Book excerpt for YA fantasy The Fox's Mask by Anna Frost

Today features a special book blurb and excerpt from The Fox's Mask (Kitsune Trilogy #1) by Anna Frost. She's touring the novel with Goddess Fish Promotions.

During her tour, Anna is going to award a $30 gift card (Amazon OR Barnes and Noble OR Kobo) to a randomly drawn commenter. To be entered for a chance to win, use the form below. To increase your chances of winning, feel free to visit other tour stops and enter there, too.

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Blurb about The Fox's Mask:

Demon hunter Akakiba keeps many secrets from his human companion. The fact he's a werefox isn't the worst one.

In feudal Japan, magic is dying. As a demon hunter, Akakiba finds this problematic. The evil he's been trained to destroy is disappearing and, along with it, the shape-shifting abilities of the clan he left behind. With his only companion, a determined young human named Yuki, Akakiba traverses the country slaying demons and performing odd jobs.

But when an army of demon-possessed humans masses to exterminate his clan, Akakiba must put aside old feuds and protect his family–-all while hiding an important secret from Yuki. Will they find a way to defeat the demon possessed before it's too late? With magic dwindling, will it matter either way?

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Excerpt from The Fox's Mask:

Sometime later, the boy woke.

“I’m hungry,” he said shyly. “Are we there yet?”

“Do you want a rice cake, um, you?” Yuki blinked. “Uh, you never gave us your name.”

“I’m Taro, because I’m the firstborn in my family,” he explained as if they couldn’t figure out that a person named “eldest son” was likely to be the eldest son.

After discovering Taro’s name, they also discovered that once he was finished being awed into silence, it was very difficult to get him to stop talking.

“Why is your name Akakiba?” Taro asked. “Is it a warrior name?”

“No. It’s the name I was born with.”

“Why would your parents pick that name?”

“My father is named Kiba, the fang. My mother is Akahana, the red rose. They compromised with Akakiba, the red fang.”

“Oh. Do you always wear your swords?”

“Yes.”

“Even when you sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Even when you take a bath?”

“No.”

There was an all-too-brief moment of silence before Taro asked another question. “Why is it the Fox clan and not the Dragon clan? Foxes don’t fight demons, dragons do.”

Yuki intervened, perhaps sensing Akakiba’s growing impatience. “Foxes fight demons too. Don’t you know the legend?”

“There’s no legend with fighting foxes,” Taro asserted.


“Is that so? Then I can’t tell you about it since it doesn’t exist...”

“Tell me!”

Yuki’s voice softened as he began. “A long time ago, when foxes were more than mere animals and possessed great powers, it wasn’t rare for them to take our likeness and live among us unseen. It so happened that a fox disguised as a beautiful lady fell in love with a strong and honorable samurai. They married and lived happily for a time.

“One day, a dog wandered into their garden and started chasing the fox lady. So afraid was she that she turned back into a fox and leaped to safety on top of a wall. Having witnessed the scene, the samurai begged her not to leave, swearing to love her forever even if she were a fox. She heard truth in his voice and returned to him. They had many children and lived happily for a time longer.

“In those days, demons were strong and cruel, and they despised foxes for their willingness to side with humanity against them. One such demon descended upon their home and killed the samurai before the fox lady’s eyes. In her anguish, she took up her husband’s sword and slew the monster.

“The fox lady’s sorrow was, however, too great to bear; a wasting sickness took her, and she was soon on her deathbed. Sensing her death approaching, she told her children that they were to become slayers of demons, for nothing else would allow her to rest in peace. Her children obeyed and founded the Fox clan to honor their mother. Ever since, the Fox clan’s warriors have been fighting demons wherever they can be found.”

Akakiba glanced at his friend with surprise. “I didn’t know you knew the legend.”

“I didn’t know it before. Someone in the village told the story during the festival. You should have told me. It’s interesting.”

Akakiba heard the unspoken reproach: You never tell me anything. But why should he? There was no need to speak of his clan. He himself hadn’t dealt with them in years, not since he rebelled, left the clan house, and found Yuki.

Taro spoke up. “But how did the fox lady know how to use a sword?”

Akakiba and Yuki sighed in unison. The road would be a long one.

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Author Bio and Links:

Anna Frost is a Canadian girl who spends winters writing and dreaming of summer. An overdose of Japanese culture and media has led her to write fantasy inspired by Japanese mythology. In a shocking break with literary tradition, Anna does not live with cats. Instead she lives with chinchillas, which can be just as demanding and evil as cats.

Author links:

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Buy links:

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Book excerpt for YA inspirational series Love, God & Tattoos by Aleshia Robinson

Today features a virtual book blurb blitz tour stop for the series of books in Love, God & Tattoos Bundle. Aleshia Robinson is the YA inspirational series author touring with Goddess Fish Promotions.

Aleshia will be awarding a print copy of the Love, God & Tattoos bundle (US and Canada only) to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.

To be entered for a chance to win, leave a comment below. To increase your chances of winning, feel free to visit other tour stops and leave comments there, too.

Blurbs:

Love, God & Tattoos is a series of young adult novels written by American author Aleshia Robinson. The story chronicles the spiritual journey of 21 year old Alcatraz, a troubled tattoo artist, and her struggle to have a positive relationship with God and herself.

Alcatraz the Lost Pearl

Fifteen year old Alcatraz is being chased. Born and raised in a loving family, she suddenly finds herself fending for her life on the streets of Los Angeles. Consumed with anger, hurt and confusion, Alcatraz turns to the spiritual realm to find life’s answers. While experimenting with pagan spells, Buddhist chants, and yoga sutras, she continually encounters a spirit who claims He is God. The Truth she learns from this spiritual quest introduces her to the unexpected world of divine healing, acceptance and unconditional love.

Alcatraz the Righteous Pearl

After two years of spiritual searching, Alcatraz has finally decided who the One true God is for her life. But trouble soon follows. Being rejected by her new found religious organization because of her appearance and discharged from the tattoo shop for her beliefs, Alcatraz is forced to enter the Hollywood adult entertainment life with her best friend Kuriko. The nightmares she experiences living on the dubious streets of Los Angeles causes her to struggle to keep her faith.

Kuriko the Damaged Pearl

Alcatraz has desperately wanted to learn more about the mysterious past of her street-smart Japanese best friend, Kuriko. Now her wish has come true, but not in the way she expected. Kuriko handed Alcatraz a black bamboo box before the tragic accident. Inside, Alcatraz finds the diary of a nineteen-year-old girl's struggle with sex trafficking, powerful men, abuse, betrayal, and surprisingly, a burning desire to know God. After two years of living with the secretive, over-protective high-dollar prostitute, Alcatraz learns the dark truth of Kuriko's inhumane journey. Now she wishes the past could have been buried with her best friend.

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Excerpt from Alcatraz the Righteous Pearl- Book 2 in Love, God & Tattoos Series

“What!” I shouted. I couldn’t believe it.

“I’m sorry, kid, I have to let you go,” Moon said.

“What do you mean, let me go? I have appointments booked for the next two weeks.”

Blue Moon stood guard at the reception desk. He wouldn’t let me go to my booth.

“Alcatraz, I believe you are a very talented and promising tattoo artist who will no doubt go far in the field, but I can’t have outbursts like I had yesterday in this shop, kid. Highly unprofessional. That makes people here extremely uncomfortable, and I’’m one of them. So I went ahead and packed up your station for you. All your supplies are here. I even threw in some extra materials so you can freelance. Sorry it had to end this way, kid, but I’m in a tough spot here.”

“Moon, come on, surely we can work this out. I experienced a supernatural love yesterday. I didn’t know that was gonna happen to me or else I would have waited until I got home. Come on, man.”” I threw up my hands. “You can’t fire me because of that. I work too hard here and I know you see that. I’ll keep it under control from now on. I promise.”

Moon hesitated for a moment. “Here.” He slowly reached behind the desk and handed me my stuff. I could tell he didn’t want to do this. He must have felt strapped because Josh was a cash cow. Moon looked back towards the other tattoo artists then turned to me. “If you need a recommendation just have ’em call me. I’ll refer you to any shop in town. You won’t have a problem getting another gig. I’m sure of it.” He turned around and walked towards his office in the back.

I walked slowly back to my condo with several thoughts running through my mind: What am I supposed to do for work? How am I gonna pay rent? Where am I gonna get a job at fifteen years old? Moon did Kuriko a favor by offering me an apprenticeship but there’s no guarantee another shop owner will extend the same favor. I wouldn’t even turn sixteen for another three and a half months! I didn’t have any legal identification, social security card or birth certificate to even apply for a real job. I didn’t even know what state to begin digging for those documents. California, where I was allegedly born? Illinois, where I was state property or Utah where the Robinsons adopted me last July?

Losing my job at the tattoo parlor turned my world completely upside down. Other fifteen year old girls loitered around in the tenth grade in their cute plaid skirts, studied for SATs, borrowed their daddy’s car for driver’s ed and worked at Forever 21. I was an eighth grade dropout, runaway, semi-tattoo artist rooming with a battered Japanese stripper. I didn’t have a mommy or daddy to get me out of difficult situations in life. The only person I had was three years, three months and twelve days older than me, and I decided to wake up.

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Author Bio and Links:

Aleshia Robinson was born in Chicago, Illinois and enjoys writing edgy inspirational fiction, traveling, decoupaging, empowering women in the sex trade and providing clean water for mankind.

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Book excerpt for YA paranormal romance novel The Possession

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will be awarding winner's choice of two ebooks from Lachesis Publishing to a randomly drawn winner via the form at the end of this post.

Daphne Wentworth is almost seventeen, definitely a red head, and most likely the tallest girl in her class, which is awkward to say the least when it comes to dating boys in her school. But she doesn’t have to worry about school for the next two months since she’s spending the summer at her aunt Dwill’s lighthouse in Maine.

What she does have to worry about is seeing ghosts in the lighthouse cemetery, having strange dreams, and hearing the voices of star-crossed lovers who lived two-hundred years ago. And then there’s a local boy named Zach Philbrook who works for her aunt. He’s too gorgeous for his own good. He’s also very tall, with midnight black hair, and the most beautiful indigo blue eyes Daphne has ever seen.

Zach is treated like an outcast by the local teens in town. He’s Micmac and therefore not “one of the gang”. Daphne can’t help being drawn to his strength, especially considering that he’s had to live his entire life dealing with ignorance. But the local teens aren’t the only trouble-makers in town. As Zach and Daphne get closer, the lighthouse ghost lovers begin haunting them. When Daphne and Zach try to figure out how to fight them, the spirits get bolder and more dangerous. So how do you protect yourself from something that isn’t really there?

Enjoy a long excerpt from the book!

His eyes were indigo, the deep blue-black of the open ocean shot through with the heavy gray of a storm. Their color caught me when he turned and tried to walk away from the group of kids gathered to torment him.

The town kids are mean. They stopped him in front of the hardware store, a bag of grass seed slouched heavily over his shoulder. The girls crossed in front of him so that he had to stop. They batted their eyelashes and taunted him while the guys poked at the bag and tried to make him drop it.

They ran off when that big dope Gary O’Malley stuck his finger through the plastic. Only it wasn’t his finger, but a pocketknife pressed against his palm.

“Zach Attack!” Gary crowed as he backed away from the spilling seed, flashing the knife. The group of six then dashed in my direction.

Zach, if that was his name, clamped the hole closed as best he could, stemming the flow enough to carry the bag back into the hardware store.

I stood my ground, making the six slow at the thin alley opening. Chantal Barrett tried to shove past me and glowered, “What’s your problem? Move.”

My eyes narrowed. Blood pumped faster into my veins and my legs weakened, but I held firm.

“Learn some manners,” I snapped, “and grow up!” What they’d done wasn’t right. I could see Chantal got my message.

“Boo-hoo! Why don’t you run on over and help Zach clean up, if you’re so concerned.”

Gary’s jaw dropped. “She’s sticking up for that—”

“Daphne doesn’t know any better, Gary,” Chantal interrupted, covering his words—she thought. She turned a sweetened smile on me. “She doesn’t live here. She’s not one of us.”

Her words had their desired effect. Each of the six snickered in their own way and one-by-one shouldered past me to disappear down the alley.

Chantal the last, she paused and stuck her face into mine. “Mind your business. Or be sorry.”

She hurried down the alley after the others. I glanced at the hardware store, but Zach was long gone.

I made my way to the grocer.

When I got back to the lighthouse, I told Aunt Dwill what had happened, skipping Chantal’s threat. She was pleased, I could tell, though her words were cautious.

“You’re nothing, Daphne, if you can’t stand up for your principles. Just be mindful that every gain has a loss and every victory a cost. Pick your battles, and be sure you’re willing to pay.”

I frowned. She kissed my forehead. “I’ll put this stuff away. Go on out to the cemetery and start clearing. The fresh air will do you good.”

I guess I should explain about my aunt and the lighthouse.

This year is the lighthouse’s two-hundredth birthday. From the moment they struck the first wick, there has always been a Wentworth in charge. By the end of the first year, a Wentworth woman.

The present Wentworth is my aunt Dwill, Official Lighthouse Keeper of the Bay Head Light in Bay Bluffs, Maine. It’s a small town with a big responsibility. You see, the ledges off Bay Head are some of the worst along the northeastern seaboard. And they’re smack in the middle of two of the busiest seaports this side of the Canadian border.

Aunt’s real name is Edwilda, which explained her willingness to let her siblings foist the nickname ‘Dwill’ on her. It’s an old family name, my mom explained to me one day.

Yeah, well it should have stayed that way, in my opinion. Everyone thinks Aunt must be old until they meet her. She’s my mom’s middle sister, in her mid-forties but already a widow. It happened when I was little, and no one really talks about it much.

Anyway, it’s a big place for one person. She sent us pictures after she moved in. Someone took a picture of her on her front porch. Though almost as tall as me, she looked so small in the middle of the three archways, the light tower rising behind her house, the sea swelling in the background to both sides of the picture.

The lighthouse property sat on a promontory, beautiful but isolated. I remember the first time we came up to visit. Only two of my sisters had come. We arrived at dusk. Neither wanted to get out of the car.

“It’s creepy out here,” they whined. “What’s that noise? Why is it so dark? Is that light going to flash all night?”

All that before they even discovered the lighthouse came with the old historic cemetery in the woods. When we left on Sunday, they were happy to go. I stood by the lighthouse in the backyard, leaning on the fence in the growing mist as the fog horn sounded, a deep boom through my chest.

“Will you send me more pictures, Aunt?” I asked when she came out to get me.

What she sent was a picture of me, smiling broadly on the lighthouse’s hurricane deck, a glimpse of the Fresnel lens visible on my right, the sea on my left. We became pen pals of a sort, and in the summer of my thirteenth year, she invited me up for a week.

One week turned into two and that’s how it’s remained ever since.

This year, however, was special and Aunt decided to throw a celebration for the light, complete with a tour and period costumes. She asked if I could come for a couple of months, to help her ready the property. My parents agreed when they learned I’d be working for her and not just ‘wasting my summer’.

So as you can see, I was well-acquainted with Bay Head Light and already more connected to it than I realized.

I stopped by the shed to get some tools. Gloves, definitely. Don’t want my hands in something I can’t identify. A trowel, small hand claw, paper yard waste bag, pruning shears. Equipment gathered, I quickly twisted my hair up, slipped a scrunchie over it, and headed into the woods.

The cemetery wasn’t far and wasn’t scary. Not to me. Just a scattering of old stones with ancient memories written on them. People long gone to another life and no one here who remembers them.

I dropped my canvas shoulder bag of goods on the ground near the gate. Wrought iron and rusted, it leaned into the cemetery boundaries at a precarious angle. Thank God I didn’t have to push it open . . . I’d have probably landed on the ground with a rusted spiral in my gut.

This place was unfamiliar to me, except in passing. Though I’d known of the cemetery’s existence, I’d never gone in. I had too much to do in the land of the living for my short time here. No one ever came out here, so what difference did the overgrowth make?

Aunt begged to differ and insisted I clean the place up. The lighthouse was two hundred years old this summer, she reminded me, and the cemetery belonged to the lighthouse.

So, on a bright June day, I found myself alone in a somewhat decrepit cemetery in a clearing in the woods. I made my way around the ancient stones in an attempt to put off the start of my project. Most were upright and clear enough of the tangle of brush that a portion of the inscription could be read.

One small stone, nearly buried in the overgrown grass at the north corner, caught my eye. I flattened enough of the green to reveal the single word Sarah, and beneath it Age 3 Months.

Sadness flashed through me, unexpectedly. There were babies buried here?

I slipped the hand pruners from my back pocket where I’d stuck them and carefully snipped the grass down in front of the headstone. I pulled viney growth from the top corner of the stone, revealing a W. and a P.

Sarah W.P.

My hand cramped as I diligently snipped away at the grass, clearing the plot.

The screech of the gate would have warned me . . . had the gate been in better repair. With its useless tilt, however, I never heard him coming. The bag dropping next to me on the mixed pile of living and dead debris announced his presence.

I flipped to the side, tripping myself with my legs, but managed to keep the pruners in front of me. I pointed them into the air in front of my face.

Blue-black eyes studied me, one hand hooked into his pants pocket by the thumb, the other paused in front of him, fingers splayed where it had dropped the bag.

In books you always read about these moments. Crickets clicked, or birds called, or someone’s watch ticked, marking time. Maybe all three.

In real life, the only thing you really hear until you recognize that person is your own heavy breathing, that being indicative of the fact that you are in the middle of nowhere with no possible help nearby.

“Your aunt sent me.”

The pruners remained hoisted. My legs folded gratefully. My butt hit the ground, relieving the pressure on my arm from holding my whole body in the air, as his outstretched arm dropped to his side.

“I’m Zach. You’re starting at Sarah?”

My eyes flashed around the graveyard then to the small stone. I pulled my knees up and rested my arms on them. “She’s just a baby.”

When I turned my gaze back to Zach, his eyes were on me. “It happened. Times were tough.”

As though he’d been there from the start, he retrieved the bag and began to stuff my cuttings into it.

“I’m Daphne.”

“I know.”

His eyes flicked over to me. The flash of a grin revealed he knew he was being a pain, and I could barely keep my own lips from giving me away with a smile. I hurriedly snipped some more overgrowth and tossed it toward him. It disappeared into his bag.

We worked side-by-side in silence, clearing Sarah’s resting place and spreading outward from there. Her mother’s stone sat beside hers and we tidied that. Her dad’s seemed to be missing.

“What do you suppose happened to Mr. P.?” I asked, needing to hear Zach’s voice again, wanting more conversation.

“He wasn’t allowed here. Christians only in church-blessed ground, you know.”

I stared at the mother’s stone. Dorothea. Devoted mother.

“Who says he wasn’t a Christian?” For some reason I felt defensive.

“He wasn’t.”

I stared at him, considering his words. Mostly, though, I just wanted to make him think I was thinking about them, to give me more time to check him out. His hair, straight, near-black and shiny, was pulled back from his face into a ponytail that brushed the base of his neck. His skin was brownish, like a tan but not really. Besides, it was too early for that. His eyes were almost almond-shaped, but not quite, in a not-quite round face. He was tall and thin but not gawky like a lot of the boys I knew.

I think he was older than most of the boys I knew.

He had very nice lips. They were starting to smile.

My face went beet red, I could feel it. Busted! Damn.

“Where do we go from here?”

My heart started hammering, but he pointed up toward the gate, then down along the back fence.

“Th-the back,” I managed to stammer—so smooth. What an idiot.

He walked away. He must think me such a baby, such a fool.

Zach retrieved my canvas bag from near the gate and brought it to the back of the cemetery, gathering his yard sack along the way. As he passed me, he cocked his head toward the back row. “What, you need an invitation? It was your call!” and tossed my canvas bag to me.

Two hours later we packed it in. The sun sat low enough to indicate the time and our watches confirmed it. Zach walked me back to the lighthouse but mostly because he had to. Once he got me to admit I couldn’t do it on my own, it took both of us to lug the filled waste bag over our shoulders.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.” He huffed as we neared the tree line, the lighthouse lawn stretching just beyond the border of trees.

“I don’t scare easy,” I exclaimed. “If the gate was proper, I’d’ve known you were there.”

“Proper?”

“It used to have a brass bell on it. A ‘blessing called to sea’ every time a loved one went to pay respects. Everyone in the cemetery is tied to the sea, you know.”

His dark eyes studied me, taking in the lesson.

Zach said goodbye and left after we dumped the bag at my aunt’s trash corral. I caught sight of him, though, just inside the tree line, hovering until I closed the door.

What my mom and aunt would call a gentleman.

Me? I wasn’t so sure.

Jeanine Duval Spikes is a spinner of romantic tales with a touch of the supernatural. Lifelong research and experience with the paranormal infuse her stories with ethereal spirit, while her belief that love conquers all suffuses them with heart.

She is a paranormal investigator with a small local group, aspiring to help those in need by advancing this exploratory field both spiritually and scientifically. When not writing, you can find her cooking, gardening, horseback riding, or forever getting lost in secondhand shops. The mother of two grown sons, she lives in Rhode Island, the Ocean State, with her very own hero-husband Tim, and two crazy cats. She is the proud recipient of the Jo Ann Ferguson Service Award for selfless assistance and dedication to fellow writers and the craft.

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Interview with non-fiction writer Jonathan Weeks

Today’s guest loves baseball – including writing about it. Jonathan Weeks is here as just one stop along a virtual book tour with Goddess Fish Promotions for his newest book, Mudville Madness.

As part of his tour, Jonathan will be giving away a $10 Amazon gift card to one randomly chosen commenter. To be entered for a chance to win, leave a comment below.  To increase your chances of winning, feel free to visit his other tour stops and leave comments there, too.

Bio:

Weeks spent thirty-eight years in the Capital District region of New York State. He obtained a degree in psychology from SUNY Albany. In 2004, he migrated to Malone, New York, and has continued to gripe about the frigid winter temperatures ever since. A member of the Society for American Baseball Research, he has authored two non-fiction books on the topic of baseball: Cellar Dwellers and Gallery of Rogues. His first novel, The Bridgeport Hammer, (a baseball story set during the WWII era) is being released in the summer of 2014. He writes about the game because he lacked the skills to play it professionally. He still can’t hit a curveball or lay off the high heat.

Check out his “Cellar Dwellers” blog at: jonathanweeks.blogspot.com

Welcome, Jonathan. Please tell us about your current release.

Mudville Madness spans three centuries of baseball history and includes some of the most unusual events that have happened on the field. Some of those events are dark and disturbing, such as the stadium collapse in Philadelphia that killed twelve people in 1903 and the murder by sniper fire that occurred before a New York Giants game in 1950. Other events are more on the amusing side, like the story of Kitty Burke—a burlesque dancer who became the first woman to log a plate appearance in the majors after she wandered onto the field during a game in Cincinnati. Though some of the material in Mudville Madness will be familiar to hardcore fans, there’s a little something for everyone here.       

What inspired you to write this book?

I’ve published two other non-fiction books on the topic of baseball and, during the course of my research, I acquired more interesting anecdotes than I knew what to do with. Eventually, I came up with the idea of dedicating a volume entirely to baseball’s odd occurrences. I started looking at boxscores around the age of seven or eight and began to realize that every game has a story behind it, no matter how great or small. There are so many fascinating stories worth sharing. The people who have played the game are just as interesting as the sport itself. In Mudville Madness, I have tried to highlight the personalities and events that make baseball unique and wonderful.     

Excerpt:

June 12, 1970

Dock Ellis was an occasionally dominant presence on the mound, winning at least 15 games three times and making one All-Star appearance during his 12-year career. During the 1970 campaign, he carved a small niche in baseball history when he tossed a no-hitter against the San Diego Padres. It wasn’t pretty as he fell behind hitters all evening, walking 8 and hitting one. But the performance became quite remarkable fourteen years later when Ellis admitted to being under the influence of LSD at the time.

A free spirit, Ellis allegedly ingested the drug around noon believing he was not scheduled to start that day. About an hour later, his girlfriend was perusing a newspaper when she discovered that Ellis was listed as a probable starter for the first game of a twi-night doubleheader against the Padres. She escorted the Pirates’ hurler, who was now feeling the effects of a powerful hallucinogen known as “Purple Haze,” to the airport, where he caught a flight to San Diego. 

Ellis remembered very little of the game, which started at 6:05 pm. He described his mood as euphoric and reported various hallucinations. “The ball was small sometimes, the ball was large sometimes. Sometimes I saw the catcher, sometimes I didn’t,” he alleged. Years later, he embellished the story even further, claiming that he saw Jimi Hendrix and Richard Nixon at different points in the game. He said that Hendrix was using his famous Stratocaster guitar as a bat and Nixon was the home plate umpire.

Snopes.com—a website that prides itself on debunking urban myths—posted the story’s status as “true” though from a guarded perspective. Ellis’s behavior was normal enough not to arouse suspicion from players or umpires. He was lucid during post-game interviews. But what would his motivation be for making such a claim? It only served to tarnish the crowning achievement of his career.

After his playing days were over, Ellis sought help for his substance abuse. He later worked as a counselor to help others combat drug problems. He died in 2008.

What exciting story are you working on next?

I have another nonfiction baseball project completed though I haven’t submitted it yet. Since I don’t want to jinx my chances of publication (I’m a bit superstitious), I prefer to keep specific details to myself. So far, 2014 has been a big year for me. In addition to Mudville Madness, my first novel is being released. Entitled The Bridgeport Hammer, it’s a fantasy baseball memoir set in World War II amidst a backdrop of Nazi espionage. I’m really proud of it. I’ll be doing a virtual tour for that book in a couple of weeks. Right now, I’m working on a young adult novel that combines supernatural elements with baseball. Baseball is a common theme in all my books. I’ve always heard it said that you should write what you know. In the future, I have plans for a historical novel that takes place in the sixteenth century—long before the game of baseball was invented. That will be a quantum leap for me.      

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

When I was in elementary school, I used to write and draw comic books to sell to my classmates. Most of the material was derivative superhero stuff. I think I charged five cents per issue. After that, I didn’t make another penny off of my writing until I was in my mid-forties. You don’t have to make money to be a writer (though it’s nice if you can make living off of it). I’ve tried my hand at almost every form of writing over the years—short stories, novels, poetry. I’ve even written dozens of songs on my guitar. I haven’t always shared my material with others. I went through a long period in which I didn’t have the confidence for that. I’ve always had a passion for writing though.

Do you write full-time? If so, what's your work day like?  If not, what do you do other than write and how do you find time to write?

I don’t write full-time. I work as a counselor serving mentally ill adults. I really enjoy helping people. In my spare time, I hang out with my two daughters a lot—ages seven and eleven. They’re great kids. I try to write every day very early in the morning. I’m usually up before 6 am. That’s when I get most of my writing done. I roll out of bed and head straight for my computer without the benefit of coffee. I’m not sure how I do it.     

Thanks, Jonathan!

Book excerpt for the memoir "Chasing Hope" by Amy Daws

Today is a feature for the memoir Chasing Hope by Amy Daws. 

She's touring her book with Goddess Fish Promotions and will be awarding a silver chasinghope name necklace to a randomly drawn commenter. To be entered for a chance to win, use the form below. To increase your chances of winning, feel free to visit her other tour stops and enter there, too! 

Blurb:  

At 33 weeks pregnant, Amy is certain something bad will soon happen, it has too many times before. Deep down she fears it’s only a matter of time before the baby she’s carrying will die. Despite the fact that Amy has been repeatedly slapped in the face with multiple miscarriages, she still can’t seem to quiet that tiny voice in the back of her head that’s screaming at her to not give up hope.

Follow Amy’s true story as she stumbles through her journey with humor and warmth all while dealing with the neuroses that come along with getting her hopes shattered time and time again. All she has to do is close her eyes and she’s lurched back to the memories of her losses on the floor in her bathroom, in the hospital, and even at her place of work. No one knows what the internal mind of a woman who’s lost five babies and suffered this many let downs goes through. Can Hope ever truly survive memories such as these?

Excerpt from Chapter 6:

A few days after we scheduled our C-section, I eagerly awaited my very first baby shower. I decided to have a baby shower while still pregnant instead of waiting until after the baby was born, which was a big decision for me. Mostly because having a baby shower during pregnancy would insinuate to the world that I expected this baby to arrive safely. That was a big no-no for me. Sorry God, please don’t curse me. Conversely, I just couldn’t shake the dream of my baby shower occurring while I was still pregnant and rocking a nice big baby bump.

I anxiously got dressed for my shower and carefully selected a bold print maternity dress with cap-sleeves. I accentuated my round bump by adding a thick black leather belt notched tightly at the empire waste line. I looked good, I felt good, and I was ready. Before I got into my car I had a quick and private conversation with my baby to be.

“Okay sweetie, you behave in there, okay? Mommy is going to be very busy talking and opening gifts. We’re going to attempt to celebrate your impending arrival. So if you could just wiggle and kick and let me know you’re doing all right in there, it would really help Mommy feel better and enjoy her day, got it?”

I, of course, received no response. My baby was not the type to be manipulated or guilted into anything on command. I could already tell she’d be one of those kids that would march to the beat of her own drum. The prospect of my baby having her own little personality already thrilled me.

Author information:

Amy Daws is local network affiliate commercial producer and lives in Sioux Falls, SD with her husband, Kevin and their daughter, Lorelei. She graduated with honors from the University of Northern Iowa, despite fiercely executing her wild college-girl phase. Amy received her make-believe medical degree from the school of Google on infertility and miscarriage (that’s not a real thing).

On most nights, you can find Amy and her family dancing in their living room to Strawberry Shortcake’s theme song or stuffing themselves inside children sized playhouses and then struggling to get back out because there is nothing they wouldn’t do for their little miracle. She is passionate about sharing her story and connecting with other women like her that have suffered losses and are in search of empathy and understanding. Amy held on to hope in her journey because she knew the payoff of a miracle child would be worth the wait.

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Interview with romantic suspense author Roni Teson

I’m happy to have romantic suspense author Roni Teson here today. She’s currently doing a virtual book tour with Write Now Literary for her novel Twist.

Bio:

Growing up in Southern California, I developed a love for the ocean and all things coastal. I lived inland for a few years in Atlanta, Phoenix, and Denver, only to be lured home by the sound of crashing waves and colorful sunsets.

I wrote Heaven or Hell, my first novel, during my treatment for stage IV cancer. The day after the final edit of this book, the doctor told me that I was in remission. I believe writing was a critical part of my recovery, and now it's integral to my life.

I'm lucky. I have a passion that keeps me awake at night, friends who have been in my life for decades, family that supports my craziness, a home on the beach, many more novels in my head, and a body that is healed. I am forever grateful.

Welcome, Roni. Please tell us about your current release, Twist.

Beatrice Malcolm’s first experience with a boy is caught on a security camera. The footage is used by the FBI in a very public way to flush out her fugitive father who is on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. Beatrice has no idea the reason he’s wanted has to everything to do with her this is only the beginning. The twist keep coming through to the very last page, but don’t peak, you’ll spoil the ending.

What inspired you to write this book?

The idea for Twist came from the writer’s retreat (my word because I love my new place) I moved into in November 2013. I live on the beach. Right outside my window is the letter “B” attached to the light pool. This designates the area that lifeguards drive onto the sand. I also live in unit “B.” I moved in and decided that I’d get a dog and name her Bea. Instead, the very next day I started writing Twist, which is about Bea (no dog, yet).

What exciting story are you working on next?

I’m working on The Bishop Girls, a contemporary fiction novel about Molly Bishop’s who’s sister dies. Family secrets are revealed one after another, Molly soon discovers her entire life is a lie and she might be more like her con-artist relatives than she suspects.

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

In 2010 when I finished my first novel and realized I could write.

Do you write full-time? If so, what's your work day like? If not, what do you do other than write and how do you find time to write?

I do not write full time. I wake up every day at 4am and write until 7am. When I do not travel I am fortunate enough to work from home. I work in business-to-business sales in an industry I’ve been in for 25 years. I manage clients and acquire clients for my organization.

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

I read everything out loud when I’m close to completion. Then rewrite and read out loud again and again. My neighbors hear me!

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I wanted to do something creative, but I didn’t no for sure what. I learned how to play the guitar. I write songs. Over the last four years writing novels has become my obsession. I also come from a creative family. My mother and brother are artists, my sister is a writer, my father is an entrepreneur.

Anything additional you want to share with the readers?

My passion to write came out of a stage IV cancer diagnosis. If there is something you always wanted to do or try in your life don’t wait. Start now and know that it’s never too late.

Social links:

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Amazon buy link

Thank you, Roni – you’re quite an inspiration!

Interview with fantasy author Sherri Lackey

This seemed to be fantasy book week this week! I had no idea of that when I made the bookings. But today’s fantasy novelist is Sherri Lackey. She’s touring The Darkness Below with Goddess Fish Promotions.

Sherri will be awarding a $25.00 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. To be entered for a chance to win, leave a comment below. To increase your chances of winning, feel free to visit other tour stops and leave comments there, too.

Bio:

Sherri Lackey lives in Montana where the cold northern climate inspires her to write foreboding tales. She writes the way she cooks, and that is by using dashes of speculative fiction, a pinch of steampunk here, and a touch of urban fantasy there. She lives with her husband, Paul, in a house on a hill that she prefers to think of as an island. She has a faithful dog named Raymond, who likes to sit by her side while she writes, and a vampire cat named Penny who likes to sit on her shoulder purring or trying to nip at her neck.

Welcome, Sherri. Please tell us about your current release.

This is the second book in The Narcissus Legacy series and it further explores the lives of the royal Vrykolakas family which I introduced in the first book The Vrykolakas Deviation. The Darkness Below continues the story with Kaie, the daughter of my two main characters in The Vrykolakas Deviation. She is a precocious child who can’t wait to grow up, even though she is still petrified of the dark, certain that a monster is waiting to devour her. Trying to prove that she is “grown up”, she gets swept away into another realm where all of her worst fears come to life. Trapped in a foreign and dark realm, the years slowly pass by, leaving her to wonder if she will ever find a way back home.

What inspired you to write this book?

These books are the culmination of my desire to write a different kind of vampire novel, one that is uniquely my own. I did borrow the name Vrykolakas from an ancient Greek legend about a type of bloodless vampire. The Greek legend itself was vague on details; that is where my imagination comes in to fill in the gaps. I have always liked vampire stories since I was a child, and I loved all the old black and white monster movies. Dracula was one of my favorites. The movie Underworld is one of my favorites. I think the imagery from that movie plays a large role in the mood and tone I like to set in my novel’s world.

Excerpt:

When she perceived that she was far enough away from the soldiers, she relaxed. A warning in the back of her mind told her that she should know better than to relax in this hostile world. She heard a scraping, scrabbling noise behind her. Her senses were on high alert once again. She had no weapon.

She spun around to face her attacker. He was advancing on her clumsily, emerging out of the shadows. He held a small lantern in front of him which blinded her momentarily. He might as well be a lighthouse, for even the smallest light could let the soldiers see where she was at.

“Sedge, what are you doing out here? It’s dangerous. You need to go back to your dad.” In truth, she was worried more about her safety than his.

Sedge was Selt’s fourteen year old son who runs errands for Diita when she can find him, but she has to find him first. Beyond that, Kaie doesn’t know much about the boy other than he is good at hiding from Diita. He sometimes liked to sit and listen to his dad talk to her. He was a quiet boy, unlike his father – or so she thought at first.

“I want to go with you,” he said.

“You can’t come with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want company. Now, go back to your dad. It’s dangerous out here for a boy.”

“It’s dangerous out here for a girl too, but you’re out here. I want to go with you.” He clenched his jaw in the manner she had seen him use when his dad told him to wash the dishes at House Reiliiven.

“You don’t even know where I’m going.”

“You’re leaving Pugni Plumbus, and I want to go with you.”

“How do you know what I’m doing?”

“You ran away before and told everyone that you have amnesia to cover it up. You don’t have amnesia. You’re running again and I’m going with you.”

Kaie ground her teeth. “You are not coming with me.”

“Yes, I am.” He smiled knowingly.

“No. You. Are. Not.”

“I’ll go back and tell them you’re running away again if you don’t let me come with you.”

She glared at him. “All right, but don’t start crying to me when something out there attacks and eats you for breakfast.”

“I won’t. Besides, I’ve got this.” He pulled out a table knife he had apparently stolen from the tableware of House Reiliiven.

“I feel safer already. Why didn’t I think of bringing an eating utensil with me?”

He shrugged and put the knife back in his pocket.

“If you’re coming with me, you’ll have to douse that light.”

“But then I can’t see where I’m going.” He gave her a puzzled look. “How do you see where you’re going?”

“I have better eyesight than you. If you must have the light, and I suppose you must, then conceal it with the fold of your shirt so that it only shines forward and down at your feet. The guards will see it otherwise if they haven’t already.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.” He did as she told him and she hoped it concealed enough of the light.

“Hurry up, we don’t have all night to stand around and chat.”

What exciting story are you working on next?
The Darkness Within is the third book in the series and will pick up the story with Connor, Kaie’s older brother, and his ancient banshee wife, Genovefa. Connor loves his wife dearly, but Genovefa – Well, let’s just say she has commitment issues, or really, many issues in general. If that were not bad enough, there is a new enemy that wishes to eradicate all of the Vrykolakes. They single out Connor in his moment of weakness and infect him with something called Strixanis. It turns him into a different kind of monster, one that threatens not only the Vrykolakes but everything that gets in its path.

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

I first knew I wanted to become a writer when I read Laura Ingalls Wilder’s novels when I was about seven or eight years old. I had a junior high speech and drama teacher and a high school English teacher who encouraged me in my writing endeavors. Then in college, I had a professor recommend that I try to get one of my research papers published. I didn’t do that but I think their encouragement and the encouragement of others throughout my life made it possible for me to have the courage to step out and publish my stories. When I published that first book, I started thinking of myself as a writer.

Do you write full-time? If so, what's your work day like? If not, what do you do other than write and how do you find time to write?

I always thought I would love to write full-time. I tried it for a few months and I felt stifled and antsy. I think I write better when I have to work it into my busy schedule. I need the stimuli from my other jobs to spur my creativity on.

When I’m not writing, I’m either working at my local library or at the front desk of a local hotel. I like to keep learning new things and I’m currently taking a class online to further my education. I also enjoy spending time with my family when I can.

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

I don’t know if it is unique, because I know several other writers who do it, but I like to listen to certain types of music while I write. When I’m not writing but simply thinking through plot lines, I listen to playlists I’ve made which helps me develop my story.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I wanted to be a writer, and in addition to that I wanted to write, direct, and produce movies. I’ve since given up the idea of directing and producing movies. I also considered a career in interior design. I didn’t pursue that either and have settled for designing my own interiors in my house. Later on I thought I might like working in a library. That dream did come true, and next to writing, working in a library is my favorite job.

Anything additional you want to share with the readers?

I would like to say to readers that if they are looking for a vampire tale that is out of the ordinary, then give The Narcissus Legacy series a try. If you like fantasy genres crossing over the lines of other fantasy genres this might be the series for you as well. Not only do I deal with vampires of different varieties, I like to throw a few elves and other types of fairy creatures into the mix.

Links:

Website | Facebook | Amazon | Barnes and Noble

Thanks, Sherri!