Release Day for “The Weight of a Wing”, by Ioana Visan

2015 The Weight of a Wing

I must admit, I was very intrigued when I saw the title of this book. Then when I saw the book cover, I was totally pulled in. And I hadn’t even learned what the story was about yet!

And when I did read the blurb, I was happy to find out that it fit its title and cover. Read on and see what I mean:


Alise has achieved the impossible. After her wings were chopped off, the fairy survived and now finds herself in the human world, once again hunted like prey by the sadistic Gorem.

Locating him with her help means that the two Guardians of Balance, Rafe and Vale, will not only be able to turn him in and make him pay for maiming her, but make him accountable for the deaths of other fairies as well.

Gorem has plans of his own for the rogue fairy. With the help of a wizard, Fabian, and an army of monsters by his side, Gorem will stop at nothing to recapture Alise.

With already so much on the line, Alise not only has to keep herself safe from harm, but will also have to protect her new human friend, Cassie, in the process.

Who will win the battle of good versus evil? Is capturing Gorem worth risking what remains of Alise’s life?

This is Book One in the series “The Stolen Wings”

Goodreads Link:

Buy Link: Amazon

Promotional Price: $0.99

Free via Kindle Unlimited


Sounds fantastic, doesn’t it? And who could balk at such a great price?

There’s a party goin’ on, and Ioana has invited each and every one of you. In her own words:

You’re all invited to attend the book release party for The Weight of a Wing on April 16. We’ll chat about books, magic, throw in some giveaways, and have a lot of fun.

Join a wingless fairy in her quest for justice!

AND, speaking of the author, here she is!

Ioana Visan

Award-winning writer Ioana Visan has always dreamed about reaching the stars, but since she can’t, she writes about it.

After fighting the apocalypse aftermath in “Human Instincts”, she played with shapeshifters in “Blue Moon Café Series: Where Shifters Meet for Drinks”, she dealt with vampires in “The Impaler Legacy” series, and then she designed prosthetics in “Broken People” before tackling longer works like a fantasy trilogy and a science fiction series.

 Aside from publishing short stories in various Romanian magazines and anthologies, she published a Romanian short story collection “Efectul de nautil” and the Romanian edition of “Human Instincts”.

She received the Encouragement Award from The European Science Fiction Society at Eurocon 2013.


Phew! One busy lady!

To see what else she is getting up to, visit these links:








And what’s that I hear? Why, it’s the


<a class=”rcptr” href=”; rel=”nofollow” data-raflid=”bf37c9103″ data-theme=”classic” data-template=”” id=”rcwidget_h6g77sey”>a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>

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Always a great way to end a blog post!

Which is what this is. The end.

Have a great day, and I will see you again some time.


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On my own in Klamath Falls

I had a grand experience this past week. For the first time in my life, I went on a traveling, overnight adventure all on my own. I still can’t believe I’d never done this before.

Although I love to travel with others, I was really looking forward to being on my own. I had been invited to a wedding in Klamath Falls, Oregon, and I was almost as eager for the event to occur as the bride!

I’ll just give you a little bit of info on the town, taken from Wikipedia, so you get an idea as to where this town is:

“Klamath Falls” is a city in and the county seat of Klamath County, Oregon, United States. The city was originally called Linkville when George Nurse founded the town in 1867. It was named after the Link River, on whose falls the city was sited. The name was changed to Klamath Falls in 1893. The population was 20,840 at the 2010 census. The city is situated on the south east shore of the Upper Klamath Lake and about 25 miles (40 km) north of the California-Oregon border.

The Klamath Falls area had been inhabited by Native Americans for at least 4,000 years before the first permanent settlers. The Klamath Basin became part of the Oregon Trail with the opening of the Applegate Trail.

I’ll let you look up further info at your leisure. I just wanted to share my experiences and some of the pictures I took–both this past week and during a trip down there earlier with my husband.

A day or so before I packed and drove south, I checked out the weather–and was dismayed at the weather forecast.


Oh, hooray.

I had wanted to see snow this year, and it refused to fall at home during the entire winter. Now I would be driving through it. Not my idea of fun–and the drive confirmed the un-funness.

I left at 10am on Tuesday, with the intention of getting on the road early; it is a five- or six-hour drive, so I wanted to get there with plenty of daylight to spare.

First, I had to go buy some tire chains. When I walked into the NAPA auto parts store and told the clerk what I wanted, he just gave me a slow, steady stare for a minute. Then he whipped his head around and looked out the windows, puzzled.

All I had to say was, “Klamath Falls”. He laughed and said, “Oh. I understand now.” Turns out he used to take the route south a couple of times a month. We chatted a bit (it’s what you do in a smallish town such as mine), then I got the chains I needed and headed off.

No real problem the first half of the journey. There was certainly snow in the higher passes, but not on the road, and the temperature never got below 33 degrees (32 is freezing, for those of a Celsius mentality.) I got to Sisters, Oregon thinking I had gotten lucky.

It’s pretty fascinating how the environment changes in this state. Where I live, just below Portland, moss is king. Buildings, car windows, tree trunks–nothing escapes the green fuzzy stuff. Going over the Cascade range, this changes to high desert, which is so much drier. The trees are just as tall, but shrubs and ferns are gone, replaced by scrub bushes. It’s also a lot colder in the winter/early spring months.

South of Sisters (which is a fascinating little town itself), the snows came in. I couldn’t help but think of how, the last time I went through here, I was pointing out the different mountains and volcanoes to my husband, who had never been through this area. This time, however, the Three Sisters, Three-Finger Jack, Broken Top, and all of the others were shrouded in dark, threatening clouds.

I could see ahead of me on the highway where the snow was starting to hit. From a distance, it looked like fog. But it certainly wasn’t anything that harmless.

No, I didn’t get into an accident. But it was really a nerve-wracking drive, especially during the last twenty miles into Klamath Falls. For the snow was starting to accumulate on the road, and I can count on one hand how many times I’ve driven in the snow…and have several fingers left over.

I got into KF and went directly over to the Safeway grocery store to pick up my food for the two days I would be there–I determined not to go out to dinner, to reduce expense. I also got a decent beer–of the largish variety. Then I got to the motel.

I had already walked KF on my previous visit, so I knew exactly where I was going. Once I checked in, I decided to take a short walk to get the kinks out of my legs. I was only a few steps away from Lake Ewana, so I headed that way and walked a short path. I had considered walking around the lake the next day, but decided against it when I saw how big the thing was (computer look-up).

I did get a couple of pictures around the lake:

KF5 KF23

There were a lot of birds–ducks, pigeons, seagulls–and a gaggle of geese that strutted around like the playground bullies.

The park had a veterans memorial and a big ol’ train engine, which was interesting but unapproachable.

The following day, Wednesday, was the day of the wedding, but it wasn’t until 5pm. So, instead of staying in my motel room working on editing or writing (which was my original intent, but I’d left my thumb drive at home…), I went on a rather lengthy walk.

I saw this historical marker, which sent me on a trip through the neighborhood above the old downtown area:


The last word, “cemetery”, caught my eye. So where else would a paranormal author with Goth leanings go on a cold, clear spring day?

I pulled out my phone and looked up “cemetery” on my phone’s map app. Another reason to love technology. It was close enough, so I decided to take on the journey.

Something I learned right away was that this neighborhood was not for the faint of knees. This particular street was in relatively better shape than the one I was on:


You can’t see the downward slope all that well, but it was there. Steps have been built in to the sidewalk in places.





As I topped a rise, I saw a sight that made me fall in love:

KF12I would be very happy to have this house. Especially if it was haunted…





It was quite the roundabout route to the cemetery, because I only knew the name of the street it was on. Thankfully, it wasn’t all that long, so I decided to walk to where it started and go from there.

Of course, my destination turned out to be almost to the OTHER end of the street…

KF22 KF21 KF20 KF19 KF17 KF14 KF7 KF6

I wandered around for about a half-hour. For awhile, I didn’t think there were any burials beyond the early 20th-century, but I finally found one as recent as 2013. Knowing full well that my own ancestral family members wouldn’t be interred here, I didn’t pay that much attention to last names. I hoped to pick up some photographic evidence of ghosts, but was disappointed in that regard. It was a very peaceful place though, with lovely views, so it was all worth it.

A very short, and I mean VERY short, walk brought me back into downtown. I have to share some of the pictures I took of some of the more interesting historical buildings along the main street.

This used to be a Ford car dealership:

Klamath11Can you see the Egyptian architectural details? I’d love to know the background for this particular building.







And no town of any largish size would be complete without a brewery. Good beer!


I managed to get to the Klamath County Museum, which is housed in a building that once was the Armory, and was built in the 1930s:


KF25And here we have the scene of the crime, a.k.a. where the wedding took place: the Baldwin Hotel Museum.

I didn’t ask the bride if I could post pictures, so you’ll just have to believe me that the Victorian-era wedding was absolutely gorgeous.





The reception was held at the small building next to this grand old theatre:


I got all dressed up for this, which is highly unusual for me:



The next day I was able to drive home on warm, dry roads in absolute clarity. I thoroughly enjoyed it, what with the improved weather and the audiobook series I was listening to. The only hitch was when my car started whining about low pressure in a tire. I took care of that at a casino about a half-hour north of KF, then I drove non-stop (except for a stop for the necessaries), to arrive home at 2:30pm yesterday.

It was a lot of fun, and a great experience for my first-ever solo trip. I may have to do it again some time…


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Groovy! Paranormal “Never Hurt Me” Hits the Market!


Some time ago, I did a blog on the cover reveal for this book, and I fell in love with it just on looks alone. Kudos to the graphics designers for such a lovely cover!

Now we get to look into the story itself:

5 Peace Rating

Everyone has a wish. Desiree’s just got real.

For forty-five years, eternally-eighteen-year-old Desiree has been in a sort of limbo, granting wishes for others while never receiving her own. Now it’s her turn, and she’s finally going to get what she asked for so long ago: a second chance at life.

Once back in the real world, Desiree meets Dara, a girl who must beg for money in order to buy food. With nothing to give her and powerless to grant a wish for her, Desiree begins to wonder if she would have been better off staying where she was.

There’s one other thing Desiree hadn’t bargained for. Not being a genie means not being with Kaf. And that’s a huge problem because falling in love with her chauvinistic, exasperating, gorgeous boss was the last thing Desiree expected.


It does sound intriguing, doesn’t it? Here are the links so you can go and get your own.

Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Book Depository | Kobo | Smashwords


Now it’s time to meet the author of this lovely offering, Ms. Shawn McGuire:

about the author



Shawn McGuire is the author of young adult novels that blend contemporary settings and issues with a touch of fantasy and magic. She started writing after seeing the first Star Wars movie (that’s episode IV) as a kid. She couldn’t wait for the next movie to come out so wrote her own episodes. Sadly, those notebooks are long lost, but her desire to write is as strong now as it was then

Her books deal with harder topics (dating violence, death of a sibling, divorce, substance abuse, runaways, etc.) because she believes it is important to talk about these things. Those kinds of topics can be hard to handle and a bit overwhelming, so she infuses a bit of humor in her work as well because she also believes that a sense of humor can help you get through just about anything.

Shawn lives in Colorado with her family where she loves to read, cook and bake, craft, decorate her house, and spend time hiking and camping in the spectacular Rocky Mountains.



Sounds like a wonderful person. I love her outlook.

For more info on Ms. McGuire, go to these sites:

Goodreads | Twitter | Facebook | Amazon | Website | Smashwords | Barnes and Noble 

other works


Everyone has a dark side. Mandy’s just moved in with her. 

The last time sixteen-year-old Mandy Matteo broke a rule, her sister died. Since that day she has done only what is expected of her, but life as a goody-goody has made Mandy so boring her friends have all but abandoned her. And she’s given up on ever getting Ethan, the boy she’s liked forever, to notice her. Desperate, Mandy makes a wish to simply be happy.

Enter Desiree, a hippie from Woodstock serving a fifty-year indenture as a Wish Mistress (aka a genie). Years of only granting and never receiving her own wish have left Desiree bitter. Arranging for Mandy to right her biggest wrong – the exact thing Desiree would wish for – only makes things worse.

Still, Desiree does her job and grants the wish and happiness arrives for Mandy in the form of Lexi, her childhood imaginary friend come to life. Magical wishes have conditions though: Once started, the wish cannot be altered or revoked. Also, once Mandy is truly content with her life again, Lexi must go back to where she came from. However, the longer Lexi is alive the more she loves being alive, and she’ll do whatever it takes to stay that way.

Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Smashwords


Seventeen-year-old Crissy Sheets was so sure Brad was the one, she believed him when he swore the first bruise was an accident. She believed him when he told her he loved her after the second. Now trapped in an abusive relationship with no idea of how to get out, she’s all but given up on ever having the life she dreams of. With little to lose, Crissy wishes for a better future.

With only five years to go in her fifty-year indenture, Desiree, a hippie Wish Mistress (aka a genie) arrives to grant Crissy’s wish. She isn’t supposed to get involved with her charges. Her job is to provide what’s needed for the wish to come true and move along. This time that means stepping aside as things get not only get worse for Crissy, they turn deadly. Standing by is what she’s supposed to do. But then, Desiree never has played by other people’s rules.

Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Smashwords

Oh–here’s something cool! Just the thing to end this blog:


a Rafflecopter giveaway

Event Hosted and Organized by:


Again, thanks for stopping by. Hope to see you again soon!




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“The White River Killer” – on the loose and wanted by readers everywhere!

white river 2

Be on the lookout for this book. It is exciting and dangerous, and will lure you in. Booksites everywhere are asking people to call in with any information they have, including how much they loved it. Reviews will be accepted on a round-the-clock basis. That is all.

Details are as follows, based on witnesses and such:

John Riley Hubbard is a young farmer and part-time reporter in a small southern town. After the body of an Arab college student is found near his home, Hubbard reluctantly agrees to cover the grisly story for the local paper. When he discovers there is a surprising link from this crime to his father’s unsolved murder, he becomes obsessed with uncovering the killer’s identity. Since he was a child, Hubbard has been haunted by nightmares and suspicions that his father’s killer may be the man closest to him – his wealthy uncle.

As his investigation progresses, he must face mounting threats from an unseen adversary and manage his growing attraction to Maria, a young Latino woman who might be part of the conspiracy.

The White River Killer is an exciting mixture of mystery, romance, and suspense.

>>>>>>>>>>>>BULLETIN–THIS JUST IN<<<<<<<<<<<

More information has been received since the last missive. We now have greater detail as to what this book is about:


The safest drivers on the road are those hauling a corpse to a discreet location while avoiding the notice of law enforcement.

Luis Espinoza slowed the blue pickup and used the pale glow of a streetlamp to check his newly acquired Rolex. He pulled back the ragged cuff of his faded blue winter coat; it was almost three a.m. The heavy storm was slowing their progress. Luis would have preferred to wait for clear skies, but he had no choice. The man said the body needed to disappear, and if Luis wanted this gig, well . . .

He pressed the accelerator and he and Pablo Sanchez continued to move through the flooded streets of the Latino barrio of Hayslip, Arkansas, a small farming community.

The battered truck, jacked yesterday afternoon, entered foamy water swirling in a narrow intersection just as a streak of lightning revealed Luis’s hands trembling on the steering wheel. Ashamed, his eyes darted sideways toward Pablo.

His young partner seemed oblivious to the risk they were taking. He stared, expressionless, at the rising water while clutching a folded sheet of paper in his left hand. With the other hand, he tapped a knife rhythmically on his knee like he was the drummer in an imaginary band.

Luis met Pablo six months ago on a night as desolate as this. The boy was curled up, whimpering on a gravel bed next to an empty freight car in Guatemala. Pablo had lost a fight with a burly railroad guard, his bloody arms still trying their best to block the blows from the watchman’s metal baton. Feeling an unexpected sympathy, Luis crept up behind the big man, zeroed in on a spot on his balding head, and slammed a heavy rock against the guard’s skull. Pablo was duly grateful, and Luis delayed his departure by a week so that his sister could nurse his new friend back to health.

Uncertain how Pablo would manage on the drive this evening, Luis had written up a step-by-step plan to help him keep his wits. He was trying his best to manage the barely sixteen-year-old. Their night work until now had been limited to minor break-ins and rolling drunks, nothing of this magnitude. Luis worried the boy would crack under tonight’s stress. In mocking irony, it was Luis, eleven years older than Pablo, who was overwhelmed. His chest throbbed as if it were being squeezed by a tight metal band.

A small fortune in cash was within their reach—if he could keep his wits.

As they neared the town center, the road cleared of standing rainwater. Main Street, coming up now, marked the most hazardous leg of their journey, a necessary evil due to high water that prevented a more circumspect route. They would sprint along this well-lit road for two hundred yards before they could return to the relative safety of a dark two-lane.

Luis glanced at the rear view mirror. The thick carpet roll was too long for a short-bed Dodge, and flopped over the tailgate. He tried to return his focus to the road, but not before he caught a glimpse of his dark eyes in the mirror. He knew he looked angry. Well, why shouldn’t he be angry? There was a time when his family would have been the one giving the orders, telling others to do the dirty work. Not now. No, he was the one saying ‘yes sir’. It wasn’t right. He wasn’t like Pablo. He had an education. He grew up with fine things. Hell yes, he was angry.

Luis slowed the vehicle, hesitating in the safety of the shadowy intersection, four blocks north of the town square. They remained there, studying the street warily.

Pablo’s nervous Spanish was barely audible over the rain pelting the roof. “Is the cop still there? Can you see his car? I can’t. He should be gone by now . . . Is he?”

“Hold on. I can’t see anything,” Luis said, squinting in an effort to see through the foggy windshield. The wipers squeaked noisily on each pass, battling the downpour.

Pablo leaned forward, his brow raised in fear as he pointed a switchblade in front of him. He used one of the few English words he knew, his voice cracking, before he returned to his native language. “Stop!” His knife was directed at the twenty-four-hour Git It N Go convenience store located on the corner, across the road from where the pickup idled. “He’s there. His patrol car. See?” He tapped the windshield with his blade.

Luis grabbed the .38 under his seat. “Put the knife down . . . Where?”

“The bastard parked behind the store tonight. Why? He never does that. It’s a trap!”

Luis prided himself on knowing the routines of Hayslip’s tiny police force. It allowed them to do their work in peace. “How could it be a trap? I don’t see his . . . Christ! How many times have I told you that you need glasses? That’s the girl’s car, not his, and it doesn’t look anything like a patrol car! Don’t lose it, man.”

Pablo pouted. He fell back in the seat and flicked his knife open and closed several times.

The interior of the cab had grown humid and Luis wiped sweat from his forehead with the palm of his hand. Returning his attention to the small store, he spotted the curvy figure of the young cashier through the plate glass window as she picked up a magazine from a rack in front and then returned to the rear of the building.

A new understanding made Luis panic, his breaths became rapid. No . . . no . . . His thinking about tonight was all wrong. It would be better to know where the cop was when they were in transit, rather than delay until late at night to miss him at the store.

Hayslip’s deputy dawdled each evening inside the Git It N Go to mess with a girl at the register. But with the deputy gone at this hour, he could be anywhere. It would have been much smarter to arrive when his attention was on the girl, not his duties. Now there was a chance they would run into him on Main Street.

He surveyed the length of the broad avenue. Nothing moved along the gloomy corridor except silver sheets of rainwater. Traffic signals, fried by the storm, blinked red warnings in all directions.

Luis needed time to think. Did the cop go back to the jail to sleep? He didn’t know what the redheaded fool did this late at night when dawn approached.

“Let’s take off,” Pablo said.

“I’ll say when we go. I’m—”

There was a flash of white light in the rear view mirror just before a vehicle plowed into the truck’s tailgate, Luis’s head snapped backwards and then the force of the crash slammed him against the steering wheel. For a painful moment, he was disoriented by the harsh jolt.

Regaining his wits, Luis shouted a war cry that was a confused mixture of profanity and terrified gibberish. He flung open his truck door and leapt out.

Pablo bounded out the passenger door after Luis, waving his arms. “Luis don’t . . .”

Luis shielded his eyes from the blinding headlights, too enraged to hear the warning. Harsh bile burned his throat. The stolen pickup, a body in the rug; there was too much to explain away. This singular opportunity for a return to the good life was ruined. Cursing the deputy to hell, he fired four rounds at the hazy outline of the patrol car. His fourth shot went wild and smashed the vehicle’s left headlight. A second later, the remaining lamp shorted out, issuing a soft pop of complaint as it died.

Luis wiped icy droplets from his face and realized that he had been fooled by a mirage. Like a nightmare, a gray Oldsmobile, with chrome fenders and a vinyl top materialized. No one was sitting inside the idling car, either dead or alive. After a moment of uncertainty, he took small steps forward, Pablo behind him.

Low thunder rolled overhead as the Olds driver—about Pablo’s age—rose somewhat unsteadily behind the dash.

Behind him, Luis heard Pablo whisper, “Un niño.” A kid.

The lighted dashboard tinted the boy’s features an eerie teal. Almost in slow motion, the youth slid behind the steering wheel, wide-eyed, as the men approached. His mouth opened partially, perhaps to cry out, maybe to plead.

Raising his pistol, Luis aimed at the center of the driver’s blue-green head. But his gun hand quivered, and his vision turned cloudy. The trigger resisted the pull of his finger.

With nothing to lose, the boy slapped the Olds’s gear shift into reverse. The rear tires spun loudly on the wet street and then gained traction.

Pablo pointed at the retreating vehicle. “Stop him. Do something.”

Pulling back from the two men standing in the front of the car, the vehicle made a wild retreat, barely staying between the ditches.

Luis lowered the gun as a porch light flicked on down the street. He ran for the truck. “We’ve got to get out of here.” He flung open the truck door and jumped in, grabbing the steering wheel.

Pablo’s arms flailed against the rain in wordless fury, but he sprinted after Luis and leapt into a vehicle already pulling away.

As they took off, Luis looked back and saw the Olds careen into a parking lot and crash backward into an automatic car wash. It then pulled forward, the metal siding on the building crashed to the ground, and the vehicle raced away in the opposite direction.

Luis accelerated toward highway 281.

After they had gone almost a mile, Luis berated himself in Spanish for panicking with a mournful wail of frustration. “Goddamn! I thought it was the cop. Why . . . did . . . I . . .”

Staring at the muddy floor mat underneath his feet, Pablo was silent.

Luis drove on, squinting into the rain until he made out an unmarked trail connecting to the highway. He turned to Pablo, who still clutched the plan in his hand. “Where are we? What number? Read it.”

Pablo opened the sheet of paper, pulled a small flashlight from his pocket, and recited aloud. “Nine. Exit the highway at the fourth dirt road. Unmarked. Count each road.”

“Was that the first or second road?” Luis asked. His mind was racing so fast everything was jumbled.

Pablo looked up, shrugged his shoulders and turned off the light. “I don’t know.”

“You’re supposed to be counting. Count.”

“Yeah . . . I think that was the first.” Pablo put the sheet of notebook paper on the seat beside them and pointed to the right. “That’s the second.”

They had passed the crude turnoff before he finished the sentence.

“Second,” Luis said. “Okay, two more.” Luis shoved the gun back under the seat.

They noted a third trail that looked so vague it appeared to be more a memory of a cow path than a route.

“Okay . . . It’s coming up at the top of this hill,” Pablo said.

Luis turned onto a narrow dirt path that first cleaved a line of pine trees, and then divided an open meadow into two sections. Farther away from the highway, the terrain on either side of the road transformed into impassably thick undergrowth dotted with scrub trees.

Luis leaned to his left to fully view the side mirror. No headlights pursued them in the night. They had done it. The ache in his chest eased.

As they splashed through water hiding potholes in the road, Pablo fidgeted in his seat and eyed the dark cottages on their route. The primitive structures were cloaked in shadows by brambles and pine foliage. “Are you sure they’re all empty?” Pablo said. “How can there be so many houses and no one living in them?”

Luis pointed to a shack on the right. “No electricity. No running water. Rotten floor boards. They call this place Shanty Town. They’re old sharecropper shacks—nothing here but an abandoned ghost town. I’ve been here a few times before. It’s a good place to hide things.”

“Hide things? What have you put out here?”

Luis ignored the question. Veering off the meager road, he headed for the drop-off spot. The truck struggled to make it up the muddy rise, slippery with rain. He parked next to a drainage canal, barely visible in the overcast night. Luis turned off the headlights, plunging them into darkness. They sat for a full minute to let their eyes adjust.

“When do we leave? Pablo asked. “Tomorrow? That dude might have recognized us or we could run into him again. We can’t stay here.”

“We’ll handle him if we run into him again.”


“No . . . I’ve been thinking,” Luis said. His voice was a whisper. “There’s more money to be made from this . . .” Luis’s head tilted to the rear to indicate the unmoving passenger in the truck bed. “This is the start of something very bad. A pillar of the community won’t want to deal with the details. He has too much to lose.”

“Pillar . . . of the . . .what?”

Luis shook his head. “Never mind. I just think we can make more money before we leave . . . I’ve got uh, some things I need to take care of.”

After an uneasy moment of quiet, Pablo asked, “What are you going to do with your share of the money?”

Luis considered the question before deciding to answer it. “I haven’t told you this, but my sister just arrived. I’m going to help Maria get settled. I promised I’d take care of her.”

“Maria’s here? In Hayslip? ” Pablo then separated Maria’s name into three lovely parts, wrapping each syllable in a verbal caress, “Ma—ri—a.”

Luis’s eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed together into a scowl. Maria turned men into fools. He glowered at Pablo.

Smiling apologetically, Pablo turned his attention to the particulars of the miserable weather outside the door window. He edged closer to the glass as his hand swept back and forth, wiping away condensation. “Shit . . . Some guy is watching us. He’s standing by that tree. Look!”

The tightness in Luis’s chest returned, squeezing the air from his lungs. Struggling to breathe, he slid closer to Pablo’s window to see through the grey mist. After several tense seconds, he returned to his former position. “It’s only a shadow. Yes, it looks like a man, but it’s not. You need glasses.”

“But I saw him move. He walked—”


Pablo folded his arms around his chest and his bottom lip jutted out.

After their breath had fogged the windshield completely, Luis said, “Okay, let’s go.”

  1. Use side rails to get into truck bed. Don’t leave footprints on wet ground.

Stepping onto slick side rails, they climbed into the cargo area. The men stood on either side of the rug, staring down at it expectantly as if it might suggest how best to move it.

“Did he tell you who’s in the rug?” Pablo asked. “Do you know? What did he do wrong?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Luis said. “Let’s lift it.”

Crouching down, they tried to lift the carpet, but discovered it was too heavy to pick up. The long downpour had soaked it for several hours after they took it from the mansion to hide it until nightfall in the woods. Now, filled with both water and a body, the dead weight stuck to the truck bed as if glued. After minutes of futile strain, both of them were breathing heavily. They sat across from each other on the sides of the truck bed to catch their breath.

“The goddamn thing won’t budge,” Pablo said. He straightened and put a hand on his back.


Further information on this suspect may be found at the following address:

We now return you to your regularly-scheduled day.

white river

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Release Day for “Undeniably Chosen”, by Shelly Crane


UntitledUndeniablyChosen - RDB Banner

Hi everybody! And we’re…live!

(Is this thing on…?)

Today I am bringing you a freshly-pressed new book, a nice offering from the desk of Shelly Crane, who is a prolific writer–as you will see further on.

So, without further ado (since I know you’d rather find out about the book than listen to my incessant babble), let us commence.


Ava has watched her parents, Caleb and Maggie, live the perfect fairy tale, the perfect love story, played out in front of her eyes her entire life. Her family is love, life, and happiness. The Jacobsons are everything a family should be and Ava is loved and well taken care of. But the one thing that’s missing from her life is the one thing she’s waited for every day, the one thing her kind knows will make them complete, the one thing they thought was gone and lost forever.

Her significant.

Seth has lived with the Watsons his entire life. They’re the only family he knows, but he knows that there are things they keep from him. He knows that they lie and they do unspeakable evil, things from when he was a child that he can barely remember that cling to the edges of his memory. He barely remembers his real mother and all he knows is what he’s told. He doesn’t know what to trust. He wants to believe that the Watsons love and care for him, have his best interest at heart, but isn’t so sure of that anymore when he finally—after a lifetime of waiting for her—meets his soulmate, and the Watsons’ first act is to try to take her away from him.

The Virtuoso worlds collide, hearts are exposed, humans are endangered, and the lives of Seth and Ava are changed forever. They’ll have to love without judgment or reservation, they’ll have to be wise and accepting beyond their years, they’ll have to forgive for things before they’ve even happened, they’ll have to trust without seeing, have faith without knowing, and they’ll have to light their own way in the dark when everyone else is blind to show them the way. And more than anything else…

… they’ll fight like hell to keep each other.

Undeinably Chosenheart8Amazon:






Oh, now THAT’S a love story I could really get into. Nothing like a paranormal twist to a relationship. Makes it all so much better–but that’s because I’m a paranormal kinda gal.

Ooops, I’m veering. Sorry. Let’s keep going–on to the:


When I entered the kitchen where the breakfast nook was, everyone stopped eating and talking, which made me feel so uncomfortable until Seth stood up so fast that his chair almost tipped over behind him.

He let his breath out in a slow, low noise before… “Wow.”

Mom chuckled and leaned back with a smile, clapping twice. “And that, ladies and gentleman, is how it’s done.”

My neck was so pink I could feel it, and Seth—realizing he’d just practically fallen at my feet in front of everyone—smiled that smile that tore through me like tissue paper and then turned it on my mother. She sat up straighter and looked at me with wide eyes.

‘I know’, I mouthed as I moved toward him.

“Eat, Ave,” Dad said, knowing what I was doing.

“I’m going to be late. And it’s the last day of school before winter break.”

“Gee, I wonder why you’re late—” Rodney began. I punched his arm.

“I’ll just take this.” I grabbed a biscuit, stuck a piece of sausage in it, and wrapped it in a napkin. “I’ll eat it,” I promised.

“I’ll make sure she eats,” Seth told them. Mom came and hugged him, telling him something in his ear and he nodded. “Thanks, Mrs. Jacobson. I will. I promise.”

Dad patted his shoulder and told him to make sure to stop by anytime, no invitation needed. Dad went to the counter and started making me a coffee in a to-go cup. I knew he was doing it, because I saw him pull the Hazelnut creamer from the fridge. But I saw him pull out a second to-go cup…and he made it black. How did he already know that Seth took his coffee black?!

“What is going on here?” I muttered under my breath.

Seth took both of the cups from my dad and guided me with an arm around my back. “Thanks for the coffee and breakfast. Bye, guys.”

“Bye, Seth!” Mom called cheerily.

I looked at the snow and the porch as we came outside to make sure that everything was the same, that I hadn’t entered an episode of a TV show of some alternate reality or something.

I looked at Seth. “If you tell me your name is The Doctor, I’m outta here.”

He laughed loudly. “And now you’re a “Doctor Who” fan? Freaking adorable,” he mumbled under his breath. “Your parents are awesome, Ava.” He was so sincere.

“I was worried I was going to have to save you.”

“No need.” He used his elbow to swipe the snow off of a spot and then set the coffees on his hood. The truck was already cranked so he must have the kind where you do it from the key fob because there were no footprints in the snow. He opened the door, helped me in, and then got the coffees, handing mine to me. “They were awesome about not making me feel weird. Even Rodney wasn’t too bad.”

He laughed before shutting my door.

My dress wasn’t too short, but I did notice how it rose up mid-thigh when I sat down. But the leggings kept the ensemble decent. And warm.

The truck was so warm, but I still slid over as soon as he shut my door. When he got in and saw how close I was, his grin was adorable. He got in and turned the heat on even more, looking at my legs and shutting his eyes for a few seconds too long. “You’re not too cold with those on?”

“Leggings?” I laughed.

“Is that what they’re called?” he half-growled as he backed out and got on the road. “They should be called evil.”

“They’re just like pants, just thinner. Jeans, just not made of quite the same thing. Jeggings.”

He laughed and shook his head. “As long as you’re warm, sweetheart, call ‘em whatever you want.” He looked at my legs again and then away with a little groan. “I’ll just call them evil because I can see every inch of your legs in those things.”

My heart practically did the Tennessee Waltz behind my ribs. “And that’s evil?” I squeaked.

“Evil,” he reiterated and smiled.


Wow…that is an excerpt brimming full with intriguing possibilities–and questions! Makes me want to abandon this post, go to one of the buy sites, and pick this up. But then I’d leave you-all hanging…

Okay, okay, I’ll finish….

Let’s learn more about our author of the day:



Shelly is a NEW YORK TIMES & USA TODAY bestselling author from a small town in Georgia and loves everything about the south. She is wife to a fantastical husband and stay-at-home mom to two boisterous and mischievous boys who keep her on her toes. She hoards paperbacks, devours sweet tea, searches year-round for candy corn, and loves to spend time with her family and friends, go out to eat at new restaurants, site-see in the new areas they travel to, listen to music, and, of course, loves to read, but doesn’t have much time to these days with all the characters filling her head begging to come out. She is author to over twenty books and counting!

Her own books happen by accident and she revels in the writing and imagination process. She doesn’t go anywhere without her notepad for fear of an idea creeping up and not being able to write it down immediately, even in the middle of the night, where her best ideas are born.









Amazon Page

B&N Page

Kobo Page

iBookstore Page

Smashwords Page

Goodreads Page

Shelfari Page


Twenty books! Impressive! I have a short list of some of her books right here:












































I hope you’ve enjoyed our offering today. This information was brought to you by the lovely folks at RedCoat PR. Please come back and visit again!


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“The Druid and the Flower” – a story of survival


The Druid, Conor, is a wanderer. A private man, he prefer to be alone,  surrounded by nature.

Maeve, the Flower, is a hard-working, gentle soul who loves to nurture and encourage.

Both born after “The Collapse” and its subsequent domino effect, they grow up as best they can in the new era. Conor’s path takes him into the dark world of the scavengers, one in which only the strongest and most ruthless survive. Maeve, on the other hand, grows up in a community that foresaw the end of the technological era years before, and had prepared.

When their destinies cross,  they become a force to be reckoned with.

After the community is devastated by a double loss, it is up to Maeve and Conor to hunt down the solutions they need to repair and move on. Hardships abound as the two of them go separate ways in order to find that which the community must have to survive. Through scavenger terrain, other hidden communities, and the walled city where evil is king, they soldier on for the sake of those they love.

Unbeknownst to them, however, they have more problems than just the ones they encounter on their journey.

Written by Russell Loyola Sullivan, this was a book that was very hard to put down. He tells a dystopian tale of a very different flavor than a lot of books of this genre. Throughout its pages, there is an echo of hope and love, one of faithfulness and the value of community. I was touched by the way everyone backed each other up and really felt for each other. The city was well-depicted as truly emotionally dark, which is ironic, considering it was the only place where electricity worked.

Now, the ending–that was not expected. But I’ll let the reader find that out.

It was very easy to step into this world.  Mr. Sullivan uses everyday things here, just as his characters must. A very clever story line, and a very impressive book. I highly recommend it.

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Tillie has a tale to tell–or, rather, George does



George the Basset Hound is, in his own words, “an amazing familiar who is in a perfect hound body…a sleek, smart, and gifted scenting machine.”

He has to be in this book. The family’s new puppygirl, Tillie, has attracted a very strange companion–a ghost. The specter seems harmless enough, but just to make sure, George’s packmate (otherwise knows as Karly) enlists her Auntie Heather to help find out why this ghosty-girl has attached herself to them.

Auntie Heather, a greenwitch, agrees to help Kayla (who is a witch in training) seek out the reason behind why the ghost has not moved on.

And, of course, George’s abilities are crucial to tracking down that reason. They couldn’t do it without him.

Just ask him…


This was such an entertaining book! Told from the viewpoint of the Bassett Hound, witch’s familiar, and all-around perfect dog (again, just ask him), it is full of life from the viewpoint of a canine. Everything has a smelltaste, and whatever passes in front of his nose is fair game for sniffing and/or eating. And speaking of passing…what comes from his other end is something in which he also has great pride.

I have to love this dog. He is so full of himself. The way he sees his actions and how he perceives others’ view of him is so like – sorry – people. He loves his “peeps”, but swears that they never feed him. A great nose for sleuthing, but a terrible memory…

And an attention span that is as short as his legs.


As to the story–it is an absolute page-turner. I loved it!





Tillie’s tail is spinning in circles. She’s staring at a filmy thing sitting

on the steps of an old, rough-brick building. I know it’s really a large Peeps’

den, but since it’s bad to be in the dog house, I assume it’s bad to be in a house.

Why don’t they just call it a den if houses are so bad? From the smelltaste of

cooking, Peeps, dust, skin, and the other stuff Peeps like, there are many small

dens inside. Tillie “wrrrrrtttles” again and adds a soft “wuff.” Her front goes

down into a play bow. The thing she’s trying to get to play is shimmery and

clear, with thick and thin spots swimming on the surface.

“Snoof. Snuffle” I lick my lips. There’s a disturbing smelltaste of


Oh mousefleas.

It’s a ghosty.


Piqued your interest? I hope so! George wouldn’t have it any other way.

Here is the necessary links to pre-order your own copy:

Now for the—


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