Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Shack-Whacky Pumpkin Pancakes

by Sharon Ledwith

Have you ever been shack-whacky? You may be familiar with other terms for this word—cabin fever or stir crazy? All of which mean the state of being restless or irritable from staying indoors or in one location for a long period. Yup, I’m sure we’ve all been there. Sometimes it happens when you’re on vacation at the cottage, and all it does is rain. Or those pesky mosquitoes or blackflies manage to keep you in your tent or trailer for hours on end. Grrr… And don't forget snowstorms when all you want to do is dream of a Caribbean vacation.

So to make a bad situation into a good one, why not indulge yourself and your crew with a hearty meal? These stick-to-your-ribs pancakes are good any season but taste best when there's a nip in the air.

Shack-Whacky Pumpkin Pancakes
Photo by Editor Bob Pixabay
1½ cups milk
1 cup pumpkin puree
1 egg
2 tbsp. vegetable oil
2 tbsp. vinegar
2 cups all-purpose flour
3 tbsp. brown sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. ground allspice
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
½ tsp. ground ginger
½ tsp .salt

Mix together milk, pumpkin, egg, oil, and vinegar in a large bowl.

Combine the remaining ingredients in a separate bowl. Gradually stir this blend into pumpkin mixture, but just enough to combine.

Heat a lightly oiled griddle or frying pan over medium heat. Pour or scoop the batter onto the griddle, using approximately ¼ cup for each pancake. Brown on both sides and serve hot, topped with your favorite brand of maple syrup.

After you’ve had your fill of pancakes and maple syrup, relax in your favorite chair, or lie back on your bed and crack open the first book in my teen psychic mystery series, Lost and Found. You may just find yourself wanting to visit Fairy Falls.

Fairy Falls was bores-ville from the get-go. Then the animals started talking...

The Fairy Falls Animal Shelter is in trouble. Money trouble. It’s up to an old calico cat named Whiskey—a shelter cat who has mastered the skill of observation—to find a new human pack leader so that their home will be saved. With the help of Nobel, the leader of the shelter dogs, the animals set out to use the ancient skill of telepathy to contact any human who bothers to listen to them. Unfortunately for fifteen-year-old Meagan Walsh, she hears them, loud and clear.

Forced to live with her Aunt Izzy in the safe and quiet town of Fairy Falls, Meagan is caught stealing and is sentenced to do community hours at the animal shelter where her aunt works. Realizing Meagan can hear her, Whiskey realizes that Meagan just might have the pack leader qualities necessary to save the animals. Avoiding Whiskey and the rest of shelter animals becomes impossible for Meagan, so she finally gives in and promises to help them. Meagan, along with her newfound friends, Reid Robertson and Natalie Knight, discover that someone in Fairy Falls is not only out to destroy the shelter, but the animals as well. Can Meagan convince her aunt and co-workers that the animals are in danger? If she fails, then all the animals’ voices will be silenced forever.

BUY LINKS
Amazon Kindle - Amazon Paperback - Barnes & Noble - Mirror World Publishing ebook - Mirror World Publishing Paperback



Sharon Ledwith is the author of the middle-grade/YA time travel series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS, and the teen psychic mystery series, MYSTERIOUS TALES FROM FAIRY FALLS. When not writing, researching, or revising, she enjoys reading, exercising, anything arcane, and an occasional dram of scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a southern tourist region of Ontario, Canada, with her hubby, one spoiled yellow Labrador and a moody calico cat.

Learn more about Sharon Ledwith on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter, Google+, Goodreads, and Smashwords. Look up her Amazon Author page for a list of current books. Be sure to check out THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS TIME TRAVEL SERIES Facebook page.

Monday, March 26, 2018

ATTENTION

by Elliott Baker

I’m fascinated by quantum theory. Wait, don’t run. Won’t be any formulas. I write fiction, after all. So we live in a huge soup of informed energy. What? Matter is energy that has decided to act in one particular way. Who decided? Stay with me here. Remember I’m not a scientist, just someone who thinks the universe is a fascinating place. A place worth thought. So these keys that I’m pounding on aren’t really solid. They look solid to me. Well, from what I read, if you look closely, they end up being energy moving along defined tracks with a ton of space between the tracks. Kind of like looking out into space. Why doesn’t the Enterprise run into stuff if it’s traveling many times the speed of light? Because space wasn’t named space for nothing. (Just re-read this last sentence. I crack myself up.)

So in my macro world, the world of keyboards, I’m looking at the letters and numbers on the keyboard, and I can’t see any space between the electrons. But I can imagine it. Evidently in the world of quantum physics, energy can choose to be either a particle or a wave, matter or energy, or both at the same time. I find this interesting, but way more interesting to me is if we are energy beings, and the energy is invisible, what do we do with it? How do we get it? Do we take it from each other?

When you are hungry, you feel a certain discontent. When you are really hungry, it grows to a demand. The vehicle each of us rides in requires fuel which is turned into a form of energy that can be used by our cells, creating all kinds of power, motive, thought, emotion, etc. Plants take energy directly from the sun. Is it possible that we also take energy directly from the sun. We’ve evolved or maybe devolved so that we get our energy second or third hand. From the sun to plants, to animals, to us. Before the advent of science and its sensory enlarging tools, the best man could do was reason from effects to causes. For the writer of fiction, it’s still a pleasant trip. Plants thrive in sunlight or die if left in darkness, therefore, sunlight is crucial to the plant’s survival. What about humans. Is McDonald’s the only way we get energy? A better question might be: Is McDonald’s the only way we can get energy?

If you’ve ever watched a live comedian on stage really killing the room, the person almost seems to glow. They’re on a emotional high. What is happening? It’s a small comedic venue, only thirty or forty people in the audience, but these people are hyper-focused on the comedian. Anyone who has been on stage knows the high I speak of. You feel good, excited, full of energy. Are the people in the audience sending energy to those on stage? It’s temporary, but while the attention of an audience is on you, it’s glorious.

If energy is exchanged in a situation like that of performer/audience, what about two people having coffee? Do we exchange energy with each other all the time? James Redfield thinks so. The Celestine Prophesy came out twenty years ago. According to Mr. Redfield, not only do we exchange energy with each other, we forcibly take it. Who could imagine that? We’re such sweet little monkeys. We would never take something from anyone else. Redfield speaks of control dramas which we learn as children to defend ourselves from the energy vampires which surround us. Vampires. Now you’re talking. Ever wondered why the vampire is such an icon in our literature. Where could we have possible have gotten that idea?

In most martial arts, focus and concentration are key elements along with specific movements. The greater the focus and concentration, the greater the power behind the movement. Most of us live fragmented lives jumping from one thought to another. I don’t mean that in a negative way, just that we’re not trained Kung Fu masters able to meditate for a day on one blossom of a flower. The benefits of meditation are patently obvious, but not so easy to attain. In Aldous Huxley’s book Island a cynical journalist is shipwrecked on an island where trained Mynah birds continually say the word “Attention.” We don’t. Don’t pay attention. Not really. And that is the crux of the matter. If we exchange energy, and I think we do, we do it through the medium of attention. We (And I include myself. Oh, look a bird.) seem to wander around at the whim of our senses, switching our attention to the thought or impression of the moment. Flashlights instead of lasers. Like Redfield, I believe energy can be obtained from many different agencies, not just other people. And in unlimited amount.

In my book The Sun God’s Heir: Return Book One, which is currently FREE on Amazon the protagonist and antagonist were once brother disciples of the Pharoah Akhenaten. In that incarnation three thousand years ago they learned not only to control the energy that made up their physical envelopes, but to see and manipulate energy on different levels than the one customarily seen by humans. In The Sun God’s Heir trilogy, energy crosses time in the form of karma and if there is one universal law, it must be that of balance.

If there is discomfort in the universe it must in the form of imbalance. Since according to quantum physics, time appears to be merely a construct, the universal demand for balance does not seem to find our limited perception of time to be an obstruction. At least in my imagination it doesn’t.

The two ancient brothers, return to 17th century France, one in the normal way, birth, childhood, adulthood, and the other… Well the other has taken a darker route borrowing the body of a downstream incarnation. One remembers the powers taught at the feet of the pharaoh Akhenaten, the other must remember in order to survive and protect those he loves.

The Sun God’s Heir: Return should be shelved under Historical Fantasy for the time being. For a moment, imagine yourself in 1672 sitting and tasting the newest beverage, hot chocolate. Someone at the table speculates that there may be invisible waves that can carry sound and pictures. Just sayin’.



Award winning, international playwright Elliott B. Baker grew up in Jacksonville, Florida. With four musicals and one play published and done throughout the United States, New Zealand, Portugal, England, and Canada, Elliott is pleased to offer his first novel, Return, book one of The Sun God’s Heir trilogy.

A member of the Authors Guild and the Dramatists Guild, Elliott lives in New Hampshire with his beautiful wife Sally Ann.

Learn more about Elliot Baker on his website. Stay connected on Twitter and Facebook. Like Elliott's Author Page on Facebook to learn all his latest news.

Wednesday, March 21, 2018

BUILD A BETTER BREAKFAST

by Lizzie T. Leaf

I love smoked salmon and enjoy the sides of thinly sliced red onions, sour cream, and capers usually served with them. Then I came up with the idea of having it for breakfast, but turning into a smear. After trying several different smoked salmons the one we enjoyed the most in the smear version was honey smoked.

Photo courtesy of  Piviso Pixabay
SALMON SMEAR

1 cup honey smoked salmon, flaked
¼ cup red onion, chopped
½ cup sour cream
2 tbsp. capers
Mini-bagels or slider buns
Honey mustard to taste (store bought is easier)

Mix first four ingredients together in a medium-sized bowl.

Spread a large dollop of Smear on one side of the bread of your choice. Bagels are chewier, but slider buns are softer.

Drizzle mustard over the Smear. Dress it up with green onion tops and then cover with other piece of roll and enjoy.


Here is a little from my latest spicy romantic release. I hope you enjoy it.

Following the Powers directive to unite soul mates, a Scottish Cailleach's magic will have repercussions in several realms.

Mixed-blood author Ian McCabe, grandson of Fae and gods, tries to deny his powers while hiding his true origins from the human world. When he discovers mortal, Emma Grant unconscious at his front door, his world starts to change.

Tour director Emma Grant leads a group of senior ladies through Scotland. The breakdown of their bus on a rural Scottish backroad has her sloshing through the rain and mud on foot. Her efforts to seek help results in a fall that knocks her unconscious. She awakens to find the man of her dreams staring into her eyes.

Both feel an instant attraction, but will his secrets and her distrust of men keep them apart.

A few lines that tweak a grin.
Yep, at this rate, a long three weeks lay ahead. No one had told Emma that the dozen school teachers ranged in ages from sixty-nine to eighty-eight. Good grief, what happened to women at this age sitting on the front porch and enjoying their rocking chairs?

Mildred waved away the correction “Of course, dear. Whatever you say. I just want to know, will we see any men in kilts soon? I want to see what they wear under them.”

Dirty old woman. She asked that question at least half a dozen times before we got on the bus and stated the reason just as often.

Read the first chapter on Amazon.

To read excerpts from other books by Lizzie T. Leaf please click onto Amazon.




Lizzie T. Leaf loved books since she opened her first one. Her dream was to write them herself. Lost in the hectic day to day world of family, job, laundry and housework, writing became a distant memory. When the twinkling ember did spark, it was usually doused by someone demanding their share of her time.

Lizzie's life went full circle. The desire to put the stories that continued to play in her head on paper emerged stronger than ever, and at a time when there was someone who encouraged. Now she lives her dream.

Learn more about Lizzie T. Leaf on her website and blog. Connect with Lizzie on Facebook and follow her on Twitter.

Monday, March 19, 2018

QUICK and EASY GOURMET

by Emma Lane

This meal may be served from ladies’ bridge to hefty dinner guests. Just increase the size of the proportions. Pop out this meal in a hurry and enjoy a cocktail with your company.

Red Salmon with Zesty Italian Dressing
Succotash or substitute Broccoli or Asparagus
Poached Pear Halves with Ricotta Cheese
Green Salad
Platter of Interesting Crackers
Dinner roles with Jam and Butter


SALMON
1 can red salmon, depending upon number of guests
Zesty Italian Dressing for drizzling

Clean bones and skin from salmon retaining pieces intact as possible. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate while finishing prep.

SUCCOTASH
Frozen lima beans
1 small can creamed corn
1 tbsp. butter

Cook beans until tender, 20 minutes from boil. Drain and mix in the corn and butter. Keep warm in a 210° F oven until ready to serve.

POACHED PEARS
½ fresh pear per guest (Increase to two halves for a dinner)
1 – 3 drops almond flavoring per pear half
1 tbsp. ricotta cheese per per half
Nutmeg
Sugar, optional

Remove core from pears. Turn flesh side down in two inches water in microwavable dish. Poach on high until tender, 2 – 3 minutes. Check for tenderness with a toothpick. Remove from oven, flip over and place in attractive dish, in custard cup, or on a bed of lettuce. Dribble almond flavoring on pears. Fill halves with cheese. Sprinkle lightly with nutmeg. Sprinkle on sugar.

TO SERVE
Arrange salmon on dinner plate and drizzle salad dressing lightly over fish. Add serving of succotash or other desired green vegetable. Garnish with lettuce or parsley. Offer a platter of interesting crackers. Serve poached pear halves on the side or scooped onto the plate. Pass basket of dinner roles and jars of jam.

Sounds like a lot of fuss, but it goes fast. The meal is light on calories so with guilt free conscience, serve a piece of your favorite pie or cake with ice cream or whipped cream. Some guests will decide poached pears suit them as a dessert.

Here's a teaser from one of my Regency books while you wait for your guests to arrive.

What happens when a strong heroine meets an arrogant, but handsome hero? Sparks fly. It's a Regency Romance Romp!


Miss Amabel Hawkins acknowledges her unusual upbringing, but she thinks James Langley, the Duke of Westerton, might be a tad unbalanced when he protests her efforts to right his badly managed properties. The duke, who has been away on the king's business, demonstrates no respect for the beautiful but managing Miss Hawkins. Amabel has taken refuge at Westerton, fleeing from a forced marriage to a man who claims to be her relative in order to gain control of her young brother's estate.

The Duke arrives home to find his estate under the firm control of a beautiful but managing female. His suspicions are fueled by his recent task of spy-hunting and he wonders if Amabel Hawkins is just who she seems. While a dastardly spy lurks, a wicked man poses as her cousin threatening to take over the guardianship of her young brother. Amabel might be falling in love, but she knows for certain the duke would never approve of a meddlesome woman, and she decides to flee his estate. Will the duke finally realize the true value of the woman he loves or will his prejudice ruin his chances forever?

Amazon Buy Link


Emma Lane enjoys leaving her garden for a few hours to dip into the romance genre Regency era of history. Join her for a glimpse of a half selkie fairy as she teases a powerful duke and fights the curse of a lowly, evil warlock. Other Regency romances are available on Amazon and Wild Rose Press. As Janis Lane she writes a series of Cozy Mysteries for Soul Mate Publishing.

Look for information about writing and plants on her new website. Leave a comment or a gardening question and put a smile on Emma's face.

Stay connected to Emma on Facebook and Twitter.

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Out of the Frying Pan, Into the…

by HL Carpenter


Fellow cooks, the time is now—the time to flop your fish out of the frying pan and into the oven, that is. Sure, deep-fried candy bars have a place in every healthy diet. But on days besides Fryday, you might want to make a meal using that other appliance that takes up space in your kitchen.

You can start with this oven-baked version of a recipe that's usually fried. We promise the end result is every bit as delicious. And remember, you can always deep-fry a Twinkie for dessert.

Baked Fish and Hush Puppies
3 pounds fresh fish fillets or strips (we used pollock)
2 tbsp. butter
½ box Cajun seafood fry mix or fish seasoning mix of your choice (or less spicy version, use ¼ of a box)

Preheat oven to 425° F.

Set baking pan in oven until the pan is warm (not hot). Remove pan from oven. Put butter on pan, let melt and spread over pan.

Pour Cajun seasoning mix in a large plastic bag. Add fish and then shake gently to coat evenly. Remove fish from bag, place on buttered pan. Bake for 15 minutes or until fish is flaky.

Hush Puppies
For the baked hush puppies (makes 12 mini pups)
Cooking spray
⅔ cup cornmeal
⅓ cup flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. onion powder
1 tsp. garlic salt
¼ tsp. black pepper
⅓ cup coconut milk
1 egg
1 tbsp. oil

While the fish is baking, coat a mini muffin tin with cooking spray.

Measure dry ingredients in a bowl and mix with a fork. Add wet ingredients and stir with fork until blended. Spoon the batter into the muffin tin.

Remove the fish from the oven and turn the oven up to 450°F.

Bake the hush puppies for 10 minutes or until a tester pick comes out with a few moist crumbs.

Serve fish and hush puppies with ready-made coleslaw.

Tips and Tricks
If the fish you're using is not moist, dipping the fillets into milk or water before coating with seasoning will help the seasoning mix stick.

For the hush puppy recipe, you can substitute full-fat cow milk for the coconut milk.

Coleslaw helps cut the effect of the spiciness of the Cajun seasoning on your tongue, but potato salad is a good substitute.

While you're enjoying your delicious lunch, we invite you to enjoy an excerpt from our satirical short story, The Demise of Fyne Literature.


Who killed Fyne Literature?

The Fictional Book Investigation Agency is on the case—and the lead investigator is closer to the culprit than he realizes.

Ivy League wants to learn who murdered the love of her life. The Fictional Book Investigation Agency agrees to take the case, and soon discovers a surplus of suspects.

Is the killer one of the victim’s many enemies? Is there more to the story than anyone knows? The Agency’s profiler has a clue, yet she’s remarkably reticent.

For the lead investigator, unraveling the plot means confronting the mystery within.


EXCERPT
Ivy League walked into my office as I cracked the spine on an old murder book. I identified her immediately, courtesy of my mythical detecting skills. Well, those and her cute little uptilted nose, which I recognized from news reports about a recent gruesome killing.

She said, “I want you to find out who’s behind the demise of Fyne Literature.”

“I thought the cops already closed the book on his demise.” I slapped shut the hardcover in my hand to punctuate my sentence.

She jumped.

I said, “Word is, your lover was done in by an explosion of serial killer potboilers.”

“He was – he is – the love of my life, not my lover.” She perched on the edge of the chair opposite my bargain-priced government surplus desk, and looked at the painting on the wall behind me. “You’re no angel.”

Apparently I wasn’t the only one possessed of mythical detecting skills. The picture depicts a kneeling, white-winged warrior, weary yet steadfast as another day rises – or sets, depending on your point of view – on a ravaged city. You only need to glance at him once to know he did not weep, to know he would not, even in the midst of destruction and defeat; to know he understands war, in the way true warriors do. He knows the creed as well, the one limned by the glowing-eyed cat at his side: Show no weakness.

A grateful and talented character created the picture after I pulled her from the shadowy world where illusions take corporeal form and people merely think they can see. I can tell you horror stories, like the one depicted in that drawing, with entire civilizations reduced to smoldering ruins.

I’ll spare you and myself as well. I meet my shadow every time I plunge into the murk of those battles, and the reality is too gruesome for me to revisit, at least in the daylight hours when I have a choice.

Ed the glowing-eyed cat would say the same, if you understood his language. I’m not the angel in the painting, though my features vaguely resemble his, but Ed’s real, as real as I am.
I said, “Fortunately you need a detective, not an angel.”

“Yes,” Ivy said. “And you meet both criteria.”

I’ve always been a sucker for a woman who can properly pluralize ancient Greek.

Amazon Buy Link eBook and Audio

Florida-based mother/daughter author duo HL Carpenter write sweet, clean fiction that is suitable for everyone in your family. The Carpenters write from their studios in Carpenter Country, a magical place that, like their stories, is unreal but not untrue. When they’re not writing, they enjoy exploring the Land of What-If and practicing the fine art of Curiosity. Visit their website to enjoy gift reads and excerpts and to find out what’s happening in Carpenter Country.

Stay connected on Pinterest, Linkedin, Google+, and their Amazon Author Page.

Monday, March 12, 2018

COVER REVEAL for NEW HISTORICAL ROMANCE

Coming April 4 from International Best Selling author Susan Lodge and Crooked Cat Books the brilliant historical romance Captain Rockford's Reckoning. Yet another best seller for the creative Ms. Lodge. See for yourself.

Esmie Elstone is thrown into panic when she hears of Captain Rockford's return. But she is determined that the days of him interfering with her life are over. Destroying her chances of a happy future on his last visit, had resulted in her being foisted on her Aunt for a third pointless season in London.

To alleviate the boredom of society life, Esmie helps run a discreet betting enterprise under the guise of a sewing club. But there are some things you just shouldn't wager on, and Esmie's integrity is soon put to a dangerous test.

Richard Rockford had known Esmie almost all her life. As neighbours, Admiral Elstone had depended on Richard to keep an eye on his daughter when he was away at sea. The responsibility he had always taken on willingly. But her cruel and thoughtless actions, from the day he had left four years ago, had shaken him. Now he was back and wanting answers.

But when Esmie tumbles into a treacherous conspiracy, can he really turn his back on her?

Now available for pre-order on Amazon.


Susan Lodge’s first publishing success was a story purchased by a major UK magazine followed by a drawer full of rejections. Finally a breakthrough gave her the confidence to seek and secure a publisher for her historical romance novels Only a Hero Will Do and Rebellious Cargo.

After working in several cities including London and Bristol, she and her husband moved down to the Hampshire coast to raise their family.

Learn more about Susan and her books on her website and blog. Stay connected on  Facebook, Twitter and her Amazon Author Page.


Wednesday, March 07, 2018

GOLDEN GOODNESS JUST MINUTES AWAY

by C.D. Hersh

This easy and delicious candy recipe is one from Grandma Hersh's secret cache. Fond memories abound whenever we indulge in her amazing fudge.

Photo by artur84
GOLDEN NUGGET FUDGE
⅔ cup evaporated milk
1⅔ cup granulated sugar
½ tsp. salt
1½ cups (16 medium) marshmallows diced or small ones
1 pkg. (6 oz.) butterscotch chips
1 tsp. vanilla
½ cup nuts

Mix milk, sugar, and salt in pan over low heat. Heat to boiling. Cook 5 minutes stirring constantly.

Remove from heat.

Add marshmallows, butterscotch chips, vanilla, and nuts. Stir 1 to 2 minutes until they are melted.

Pour into buttered pan. Cut when cool.

Here is a little from our book The Promised One for your reading pleasure.


In the wrong hands, the Turning Stone ring is a powerful weapon for evil. So, when homicide detective Alexi Jordan discovers her secret society mentor has been murdered and his magic ring stolen, she is forced to use her shape-shifting powers to catch the killer. By doing so, she risks the two most important things in her life—her badge and the man she loves.

Rhys Temple always knew his fiery cop partner and would-be-girlfriend, Alexi Jordan, had a few secrets. He considers that part of her charm. But when she changes into a man, he doesn’t find that as charming. He’ll keep her secret to keep her safe, but he’s not certain he can keep up a relationship—professional or personal.

Danny Shaw needs cash for the elaborate wedding his fiancée has planned, so he goes on a mugging spree. But when he kills a member of the secret society of Turning Stones, and steals a magic ring that gives him the power to shape shift, Shaw gets more than he bargained for.

EXCERPT
The woman stared at him, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. “Return the ring, or you’ll be sorry.”

With a short laugh he stood. “Big words for someone bleeding to death.” After dropping the ring into his pocket, he gathered the scattered contents of her purse, and started to leave.

“Wait.” The words sounded thick and slurred . . . two octaves deeper . . . with a Scottish lilt.

Shaw frowned and spun back toward her. The pounding in his chest increased. On the ground, where the woman had fallen, lay a man.

He wore the same slinky blue dress she had—the seams ripped, the dress top collapsed over hard chest muscles, instead of smoothed over soft, rounded curves. The hem skimmed across a pair of hairy, thick thighs. Muscled male thighs. Spiked heels hung at an odd angle, toes jutting through the shoe straps. The same shoes she’d been wearing.

The alley tipped. Shaw leaned against the dumpster to steady himself. He shook his head to clear the vision, then slowly moved his gaze over the body.

A pair of steel-blue eyes stared out of a chiseled face edged with a trim salt-and-pepper beard. Shaw whirled around scanning the alley.

Where was the woman? And who the hell was this guy?

Terrified, Shaw fled.

The dying man called out, “You’re cursed. Forever.”

Buy Links:

Putting words and stories on paper is second nature to co-authors C.D. Hersh. They’ve written separately since they were teenagers and discovered their unique, collaborative abilities in the mid-90s. As high school sweethearts and husband and wife, Catherine and Donald believe in true love and happily ever after.

The first four books of their paranormal romance series entitled The Turning Stone Chronicles are available on Amazon. They have a short Christmas story, Kissing Santa, in a Christmas anthology titled Sizzle in the Snow: Soul Mate Christmas Collection, with seven other authors. Also a novella, Can’t Stop The Music, with twelve other authors from various genres with a book coming out each month in 2017.

They look forward to many years of co-authoring and book sales, and a lifetime of happily-ever-after endings on the page and in real life.

Learn more about C.D. Hersh on their website and their Amazon Author Page.

Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads.

Monday, March 05, 2018

NEW RELEASE for CHRIS PAVESIC

Chris Pavesic, the Queen of Steampunk,just released the first book in a new mystery series. The twists and turns are pure Pavesic. Unquiet Dead is destined to be a best seller for this fine author. See for yourself.



When the Temples north of Chiaroscuro are burned and followers of the Sun Goddess are murdered, Catherine, a bard of the Ealdoth Temple, sets out to find those responsible and to bring them to justice. With only the help of a traveling group of minstrels and a retired fae investigator, Catherine must solve the mystery before more people are killed.

So saddle up your clockwork mount, buckle on your electro-dagger, and join Catherine as she finds herself pitted against members of her own Temple, rogue members of the Seelie Court, and a seemingly unstoppable army of undead.

In Chiaroscuro it’s important to keep the faith.



EXCERPT
Services were scheduled to commence in an hour, and Ernest needed to be ready. He struck a match and lit the first gaslight, watching the flame take hold and flare up. The light pushed back the shadows so parishioners were able to find their way to the pews without stumbling. He would extinguish the artificial lights right before the service so the effect of the sunlight illuminating the darkness hit with maximum impact as it flooded through the skylights.

The parishioners would marvel at how the Temple filled with the Goddess’s Holy Light just in time for the service. Ernest would marvel at the fact that none of them were smart enough to realize he flipped a switch on back of the altar to swing open mechanical shutters.

There was a religious stirring in Grand Marsh more powerful than anything Ernest had experienced in his ten years as a Sacerd. The services at dawn, noon, and sundown were packed. Few of the farmers went out to the fields. They worked in town on community projects or sat drinking at the tavern. Their wives remained in the town square, full of chatter, instead of staying on their farmsteads. Their thin voices filled the air. The youngest children were kept close while the teens clustered in protective packs far enough away to keep their discussions out of reach of their parents’ ears. But close enough to be in sight at all times. None of them wandered off.

Three times a day they filled the Temple, ready to hear his words. Faces tilted up to him. Man and woman, young and old. And none of his parishioners would confess why they were so filled with the Holy Spirit that they were neglecting their farms. They were afraid of speaking blasphemy. But he knew the reason, and it caused a lift in his heart that was not due to religious inspiration. They were scared, plain and simple, and it gave him hope.

Since being assigned to the far parish almost five years ago, a posting he saw as an end to the upward progress of his career in the Temple, he struggled daily to swallow his disappointment. It wouldn’t leave, and it was bitter. Bitter.

In this remote village, far from the bustle and industry of Chiaroscuro, the quality of his life, the texture of his life, changed. He longed for life in the city. The world seemed to have shifted into two zones. The pace of life for the city dwellers increased while people living in the countryside were being left behind.

Time’s arrow struck fastest through the densest populations. Sacerds assigned to any of the major cities made more connections and accumulated more power in a single week than he did in a year. Exerting influence was impossible when the spheres of power were spinning outside of his reach, moving too fast for him to see, let alone have an impact.

The wound to his pride stung the most. The elders had hurt his feelings. To be dismissed so easily, passed along so casually—it was like the swatting of an annoying insect. The Temple elders did not treat him as if he mattered, as if his family ties were consequential. True he was a third son, but of a noble line. And they assigned him to a rustic Temple to attend to common folk far below his station.

Very little was required of him here. Or, more precisely, very little of what he did here interested him. He burned to return to the central Temple and to be part of the intrigues and power shifts. This attracted him more than caring for the simple souls of farmers and shopkeepers. Power was why he joined the Temple, and what he was now denied.

But not for long. The thought clanged in his mind with undeniable rightness. Not righteousness. It was an important distinction. Would the Goddess sanction his actions? Probably not, but he was past caring about her approval. During all of the ceremonies, all of the prayer and introspection, he had never felt any divine presence. He had never witnessed any miracles, and doubted their existence.

But power, oh he had seen the existence of power. Political. Social. Religious. Whatever you called it really didn’t matter. Get enough people to follow you. Enough people to believe in what you were selling. This was the belief that could move the world.

There was only one woman in his life he needed to please now, and she held no divinity. Merci had offered him a way out of this rural purgatory, and he had accepted. Truth be told, he had grabbed at it like a castaway might grab at a line from a passing airship. If the price were the damnation of his soul, so be it.

He glanced out the window at the transport coming down the lane. A high quality clockwork carriage with the Temple’s Crest stamped on the doors rattled over the boards strewn across the irrigation ditch and stopped, parking in the speckled light cast by the ornament trees planted along the lane. The carriage blocked traffic, but the driver did not seem to care. Elder members of the clergy, Hlytere, and above, felt they had the right of way. Others had to go around.

A pale, dark-haired woman emerged and stood for a moment looking around. She pulled the hood of her dark cloak over her hair and walked through the yard toward the Temple. Ernest’s gaze followed her, trying to imagine who this stranger was.

Her footsteps sounded in the aisle and, when he turned from window, she was almost upon him. Her speed startled him. When he saw her face to face he realized she was younger than he had supposed. Too young to be a Hlytere, but her use of the carriage meant she was favored by the Temple elders. The seed of jealousy radiated through him. He felt it in his chest and the pit of his stomach. He struggled to keep the emotion off his face.

“Greetings.” He shook her hand with a firm grasp. Her hands were small and smooth and white. “Will you come in for a moment?” He led her to the small reception room off the main area that contained a round table and several wooden chairs. He lit a cheroot, offered her one, which she declined, and they sat down.

“Please forgive me for calling on you so close to mid-day Services, Sacerd Ernest.” She paused. “You are Sacerd Ernest, correct? It’s not like me to presume.”

“Of course. I’m glad you came. I watched you drive up, you know, and I wondered who you were. We don’t get many visitors from the Temple here.”

“I’m surprised you don’t recognize me, cousin. Of course, I didn’t recognize you. So perhaps it’s not so surprising.”

“I’m sorry. I …”

“I’m from the cadet line of our family tree. My father is the elder son of the younger son of our line.”

His brow creased in thought. “Grace?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile, reaching out to touch his hand. Her fingers rested there for a moment too long. Lingered. And then she leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs, which were slim and bare beneath her robe.

Sacerd Ernest regarded his guest, wondering that her physical presence should suddenly dawn upon him so. She was more beautiful than he had thought at first. Her skin was clear and lovely, and her eyes and mouth were made up carefully and well.

What’s her game? He licked at the perspiration that appeared upon his upper lip.

“I would like your help in a small matter. And of course I wanted to meet you.”

“You did?”

“Our sponsor has spoken of you with such affection.”

“Our superior?” He used the wrong word to see if she would correct him.
“Technically, I suppose, she may be yours. I’ve never thought much of the rules of hierarchy in the Temple.” She cocked her head, listening to noises from the other room. Some of his parishioners had started to file in for the service. “It’s such a mercy, isn’t it?’

Ah, code words.

She must think she’s being clever, although he had no idea who could possibly overhear their conversation. It was only just dawning on him why she must be here. In his town. In his Temple. But he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was get out of Grand Marsh. Get back to Chiaroscuro. It didn’t bother him that people, his parishioners, may die, or suffer a fate worse than death. He just wanted to get out.

It’s not my fault if I’m following orders.

But that was a poor excuse, wasn’t it? Guilt flared, hot and strong.

Do you want to stay in Grand Marsh forever? Ministering to the townsfolk? Do you?

No … but he didn’t want to hurt people. Those conflicting thoughts pulled at him. There was the question of right and wrong. What was right for him might go wrong for others. But that was the way it had to be.

Thus he banished the guilt. When something inside of him tried to protest again, tried to tell him to think before he did this, he smothered it.

“When?” He didn’t have any time for nonsense. The quicker it occurred, the quicker he resumed his rightful place.

“In two days. I have some items in my transport that need to be set up in the Temple, but kept out of view.” She smiled and spoke a little louder so that the earliest arrivals overheard her. “I wish I could stay to help with the Mass, but I am needed back in Chiaroscuro.” She lowered her voice. “Officially I never left the city.”

“Of course.” He guessed that she had no desire to partake in the service. “I will help you with whatever you need.” Whatever may come of it, he had gone too far to stop now.





Chris Pavesic is a fantasy author who lives in the Midwestern United States and loves Kona coffee, steampunk, fairy tales, and all types of speculative fiction. Between writing projects, Chris can most often be found reading, gaming, gardening, working on an endless list of DIY household projects, or hanging out with friends.

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