you can fit this other market and have better earning potential."<br />
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To me, that's far better than letting a book go out to the world with aspects a hard-core reader will scream about, and passively set a book up to not do well.<br />
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<b>Back to my point:</b><br />
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Write what you want -- there is no <i>should be</i>. The passion you have for the project of your heart will prevent you from completely stalling out. If it sells, the energy you've created in those words will carry it over mountains. Should you discover the book won't fit into a traditional publisher's line-up, then you have a multitude of options in front of you. <i>Figure out what to do with the book after it's written.</i><br />
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And if someone involved with <i>your career</i> is telling you <i>not</i> to do something <i>because it isn't marketable</i>, then seriously, take some time out and evaluate whether this person is working for you or against you. I offer this simple anecdote from my years of raising horses:<br />
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If I hire someone to promote my medal-winning stallion, and that employee tells me he's not pushing the horse <i>because his coloring isn't flashy enough</i>, I will be finding someone else to promote my stallion. Instantly.<br />
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<br />Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-79474457560080826772013-03-19T06:07:00.000-05:002013-03-19T06:07:00.704-05:00Tuesday Teaser -- Immortal Trust is Coming!Hi, everyone!<br />
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So last week <a href="http://www.claireashgrove.com/ImmortalProtector.asp" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Immortal Protector</span></a> came out--I hope you've been enjoying Iain's story. This week we're keeping the Templars going, but changing up to the coming release on March 26th, <b><span style="color: #351c75;">Immortal Trust,</span></b> <i>The Curse of the Templars, Book III</i><br />
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So with much ado, let's dig right in!<br />
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<b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Immortal Trust</span></b><br />
<i>The Curse of the Templars, Book III</i><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Immortal-Trust-Curse-Templars-ebook/dp/B00AEC9JTM/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1361433423&sr=1-2" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Pre-Order Now!</span></a><br />
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<i>When archaeologist Chloe Broussard accepts the contract to
lead a dig in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Ornes</st1:city>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region></st1:place>, she has no idea she will
uncover Veronica's Veil. When she does, she discovers a danger far greater than
the demons that stalk her in the night. Azazel wants her, as well as the
Veronica, and his chosen minion is her brother. Her hope lies with immortal
Templar Knight, Lucan. Her life depends on oaths she knows nothing about.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>For countless centuries, Lucan of Seacourt has lived with
the knowledge that his brother killed their family. Now, as Azazel's darkness
eats away at his soul, old betrayal stirs suspicion. He trusts no one. Not even
the seraph who can heal his dying spirit.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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With the fate of the Almighty hanging in the
balance, Lucan must find faith in something more terrifying than the dark
lord's creations. He must learn to believe his heart.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b style="font-size: medium; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #351c75;">"The engrossing Curse of the Templars series hits another high note with its third installment, packed with the tension and passion fans have come to expect..."</span></b><span style="font-size: small; text-align: center;"> - </span><b style="font-size: medium; text-align: center;">Romantic Times Reviews 4/4</b></span><br />
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<b>Prologue</b></div>
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Whence comes the teacher, she who is blind shall follow.</div>
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The one who digs in dust precedes the finding of the jewel.</div>
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And she who understands the sword precludes the greatest loyalty.</div>
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When darkness rapes the land, the seraphs shall purify the Templar</div>
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and lead the sacred swords to victory.</div>
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—Ancient Prophecy of the Knights Templar</div>
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<i>Ornes, France</i><br />
<i>January</i><br />
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Julian Broussard glanced out the frosty window at a distant mound of rock and cursed his sister’s ridiculous fear of the dark for the hundredth time. If she weren’t such a goose, he’d have someone to share the nightly rounds. Another pair of hands to pick up tools their team of student archaeologists left lying in the mud. Another set of eyes to check the waterproofed markers that identified bits and pieces they’d chiseled out of frozen ground.<br />
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But no, as usual, Chloe and her imaginary demons managed to find sanctuary in the hotel’s ample warmth before the last student left the site. Leaving Julian an hour’s worth of work with only a flashlight to guide his way around the exposed medieval structures.<br />
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He muttered and thumped open the mobile trailer’s lightweight door. A frigid northern whipped across his face, stealing his breath. The scent of snow lingered in the air. With luck, it would skip over Ornes and carry on into Paris. Now that they were finally into the guts of what they’d come to find, a snowstorm would only piss him off further. He’d had his fill of melting ice, moving snow, and needing a jackhammer to break through frozen soil.<br />
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Pebbles crunched beneath his feet as he trudged down the steep path that led to the excavation site. Hunkered down in his coat, muffler about his ears, he followed the bold white beam of light. His breath billowed out before him, and he wished once more that they could transport the whole damn project to Arizona. He despised the cold.<br />
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His light caught on the narrow shelf of stones that marked the boundary. Forty-two days of excavating ground, moving aside the crumbled remnants Hitler’s bombs left behind, and at last, the feudal castle rose from the depths of the earth. With every exterior nuance recorded, tomorrow they would begin scaling off the interior. Rebuilding walls. Laying out stones and whatever else they found in the fortified enclosure.<br />
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If luck was on their side, they’d locate the stash vagabonds reported at the start of the year. Damn shame he couldn’t force the man who’d been jailed for stealing artifacts into identifying the exact location. Even more damning, the other thief died out here. Supposedly of fright.<br />
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<i>Fright, my ass. They probably fought over the take.</i><br />
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In any case, the rumor fueled Chloe’s paranoia to exceptional heights. She hardly ever neared the forest’s edge, day or night. Locked away in the field trailers, she catalogued bits of pottery, fragments of stone, and detailed their discoveries in their required logs.<br />
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A glimmer of gold halted his walk. He swung the flashlight before him and cocked his head as the light glinted off a jutting fragment in the earth. Julian stepped over the remnants of what had once been a thick stone wall and squatted before the golden chip. With the butt end of the flashlight between his teeth, he plucked his trowel from his back pocket. Using the point, he loosened the ground around the object. Chunks broke free. He brushed them aside with his thumb.<br />
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A handle? He frowned at the exposed scrollwork design. The thieves had brought in a golden chalice with a similar design. Could this be a serving pitcher? In gold? Julian scraped at the earth with the flat edge of his tool.<br />
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The breeze picked up, stirring the overhead branches. He tucked his chin deeper into his coat, determined to ignore the near-freezing temperature. A few more carefully placed wedges of the point, and he’d have . . .<br />
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His hand stilled as the gravel crunched behind him. Though thick clouds obscured the sky, an even thicker shadow descended over his shoulder. The hair at the nape of his neck lifted, and an unexplainable shudder rolled down his spine. His heart stuttered into an unnatural cadence.<br />
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Closing his fingers around the trowel’s wooden handle, he poised the weapon to defend himself and turned.<br />
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A hand shot out. Fingers dug into his shoulder. Julian lifted his gaze across a blackened chain-mail-clad chest, up a thick neck, and onto a coif-covered head. Shadows marred the man’s face, blocking all features save for his eyes. But the eerie green light that filled a malicious gaze closed Julian’s throat.<br />
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<i>Not human.</i><br />
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The illogical thought drifted across his mind seconds before the hand on his shoulder tightened and dragged him to his feet. Despite the utter lack of heat in the air, sweat broke over Julian’s skin. He swallowed hard, told himself ghosts only lived in his sister’s mind.<br />
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“Azazel sent for you.”<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
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The hollow empty laugh that issued from the ebony-clad man’s throat silenced the feeble protests of Julian’s mind. Nothing <i>living </i>made that sort of spine-chilling sound.<br />
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“Wh-who?” he croaked.<br />
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“You will bring him the Veil.”<br />
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“The veil? What veil?” Julian twisted his shoulders, attempting escape.<br />
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The man’s grip clamped into bone. Pain shot down Julian’s arm, wrenching a pitiful cry from his throat. As he stumbled against a rush of dizziness, a fist slammed into his face. Pinpricks of light burst behind Julian’s eyes. Distantly, he recognized he was moving. Leaves crunched beneath the being’s boots. Chain mail clinked in the stillness. The revolting stench of death assaulted his nose.<br />
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Grasping at the last of his strength, Julian fought off the pull of unconsciousness and opened his eyes. What stood before him justified every irrational fear his sister possessed. Red-orange eyes gleamed with wicked hunger. Yellowish fangs protruded from an unholy face.<br />
<br />
The thing that had brought him into the forest thrust him into a deadly embrace. Claws raked across his back, slid between his ribs. Agony lanced through his body. An anguished cry tore from his throat.<br />
<br />
“Yes, scream,” the creature murmured. “It is so much better when you scream.”<br />
<br />
Tendrils of darkness fingered at Julian’s mind. He grasped at them, desperate for the promised escape. But seconds before he succumbed to blissful oblivion, he felt the invasion. The foul, horrific, <i>glorious </i>presence of death pressed against his mind. A whisper of command more comforting than any cessation of his heart.<br />
<br />
Then nothing.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #990000;">Come back next week for Chapter One!</span></b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-79963067209371205562013-03-17T06:07:00.000-05:002013-03-17T06:07:00.762-05:00Sunday Sevens with Immortal TrustGood morning, everyone!<br />
<br />
So, you've seen some of <a href="http://www.claireashgrove.com/ImmortalProtector.asp" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Immortal Protector</span></a>--now we're going to change it up and go on to <b><span style="color: #351c75;">Immortal Trust</span></b>, which releases on <b><span style="color: #990000;">March 26th</span></b>!<br />
<br />
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~~~~~~</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF5pGtjsX0Cz1OB6JiLFBDm_5i4V2DK7ov0qrlqrG4ycY-QpKL9k7nieTGZ7SPZ86XWcFdHrL40uTXebGcP9RCNwev5oqGECEW4lOMG80auV38kmyCV9B7pf3_qpNXjU60somUDi7hApKZ/s1600/Immortal-Trust100x150.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF5pGtjsX0Cz1OB6JiLFBDm_5i4V2DK7ov0qrlqrG4ycY-QpKL9k7nieTGZ7SPZ86XWcFdHrL40uTXebGcP9RCNwev5oqGECEW4lOMG80auV38kmyCV9B7pf3_qpNXjU60somUDi7hApKZ/s1600/Immortal-Trust100x150.png" /></a></div>
Lucan looked over the top of the magazine he pretended to read. Chloe Broussard was far more fascinating than the glossy advertisements. Not to mention, perusing an article that detailed the many benefits of breakfast abed with a willing partner, whilst Chloe sat across from him, made the small confines uncomfortably warm.<br />
<br />
<i>Feed your partner berries to kick off your day of hedonistic pleasure.</i><br />
<br />
As Chloe chewed on the end of her pen, a vision of her lips closing around his fingers burst to life in his mind. He scowled at the unbidden intrusion. Damnation, he had not expected <i>she who digs in dust</i> to be so delightfully feminine.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~~~</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Immortal Trust</span></b></div>
<div>
<i>The Curse of the Templar, Book III</i></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Immortal-Trust-Curse-Templars-ebook/dp/B00AEC9JTM/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1361433423&sr=1-2" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">PRE-ORDER NOW!</span></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="bodytext" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<i>When archaeologist Chloe Broussard accepts the contract to
lead a dig in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Ornes</st1:city>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region></st1:place>, she has no idea she will
uncover Veronica's Veil. When she does, she discovers a danger far greater than
the demons that stalk her in the night. Azazel wants her, as well as the
Veronica, and his chosen minion is her brother. Her hope lies with immortal
Templar Knight, Lucan. Her life depends on oaths she knows nothing about.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="bodytext" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="bodytext" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<i>For countless centuries, Lucan of Seacourt has lived with
the knowledge that his brother killed their family. Now, as Azazel's darkness
eats away at his soul, old betrayal stirs suspicion. He trusts no one. Not even
the seraph who can heal his dying spirit.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i></i></span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>
With the fate of the Almighty hanging in the
balance, Lucan must find faith in something more terrifying than the dark
lord's creations. He must learn to believe his heart.</i></span></div>
Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-66721146072174530662013-03-15T08:20:00.000-05:002013-03-15T08:20:19.889-05:00Fantasy Friday with Storm Dancer by Rayne HallWelcome to Fantasy Friday, everyone! Please join me today in welcoming Rayne Hall, who's here to tell us a little about her world and this exciting adventure.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3ZqWbrBzWZvr-SDYuDGFqj_kKkJPA7B96Q4FWnDYnSKC8AY2B7s4-74pbYXvoXafFg5MJZyONIyOkygtt3esK8x601U7xBmVSGtAAeC-7wvRxhmO5dHPQFz7uawXKxrE6YnpfY9iud90/s1600/storm-dancer-cover-reduced-300-pixels.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3ZqWbrBzWZvr-SDYuDGFqj_kKkJPA7B96Q4FWnDYnSKC8AY2B7s4-74pbYXvoXafFg5MJZyONIyOkygtt3esK8x601U7xBmVSGtAAeC-7wvRxhmO5dHPQFz7uawXKxrE6YnpfY9iud90/s1600/storm-dancer-cover-reduced-300-pixels.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Storm Dancer</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><i>Genre: Dark Epic
Fantasy</i></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Publisher:
Scimitar Press</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">ISBN:
9781465716651 Smashwords</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: x-small;">ISBN:
1230000010279 Kobo<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: x-small;">ASIN: B005MJFV58 </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Demon-possessed siege commander, Dahoud,
atones for his atrocities by hiding his identity and protecting women from
war's violence - but can he shield the woman he loves from the evil inside him?</i></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<span lang="EN-GB"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Principled weather magician, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Merida</st1:place></st1:city>, brings rain to a parched desert land.
When her magical dance rouses more than storms, she needs to overcome her
scruples to escape from danger. </i></div>
<i><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Thrust together, Dahoud and <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Merida</st1:place></st1:city> must fight for freedom and survival.
But how can they trust each other, when hatred and betrayal burn in their
hearts? </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>'Storm Dancer' is a dark epic fantasy. Caution: this
book contains some violence and disturbing situations. Not recommended for
under-16s. British spellings.</i></div>
</i><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Book Trailer <a href="http://youtu.be/tI5oxeOziQM">http://youtu.be/tI5oxeOziQM</a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><a href="file:///C:/Documents%20and%20Settings/Valorie/Local%20Settings/Temporary%20Internet%20Files/OLK2F/viewBook.at/B005MJFV58">Amazon</a> <a href="http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Storm-Dancer/book-T8AIA5xS_k6gZlCd-dUyiQ/page1.html?s=KcWDYlJ4lkyuGb9QgU7bxA&r=6">Kobo</a> <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/88037">Smashwords</a> <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/storm-dancer-dark-epic-fantasy/id483339067?mt=11&buffer_share=d7658&utm_source=buffer">iTunes</a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span lang="EN-GB">Note:</span></i></b><i><span lang="EN-GB">
Storm Dancer has dark elements which some readers may find disturbing. Not
recommended for readers under 16, not suitable for YA blogs. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">Contains British English. Some words, spellings,
grammar and punctuation will be different than American English.<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>THE INSPIRATION FOR
STORM DANCER</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">“</span><span lang="EN-GB">Where do you find your ideas?” people often ask me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">The truth is, I don't find
ideas. Ideas find me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">Like ghosts, they seek me out,
haunt me, and don't let go until the story is written. </span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">My mind is like a
revolving drum filled with hundreds of jigsaw pieces, each representing a story
idea. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">Sometimes two or more pieces click together, and that's when a story
takes shape.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">The idea for the dark-epic
fantasy novel <i>Storm Dancer</i> first came to me in Mongolia. I was on a
short-term assignment there, to help launch the country's first-ever women's
magazine. I was staying in a ger (yurt) on the edge of the Gobi desert when an
idea clawed into my brain and wouldn't let go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">I saw two people
hating each other yet needing to become allies to survive. Although they have
previously betrayed and harmed each other, they must now learn to trust. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">Next came an image of
those two people trapped by devastating storm. By now, my imagination was
kindled and burning in bright flames. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">Although I worked on
other projects over the years,<i> Storm Dancer</i> kept haunting me, and I
returned to it again and again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">One of the
characters, Merida, is an expert magician who can change the weather with her
dance. Her government sends her on a mission to bring</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"> rain to a distant, drought-parched country - the
equivalent of a modern development aid worker. My own experiences as
development aid worker inspired some of the scenes. For example, I was sent to
edit language teaching materials in northeast China.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"> I had been
promised a heated, furnished flat with running water. When I arrived, the flat
was a ruin, a blizzard was whipping through the broken windows, there was no
furniture, no water, no heating at all. I survived the freezing night by piling
all my clothes on top of me. When I confronted my employer the next morning, he
told me he was too busy to honour promises made in a contract.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">So when Merida arrives, she finds that the
promised private apartment doesn't exist and she has to sleep in a crowded,
dirty dormitory instead. When she complains, the ruler tells her he doesn't
have time to keep promises.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">I also used my experiences of teaching and
performing bellydance for the scenes where Merida bellydances in a tavern. </span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">The theme “We're not responsible for what fate deals
us, but we're responsible for how we deal with it” inspired much of the plot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGELtct85if8tuY7PkyFN63UyChlIcjbJTejTwv0GL_V_OJBG-fpLZQ4VnCL49hKxhLJmDSsvuiA6rQT1rK9jSd4Fnfy7EAPRuA0K40PoN5utvjgmnqkbzMuyXhLS7nFq1DMJxqj63f_Mw/s1600/Dahoud+Potrait+Horizontal.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGELtct85if8tuY7PkyFN63UyChlIcjbJTejTwv0GL_V_OJBG-fpLZQ4VnCL49hKxhLJmDSsvuiA6rQT1rK9jSd4Fnfy7EAPRuA0K40PoN5utvjgmnqkbzMuyXhLS7nFq1DMJxqj63f_Mw/s320/Dahoud+Potrait+Horizontal.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">Dahoud is a troubled
hero, possessed by a demon, a djinn that drives him to subdue women with force. The djinns in<i> Storm Dancer</i> are
devious spirits. They target young, vulnerable males with the promise to fulfil
their deepest desires. Once the human consents to the pact, they twist those
needs and drive their host to commit more and more evil deeds. The djinns feed
on the evil. The more the human complies, the stronger they grow. When the
human tries to resist, they torment him with temptations, desires, and
unbearable pain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">Dahoud was a lonely adolescent when the djinn lured him with the promise
that he would get female attention. He joined the army and became a feared
siege commander. Siege warfare in the Bronze Age offered ways for a man to
force female attention - and the djinn in Dahoud thrived on these deeds. When
Dahoud matured, he came to understand how wrong it was. As an honourable man,
he tried to cease, but it was too late. The djinn had already grown powerful
and impossible to defeat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">The only way to gain a measure of control over the djinn is to weaken it
by depriving it of fodder. Dahoud had to get away from the lures connected with
siege warfare. He sacrificed his career, his identity, everything. He faked his
own death and built a new life as a lowly labourer. For three years, he has
succeeded in resisting the djinn's painful demands. He has won some control
over his dark need and is able to live without harming women. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">But the ruler tracks Dahoud down and forces him to once again lead a
siege and subdue the people. If Dahoud succumbs to his dark need even once, the
djinn will grow to its former strength and unleash unspeakable evil. When the
women he protects repay his devotion with betrayal, his control over the djinn
breaks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">To what extent is Dahoud responsible for what the demon makes him do? Is
the djinn really an external creature, or is it the dark part of Dahoud's own
psyche? By writing about how Dahoud
copes with the djinn, I explored how people deal with their demons. The djinn
can be a metaphor for criminal urges, alcholism, drug addiction and sinful
desires. </span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB">Further inspiration
came from the places where I've lived and travelled in Central Asia, North
Africa and the Middle East, and ancient cultures, especially the Egyptians,
Greeks, Romans, Hittites and Persians. There are also elements from ancient
mythology, and even a story from an apocryphal Bible story of Judith, the
heroine who decapitated the enemy general with his own sword. However, these
stories are so much changed that few readers will recognise them when they read
<i>Storm Dancer.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMh9p9bNCDXZr2Vqq0w_hQCelgotQkOv9QlSXQ6i3j6PlPPRtp0jCgD7iQobDHzGqLd_hMWBGMNWmQH1ttQVTOXwIOlTh_SB4H-OwmsF0rzFz3ALRhPCTSO5yo6Tl-Az8N6M_Y9WRhqtqO/s1600/RayneHallWithSkullAndHair+by+Fawnheart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMh9p9bNCDXZr2Vqq0w_hQCelgotQkOv9QlSXQ6i3j6PlPPRtp0jCgD7iQobDHzGqLd_hMWBGMNWmQH1ttQVTOXwIOlTh_SB4H-OwmsF0rzFz3ALRhPCTSO5yo6Tl-Az8N6M_Y9WRhqtqO/s200/RayneHallWithSkullAndHair+by+Fawnheart.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><b><span lang="EN-GB">About Rayne Hall</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Rayne Hall has
published more than forty books under different pen names with different
publishers in different genres, mostly fantasy, horror and non-fiction. Recent
books include Storm Dancer (dark epic fantasy novel), Six Scary Tales Vol 1, 2
and 3 (mild horror stories), Six Historical Tales (short stories), Six Quirky
Tales (humorous fantasy stories), Writing Fight Scenes, The World-Loss Diet and
Writing Scary Scenes (instructions for authors).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">She holds a
college degree in publishing management and a masters degree in creative
writing. Currently, she edits the Ten Tales series of multi-author short story
anthologies: Bites: Ten Tales of Vampires, Haunted: Ten Tales of Ghosts,
Scared: Ten Tales of Horror, Cutlass: Ten Tales of Pirates, Beltane: Ten Tales
of Witchcraft, Spells: Ten Tales of Magic, Undead: Ten Tales of Zombies and
more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">website: <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/raynehallsdarkfantasyfiction/">https://sites.google.com/site/raynehallsdarkfantasyfiction/</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/RayneHall">https://twitter.com/RayneHall</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Facebook: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/rayne.hall">http://www.facebook.com/rayne.hall</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Goodreads: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4451266.Rayne_Hall">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4451266.Rayne_Hall</a>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXhhHW4L6_6CpeD743nv1cP4eZj2Yzb1jGlYYi86W3KmiKR_vZ4qCq6VXqcxFHnCRnmdlyp9Onye2_ytLJsN7_5pgQvLPbrif3auyDiXlFliBNtZqhXRsAOi5Q54T7skuwdqozj11wAURS/s1600/Storm+Dancer+Button+300+x+225.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXhhHW4L6_6CpeD743nv1cP4eZj2Yzb1jGlYYi86W3KmiKR_vZ4qCq6VXqcxFHnCRnmdlyp9Onye2_ytLJsN7_5pgQvLPbrif3auyDiXlFliBNtZqhXRsAOi5Q54T7skuwdqozj11wAURS/s1600/Storm+Dancer+Button+300+x+225.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000;">A Bewitching Book Tours Guest</span></b></td></tr>
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Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-18855214259974439622013-03-14T06:07:00.000-05:002013-03-14T06:07:00.048-05:00Welcome Author, Tricia Skinner and Giveaway!Good morning, everyone! Please give a hearty welcome to today's guest, Tricia Skinner. She's here to talk about a book that sounds absolutely fascinating to me, her new release, Angel Bait. And we get to meet this fascinating Jarrid!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMRrH-qDRbcY6xeNyOk5rfIHDBGtypM-63zZ7bjVSmJ_BxxPCoAM9EWEzPZdc5YlCW38j5yRjj32U2RWWBcLagYMn8HNPzLfPux-nBSYWsLmaXvss7QTKFN_3_Da65MqBQwrMzKNtLgfQh/s1600/AngelBaitpng.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMRrH-qDRbcY6xeNyOk5rfIHDBGtypM-63zZ7bjVSmJ_BxxPCoAM9EWEzPZdc5YlCW38j5yRjj32U2RWWBcLagYMn8HNPzLfPux-nBSYWsLmaXvss7QTKFN_3_Da65MqBQwrMzKNtLgfQh/s320/AngelBaitpng.png" width="206" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Angel Bait</span></b><!--[endif]--><br />
<br />
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<b><i>Book 1 of
the Angel Assassins Series</i><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Tricia
Skinner</div>
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<b style="font-size: small;">Genre: </b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Urban
Fantasy Romance</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Publisher: </b>Crimson
Romance (F+<st1:place w:st="on">W Media</st1:place>)</span></div>
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<i>Saved by the angel sent to kill them, four half-angel boys are trained and employed as Heaven’s assassins. Jarrid and his nephilim brothers are raised as members of The Eternal Order, and must enforce Heaven’s laws by hunting down those who defy the Directorate. </i></div>
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<i>His only shot at freedom is Ascension, but his employers won’t permit the ancient ritual. Then Jarrid learns a Renegade angel is in Detroit. Such a high-level takedown is the answer to his prayers—all the leverage he needs to Ascend. </i></div>
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<i>For freedom, Jarrid is willing to do anything to lure his elusive enemy out of hiding. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Even use an innocent woman as bait.</i></div>
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<i>News reporter Ionie Gifford has no clue an angel outlaw wants her dead. She agrees to help Jarrid, the enigmatic nephilim with penetrating silver eyes and a worship-worthy body, but only because he accepts her terms. He’s her all-access pass into the city’s supernatural underworld where she hopes to locate her mother’s killer. </i></div>
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<i>Blindsided by Ionie's beauty and tenacity, Jarrid soon finds the eternity-old glacier around his heart thawing. With duty and desire at war within him, he’s forced to make a choice—either save Ionie from the trap he snared and stay chained to Heaven, or allow her to become collateral damage.</i></div>
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<span style="color: #351c75;">Tricia is going to give us a personal up-close meet and greet with her fabulous characters today! So sit back, and enjoy!</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Much love to Claire for giving The Eternal Order an opportunity to connect with her blog regulars. My debut novel, Angel Bait, would never have happened without the cooperation of the four half-angel assassins and their angel mentor. </i><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;">You're welcome, Tricia! Glad to have you all.</span><br />
<br />
<b>Tricia</b>: Hey guys, why don’t you introduce yourselves. Lots of people are curious about you.<br />
<br />
<b><i>(Silence.)</i></b><br />
<br />
<b>Tricia:</b> Um, okay then. I’ll just go around the table. Tanis, you are the leader of this group, the father figure who saved the others when they were only children.<br />
<br />
<b>Tanis</b>: Yes.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: What was the most difficult part of training them to be assassins?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tanis</b>: They lacked patience. Their human emotions made them unpredictable.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Jarrid</b>: (mumbles) And Ionie thinks I was born without a sense of humor. Look at my guide, the anti-Mister Rogers.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: I imagine growing up without parents was difficult for all of you.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>(Silence.)</i></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: How about we move this to nicer territory?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Cain</b>: I would move to Antarctica with you, gorgeous.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tanis</b>: God of All, here we go.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Kasdeja</b>: If Cain starts with the love poetry, I am out of this mutha.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Nestaron</b>: Ditto.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: Come on, guys. People are reading this to get some inside info on the Order. Angel Bait followed Jarrid and Ionie’s beautiful love story, but I constantly get questions about each of you. Tell them something juicy.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>(Silence.)</i></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: Why did you agree to this blog post?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Jarrid</b>: Ah, hell. The human’s gonna cry. I hate when they start leaking.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Cain</b>: It pains my charming soul to see sadness on a face so lovely.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tanis</b>: Cut the bull you two. We promised we’d do this promo thing. The Order keeps its word.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: Thanks Tanis. Let’s try this: tell readers about your favorite mission.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>(Silence.)</i></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: Current mission?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>(Silence.)</i></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: Next mission?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>(Silence.)</i></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: Fine. Favorite song?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Kasdeja</b>: Ah yeah. Now you’re talkin’.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: Let’s begin with Tanis. Name one of your favorite songs and give the reason why.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tanis</b>: “Back in Black” by AC/DC. It’s a soliloquy, similar to Hamlet’s “To be, or not to be,” that expresses the strength of the human spirit.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Cain</b>: Solila-whatta?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Nestaron</b>: I’d like to buy a vowel.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Jarrid</b>: No one is going to read Angel Bait if they think shit like that is in it.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tanis</b>: Is that so? And what profound music do you count as a favorite?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Cain</b>: Oh, I know!<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Kasdeja</b>: Cue the violins and break out the pink taffeta.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Jarrid</b>: My current favorite happens to be Ionie’s as well. “Dream Within A Dream.”<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: Based on the poem by Edgar Allen Poe?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>(Groans.)</i></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Cain</b>: No, baby girl. Based on the hip-thrusting song of awesome by The Glitch Mob.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Kasdeja</b>: Jarrid bought the whole album after meeting Ionie.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Nestaron</b>: They’d danced to it.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Cain</b>: Well, Ionie danced. She’s got some moves. Jarrid sort of did his rooted tree thing.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Jarrid</b>: I don’t dance.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Nestaron</b>: We know.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: Kas, why don’t you share your favorite song.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Kasdeja</b>: Ah, a woman who despises club noise as much as me. My choice is classic. “Paint It Black” by the Rolling Stones.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tanis</b>: God of All, my penance continues.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Kasdeja</b>: Come on, T. Even you can’t hate on the Stones, man.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Jarrid</b>: He can when you refuse to let the ‘60s die.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Nestaron</b>: Bell-bottoms. Seriously?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: Nesty, what’s your song?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Nestaron</b>: “Head Like A Hole.” That’s classic Nine Inch Nails.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Kasdeja</b>: It takes all nine inches to stab your brains out.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: I like NIN.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Kasdeja</b>: And you just lost hottie points for that one.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Cain</b>: Is it my turn yet? I know you’ve left the best for last.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Jarrid</b>: No one will know if I kick his ass, right?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: Save the violence for the Renegades. Your enemy is probably lurking around Detroit, waiting to level some payback for Beleth.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tanis</b>: We can hope.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: So, what’s the song?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Cain</b>: “This Is Halloween” from that movie, the Nightmare Before Christmas.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Jarrid</b>: And I’m out.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Cain</b>: What? That’s some magic right there.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Kasdeja</b>: Been real, Trish, but me and Nesty gotta jet. We’re raiding in SW: TOR tonight.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Tricia</b>: You play Star Wars: The Old Republic? Empire or Republic?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Kasdeja</b>: Pfft. Like we’d be caught dead playing the good guys.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>(Room empties.)</i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>So, I hope this, um, interview gave you a glimpse into the lives of my beloved characters from Angel Bait. They’re rough around the edges, but sweethearts at the core. If anyone has questions about Jarrid, Cain, Tanis, Nestaron, or Kasdeja, drop by my website and send me an email.</i><br />
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<span style="color: #351c75;">Now, let's meet them in action, shall we?</span></div>
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She leaned back and studied him, taking in the casual way his thigh rested against a chair. Her throat closed, smothering her clever retort. Jarrid angled his chiseled face to study items on her desk, and Ionie caught the awed stares of her passing colleagues.</div>
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One woman tripped over her own feet. </div>
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Another face-planted into a wall. </div>
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<i>Jesus Christ</i>. </div>
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The half-angel was so handsome it hurt. Jarrid didn’t seem to notice the attention directed at him. Or maybe he didn’t care. </div>
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“You’re upset I won’t allow photos, but you still plan to work with me,” he said, his fingers sliding over a shriveled dictionary. “I want to know why.”</div>
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<i>Blunt and to the point.</i></div>
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“I’m not upset.” Ionie snorted, a sound she hoped made her seem indifferent. “You’ve answered my prayers. I’m used to working obits, or chasing the occasional fire truck.”</div>
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He flicked his head at the desk adjoining hers. “You work with someone?” </div>
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“I don’t do partners.”</div>
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“Yet you will do me.” The simple statement, spoken in his sexy rumble, liquefied the marrow in Ionie’s bones.</div>
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“Uh,” she said. “My work takes on a whole new meaning when you say it.”</div>
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He leaned in, a smooth slide of firm muscle and taut flesh. She caught a whiff of his scent; she hadn’t noticed it before. Something nameless, celestial like the man – the being – it belonged to. She inhaled deep, lulled by his nearness. <i>Gorgeous</i>. No other word fit him better.</div>
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“Is there a problem?” Jarrid’s lips curved down. His tone held an edge she couldn’t place.</div>
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“Problem?” Mario’s smooth voice yanked Ionie from her trance. She shook her head and leaned away from the nephilim. “You okay, kid?”</div>
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<i><br /></i>
<i>What the hell am I doing?</i></div>
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Ionie strained to smile at Jarrid. The half-angel’s face presented a solid mask, obscuring any hint of his reaction.</div>
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“I’m fine,” she said. “Mario, this is Jarrid. He’s with the Eternal Order ... and my new story. Jarrid, this is Mario Hernandez. He trained me on the graveyard shift.”</div>
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“Story?” The men exchanged handshakes. She could see Mario’s mind working behind his casual expression.</div>
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“On Patrick’s say so.” She suppressed some of her excitement. “I’m doing a feature on angel society.”</div>
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“Angels don’t seek attention. Why the switch?” </div>
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“Times change,” Jarrid said in a tight, controlled voice. </div>
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The older reporter narrowed his eyes at the flat tone. She didn’t blame him. “Doesn’t explain why the boys above have sent a nephilim. Aren’t you guys a bit high level for PR?”</div>
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The muscles in Jarrid’s arms ticked. “My work is classified.” </div>
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“I bet,” Mario said. </div>
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<i><br /></i>
<i>What the hell?</i></div>
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Ionie stared at her friend, then Jarrid. The corded line of his neck bulged with thick throbbing veins. Her source appeared ready to pounce on the curious old coot. She slid off her chair. “We should get going.”</div>
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Neither man moved. Ionie reached out and touched Jarrid’s bicep. His arm shifted beneath her hand like she’d branded him. She removed her fingers before he decided to break them off.</div>
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<i>No touching. Got it.</i></div>
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Without a word, he marched from the office. With the weird question and answer session over, she grabbed her bag and hauled ass to catch up.</div>
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“What happened back there?” She jogged to keep pace with him, his long strides churning yards of polished marble floor in his wake. “Why are you acting like this?”</div>
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Jarrid turned on her with a scowl. “Your buddy is inquisitive.”</div>
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“Newsflash. He’s a reporter, like me. Nosey is what we do.” That didn’t help. Not the way Jarrid stared at her as if she’d sprouted horns. “You’re a big deal in Heaven, huh? If it’s a secret, you shouldn’t be hanging around journalists. We suck up secrets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”</div>
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“We keep to ourselves.” A tremor of annoyance filtered through the words. </div>
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“Not anymore.” The two of them standing in a newspaper lobby made the whole conversation seem ridiculous. Ionie stepped closer to Jarrid and angled her head to see his eyes. “Not many people can say they’ve seen, or met, an angel. Your kind might want to keep on the down low, but when you step out, you’re going to draw attention.”</div>
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His steady glare told her he didn’t believe a word. Or maybe he didn’t like what he heard. Or maybe he just liked glaring at her like she’d eventually shut the hell up.</div>
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<i>Jerk</i>. Angels weren’t the only ones who preferred seclusion. Try tracking down the Fae. Those bastards were near impossible to get out in the open. She’d tried.</div>
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“Angels and nephilim are private. I get the cloak and dagger bull, but you came to me. This covert thing? You want people to answer your questions?”</div>
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He gave a microscopic bob of his head.</div>
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“First lesson? People are naturally curious, especially humans.” Ionie moistened her bottom lip. She hated the nervous response, but Jarrid held a remote control on her anxiety. “They may have questions for you, too. We’re drawn to the unknown like butter to toast, at least according to my grandma. I’ll help you. You’ll help me. Everybody gets what they need.”</div>
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Silver eyes dipped to her lips.</div>
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The gap between them sizzled like someone had flipped on a low-voltage current. Every hair on her skin saluted. She stared into his eyes and her heartbeat doubled. By now she should be nervous, but the hint of danger she sensed in him only brought an embarrassing rush of arousal.</div>
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Her face must have flushed apple red because Jarrid’s mouth parted. His now wide gaze traced over her features, lingering on her cheeks and lips. She should kiss him. Kiss him right in the middle of her workplace. Kiss him in front of Stan the desk clerk who took classified ads. One kiss on the nephilim’s too-full lips. One hard press ....</div>
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She licked her lip again. His gaze tracked her tongue. Before she could lean into his body and act on the impulse, he jerked back and stepped out of reach.</div>
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“What are you doing?” His voice was low, dangerous.</div>
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What <i>was </i>she doing? She’d almost pounced on a guy at work! She didn’t jump her sources. Another wave of heat seared her face and she stared at her feet. “So ... we still have a deal?”</div>
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Jarrid didn’t reply. She chanced a peek at him. He looked pissed. His back was ramrod straight and his eyes glowed. Maybe she’d offended his angel sensibilities with her odd human reactions.</div>
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<i><br /></i>
<i>Wasn’t he half-Human?</i> Did he feel an attraction to her? </div>
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A miserable minute ticked by. </div>
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“We still have a deal,” he said. “First, you meet my brothers.”</div>
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<br />
~~@~~</div>
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YOU HAVE JUST READ AN EXCERPT FROM <b><span style="color: #351c75;">ANGEL BAIT</span></b></div>
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~~@~~</div>
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Tricia is hosting a <b><span style="color: #990000;">giveaway </span></b>too, today! Throughout the tour, she has five copies of Angel Bait available to lucky winners! Simply enter below</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112f206/" id="rc-ba112f206" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6sRSNaizsx9j70k5_SfdFCmZzAL2XhcSGzgP0Y1YGoeLNiBhS6Re5JZu2tWfyXLpXenCRIyvJjxEFEG-hm8qLoRhi_yHi3WpBIuYu-0g19Ad9zE9WYf19eTzWHzGOu0j_vlaKOF9P3yHL/s1600/Skinner.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6sRSNaizsx9j70k5_SfdFCmZzAL2XhcSGzgP0Y1YGoeLNiBhS6Re5JZu2tWfyXLpXenCRIyvJjxEFEG-hm8qLoRhi_yHi3WpBIuYu-0g19Ad9zE9WYf19eTzWHzGOu0j_vlaKOF9P3yHL/s200/Skinner.png" width="145" /></a><b></b><br />
<b><b><br /></b></b>
<b>About the Author:</b></div>
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After spending
several years as a newspaper reporter and corporate communications director,
Tricia Skinner cast off traditional journalism for the freedom of novel
writing. ANGEL BAIT is her urban fantasy romance debut. Her reading tastes are
all over the place, but she’s mainly drawn to fantasy (and its subgenres),
paranormal, sci-fi, and history. </div>
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<br /></div>
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In those rare
moments when she’s not writing, Tricia is a newbie “green” practitioner, a
fitness procrastinator, and a technology geek. She is a mother and a
wife. Her family includes two Great Danes. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Tricia stays
active in various writing communities. She’s the Web Editor for Pony
Express(ions), the online literary journal of the Masters of Liberal Studies
Program at Southern Methodist University; a volunteer with <span class="caps">SMU</span>’s The Writers Path; the Newsletter Editor and a Mud
Puddle Critique Group moderator for the Fantasy, Futuristic, and Paranormal
Chapter of Romance Writers of America. . In December 2012 she received a
master’s degree with a Creative Writing focus from <span class="caps">SMU</span>.
</div>
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She welcomes correspondence from readers. </div>
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Visit her online at <a href="http://www.triciaskinner.com/"><span style="color: orange;">www.TriciaSkinner.com</span></a></div>
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Facebook: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/AuthorTriciaSkinner"><span style="color: orange;">http://www.facebook.com/AuthorTriciaSkinner</span></a></div>
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Goodreads: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/triciaskinner"><span style="color: orange;">http://www.goodreads.com/triciaskinner</span></a>
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Twitter:
@KaziWren <o:p></o:p><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjme6G7Fxl4OPqZ2TceSDzNkxOHQb2ZwgLCjVbNrtZLC_1xOYeL0jQd-6u1P0fxElEaFEAieK4YgoQgkdLijfxAAQrSF_gH-ievn2eI-mUQOFRUXGcgu7bKUWkiGeIX2MuL-h-bCoFm4bci/s1600/Angel+Bait+Button+300+x+225.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjme6G7Fxl4OPqZ2TceSDzNkxOHQb2ZwgLCjVbNrtZLC_1xOYeL0jQd-6u1P0fxElEaFEAieK4YgoQgkdLijfxAAQrSF_gH-ievn2eI-mUQOFRUXGcgu7bKUWkiGeIX2MuL-h-bCoFm4bci/s1600/Angel+Bait+Button+300+x+225.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000;">A Bewitching Book Tours Guest!</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
<br />Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413738678480380367.post-74891531449475258772013-03-13T06:07:00.000-05:002013-03-13T06:07:00.947-05:00Writer Wednesday - Pen NamesGood morning, everyone!<br />
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It's Writer Wednesday again, and today we're talking about pen names. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuQFK0aqpzoDfw9ZIo7MJTXCK4yh1200ZNO3KHJfcuehg6e4olF2sRuo1AJ60EgTZpJgpFC_llP7y1IJlTOubrOERMZBL3Co68_nECVRC5tDFXgZcJIaXdw0sxGN-omCAT5sU-OrXi7bf/s1600/13729_wpm_lowres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuQFK0aqpzoDfw9ZIo7MJTXCK4yh1200ZNO3KHJfcuehg6e4olF2sRuo1AJ60EgTZpJgpFC_llP7y1IJlTOubrOERMZBL3Co68_nECVRC5tDFXgZcJIaXdw0sxGN-omCAT5sU-OrXi7bf/s200/13729_wpm_lowres.jpg" width="119" /></a></div>
Several of my friends have seen their first book contract in the last six months and I've been asked about pen names quite frequently lately. I thought I'd share my thoughts with you.<br />
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So, let's look at <b>what a pen name does</b> first of all.<br />
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1. <i>It establishes an expectation for the reader</i>. The reader assumes that all books published by Joe Penname will have something similar. Likely voice, perhaps structure, perhaps tone, and so forth.<br />
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2. <i>It establishes an author's first 'brand'</i> -- it sets you apart from other authors in some fashion. And it is where you want your readers to find you. <br />
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3. <i>It establishes a 'brand' for book buyers.</i> For instance, Stephen King's full name is Stephen Edwin King. A book buyer (likely) will not know Stephen Edwin. Tell them Stephen King (or even King), and they make an automatic association.<br />
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<b>Can I use my real name?</b><br />
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Mm... for the most part, yes, with a few exceptions covered below. It is perfectly <i>okay</i> to use your real name, unless your real name is unpronounceable or, by some sad stroke of the fates, could be profane, or stand out for inappropriate/laughable reasons. (This is the perfect time for Fred E. Kruger to consider a new name.)<br />
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<b>Given that, how do you choose a pen name?</b><br />
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Really, a pen name boils down to personal preference. There are several schools of thought, ranging from use something you'll never fail to answer, to pick one that will alphabetically fall in line near an author who's a household name. I personally chose my original pen name -- Claire Ashgrove -- based on how I personally shop for books. I start at the A's and browse to the Z's. If I find a book I like, I usually stop browsing.<br />
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There are a couple things I think are important, which may be strictly myth, but do show some factual backing.<br />
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a. Thriller, Horror, Action, and Fantasy / Sci-Fi trend with masculine sounding names selling better<br />
b. Do not choose a mouthful of consonants and make it somewhat simple for people to remember<br />
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<b>When do you <i>need</i> a pen name?</b><br />
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This is super easy.<br />
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1. When you, for whatever reason, don't want your real name associated with your work. If you're writing erotic romance, or erotic fiction, and say you perhaps work for the Catholic Church... you might consider this option.<br />
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2. If you are already published and you're wanting to separate a new genre from another genre. In my case, I wanted a clear definition between what readers could expect as Tori St. Claire and what they'd get as Claire Ashgrove. I'm not 'hiding'; I just didn't want to shock someone, and since books don't come with ratings warnings usually, this was the best way to go. I have M.J. Marshall for my work on the Kill 'Em All project, because it's a 180 from anything I've ever published. And I have two other pen names hiding around here for the same purposes.<br />
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3. Remember that part up above where your pen name establishes a brand for the book buyer? Well, it's not something anyone likes to talk about, but there are many authors who have experienced the unfortunate case where the best project in the world didn't sell like it was 'supposed to'. Now book <i>buyers</i> hear that name and won't buy the book. The author is forced to re-establish under a new name. If you're having to let go of your real name for this reason, that can be a little disheartening.<br />
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That's it, really, as for when you <i>need</i> a pen name. <br />
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Questions? Thoughts? Feel free to comment away!<br />
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<br />
Looking for a freelance editor? Try <a href="http://www.finish-the-story.com/"><span style="color: orange;">Finish The Story</span></a>! Proudly editing USA Today Bestselling Author, Nana Malone.<br />
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<br />Claire Ashgrovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07314691430076316516noreply@blogger.com0