Thursday, June 15, 2017

Heather B. Moore, H.B. Moore, and Jane Redd

Writing under Jane Redd, Heather B. Moore is the USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of more than a dozen historical novels set in ancient Arabia and Mesoamerica. She attended the Cairo American College in Egypt and the Anglican International School in Jerusalem and received her Bachelor of Science degree from Brigham Young University. She writes historical thrillers under the pen name H.B. Moore, and romance and women’s fiction under the name Heather B. Moore. It can be confusing, so her kids just call her Mom.

Join H.B. Moore’s newsletter list for updates at www.hbmoore.com/contact.

Visit JANE REDD BOOKS on Facebook for series updates.

 Only $0.99

Heather, H.B./ Jane Redd is a contributing author to the Shattered Worlds box set.
 23 YA novels for only $0.99

Thursday, June 8, 2017

Melee--Coming Soon





Tomorrow or the next day, I'll finish Melee, the third book in my Menagerie series. Menagerie wasn't supposed to be a series. It was one book--the idea a gift from my sister's students. I had a hard time writing the ending because I knew a character I love had to die. But I wasn't at peace with it. I wrestled with it. In the end, I came up with an ending that surprised me. I hope it will surprise others, as well.

Don't look for Melee too soon. I haven't even booked my editor yet. If you haven't started the Menagerie series, you can buy Menagerie for only 0.99 cents. GET YOURS HERE

 And to whet your appetite for Melee, here are the chapter headings:

It is during the wee hours when our most immense dreams come to us.

Jean Arp

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
Langston Hughes

‘To die, to sleep – to sleep – perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause.’
William Shakespeare

Thoughts being things, they may be planted like seeds in the mind of the child and completely dominate his mental content. Given the favorable soil of the will to believe, whether the seed-thoughts be sound or unsound, whether they be of pure superstition or of realizable truth, they take root and flourish, and make the man what he is mentally.”
― Walter Evans-Wentz

Supernatural is a dangerous and difficult word in any of its senses, looser or stricter. But to fairies it can hardly be applied unless super is taken merely as a superlative prefix. For it is man who is, in contrast to fairies, supernatural (and often of diminutive stature); whereas they are natural, far more natural than he. Such is their doom.
J.R.R. Tolkien


Language is the link of human relationships, and before they are anything else, fairy stories are the original family romances.

If fairies actually exist as invisible beings or intelligences, and our investigations lead us to the tentative hypothesis that they do, they are natural and not supernatural, for nothing which exists can be supernatural.
Walter Evans-Wentz

Those elements which we meet in all the tales are like the fragments of a shattered stone, scattered on the ground amid the flowers and grass: only the most piercing eye can discover them. Their meaning has long been lost, but it can still be felt, and that is what gives the tale its value.
Wilhelm Grimm

Fairyland exists as a supernormal state of consciousness into which me and women may enter temporarily in dreams, trances, or in various ecstatic conditions; or for an indefinite period at death.
Walter Evans-Wentz

The souls or spirits of the dead are identical with the psychic activity of the living; they merely continue it…the concentration and tension of psychic forces have something about them that always looks like magic.
Carl Jung

So long as the evil spirit is caught in the upper world, the princess cannot get down to earth either, and the hero remains lost in paradise.
Carl Jung

The magic wand is endowed with the gift of transforming the universe in a landscape populated by desired things. In fact, the real magic wand is the child’s mind.
Ortega y Gasset

In the Victorian fairy tale, the female’s role is merely passive. She is to sit and wait upon her tuffet, languish in a tower with nothing more taxing to do than grow her hair, or spin hay into gold—ever waiting upon her hero who will deliver her to her happily ever after.

The young man is charged with the duty of discerning the inner beauty of the princess hiding beneath rags and shrouded in soot. His task must be to break through the mystical forest or scale the tower in name of a true love he has never met but can only imagine.

To the north and south in the golden glow of a September twilight we saw the long line of the Outer Hebrides like the rocky backbone of some submerged continent. The scenes and colours on the land and ocean and in the sky seemed more like some magic vision, reflected from Faerie by the 'good people' for our delight, than a thing of our own world.

 Never was air clearer or sea calmer, nor could there be air sweeter than that in the mystic mountain-stillness holding the perfume of millions of tiny blossoms of purple and white heather; and as the last honey-bees were leaving the beautiful blossoms their humming came to our ears like low, strange music from Fairyland.”
― W.Y. Evans-Wentz

Myth and fairy-story must, as all art, reflect and contain in solution elements of moral and religious truth (or error), but not explicit, not in the known form of the primary ‘real’ world
J.R.R. Tolkien

A safe fairyland is untrue to all worlds.

J.R.R. Tolkien

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

YA Scavenger Hunt! #84



I'm partnering WITH a host of other YA authors for this amazing scavenger hunt! This is a chance to meet some new authors, grab a bunch of free books, and sign up to win a whole bunch of epic prizes! In addition to the $500 grand prize, each of the authors will be offering free books and other prizes.

 

 OPEN JUNE 1ST ~ JUNE 7TH

Also, my book The Highwayman Incident is free for the month of June.


THE HIGHWAYMAN INCIDENT
By Kristy Tate
A TIME-TRAVEL ROMANCE
Celia Quinn's business lies in ruins at the hands of Jason West, the latest in a long line of scoundrels. As she seeks to restore her family's livelihood, Celia stumbles upon lore about the local Witching Well, whose water is said to cause hysteria and psychosis. When a mysterious stranger slips Celia water from the well into her drink, she’s transported to Regency England. Her timeless adventure spans miles and centuries from modern-day New England to Merlin's Cave in Cornwall, England. Only Jason West can save her.
But Celia and Jason must tread carefully, as what happens in the past can reverberate through the ages. Their lives, hearts and futures are caught in time’s slippery hands.
Copyright 2014, Kristine Tate




CHAPTER ONE

At any wedding, protocol demands that all attention should be focused on the bride, even if the bride happens to be your sister, and even if your sister designed a horrid dress. But Celia defied conventions and refused to look at Mia. Celia knew her funk bordered on lunacy, but she couldn’t shake it. Not even for her sister’s wedding.
The lone man sharing her table looked familiar, although she couldn’t say why. Like someone she knew from a long time ago—but a faded out version. Gray at his temples, thick head of hair, wrinkles around his eyes—handsome for his age—and yet, something tingled in the back of her mind, trying to tell her something.
Celia sat back with a humph and crossed her arms over her chest. The putrid pink dress had a bunchy bodice, giving her a va va voom that, when she first saw it, made her complain first to Mia and then to her grandmother.
“It’s her wedding,” Grandma Claudette had said. “If she wants you to dress like a cat, you better get used to whiskers.”
And in the interest of peace in the family and not wanting to upset her mom, Celia bit her lip about the dress and vowed that when it was her turn to marry, she would do it on the courthouse steps.
And Mia would have to wear a clown suit.
Complete with a red nose.
She caught the man looking at her. His glance slid away. Celia considered leaving, but where would she go? Join her friends on the dance floor? No, her shoes pinched her toes. The dessert table for more cake? No, her stomach was already churning. A drink from the bar? No, she needed to stay sober. She slumped back in her chair, wishing the stranger would leave or her friends would return.
As if he read her mind, the man pushed away from the table and left.
Perfect. Now she was alone. And this should have made her happy, because she wanted him to leave, but it didn’t. She sighed and used her fork to poke holes in the frosting roses on her slice of cake. The blush pink roses matched her dress, which matched her shoes, which matched the ribbon on the bridesmaid bouquets. Celia smashed the cake and watched the frosting ooze between the fork tines.
Beside her, someone chuckled. Looking up, she saw the man had returned. He carried a goblet and a slice of cake.
“I asked for a piece without icing,” he said as he sat in the chair beside her. He slid the cake toward her. “For you.”
She thought about refusing it, but instead said, “Thank you.”
Without saying a word, he placed the wine flute in front of her. “It’s just water,” he told her.
“Thanks. Too much—”
“Too much sugar makes your teeth hurt.” He finished her sentence with a smile that sent another warning jolt down Celia’s spine.
“How did you know I was going to say that?”
He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “Just a guess. I could tell that you don’t like frosting by the way you were mutilating that cake.” He offered his hand. “My name is Jason.”
“Celia Quinn.” She put her hand in his, and a zing started in her fingers and spread to her center. She left her hand in his longer than necessary, before pulling away. She couldn’t be attracted to this man. He was older than her dad.
“I know a Jason.” She studied him for a moment before her gaze slid to the other Jason across the room. Dark hair, tall, lean—why were the hot guys the most lethal?
“And you dislike him.”
She met the older Jason’s warm gaze and sniffed. “I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to say something for it to be true.” He settled back in his chair. “Just like you didn’t say anything, but I can tell you don’t like your dress.”
Celia blew out a sigh.
“You probably think it’s a poor advertisement for your grandmother’s shop.”
Celia gave a defeated shrug. “It doesn’t matter. The store’s dying anyway.”
“Why do you say that?”
Celia shot the Jason across the room a glance. She hoped her look told him all the things she wished she could say to his face. He lounged against the wall between the wedding arch and an enormous swan ice sculpture. The black suit accentuated his blue eyes and dark hair. Even the hideous pink tie looked good on him. He caught her gaze and lifted his glass, acknowledging her.
She wished she had something other than her bouquet and a dirty look to throw at him.
“Just because you’re losing the lease doesn’t mean you’re losing the business, you know.”
Celia swiveled her attention back to Jason her tablemate and put puzzle pieces together. “Are you related to Jason West?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“You…look like him.”
The older Jason smiled. “I’m not his dad or uncle…”
He was probably too young to be his grandfather, and he couldn’t be his brother. “What do you know about my grandmother’s shop?”
“Delia’s Dressy Occasion? It’s a great shop.”
“It was a great shop.”
“But this dress…” He nodded at the sateen fabric bunched around her like a deflated balloon. “Pepto-Bismol Pink.”
“Mia calls it pearl pink.”
“And you call it putrid.”
She stared at him.
“Maybe not out-loud, but I bet it’s what you think.”
“How would you know that?”
He propped his elbows on the table. “Tell me, what are your plans for the store?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, since you lost your lease—”
“I didn’t lose the lease.” Her attention shifted back to the younger Jason. “Someone persuaded my grandmother it was time to leave.” She slumped back in her chair. “We were doing fine.”
“Maybe now you can do better.”
Celia picked up her fork and stabbed at the cake. She thought about joining her friends on the dance floor. Becca and Lacey had both kicked off their shoes. They bounced beneath the sparkly lights. Celia wanted to be happy, too, but she felt like she carried the weight of her grandmother’s store on her shoulders.
“You’re afraid that losing the store is like losing your mom.” The older Jason leaned close. “She’ll be fine.”
“How can you know that? Do you know my mom?”
He nodded.
“You’re a friend of my mom’s?” Celia blinked back a sudden tear.
Jason touched her hand, just briefly, and the tingle returned. “The cancer won’t last. She’ll beat it. She’s strong. Like you.”
“You don’t know me,” Celia said. “You might know my mom, but you don’t know me, and there’s no way you can know my mom is going to be okay.” She stood to leave. Her toes screamed in protest, but she pushed to her feet, ignoring the pain.
Unless. She turned back. “Are you a doctor?”
Jason looked down at the goblet. He picked it up and swirled the water. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m good at that…at offending people.”
The band began a slow song and couples formed. Lacey and Becca both found partners. Mia and Brad danced in the center, directly beneath the disco ball. Lights twinkled across the room. It would have been a perfect day, except for the putrid pink dress, and Jason West.
“Do you know my sister?” Celia considered him. She was sure they hadn’t met.
He nodded. “And the groom. He’s an…old family friend.”
“Are you from Stonington?”
“Not originally, although I lived here for many years.”
She waited for him to elaborate.
“I’m from Darien.”
 “Oh. Is that how you know Jason West? He’s from there, too.”
“He’s a good guy, just doing his job.”
Celia couldn’t help it. She made a face.
“I know you don’t think so now, but you should forgive him.”
Celia held up her hand. “I don’t know who you are—”
Squealing cut her off. Becca and Lacey both ran to her side.
“Come on, Cee,” Becca said, taking her hand. “Mia’s going to throw the bouquet!”
Celia let her friends pull her away from the table and lead her across the room. Mia stood on the wide steps, several feet above the clustered bridesmaids and single women in the crowd. Celia’s mom sat in a chair at a table with Claudette, Celia’s grandmother. Both looked tired but happy. Celia edged toward the back, close enough to be a part, but too far to be in danger of actually catching anything.
Mia gave her a wicked smile, turned her back, and flung the bouquet straight at Celia. Flinging up her arms, Celia protected her face from the flying flowers.
People around her cheered, and Celia opened her eyes.
Becca, aloft in Jason West’s arms, clutched the bouquet. Becca wiggled as Jason set her down and turned to face him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Becca kissed him full on the lips. She held the bouquet in her hand, and it poked above Jason’s head, looking like a large, floral hat.
“I owe you!” Becca said, pushing away from Jason.
He didn’t respond to Becca but met Celia’s gaze.
She felt shaken by him, although she couldn’t say why. She felt as if his look was trying to tell her something. Something he didn’t know how to say.
He’s a good guy. Just doing his job, the older Jason’s words floated back to her.
Becca disentangled herself from Jason and smiled into her bouquet. “I love weddings,” she said to no one in particular. “They’re such a happy beginning.”
Celia’s gaze wandered back to her mom and grandmother. A beginning always comes after an ending, she thought. Celia gave Becca a tight-lipped smile, ignored Jason, and headed back to her table. The older Jason had disappeared, and Celia gratefully sank into her chair. Swirling the wine flute, she watched the water form into a small tidal wave before she took a drink.
And the world turned dark.

  

CHAPTER TWO

Her body hummed with energy. She found the quiet dark relaxing and rhythmic motion hypnotic and soothing. Crickets chirped and a breeze stirred the trees. Somewhere, an owl called out. The clip-clop of the horses…
Wait.
Horses?
Celia’s eyes popped open. She sat in a carriage. An obese woman draped in satin and furs sat directly in front of her, snoring, her mouth ajar.
Celia’s own mouth dropped open. She sat up and took note. Same putrid pink dress. Same pinchy shoes. But the wedding, Mia, her mom and grandmother? All gone. Replaced by a grotesque snoring thing wearing a satin tent.
She ran her hands first over the velvet seat cushion, then the burnished wood walls, and finally the black, smooth drapes. It all felt real.
But she must be drunk. Or hallucinating. Had she had too much champagne? No. That drink! That Jason person! He must have put something in her water! But it had looked and tasted like water. Celia ran her tongue over her teeth, trying to find an aftertaste, or a hint of something dangerous.
She drew back the curtain and peered into the dark. A brilliant, star-studded sky gazed down on her. No street lights. No lights at all, except for the one bobbing on the front of the carriage. Leaning forward, she craned to see the driver, but saw nothing but a horse’s butt and its swishing tail. As if the animal knew she was watching and he didn’t appreciate her stare, he lifted his tail.
Celia sat back, closed her eyes, and let the cadence sway of the carriage lull her back to sleep. When she woke, she’d be at home in her bed, and she’d never have to wear this dress again.
Crack!
Celia’s eyes flew open. She sat up straight and glanced at the woman across from her. The woman snorted and nestled her double chin into her fur collar. What was that sound? Was the carriage breaking beneath the woman’s weight?
Crack!
Was it gun fire? The carriage lurched, stopping so quickly that the portly lady slid off the seat.
“What the devil?” the woman moaned, righting herself. She gave Celia a narrow-eyed look as if Celia had knocked her off the bench.
Crack!
“Gunshots!” the woman hissed. She pursed her full lips, yanked off an enormous emerald necklace and shoved it at Celia. “Hide this.”
Celia stared stupidly at the jewels. If they were real, she could use them to buy the shop! Wishing she had a pocket, her mind sought options. In her bra? No. The stones were too big and the bodice too tight. Not knowing what else to do, she lifted her skirts and tucked the necklace into the lace garter Mia had insisted all the bridesmaids wear. She patted her skirts back into place just before the door flew open.
“Stand and deliver!” A deep and somewhat familiar voice demanded.
Deliver what? And how could she stand inside of a carriage? Celia crouched on her seat. Slowly, she lifted her head and saw nothing but the silvery end of a gun pointing at her forehead. None of this is real, Celia told herself. It’s the champagne asking her to stand and deliver something.
“Come, come, ladies.” The familiar voice sent a tingle down her back.
The man stepped out of the shadows and his gaze met hers, but not an ounce of recognition glistened in his eyes. She thought she knew him, but since a black mask hid half his face, she couldn’t be sure.
“My lady.” He swept his arms in a low bow.
Celia gave the gun another glance. It looked real enough.
He lifted one eyebrow and the corner of his lips in a slow and lazy smile, but continued to point the gun at her forehead.
She tried not to think about the emeralds pinching her leg. She couldn’t look at them. She couldn’t adjust them. She couldn’t call his attention to them in any way.
His gaze traveled over her horrid dress and stopped at her mid-thigh as if he could see through the layers of sateen and frilly slip to the garter smashing the emeralds against her.
“Are you in need of assistance?” He held out his hand—the one not holding a gun—to help her out of the carriage. Again, that trill of recognition poured over Celia. She knew him. Somehow.
She shook her head, knowing she couldn’t touch him. If she touched him and he was real, tangible, then she would…well, she didn’t know what she would do. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before.
“Are you mute?” he asked, cocking his head. His grin deepened. “Or is my charm rendering you speechless?”
“Have you considered that maybe I’m put off by the gun you’re holding to my head?”
“Ah, so you can speak after all. Pity that. I do love a quiet woman.” He placed his hand on his heart. “Please, my dears, join me.”
But Celia refused to budge, and since her companion cowered behind her, they both stayed in the coach. She stared at his mouth—the only part of his face she could see—other than his eyes. She found both his eyes and lips hypnotizing. Her gaze traveled from one feature to the next, wondering which one she liked the most.
He’s a highwayman! Her inner voice of reason told her. And a figment of your imagination! Those are the best kind of men, she told her reasonable voice.
“I’m sure you understand this is not a social call.” His gaze flicked over Celia and rested on her va va voom bodice. “At least, not entirely, although I do enjoy mixing business and pleasure.”
“Where’s Eddie?” the woman barked over Celia’s shoulder. “What have you done with Eddie?”
As she leaned over Celia, Celia’s foot caught on the door’s lip. She would have tumbled and fell if the highwayman hadn’t shot out his arm to steady her. His hand tightened around her, and in one fluid movement, he lifted her out of the carriage and placed her on the ground.
She felt breathless and warm from his sudden, brief contact. Her breath came in ragged huffs. Not knowing whether she was grateful or disappointed when he stepped away, she hugged herself to keep warm.
A snapping twig drew her attention to three men in the shadows. They stood as silent and watchful as the trees. All three had weapons drawn.
“Where’s Eddie?” the woman barked out again.
“Have you hurt the driver?” Celia asked, with a hiccup catching in her throat.
The highwayman flicked his head toward a cluster of trees. “He’s unharmed, except for, perhaps, his sense of self-worth.”
“What is your name?” the woman whispered.
“My name?” Celia asked, her voice coming out in a surprised squeak.
“Not your name, you goat head! I know your name.”
Celia wondered what her name might be, or her role, or position. Was she a maid? A paid companion? A relation? She shivered, and told herself that she needed to wake. This dream had gone on way too long already. She should have come to as soon as she saw the gun. That’s what normally would have happened. Nightmares typically ended with a major scare.
She tried pinching herself. It hurt, but not enough to wake her.
The woman fixed her attention on the highwayman. “Who are you?”
“Why would he tell you that?” Celia asked, more than a little stung at being called a goat head.
The man chuckled. “You do not need my name, but I do need your valuables.”
Quiet descended, and Celia took note of the clamor of crickets, the hooting owl, and a nearby tumbling river. Country night sounds, usually masked by the roar of constant traffic on the parkway.
“Do you really need them, or do you just want them?” Celia asked.
“What difference should that make?” he asked.
“It makes a very big difference—it’s the difference between greed and—”
He waved his gun in her face, effectively silencing her. “That ring, if you please,” he said to the woman.
Celia watched, wondering what her companion would do.
Slowly, the woman climbed from the coach.
The horses stamped their feet impatiently and shook their reins. For a second, Celia thought about jumping on one and riding away. But then she remembered that she knew nothing about horses, their massive size terrified her, and getting one loose from the carriage might be tricky. Besides, even if it wasn’t real, that gun looked like an actual gun, which meant that the bullet might possibly feel real, and she didn’t like pain—real or imaginary.
The woman drew the ring off her finger. “I have a reticule in the carriage,” she told the man. “If you’d like, I’ll give it to you.”
The man barked a laugh. “Not likely.” He motioned to one of the henchmen, his gaze never leaving the two women. “Search the carriage. Tell me if you find any hidden pistols.”
Celia slid a quick glance at the woman, wondering if she was cunning or just stupid.
The second man passed by. He smelled unwashed and earthy. The woman reached out and shoved Celia into him. “Take her!”
The man stumbled under Celia’s sudden weight, but the highwayman reached out and caught her in his arms. He drew her to him and held her close. She felt safe there, although she knew that she shouldn’t.
“Hold her hostage! Kill her if you must!” The woman clambered into the coach and slammed the door.
Celia fought to breathe. She knew she had to leave, she knew that staying pressed up against the highwayman was stupid. He had his hand on her belly, his fingers splayed across her. He smelled of cloves, and when he spoke, his breath warmed her.
“That was most unkind.” He sounded surprised and disapproving.
The second man scrambled after the woman and flung open the door. Amid the screams, the carriage rocked back and forth.
“I won’t harm you,” the highwayman whispered, his lips brushing against her hair.
Celia glanced at the gun. In the moonlight, it looked very real and very lethal. Almost as devastating as the man holding her in his arms.
He shifted, bringing her in front of him. In one quick moment, he captured her lips.
Celia’s knees buckled. Her thoughts raced back to all those Regency romance novels of her grandmother’s that she had read as a girl. Georgette someone. Hideous, Horrendous, no, Heyer. Yes, that was it. Georgette Heyer. What would Georgette call this? A seduction? A ravishing? Oh my gosh! That was it! She was being ravished by a rake!
Wake up! her mind screamed. No more kissing!
Oh, but it felt so good. So very, very good.
Panic gripped her. Breaking loose, she ripped off his mask.
Jason West stood in a pool of moonlight, gun dangling at his side. Surprise filled his eyes. He touched his lips, clearly dazed. Taking two steps back, his gaze shifted to the dark, shadowy woods. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “I have erred.”
And with those parting words, he turned and disappeared into the dark.
#
Celia lifted her head off the table, dazed. She must have fallen asleep. How embarrassing. She checked the tablecloth to make sure she hadn’t been drooling. It felt dry. What if she had snored? She cast a nervous glance around.
The party continued as if she had never left/slept. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if the band was even playing the same song. That wasn’t possible. The dream seemed longer than a few seconds, more than a few minutes even. But no one was looking or staring at her.
Becca was chatting up some guy over by the bar. Lacey had her arms wrapped around someone wearing a purple bow-tie and they moved to the music. Celia twisted and caught the gaze of Jason West.
Flushing, she looked away. Touching her cheeks, she tried to quell the heat flaming her face. So grateful no one, and by no one she meant Jason West, could read her thoughts, Celia slipped off her pinchy shoes and fled.
Later, she would have to try to explain her sudden departure to her mom and sister. But there were some things she would never be able to explain. Or understand.
Like the garter pressing something sharp into her upper thigh.



Tuesday, May 30, 2017

A.G. Henley promises not to analyze you... much

A.G. Henley is a contributor to Wicked Ink Books' anthologies, OFF BEAT: Nine Spins on Song and TICK TOCK: Seven Tales of Time, and the author of the Brilliant Darkness series. The first book in the series, THE SCOURGE, was a Library Journal Self-e Selection and a finalist for the Next Generation Indie Book Award. A.G. is also a clinical psychologist in Denver, Colorado. She promises not to analyze you... much. Learn more at aghenley.com

 only 0.99 cents

A.G. Henley is a contributing author in the Shattered Worlds box set.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

J.A. Culican is a teacher by day and a writer by night



J.A. Culican is a teacher by day and a writer by night. She lives in New Jersey with her husband of eleven years and their four young children.


J.A. Culican’s inspiration to start writing came from her children and their love for all things magical. Bedtime stories turned to reality after her oldest daughter begged her for the book from which her stories of dragons came from. In turn, the series The Keeper of Dragons was born.Magic After Dark box set only .99 cents





J.Am Culican is a contributing author to the Shattered Worlds box set. Pre-order for only .99 cents

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

J.Armitage Longed for Adventure and Travel

The secrets of the heart are hidden when magic sleeps, but miracles happen when magic is awakened.

Enjoy eleven stunningly romantic supernatural tales in one divine boxed set. Fantastic beasts, shifters, and unearthly creatures face all too human conflicts and heartbreak, but always with a promise of a happily-ever-after ending.

With mates and magic, each story brings to life a unique world where anything is possible, including finding true and everlasting love, no matter who…or what you are.

Born in a small town, J.Armitage longed for adventure and travel.
Age 20 she moved to Dublin, then to San Diego, then Sydney and back to California where she did a brief stint working at Universal Studios being a minder to Sponge Bob.

Once back in Britain she got married, had babies and decided to write about the adventure she was now missing out on. She works full time, is a mum to three kids and has had a surrogate baby.

She has skydived twice (and survived), climbed Kilimanjaro and hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. She has also worked as a professional clown and banana picker amongst other jobs. 

Somehow she finds time to write.

J. Armitage is a contributing member of the Shattered Worlds box set. Pre-order for only .99

Monday, May 22, 2017

Introducing USA TODAY Bestselling Author J.L. Weil



Because I'm in a box set with 23 amazing authors, I decided to feature them and their books. Enjoy!



Slumber, only .99 


There is no such thing as happily ever after.

Everything Charlotte Winston thought she knew has been thrown out the window. From the moment she opens her eyes, the world she remembered ceases to exist, and in its place is a post-apocalyptic realm filled with unimaginable dangers. And one very smoking hot guy who has an uncanny ability to make her blood sing, then boil in a blink of an eye.

Dash Darhk is everything her parents would hate. He’s six feet and two inches of dark temptation and a killer smile, that’s surely left a stream of broken hearts in his wake. But her parents are nowhere to be found. Charlotte is alone in this new world. Destroyed by a toxic mist, the land isn’t the only thing altered, but the inhabitants as well.

As Charlotte begins the hunt for her family, gifts she’s never fathom awake inside her. And with the gifts come problems. Enormous ones. Charlotte is running out of options and places to hide. If she can’t figure out who to trust—and fast—she will lose more than her heart.

Fans of Hunger Games, The 100, and Divergent will fall in love with Slumber. 

USA TODAY Bestselling author J.L. Weil lives in Illinois where she writes Teen & New Adult Paranormal Romances about spunky, smart mouth girls who always wind up in dire situations. For every sassy girl, there is an equally mouthwatering, overprotective guy. Of course, there is lots of kissing. And stuff.

An admitted addict to Love Pink clothes, raspberry mochas from Starbucks, and Jensen Ackles. She loves gushing about books and Supernatural with her readers.

She is the author of the International Bestselling Raven & Divisa series.
www.jlweil.com