#TeaserTrain: Gae-Lynn Woods’ The Devil of Light

Posted on March 22, 2012 by Sharon Buchbinder

Here’s a spooky little teaser from my Twitter friend, Gae-Lynn Woods.

GOOBER’S BREATH CAUGHT IN his throat as the lawn mower sputtered to a stop in the middle of Possum Creek Bridge. This was a lonely stretch of road, infrequently traveled. Rare farmhouses rested at the end of rutted dirt tracks masquerading as driveways, and the heavy forest obscured the welcome warmth of electric light. Goober hated the dark. Monsters did their dirty work in the dark. They hid in the dark, beneath beds and in closets, under bridges and behind trees, lunging when your guard was down. Cries for help went unanswered in the dark. Alone was worse in the dark.

It was no surprise that he was afraid of the dark, or of being alone, for Goober’s origins were a mystery. He’d been found one morning nearly forty years ago, nestled in the gnarled roots of the ancient hanging tree on the courthouse lawn, sleeping peacefully next to the town drunk. A scandal of magnificent proportions ensued. Who was this child? Where had he come from? And where were his parents? The grapevine drums were beaten, gossip smoke signals went up, and the newspaper and radio made repeated announcements encouraging his parents to come forward. But no one came to claim the gentle-natured toddler whose passion for chocolate covered peanuts earned him his nickname. An elderly widow had taken the boy in, and so his life as Arcadia’s child began.

Goober wasn’t retarded, but he was slow at formal education. He never learned to read or write beyond a fourth grade level and he dropped out of school when he was sixteen, picking up odd jobs and developing a talent for gardening. When the widow died, she left Goober her small trailer and enough money to get by. For years he’d ridden a decrepit tandem bicycle, happily pedaling Forney County’s highways and byways. At some point, a generous soul had given Goober a red riding lawn mower with no blades. And at exactly that point, Goober entered the glorious world of combustible engines, whose maintenance requirements outstripped his abilities. Which brought him to his precarious position on the bridge this evening.

His eyes darted into the murky shadows surrounding Possum Creek as he twisted the mower’s key. Her engine whirred but refused to turn over, and as her groans faded into a desperate click, Goober was flooded with a sudden urge to pee.

Reluctantly, he lifted his long frame from the mower, his imagination running wild. He’d heard rumors of ghosts roaming the woods, the spirits of slaughtered cowboys and Indians seeking revenge for past wrongs. Standing stock-still with his stomach churning, Goober waited. When only the night noises reached him, he gathered his courage, dried his sweaty palms on his overalls and unhooked the small can bungeed to a platform behind the seat. Unlocking the mower’s gas cap, he prepared to tip the can up when starlight shimmered across the fuel tank’s gaping maw. He paused, and the memory of stopping at the filling station this morning streaked across his brain. Confused, he frowned at the mower, forgetting his fear as he struggled to understand why she wouldn’t start.

A sudden clanking rang across the still night and drove Goober into a squat. His heart pounded as he clutched the gas can against his chest and scuttled behind the mower, breath coming in shallow gasps. He tried to listen past the blood thrumming in his ears but the evening remained stubbornly closed, refusing to reveal its secrets. Rattled but reassured that the noise had stopped, Goober rose on shaking legs and relocked the tank before returning the can to its platform. One hand on her seat, he examined the mower with a mixture of dread and affection. His source of freedom had failed him and Goober’s childlike mind cranked through his options. Slowly, he realized that he had no choice but to walk to town, through the terrifying night.

He tried to swallow, but found that his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Lifting his baseball cap to run a hand over his thinning hair, Goober turned resolutely away from the mower and sought the city’s glow arcing over the black forest. He firmed the cap back on his head and hummed a jumpy tune, walking steadily toward Arcadia, eyes fixed on the strip of road before him.

The blossoming of an unnatural radiance off to his left spooked him. A bright fire danced among the tall pine trees and the vague silhouette of a distant building engulfed in flames captivated him. A devilish ghost danced between Goober and the flickering light, startling him from his trance. Heart pounding, bladder releasing a warm torrent, he turned and fled from Possum Creek, too terrified to scream.

In the blushing night air, a monster slunk to the edge of the road, taking in the man pelting toward town. He moved to the lawn mower, his amber eyes narrowing. Turning to the fleeing man with a look of recognition, Hitch took two steps forward and then stopped, head cocked to one side, seeming to consider the situation. Reluctantly, the monster left the road and melted back between the trees.

To buy DEVIL OF LIGHT go to http://www.amazon.com/Devil-Forney-County-Thriller-ebook/dp/B0057XNRB4

Plumbing the Dark Side of the Paranormal with Rosemary Ellen Guiley

Posted on March 20, 2012 by Sharon Buchbinder

My work in the paranormal as an investigator, researcher and author has brought me face to face many times with its dark side: nasty entities, weird phenomena, curses, hexes, parallel worlds and strange experiences that seem straight out of a fiction writer’s head. Paranormal themes are indeed hot in romantic fiction, but here’s the bizarre twist: the truth really is often stranger than fiction! Sometimes my real life seems more like an episode of Supernatural or Fringe.

All of the exotic, compelling and wonderful characters and circumstances in paranormal fiction have a basis in reality: experiences that have happened to people over and over again throughout history. We have always bumped up against other worlds, some of them uplifting and some of them dark and creepy. The dark side lures us the most in a push-pull of morbid fascination countered by fear and aversion. When Sharon invited me to write for her blog, I knew I wanted to talk about the real dark side of the paranormal.

First, a bit about my background. When I set out in my career to write about the paranormal (and the metaphysical) in the early 1980s, I had no intentions of becoming an expert on the dark side. I have been interested in the unseen since I was a kid, fueled by childhood experiences of fairies and angels, psychic abilities in my family, and a voracious reading habit that embraced science fiction, fantasy, and horror. My far-ranging interests made me curious about everything, and so when I set out on my writing career, I cast a wide net over many subjects. I have put more than fifty books under my belt covering topics from A-Z in the paranormal, angels to zombies and everything in between. My generalist bent has served me well, for the paranormal overlaps from one arena to another, and from the light to the dark; everything is entwined and interconnected.

I believe in getting out into the trenches, so I have conducted as many field investigations of haunted and mysterious locations as possible, and I have interviewed hundreds of witnesses about their experiences. And, I have had plenty of my own experiences along the way. Over the course of time I discovered that I had a stomach for probing the dark side, much more than most people in the field, and that there are a lot of folks who have troubling experiences who need guidance and help. Those factors prompted me to go even deeper into dark territory involving demons, Djinn, real vampires, abducting ETs, Shadow People, black magic, negative hauntings, possession, and unknown but hostile entities.

I engage with this heavy energy often, and while I have never run screaming like the scripted “reality” shows, I have occasionally made what I call “prudent exits” when up against something that is too powerful, too determined, and too unpredictable to take on. I invest a lot of energy in keeping my home my sanctuary, but sometimes I have breaches in which a negative entity gets through and creates some havoc for a short time. I also invest a lot of energy in keeping my own energy field as strong as possible as a buffer. Working in the paranormal, especially the dark end of it, is akin to walking through cobwebs – “stuff” clings to you.

I receive so many inquiries about paranormal problems that I put together a Guide to the Dark Side of the Paranormal as an educational introduction to the realities that are “out there.” Here are some short takes on some of them, all of which are useful in fiction:

Curses

Curses work, even if the victim does not know about them. It takes a great deal of energy and skill to curse effectively. Deathbed curses are among the strongest, and can affect generations. People have had differing moral positions on curses in the past. For example, the Romans hired professional cursers as a matter of doing daily business, to gain an edge in business, love and sports. Now there’s an interesting character – the professional curse-layer!

Dream Invasion

Some entities and magically skilled people have the ability to enter a person’s dreams. Sometimes it is for messages and manipulation – and sometimes for psychological upset, psychic attack, and even possession through nightmares.

Possessed Objects

Objects hold energy and even entities themselves. Objects can retain energetic properties of owners and events. When energized objects fall into the hands of the right person, those energies are released and can affect both people and environments. There may be poltergeist activity, apparitions, dream invasions, and psychological and mood changes. Metal retains energy imprints the best, followed by stone and wood. The ability of objects to hold a psychic charge is the principle behind amulets and talismans.

Houses With Attitudes

Similarly, houses themselves can take on an animating “atmosphere” from previous occupants and events. In the Guide to the Dark Side of the Paranormal, I describe such a house that I lived in myself. It had no ghosts of people, but it had its own phantom presence that watched and reacted – and it became very unhappy when we tried to move.

Problem Mirrors

Mirrors are well-known as portals or doorways to the spirit world. In many problem home hauntings, there are likely to be one or more badly placed mirrors involved. They are especially problematic in bedrooms, where people are at their most vulnerable to unsolicited spirit visitations. Above all, mirrors should never look into one another – a strange warping of space takes place that seems to cut through dimensional barriers.

Sex With Entities

Our sexual activities with the dead and supernatural beings have been documented since ancient times. There are numerous accounts in mythology and folklore, both of which contain the kernels of real experiences. Some of our sexual liaisons are good, such as with gods and goddesses and the semi-divine, while others are horrific, such as with demons and hostile aliens. Historically, we have considered most of the hybrid offspring undesirable to downright abominations. Sex with entities goes on today and it is not just a product of the imagination.

The Hidden Djinn

The Djinn are a race of supernatural entities known only in the West for being the origins of the genie in the bottle – a creature we usually dismiss as humorous fantasy. They are quite real, very powerful, and not always kindly disposed toward human beings. Their name means “the hidden ones.” Years of research has convinced me that the Djinn are behind much of our paranormal activity, for they are superior shape-shifters and masqueraders.

The Evil Eye

The ability to harm and even kill by looking is a global and ancient belief. “Overlooking,” as it is also called, can be learned as a magical skill. Some people are believed to be born with the ability, which gives them an unfortunate life. People shun them, fearing that the rays of their lingering gaze will bring ruination of health, luck, and life.

Drive-by Demons

“Drive-by demons” is a term I coined to describe opportunistic entities who home in on people and create problems from minor to major in impact. They are drawn to us by the spiritual energy we generate, which is like a light on the spiritual planes. Negative entities are drawn to the lights of emotional turmoil, addiction, and the low energy of immoral, unethical and deceitful living. Sometimes people going through a major upheaval in life will sink into depressed states that invite entity interference. “Drive-by demons” usually do not linger – they seize advantage, make the most of it, and cruise on to another target.

Details about these and more fascinating dark side topics – twenty in all – are in my Guide to the Dark Side of the Paranormal, which is available as an e-book from Kindle and in paperback print from my website, www.visionaryliving.com.

As for protection, daily mediation is the best preventive medicine against the effects and influences of the dark side. Meditation builds up the aura, strengthens grounding, improves the psychic faculty, and enhances the connection to the spirit realms, including the benevolent beings who come to our aid and protection. Periodically I see my acupuncturist (who is a Taoist exorcist) and get a Qi Gong tuneup, which cleanses the aura of that cobwebby stuff and bolsters the aura’s strength and vitality.

People often ask me about the effectiveness of crystals, medallions, religious symbols and so forth as amulets. They can be quite useful, and everyone must find the one or ones that personally work. You have to resonate with the energy of an amulet for it to elicit the right energetic response from your consciousness. However, it is also wise to develop inner protection, which is always with you.

That’s my nutshell on the dark side. I do spend a lot of time on the other side of the fence, dealing with angelic presences, guides, and “ethereals” who are involved in spirit communications and certain channelings. All in all, it is never a dull day in my world – or worlds!

I hope you’ll visit my website, www.visionaryliving.com, to browse my library of articles on a variety of topics, and check out my other books – including my encyclopedias, which many fiction and script writers find to be useful references for their work. In addition, I have a complimentary monthly e-newsletter, Strange Dimensions, which features articles as well as my professional activities.

BIO:

Rosemary Ellen Guiley is one of the leading experts on the paranormal with more than 50 books published by major houses on a wide range of paranormal, spiritual, and mystical topics, including nine single-volume encyclopedias. Her work is translated into 15 languages. She has worked full-time in the paranormal since 1983, researching, investigating, writing, and presenting, and teaching. Her present work focuses interdimensional entity contact experiences of all kinds, technological and mediumistic spirit communications, spiritual growth and development, problem hauntings, and “portals,” or geographic areas of intense paranormal activity. She spends a great deal of her time out in the field conducting investigations and research. She has done ground-breaking research on Shadow People and the Djinn. Rosemary lives in Connecticut. Her websites are www.visionaryliving.com and www.djinnuniverse.com.

Diane Wylie, The Mayans and Moonlight and Illusions

Posted on March 13, 2012 by Sharon Buchbinder

First, I’d like to thank fellow author and the president of the Maryland Romance Writers, Sharon Buchbinder, for having me at her blog today to talk about the Maya and my most recent release, MOONLIGHT AND ILLUSIONS, a paranormal romance.

The Mayan civilization captured the attention of some folks recently with the “end-of-the-world” predictions caused by the ancient Mayan calendar. You can believe the doomsday criers or not, but the fact that the Maya were pretty smart cookies is something that most archaeologists do agree upon. The Maya were interested in mathematics and astronomy and various other disciplines. They closely observed the earth’s seasonal cycles and the phases of the moon, recorded eclipses, and even tracked the plant Venus as it moved across the sky.

Mayan Palace of the Masks

Yes, the Maya were pretty smart, but what if they knew even more than we can reliably document? What if they also had the power to control events around them? Now, I am not saying they did have that kind of power, but as an author of fictional works, one of the things I ask myself, especially when writing a paranormal, is the question, “What if?”

What if the ancient Mayan symbols (http://www.ancient-symbols.com/mayan_symbols.html) were more than just interesting designs? Each symbol has a name, such as the Way, which also means the Companion Spirit. What if this symbol had the power to direct you to your own companion spirit? You know…the person you were meant to be with. With this came the germ of an idea that led to my book, MOONLIGHT AND ILLUSIONS.

Taking this a step further, what if a Mayan symbol could give a person power…real power? Well, who would want this type of power? A magician would. If he had the power to move things with his mind, he could become rich and famous. I had the hero for my book! In the 19^th century, Stephen Elliott, The Illusionist, is given an ancient Mayan stone carved with the symbol for Companion Spirit and told it would bring luck, but he has to keep it out of the moonlight. But, of course, he doesn’t listen…isn’t that just like a man?

The moment the Companion Spirit is exposed to the moonlight, Stephen is a changed man, a powerful man, a REAL magician. But with this power comes immortality, a never-ending existence called “athanasia.” Riches are his, but so is loneliness. Everyone around him ages and dies, but he lives on. The power belongs to The Illusionist and it is accompanied by an overwhelming, physical need for the moonlight.

As the world gets caught up in World War II, no one wants to be entertained by a magician. Everyone’s mind is on the war. Stephen is no longer in demand. He is broke, alone, and doomed to walk the earth forever dependent on the Companion Spirit and the moonlight until another person, a woman, is accidentally cursed by Stephen’s ancient Mayan stone. Can they find the answers they seek or is an endless existence theirs forever?

Here is an excerpt from MOONLIGHT AND ILLUSIONS.

~*~*~*~

On stage, the magician prepared for his final act. “Ladies and Gentleman, I am sure you have all heard of The Great Harry Houdini and his amazing escape tricks.” He rolled up his shirt sleeves and faced the audience, standing with his feet planted wide. “Tonight I will attempt a trick Mr. Houdini did, with a little wrinkle.”

“I will be placed in a strait jacket, just like Harry Houdini.” Two men came up and began strapping him in and buckling the straps behind his back. “Then hanging from my ankles, I will be lowered into this box.” Several workmen entered from stage right pushing a huge glass box.

“The box will be flooded with water,” he continued. “I will attempt to escape before drowning, and before the rope attached to a blade above the box burns through.”

The crowd tittered with excitement. Ropes were wrapped around the magician’s ankles and the assistants, in full view of the audience, hauled on the ropes and pulleys to pull the tall man upside down. They maneuvered the box under him then lowered the man head first into it.

Anabel’s heart pounded even harder when she saw them secure a second rope holding a two foot-wide curved blade over the box. One of them lit a kerosene lamp near a taut section of the rope supporting the blade. Water from a hose started rumbling into the glass box, covering the magician’s head first.

She held her breath as he began moving. The spotlight shimmered on the wicked blade suspended directly above his feet. The water climbed to his waist.

Anabel watched, fidgeting in her seat. The urge to run on stage, grab the axe from the waiting aide’s hands, and free the man was almost unbearable. Her gaze darted from his calm face to the burning rope and back.

With an audible “pwang” one rope strand broke. The deadly blade vibrated. Anabel wiped her perspiring hands on her skirt. The magician wiggled and squirmed until the strait jacket came off and his arms fell free. Bubbles rose through the water. His long dark hair undulated as he lifted his upper body to work on the ropes securing his feet.

The smell of burning hemp filled the theater. Stephen freed his feet and pushed up to the surface of the water, but before he could climb out another strand of rope gave way. The rope broke. People screamed.

Anabel jumped to her feet.

“Where are you going?” Julie whispered and made a grab for her hand, but she pulled free.

“I-I have to help—” In the back of her mind, some semblance of propriety made her hesitate, but she ignored it, climbing over the people in her row in an effort to reach him.

When she made it to the aisle, she saw him, still in the water, stretching both hands over his head. The blade had stopped in mid-descent, just a foot from the magician’s upturned palms. She froze, open-mouthed in shock. A woman softly wept somewhere and others murmured as they all watched.

The Illusionist forced the heavy steel blade higher without touching it. Using one hand to control the blade, he climbed out of the tank and down a ladder until he stood on the stage again. Water streamed down his now-transparent white shirt and clinging trousers to pool at his feet. Visible now was the silver pocket watchcase hanging from the chain around his neck. Confirmation! It is Stephen Elliott!

Now, with both hands, he guided the blade down until it floated above a pumpkin placed on the floor.

“Release!” He dropped his arms to his sides. The blade dropped immediately, severed the pumpkin in two, and impaled itself in the wooden floor with an audible thud.

When he faced the audience, their gazes met. A huge, dazzling smile creased his handsome face. Maybe the former soldier recognized her? He made a sweeping bow.

“This concludes the show tonight. I want to thank you all for coming out. A special thank you to the young lady in the aisle who wanted to come to my rescue.”

Oh, Lord! Heat rushed to her face when Anabel realized she still stood alone in the middle of the aisle. Mortified, she scurried back to her seat. Laughter broke out all around then a thunderous round of applause.

Over all the noise, she still heard the magician’s final words before the curtain fell.

“Anabel, please come see me.”

~*~*~*~

You can find MOONLIGHT AND ILLUSIONS at the following locations:

Amazon Kindle http://www.amazon.com/Moonlight-and-Illusions-ebook/dp/B005WZZRBK/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

Amazon print http://www.amazon.com/Moonlight-Illusions-Diane-Wylie/dp/0983419876/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

B&Nook and print http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Moonlight-and-Illusions/Diane-Wylie/e/9780983419877

Vinspire http://www.vinspirepublishing.com/book_pages/moonlightandillusions.html

My thanks to Sharon Buchbinder for having me today and I welcome your comments. One lucky commenter will win a free copy of MOONLIGHT AND ILLUSIONS, either in print (contiguous United States only) or in ebook form. I will put all of the names in a hat and draw one by a random drawing. Good luck!

Have a great day!

~Diane Wylie

http://www.dianewylie.com

Interview with Casey Wyatt, Author of Mystic Ink

Posted on March 6, 2012 by Sharon Buchbinder

I am delighted to have my chapter mate and fellow Connecticut Yankee (we just found out we grew up one town apart from each other!) from the Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal Chapter of Romance Writers of America, CASEY WYATT, with me today to talk about her new release, MYSTIC INK. Employed by a large national company by day, Casey Wyatt is author of paranormal romance and urban fantasy novels by night. She’s a member of the RWA (PRO), CT RWA, and the FF&P chapter of the RWA. She is happily married, has two teenage sons and wrangles a bunch of adorable pets, in addition to her other jobs. Casey has generously agreed to provide a free e-copy of MYSTIC INK for one commenter. All you have to do is comment or ask a question at the end of the interview to be entered to win.

To give you a little tease about Casey, check out this video, Romance Addicts Anonymous The biker guy behind Casey is her husband!

Casey, what made you want to be an author? At what age did you start telling stories and then writing them down?

I spent most of my childhood and young adult life as an artist. I did write during this time period but they weren’t full blown stories, just snippets of scenes that played in my head. In high school, I seriously considered attending art school. Then, I talked myself out of it, convincing myself that I could never make a living being an artist. Instead, I ended up with a Bachelor’s in Anthropology and a Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology! Because I needed to pay my college loans, I took a job with an insurance company (using neither degree). Around 1996, I started writing again. I knew then that I wanted to be a writer. But, in 2004, once again I listened to the doubt in my head and stopped writing!! Thankfully, in 2009, I discovered internet writer forums and Kelley Armstrong’s NaNo tips. Mystic Ink is my 2010 Nano WriMo novel.

What do you like best about being a writer? What do you like the least?

I love that blank page. It’s full of possibilities and anything can happen. I love the freedom too. It’s just, you, your characters, and the story. The thing I hate the most is doubt or as I call him the Doubt Monster. Now that I’m onto the Doubt Monster, I only let him out to play when I’m revising. He’s not allowed near me while I’m plotting or writing the first draft.

How do you think your life experiences have prepared you for writing paranormal romance?

I’ve always loved fantasy. My earliest memory of television (when I was about 2 or 3 years old) is Star Trek. I even remember the episode (Naked Time) because it scared me so much. I spent my formative years watching: Star Trek, Space 1999, Buck Rogers, and Star Wars. I read The Lord of the Rings and too many sci-fi/fantasy books to count. I couldn’t get enough. I still love the genre and those elements are always present in my writing. I don’t know if I could write a book with no “otherworldly” elements.

Have you ever felt as if you were being dictated to while you wrote a book–as if the words came of their own accord? If yes, which book did that happen with?

Yes. It’s happened with all of my completed novels. One of the reasons why I had trouble writing before 2009 was I never plotted out my stories. I’d get halfway through a story and then hit a wall. I had so many ideas and no way of determining what belonged on the page and what didn’t. Now, since I’ve joined RWA, I’ve learned so much about story-telling. For me, I have to see the whole story first. I don’t have to know how something will happen. I just have to know what’s next. Once I actually start writing, the words and scenes almost pour out of my head. My last completed novel – The Undead Space Initiative – was written in about a month. Of course, it took me several months of planning first!

You’ve written three novels, and you work full time and are also wife, mother of two teenage sons and a pet herder. What’s your favorite time management tip?

Realize that you can’t do more than one thing at a time. I know that sounds strange in the multi-tasking world we all live in now. I’ve been fortunate to work from home for the last 18 years, and that is where I learned this lesson. To do something really well, you should give the task your full attention. When I catch myself trying to do a million things at once, I take a breath and say out loud “One thing at a time.”

Are you a plotter or a pantser, i.e., do you outline your books ahead of time or are you an “organic” writer?

I’m a reformed panster. I’m also a big believer in being efficient, so I actually create a synopsis before I start writing. It’s my road map of where the story is going. I also know the goal, motivation, conflict for the main characters, and the “rules for the world.” I also document the setting and complete as much research as I can before I start to write. And then I write the hook and blurb ahead of time too. While writing, I do go off the plan and write scenes as I see them (often out of order). After the first draft is done I’ll delete or add more if needed. Then I go back and scale down that first synopsis, revise the hook/blurb and create a query for submission. I believe all this preparation frees up my mind creatively and is the reason why I can write so quickly.

If you had one take away piece of advice for authors, what would it be?

Write your next book and don’t get caught up in the promotion juggernaut.

Thank you so much for having me as your guest!

Tell me more about MYSTIC INK.

Welcome to Mystic, Connecticut, where a Satyr owns the local pawn shop, a Minotaur serves the tastiest pizza in town, and the nearest gate to the Underworld resides in the alley outside a tattoo parlor.

Nix – Sea Nymph, talented artist and proprietor of Mystic Ink – just wants to run her tattoo shop in peace and quiet. Peace and quiet, however, are the least of her problems. Mortal corpses keep springing up in her alley like daisies. Hades is angry that the mortals’ souls are missing. And to top it all off, the human authorities suspect Nix of foul play.

Before long, the supernatural police force, takes an interest. They dispatch Agent Calder Quinne to investigate. His assignment is simple: determine Nix’s guilt or innocence by observing her daily routine. Instead, he’s faced with an uncooperative Nymph who resents his presence and evades him at every opportunity.

Nix finds Cal far too attractive and a challenge to her self-imposed ban on relationships. She wants him out of her life as soon as possible. When Cal’s soul is stolen next and Nix wakes up missing memories of the evening’s events, even she starts to wonder if she’s guilty. Now, she has only two weeks to locate Cal’s missing soul, or he’ll be doomed to spend eternity as a Shade.

How about an excerpt from MYSTIC INK?

Nix, thoughts still swirling in her mind, headed toward the side door. After she unlocked the deadbolt, her eyes automatically went to the dumpster. Nothing. Thank the Gods. Her sigh of relief was quickly sucked back in. A dark shape further down the alley caught her eye. Maybe it was a heap of clothes or a bag of garbage. Whatever it was, it was lying near the entrance of the Underworld Gate. The Gate was invisible to all eyes, except Guardians—like her, Hades, and Charon. Whoever or whatever was back there couldn’t have known how close they were to the Underworld.

“Hell. Now what?” Please, be trash that some rude jerk left in my alley.

Rather than kick it with her foot, she decided to be more prudent and find something long to use as a poker. While grabbing a shop broom inside, she registered how quiet the place was. Of course, Basil wasn’t there. He was still with Jason.

Back in the alley, Nix slowly approached, straining for a better look. The pile was inside the building’s shadow. The closer she got, the more the lump resembled a body. She cursed. “Oh, come on! Why does this keep happening?”

Broom at the ready, she gave it jab. The mass was solid and there was no crinkle of plastic. So much for the garbage bag theory. Man, she did not want to have to call the police. At the rate she was going, they would probably arrest her just on principle.

Stupid mound.

She lifted the broom, ready to strike. An arm sprouted from the pile and shot up, stopping the handle from falling.

Nix barked, “What the hell?”

The broom clattered to the ground.

A dark figure rose up. The set of the shoulders, the short black hair . . . it was awfully familiar. “Cal?”

“Nix,” he said, his voice strained and tired. His arm extended, propping his body against the brick wall.

“If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not funny.” When he didn’t respond, Nix came up behind him and placed her hand on his back. “Are you—”

The words choked off. There was something wrong. Really wrong. His energy, the essence of his life, was out of whack. Like he was missing . . .

She put her hand up to her mouth, swallowing dread as he turned to face her. “Cal, where’s your soul?”

Where can readers find more about your stories, books and you on the Internet?

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Mystic-Ink-ebook/dp/B0071R3JI0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1327585790&sr=8-1

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/casey-wyatt?keyword=casey+wyatt&store=ebook

Website : http://caseywyatt.com/

Blog : http://caseywyatt.com/ and http://secretsof7scribes.wordpress.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/caseywyattbooks

Twitter: @CaseyWyatt1

Casey, thanks you so much for being with us here today. I know my readers will enjoy your work and your interview.

Interview with Ashlynne Laynne, Author of The Progeny

Posted on February 28, 2012 by Sharon Buchbinder

I am delighted to have my friend from the Amazon Paranormal Discussion Group, Ashlynne Laynne, with me today to talk about her debut novel, THE PROGENY. Ashlynne says that her life is an eclectic mesh of bi-racial, same sex and mixed gender relationships. This rich tapestry of cultures, ideas and people has always kept her grounded- letting her know what’s truly important in life. These unique relationships were a catalyst in her choosing of races for the characters in her paranormal romance series, THE PROGENY. She has danced to a different beat. She listens to everything- pop, top 40, heavy metal, decade music, gospel. She reads everything- goth magazines, all genres of novels, parenting magazines, home improvement journals. She has written country songs and watched people’s eyes pop out when they realized the person behind the words and melody was not what they expected. Ashlynne remembers where she comes from, but doesn’t let that dictate who she is or who she will become. She is a woman with a lot of imagination and motivation. Ashlynne has generously agreed to provide a free e-copy of THE PROGENY for one commenter. All you have to do is comment or ask a question at the end of the interview to be entered to win.

Ashlynne, what made you want to be an author? At what age did you start telling stories and then writing them down?

I think the fire to write sparked in me when I placed third in an oratorical contest when I was eight. I’ve always been inclined to write poetry and have since I was a teenager. The epilogues of The Progeny, and its sequel, are my original poetry. Writing poetry started as a type of therapy for me to get whatever I was feeling out. I never really thought myself patient enough to write a novel. I got serious about writing in October of 2010 and I never looked back.

What do you like best about being a writer? What do you like the least?

There is a tremendous sense of satisfaction that comes along with creating a world and people that live in it. To me, writing is a way of being immortal. As long as people read your words, you live on even after your death. The bad part for me is juggling a full time job, a husband, son with special needs and finding the time to write.

How do you think being a poet, a country song writer, wife and mother have prepared you for writing a paranormal romance?

Writing love poetry has helped me with the romantic scenes of my books. I sometimes read my stuff to set my mind frame for a love scene. The same is true of writing music. Good writing tends to take on a certain meter and rhythm that closely matches the flow of music. Being a mother has taught me to nurture my characters. I call them my babies. Being a wife teaches me patience with my writing. I can be very harsh and judgmental of my work. I constantly remind myself to be as forgiving with my writing process as I strive to be with others in my everyday life.

Have you ever felt as if you were being dictated to while you wrote a book–as if the words came of their own accord? If yes, which book did that happen with?

I’m always thinking about my characters, so it’s no wonder that I dream scenes and story lines that later become scenes in my books. Shauna and Ascher won’t leave me alone! I keep notebooks all over the house. You just never know when inspiration might strike. I also keep paper and a pen on the table beside my bed for the nights that my characters choose to visit my dreams.

You’re employed full-time and you’re a wife, mother to a mentally challenged son and a novelist. That sounds like a lot of caregiving and juggling to me! What’s your favorite time management tip?

Truthfully, my awesome husband is my time management tip. He works, as well, and has taken over most of the household duties so I’m free to write. He has been my biggest cheerleader and I can’t thank him enough for all that he does.

Are you a plotter or a pantser, i.e., do you outline your books ahead of time or are you an “organic” writer?

Before each book, I do a chapter by chapter outline. It rarely holds up but it’s nice to have a stopping and starting point in mind. Most times, I write the first three or four chapters, skip to write the end then fill in the middle of the book. It’s weird—I know—but it just works for me.

If you had one take away piece of advice for authors, what would it be? Write every day.

Tell me more about THE PROGENY.

At its core, The Progeny is simply a story about a man and woman who fall in love, and the fact that he’s a half-blood (half-human, half vampire) and she’s a Wiccan human are secondary factors. It started as research about the Salem witch trials, some rough sketches of a special family heirloom that my guys would wear and two names—Ascher and Shauna. In the beginning, of the book, Ascher is grumpy. Frankly, who could blame him? He’s engaged to seal to Ursula—a cold and careless vampire who wants nothing more than to get her hands on a bloodstone— and he feels conflicted about his existence. All of that changes when he meets Shawnette McCutchin. She’s beautiful, intriguing and possesses some of the most potent blood that he’s ever smelled. A war immediately begins in Ascher. He craves Shauna’s blood just as much as he craves her body and the closer they get, the harder it is for him to control his urges. After Ascher calls off the sealing to Ursula, the trouble begins. His family’s peaceful period ends when Ursula’s army attacks the Rousseaus. Kidnapping, some steamy love scenes between our hero and heroine and Wiccan rage complete the plot.

The Progeny Blurb:

“No fate other than the one I choose.” The timeless creed, and tattoo, bore by the Rousseau’s— a vampire clan with the purest bloodline of any vampire family. Out of this clandestine group came one who was different, yet the same: Ascher – a half-bloodling— half- human, half vampire.

Ascher questions the purpose for his existence and which world he truly belongs to: the human world or the vampire world. Two months from sealing to Ursula— a prearranged union to a woman he abhors — he’s at his wit’s end. He knows if he calls off the sealing, the Romanian clan will strike with deadly force, but he cannot see eternity with a cold empty shell of a woman like Ursula.

Just when he thought life was complicated enough, he meets Shauna— a beautiful, bi-racial human wiccan — and immediately develops an unshakable attraction to her. She makes him feel alive and vital despite his origins and Ascher makes a decision that turns his immortal world upside down.

How about an excerpt from THE PROGENY?

Ascher pulled Shauna behind him, his stance clearly a protective one. But why-? Surely, she didn’t need protection from her. His grip tightened around her arm, his knuckles straining with tension. Her mind finally registered his firm hold and sent messages to her heart and eyes.

She wiggled away from him. “Let go of me, Ash! What’s wrong with you? Who is she?”

“I’m fine and she’s nobody. Ursula was just leaving.” He spoke with little conviction.

“The hell I am…” the stranger mumbled, an unsavory smirk turning up the corners of her mouth. “Tell her, Ascher. Tell her who I really am!”

“Yeah, Ascher,” Shauna spoke in a mocking tone, her eyes becoming pieces of wet coal in narrow sockets. “Why don’t you tell me the truth…who is she?”

He froze, his youthful face chiseled with a mixture of shock, horror and anger. “There’s something you need to know.”

“Spit it out, Ascher. Tell her! Or I will!” Ursula growled, her hands flicking the shades away from her face.

Terror, worse than any horror movie Shauna had ever seen. More ghastly than any monster a mind could conjure.

Shauna clutched her chest, stepping away from both of them. “Her eyes!” she screamed. “Ascher…what’s wrong with her eyes?”

The stranger giggled and continued piercing her demonized stare into Shauna.

Ascher struggled to control his mounting anger. He clutched Shauna closer. “Do you trust me?”

The floor vibrated underneath their feet. Shauna’s eyes became cold, the glare of distrust swimming in them.

“No. I don’t! Why are you so nervous?”

“You left Katy alone. You should go back up with her. I’ll be up there in a little while. Okay?”

“No. I want to know who she is. Right now, Ascher! Who…is…she?”

“Please, Shauna,”— he huffed with impatience— “just do it.”

“For cryin’ out loud…” Ursula groaned.

“I warned you, Ursula,” he growled, every part of him aching to rip her to shreds. She had nerve. Were he not a gentleman, he’d finish her and be done with it.

“You don’t warn me. Looks like you’ve been keeping a lot from her. Afraid she might not want you if she knows the real you?”

His lips strained against clenched teeth, begging to curl up and release a menacing snarl. Control— He had to stay in control. Push the anger back down. Stem the raging desire to lash out at Ursula.

Her red eyes narrowed, the smirk taunting him, daring him to expose himself. He was strong in his gifts, but rage made her stronger. Her mind turned, fighting off the subliminals he hurled at her.

She cackled, “That won’t work, dearest. It’s time she knows everything.”

“Dearest?” Shauna questioned, her tiny fists balling.

Ascher reached for Shauna but she moved away from him.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Ursula, doing this won’t change things between us,” he uttered, knowing she’d never listen to reason.

“No! She deserves to know the truth, Ascher,” Ursula responded.

“Ursula, please—” He couldn’t believe he was begging her for anything.

Ignoring his pleading, she continued, “My name is Ursula. Ascher and I are to seal in two days.”

Shauna drew in a staggered breath. “Seal— as in marriage?”

Ascher sighed.

“Is this true?” Shauna demanded.

His head dropped in shame. “Yes, but…”

“So she is your fiancée? And let me guess, she’s the first.”

“Shauna, I can explain.”

Shauna clutched her head with both hands screaming, “No!” The window, behind her, cracked. She ran towards the door, fresh tears flooding her face. Ascher grabbed at her, missing. “No!” she shouted again. The ceiling rumbled, water raining down from the sprinklers. “Move!” she shouted, pointing towards the door. It flew open, nearly ripping off its hinges. Ascher appeared in front of her. She scowled then pushed him back. “Go away!” she yelled then watched as an unseen force moved him from her path. She turned, backing away from both of them, her eyes fixated on the two. Her finger twirled then pointed at each of them. “Stay!”

“I hope you’re happy now,” he growled at Ursula then sprinted after Shauna, catching her before she hit the stairs. He clutched her, turning her to him. Distress blanketed her face. “Shauna please, just let me explain.”

A strange burn started in her legs. What’s happening to me? She’d had rage issues all her life but never anything like this. Her normally clear eyesight was now blurry and grey. The hall—she’d seen for three months and knew like the back of her hand—became an unfamiliar maze, veiled by her fuzzy vision.

She took a step, stumbled then regained her balance against the wall.

“I told you how important honesty was to me and you’ve been keeping this from me the whole time. You told me she was nobody… that it was only physical curiosity. It doesn’t look that way to me. She talks like she owns you. You told me it was over between the two of you. How were you going to cover up getting married to someone else?”

“I wasn’t, just listen to me…”

She shook her head. “I’ve listened enough. I can’t trust you. Without trust, we have nothing. All you’ve done is feed me lies. You’re a liar! I despise liars! I can’t believe I was going to sleep with you—allow you to be my first.” She gripped her stomach and doubled over. “I’m going to be sick…”

He reached for her, again.

“Don’t touch me!” Every ounce of restraint left her body. Chaos now flooded her brain. She wanted to lash out. No, she needed to lash out.

“Shauna. Just let me take you home. I promise I’ll explain things to you.”

“What part of, ‘I don’t want to hear your lies’— don’t you understand?” she seethed through clenched teeth, her anger blazing directly into him. “Back…!” she barked, pushing her hands away from her body, towards him. He flew back against the wall. “I don’t want to hear it! Don’t touch me, Ascher,” she sobbed into her hands, “I hate you. I wish I’d never met you!”

“Shauna…?” he whispered, pain and disbelief creasing his face.

“Just leave me alone. I never want to see you again.”

“Shauna you don’t….”

“Oh yes I do— I mean it and I quit! I can’t work here anymore.”

She ran out the emergency exit, setting off the door alarm, sprinting—into the night.

Where can readers find more about your stories, books and you on the Internet?

Progeny Facebook Page http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Progeny-Series-by-author-Ashlynne-Laynne/129418917161599

Author Facebook Page http://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Ashlynne-Laynne/118945981513261

Twitter http://twitter.com/#!/qlane

Blog http://authoraslane.blogspot.com/

Fan email: Ashlynnelaynne@aol.com

Buy links for your book

Ashlynne, thanks you so much for being with us here today. I know my readers will enjoy your work and your interview.

#TeaserTrain Sample: AVA by Ashley Barron

Posted on February 23, 2012 by Sharon Buchbinder

Excerpt from the first novel in the Priyas series, ‘Ava’

“Pull over,” Ava instructed, as she reached for the wheel.

“What?” Kader brushed her hand aside. “No.”

“Over,” she repeated. “Pull. Over.”

“Why? We don’t have far to go.”

They were passing through downtown Bethesda, and were minutes from her building.

“Do it now, Kader. Hurry.”

“Are you going to be sick?” he asked, as he scanned the busy street for an open spot.

They were on their way back from dinner at the Georgetown Waterfront with Trace, Locke, Layla, and Bonner. Right now, Ava couldn’t remember the name of the restaurant or what food had been on her plate.

She had spent the past three hours sitting across from Kader, being assailed by memories of their life together, their old life: stretched out on the beach, her head on his chest, as they searched the night sky for shooting stars; laughing as she lay trapped beneath him during a game of touch football that went suspiciously awry; running on stage and locking her lips over his to spare the audience from his encore performance during the annual Arden Family Karaoke Night.

Perhaps, all this time, she had misjudged love. Perhaps, she had misjudged Kader.

Ava felt cool air on her face as he lowered her window and instructed her to lean her head out. He had pulled into a parking space. She hadn’t noticed. She would have laughed if her body wasn’t so tense. “Turn off the engine, please,” she said.

He left it running and began punching numbers into his dashboard computer.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m calling my doctor. He’ll meet us at your apartment.”

Over the car speakers, Ava heard the sound of a phone line connecting. With the touch of a finger, she ended the call. “No doctors.”

“Was it something you ate at dinner? Do you have a fever? The shivers?” Kader voiced his concern as he moved his seat all the way back, giving him more room to turn and investigate her condition. “You’re scaring me, Ava. Where do you hurt?”

She unhooked her seat belt and dove on top of him. “I hurt everywhere.”

On the leap over, she banged her knee on the center console and accidentally honked the horn with her heel. She didn’t care. It had been five weeks since this man had walked back into her life. Five chaste weeks in which he had done little more than taunt her with sweet words, kisses on the hand, and a growing pile of puzzle pieces.

“I’m done with you, Kader,” she informed him tartly, as she wedged herself between the steering wheel and his body. “I’m over this whole charade. You have one chance left to show me that you really—”

He stopped her with a hard kiss. His hands made their way down her body to edge of the dress now sitting high up on her thighs. She pulled at the buttons of his shirt, anxious to feel his skin.

A bright light pierced the corner of her eye and she realized that, with one long kiss, Kader Thornton had her seeing stars. She wanted to tell him how much she had missed him, how certain she was that she had been wrong this whole time, but the only sound she could make was a deep, hungry sigh. Hearing it, Kader set his hands on a new course.

“Ava? Ava Arden? Is that you?”

Kader broke the kiss, leaving Ava confused as she lifted her head and opened her eyes. His face, inches from hers, was turned in the direction of the passenger seat. She followed his gaze and saw a skinny, bottle blond in a tight dress leaning through the open window. In her hand sat a fancy, expensive phone. The bright light of the camera feature announced to Kader and Ava that they were being recorded.

“You had better not be filming us, Lydia Hunt Bellsyn,” Ava threatened.

“You’re on a public street. I can do whatever I want here. So can you, apparently.”

“Turn that thing off! So help me… Kader, do something.” Ava looked to him for backup and noticed his broad grin. She glared at him before lunging in Lydia’s direction.

“And, of course, you are Kader Thornton,” Lydia said, as she pulled her phone out of Ava’s reach. “We’ve met in passing. Nice to see you.”

Kader’s eyes stayed on Ava’s flushed face. He offered no greeting of his own, saying only, “Fair warning. Three. Two. One.”

The window glass began a swift ascent, forcing a squeal from Lydia as she jumped backwards, out of the way.

Kader gripped Ava’s hips and shifted her over to the passenger seat. Unwilling to risk a second encounter with Lydia’s camera phone, she didn’t protest.

He put the car in gear, and they drove the remaining blocks to Ava’s apartment in silence. When it came time for her step out of the car, she wasn’t certain her trembling legs would hold her up long enough to make it through her front door.

Minutes later, she stepped over the threshold with a satisfied sigh. “Home, at last.”

Kader, still holding her hand, stood in the open doorway. “Goodnight, Ava.”

She tugged on his hand, amused. “It’s early. Come in.”

He shook his head and gently pried his fingers loose from her grip. “Goodnight, Ava,” he repeated.

“Oh, no—not this time, Kader. You are not to going to charm me to within an inch of my sanity, and then walk out the door. Not again.”

He stared at her, his gaze solemn. “It is time for me to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Ava jumped across the distance and grabbed hold of his jacket. His arms automatically rose around her. She felt his body press up against hers, and closed her eyes as shivers of anticipation teased her skin. “Don’t leave me tonight.”

“I have to, Ava,” he assured her in a low, firm voice. “This is not the past. We’re not the same people, not anymore.”

“Why?” she demanded. “What makes us different? I’m no different today than I was yesterday.”

He kept his voice calm, and said, “We’re both different. Being apart changed us.”

Ava refused to be left to the fate of a cold, empty bed one more time—not with Kader standing in her doorway. “Don’t you remember, Kader? Don’t you remember me? Us?”

“I remember a broken man leaving Washington one cold January morning. I’ve come back, come home, for one reason. My heart belongs to you, Ava Arden. But I will not give you all of me, not again, until I know you want all of me back.”

She heard his words but couldn’t take them in, couldn’t process them. Not now, not tonight. “Kader…” she stretched to reach his mouth.

“Not my body, Ava. Me.” He slowly shook his head. “I didn’t understand how to love you, didn’t understand how you wanted to be loved, the first time around. I got it all wrong. I thought you wanted paradise.”

She stepped back, surprised, and searched his eyes. “I do, Kader.”

“Different definitions,” he grunted, and turned again to leave.

“Stay,” she whispered.

Kader looked back at her and froze. A long minute passed before he said, “If you keep moving your hands across your dress that way, I’ll be forced to limit our future contact to public venues only.”

She smiled, and moved her hands up to her hair, slowly running her fingers through the long strands. “Didn’t matter to you tonight, being in public.”

“You ambushed me.”

She stepped out of her high heels. “Want me to ambush you again?”

“You know where I stand, Ava,” he assured her, and walked away.

Ava stared at the empty doorway then stepped into the hall, and insisted, “Don’t you bother calling me tomorrow, Kader Thornton. Or the next day, either. I won’t answer.”

“Sweet dreams,” he said over his shoulder, as his long strides carried him away from her.

His laughter trailed him as he disappeared around the corner.

“No more games!” she shouted.

“My life is no game, Ava. It’s all or nothing.”

Had he said it or had she imagine it? The answer didn’t matter. The line had been drawn. It was time to decide on which side of it she belonged.

Ashley’s novel, AVA, debuts this spring. To read another sample of Ashley’s writing, please click here.

Interview with Coral Moore, Author of Broods of Fenrir

Posted on February 21, 2012 by Sharon Buchbinder

I am delighted to have my friend from the Paranormal Romance Guild, Coral Moore, with me today to talk about her book, BROODS OF FENRIR. Author of one novel, Coral Moore has always been the kind of girl who makes up stories. Fortunately, she never quite grew out of that. She writes because she loves to invent characters and the desire to find out what happens to her creations drives the tales she tells. Prompted by a general interest in how life works, her undergraduate schooling was in biology. She follows science news and enjoys conversations about genetics and microbiology as much as those about vampires and werewolves. Coral writes speculative fiction and is pursuing a Master of Fine Arts in Writing at Albertus Magnus College. Currently she lives in Connecticut with the love of her life, who offers both encouragement and kicks in the tail when necessary. Also in residence are two mammals of the families Canidae and Felidae. Coral has generously agreed to provide a free e-copy of BROODS OF FENRIR for one commenter. All you have to do is comment or ask a question at the end of the interview to be entered to win.

Coral, what made you want to be an author? At what age did you start telling stories and then writing them down?

My decision to become an author came after quite a few years of writing for myself as a hobby. I’ve been writing on and off since high school. I waited around until a good idea hit and would spend a day or two playing with it, but I got bored quickly and didn’t finish anything. In 2010 I decided that I should give writing a try as a career. I’m not sure there was any one event that led to the revelation. I think it was just the accumulation of years of reading and dabbling.

What do you like best about being a writer? What do you like the least?

I love inventing characters. It’s always been my favorite thing about writing. Making up characters and putting them in strange situations is why I write. What I like least is the feeling that nothing is ever good enough. Broods had eight beta readers, an editor and two proofreaders and I still didn’t feel like it was ready. Even when I was uploading it for sale I was making notes on things I’d change and words I would replace. The process doesn’t have a firm ending point, and that lack of clarity bothers me.

How do you think your work biologist prepared you for writing a paranormal romance?

I think any scientific study is really a great place for writers of any genre to start. There’s an objectivity and rigor to the study of science that helps even when writing about things that don’t exist. You can write about a flying monkey, but you either better have the mechanics write or invent some clever magic that explains it, otherwise rather than a cool detail that immerses the reader in your world it becomes an irritation that takes the reader out of your world.

Have you ever felt as if you were being dictated to while you wrote a book–as if the words came of their own accord? If yes, which book did that happen with?

No. I wish someone dictated my stories, that seems so much easier than having to make them up! I do on occasion find characters behaving in a scene a way other than I want them to. Brand, the main character in Broods, is notorious for going his own way when I think the story should go another way.

You’ve written one novel and published two short stories. What’s your favorite time management tip?

I’m a terrible person to ask for time management tips, really! I keep my deadlines in Google calendar and hope that I set the reminders right, but mostly it’s all in my head.

Are you a plotter or a pantser, i.e., do you outline your books ahead of time or are you an “organic” writer?

Pantser for life. I wish I wasn’t. I wish I could write an awesome outline that would tell me which way to go as I’m writing. That would solve so many of my problems. My story changes as I write it, and I do a lot of rewriting between drafts because of that. I do think a pantser is part of what keeps writing interesting for me. If I knew from the first page where I was going to end up, I might not have any reason to write my way there.

If you had one take away piece of advice for authors, what would it be?

My favorite piece of advice is never to delete anything. You never know when some bit you’ve written that you took out could come in handy later. When I delete a sentence or a passage, I put it into a ‘spare parts’ file. Sometimes I never look back at the parts file aside from adding to it, but more often than not I find tidbits in there that I use later and I’m glad I saved.

Tell me more about BROODS OF FENRIR.

Shapeshifter Brand Geirson was raised to rule the Broods of Fenrir, but he refused his birthright. Instead, he killed their brutal leader–his own father–and walked away.

For hundreds of years he’s avoided brood society, until a werewolf kills an innocent human woman and Brand finds himself dragged back into the violent politics of the shapeshifters. When the two brood women who mean the most to him come under threat, he must take up the throne and risk becoming the kind of vicious bastard his father was, or let the broods descend further into chaos–taking the friend he swore to protect and his lover with them.

How about an excerpt from BROODS OF FENRIR?

Brand walked along the yellow crime scene tape that cordoned off the dilapidated building. His gaze wandered over the stained brick wall and broken windows. He remembered when the building was new, how modern it had seemed rising out of the barren landscape. The abandoned industrial complex south of downtown had deteriorated from a Denver landmark into a crumbling eyesore over the last several decades. Glare from the bright, early winter sun prevented him from seeing inside the dim structure.

The patrolman guarding the perimeter passed a long, appraising look over him. Brand nodded to the man and handed over his identification. The uniformed officer glanced at the badge. He gave Brand another once-over and frowned. “Private security? You’re not authorized to be in this area.”

Between his height and the presence of the wolf inside him, most humans found Brand intimidating. They would never be able to define exactly what bothered them, only a vague sense of strangeness. The more sensitive they were to the energies of the natural world, the harder he had to try to put them at ease. If the man in front of Brand had been a wolf, his hackles would have been raised.

Brand pulled off his sunglasses and smiled without showing his overlong canine teeth. “Detective Grant asked me to stop by.” He kept his voice light, trying to convey that he was just another guy, there to do his job when he’d rather be anywhere else.

With a pensive creasing of his forehead, the officer seemed to come to the conclusion that Brand was no threat, and his expression eased. He turned to speak into the radio at his shoulder. “Tell Grant a guy named Brandon Geirson from Sword Security is here to see him.”

For Brand, dealing with humans was easier than interacting with his own kind. Aggression was counterproductive, rather than required. He appreciated that humans responded better to courtesy than intimidation, something that would never work in the brutal subculture into which he’d been born. The constant battle for rank among the Broods of Fenrir brought out unwelcome feral tendencies.

The crackling that answered was all but incomprehensible. The patrolman handed back Brand’s identification. “He’ll be here shortly.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Brand slid his sunglasses back into place.

“Sure thing.” The officer nodded and resumed his scan of the area.

Grant emerged from the building a few minutes later and jogged over to the edge of the cordoned-off area. He made a beckoning gesture with one thick-fingered hand.

Brand ducked under the yellow tape. “What’s going on, Grant?” They’d never met under what could be called pleasant circumstances, so Brand wasn’t surprised Grant seemed perturbed.

Grant led the way toward one of the oversized loading doors that had been propped open. Police personnel wandered in and out of the building. Snatches of conversation drifted over to them.

Grant paused several feet short of the entry. “We got a call about a body inside. Your company is the security outfit for this place?”

Brand swiped a hand down his face. He hoped some kid hadn’t thought to have an adventure exploring the empty derelict and instead had fallen down an open elevator shaft. It had happened before, and the guilt gnawed at him. “They don’t pay for anything but one guard doing occasional walks of the outside.”

Grant made a note, then fixed his astute eyes on Brand. “Must be frustrating for you.”

Brand sighed. “It is. I’ve tried to talk to the owners about it, but they aren’t interested in spending money to keep out trespassers.”

“Well, in this case, it’s not some adrenaline junkie looking for a new high.” Grant shook his head. “Wish it was. Lady in there is all slashed up.”

Brand froze in the act of scratching his jaw. “She was murdered?”

Grant looked over his notes and gestured toward the page with one finger. “The coroner’s hemming and hawing about bites that look canine, but there’s no animal I know of would do that kind of damage.”

Dread slithered up Brand’s back, raising the hairs on his neck. “Canine?”

Grant flipped a few pages in his notebook. “Maybe some coyotes came in after the guy was done with her and had a snack, who knows?” He shrugged. “All I know is, there’s no dog-like thing on Earth that would slice her up that way.”

Brand knew firsthand that wasn’t true. Bloody images bubbled up from the deep place he’d buried them. His stomach turned while he battled the painful memories. “Why’d you ask me to come here?”

“I need to know about anything unusual going on in the vicinity.”

He met Grant’s cool stare. “Kids come to get their kicks exploring the empty building. It’s been happening since they closed the factory down years ago.”

Grant scribbled some more notes. He pushed a few buttons on his phone and held it up for Brand to see. “You know her?”

Bruises and cuts covered the woman’s swollen face. Brand swallowed to alleviate the sudden tightening of his throat.

At the bottom of the frame, bloody gashes in her clothing made the pain she had endured before her death obvious. Teeth marks were visible along one side of her neck. Not canine, not at all, though Brand understood why someone who didn’t know about the existence of his kind might assume that. He closed his eyes briefly and searched for calm. His temper flared, but he regained control. “No, I’ve never seen her before.”

Grant harrumphed. “That’s all I’ve got for you right now. I’ll call your office when we clear out of here.”

“Thanks.” Brand offered his hand, and Grant shook it with a short nod.

While walking back to his motorcycle, Brand mulled over what do to next. Leaving the investigation up to the police was out of the question. Even if they could figure out who’d done it, they were ill-equipped to deal with one of the brood. The responsibility of seeking justice for the woman’s death fell to him.

The leader of the brood in the Denver area was a long-time friend and one of his biggest clients. In all likelihood, a member of Erik’s brood had murdered that woman. That placed Brand in a dangerous position since he wanted to put the wild animal down.

Where can readers find more about your stories, books and you on the Internet?

The best place to find more about me is on my website: http://www.chaosandinsanity.com/

To find information specific to Broods of Fenrir, you can go here: http://www.BroodsOfFenrir.com/

Coral, thanks you so much for being with us here today. I know my readers will enjoy your work and your interview.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Sweetie!

Posted on February 14, 2012 by Sharon Buchbinder

I am delighted to report that I am a recipient of the Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award. I’d like to thank Marilyn Wigglesworth for this award (*throwing kisses*). I am now supposed to share seven (7) random facts about myself. So, here are some random facts about my writing life.

I’m a reformed pantser. I used to write “organically,” but then I found much of my work wound up in the composter, so to speak.
I took course with Karen Docter on the “W” Plot and Alexandra Sokoloff on Screenwriting Tips for Authors and saw the light. I now think about my characters’ motivation and goals and plot before I begin to pour my thoughts into my computer.
I get ideas for writing from dreams, news reports, and life experiences. Then I wonder, “What if…”
I love the Readability utility in Word. Passive voice is my nemesis.
Coffee. Nothing more needs to be said.
If I don’t time myself, I fritter too much time away on Twitter and Facebook. Morning and evening check-ins and I’m done. Okay, well this is really more of a 2012 goal than a reality, but I’m working on it.
DESIRE AND DECEPTION was nominated for an RT Best Erotic Fiction Book of 2011 Award. Yeah, not random, but I HAD to share and pinch myself again!

To celebrate the RT nomination and Valentine’s Day and my Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award, I’m giving away a free e-copy of DESIRE AND DECEPTION to one lucky commenter.

Now, I hereby tag the following ten (10) blog buddies for the Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award. It’s their turn to spill seven secrets and pass the love along.

Caz Austin’s Blogspot

EJ Stevens From the Shadows

David Beem

RW Goodship, aka, The Camera Guy

Derek Flynn, Rant with Occasional Music

Howard Hopkins – In Memoriam

Posted on February 8, 2012 by Sharon Buchbinder

Can we pause for a moment from our hectic, over-booked, fatigued, maxed-out, lives and remember what is really important?

We lost one of our own this month – an author of many books, our friend Howard. I didn’t know him outside our literary circle. Aside from social media and mutual support, Howard was one of many online writer pals who exemplified why we all gather here – community.

Death is hardest on those who are left behind. We take comfort in the legacy left behind, the memories we share, the essence of the energy that continues to surround us despite absence of physical body.

When someone passes without warning, without pre-illness, it’s that much tougher. We can grieve illness when someone is still living, and while we mourn the loss we had time to prepare. There is time to process, to tie up loose ends, and to say farewell. Sudden passing is without warning. It doesn’t come with a set of instructions. It’s inconceivable that someone would be there one minute, and simply not the next.

It is because of the finite life line we all share, the No Guarantee brand on every life that does not promise you a single breath past tomorrow, or the next hour, or the next minute, or second – that every breath must be a cause for celebration. What are you doing right now to celebrate that breath you just took?

Because we continue to have the privilege of breathing, let us honor Howard’s LIFE by honoring his work. This year, let’s each commit to read something Howard wrote (if you haven’t already) and post a review.

We are all extremely busy and that will not change. But let’s keep Howard in our thoughts this year, and not allow life to let us forget our ultimate purpose is to revere each second ticking by as a gift not to be squandered.

List of Howard’s books: http://www.goodreads.com/author/list/361542.Howard_Hopkins

The above tribute was written by one of our #TeaserTrain participants Beth Elisa Harris.

Interview with Eliza Knight, Author of HIGHLAND TRYST

Posted on January 31, 2012 by Sharon Buchbinder

I am delighted to have my friend from the Maryland Romance Writers, Eliza Knight, with me today to talk about new short, HIGHLAND TRYST in the SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES anthology. Author of 1 novel, 8 novellas and 4 short stories, as Eliza Knight, she writes write historical romance, erotic romance and non-fiction. She also writes write sexy western historical romance and erotic paranormal under the name Annabelle Weston, and historical fiction under the name, Michelle Brandon. Growing up, Eliza was a proficient story teller, with most of her plots encompassing princesses and princes and dreams coming true. Now as an author, some of her stories are still about royalty, knights, duels, ladies, intrigue, betrayal. History fascinates her and she tries try to bring history back to life in each of her stories.

Eliza’s favorite time periods are medieval, renaissance and Regency eras of Europe. Growing up, she was lucky to have grandparents who lived in Paris, so many a summer was spent exploring medieval ruins and historical sites. When not reading or writing, Eliza is usually doing research for fun. If you love history, come visit me at History Undressed, where we discuss all the wildly fascinating and titillating facts of history! Eliza has generously agreed to provide a free e-copy of SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES for one commenter. All you have to do is comment or ask a question at the end of the interview to be entered to win.

Eliza, what made you want to be an author? At what age did you start telling stories and then writing them down?

I’ve always enjoyed stories, and I used to make them up from a very early age. My imagination was insane… I wrote my first “book” when I was six. I still have it. I made a cover and everything—it’s about a mouse who stole cheese. Just the other day I found this bin my mom had given me, it is FILLED with stories—and magazine photo clippings I used for character collages.

What do you like best about being a writer? What do you like the least?

The thing I like best about being a writer is the creation of a world that not only fascinates me but provides and entertaining escape for a reader. The part I like least is the “business” side of it. The writing process is fun, but the contracts, keeping track of numbers, etc… that is not so fun.

How do you think your life experiences have prepared you for writing paranormal romance?

Well, my vivid imagination and ability to suspend disbelief at something completely unrealistic definitely has prepared me. My life is pretty normal otherwise… But I sure do wish I could time-travel!

Have you ever felt as if you were being dictated to while you wrote a book–as if the words came of their own accord? If yes, which book did that happen with?

Oh, yes! Most of my stories I feel just fly from my fingertips, but the first historical fiction book I wrote, MY LADY VIPER (which my agent is shopping), felt as though the main character was channeling through me. I would think something up for the story—there were lots of spaces in her life I needed to fill in—and then I’d find a piece of research that showed that what I thought I’d made up really could have happened. She was with me the whole time. It was amazing.

You’ve written 6 novels, 12 novellas and 5 short stories. You also have a husband and 3 children. That sounds like a lot of juggling to me! What’s your favorite time management tip?

Schedules, a planner, charts and calendars! I live by my planner. If it isn’t on there, it isn’t getting done. Also EVERY person in my house (except the 2yo) has a schedule they follow for EVERYTHING—morning, afternoon, evening schedules, daily/monthly chores charts. If I didn’t have these things, I would go insane.

Are you a plotter or a pantser, i.e., do you outline your books ahead of time or are you an “organic” writer?

It depends on the story. For my short stories and novellas, I typically have an outline that I follow. But sometimes the story doesn’t come to me in wholes, it comes to me in parts, or just the characters appear and it becomes more of an organic story. For my historical fiction novels, I do a lot of research ahead of time to learn about the current events, the actual characters, the setting, so when I sit down to write, I have in my head the story—no outline. For my romance novels, I am a plotter, and extreme, I have to know all the elements before I write. Now that doesn’t mean things might not change.

If you had one take away piece of advice for authors, what would it be?

The three P’s! Persistence, perseverance and patience. You must write, write, write. You must continue steadily on your path, cheer when triumphant and roll with the punches. This is a slow business, remain diligent.

Tell me more about HIGHLAND TRYST.

Having sworn off love, Kari Howard isn’t adverse to a little lust when a hot Highlander lands at her feet. Literally. Fin has traveled through time, and given what he’s packing under his kilt (good Lord!), Kari expects the sexy Scotsman to make her quake. But she didn’t expect Fin to shake her very foundation…or cherish her for who she is.

How about an excerpt from HIGHLAND TRYST?

Kari sighed heavily, wanting sleep, but she was in even greater need of salty sea air. As she parked her car at the pier and climbed out, something dropped to the ground from the door pocket. A book. She bent down and picked up the romance novel she’d been reading while at the beach over the weekend. The cover image of a tall, muscular Highlander—his arms wrapped around his lady love—screamed of romantic and sensual promises. But it was all a load of crap.

She’d never been happy in a relationship, and hadn’t found a guy yet who gave a shit about her in bed.

Damn men to hell!

She walked briskly to the nearest trashcan and tossed the book inside. Romance like that never happened. It was pure fantasy. She wouldn’t believe in that crap ever again, as long as she lived, even if a hot, kilt-wearing, Scottish-brogue-bearing Highlander fell from the sky and landed at her feet.

A loud crack of thunder made her jump. The strike of lightning that followed had her bending and covering her head.

Where had that come from?

What had been a perfectly glorious day was now black and ominous. Huge pellets of rain beat down on her. Kari straightened and whirled around to run back to her car—and immediately tripped over something large that hadn’t been in her path before.

When she looked down, her eyes widened in disbelief. She must be going crazy.

On the ground lay a handsome, dark-haired, enticingly well-built man—in a kilt! His chest was completely bare. He opened his startling gray eyes and smiled at her. When he spoke, his voice was sensual, gravelly and thick with a Scottish accent.

“Well, lass, this isn’t what I expected Heaven to be like at all.”

Kari’s eyes rolled back in her head. She dropped like a ton of bricks.