Showing posts with label Muse It Up Publishing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Muse It Up Publishing. Show all posts

Nov 27, 2016

BOOK SPOTLIGHT: Dancing on the Dark Side @MairinFF #MFRWauthor

MFRW Author Máirín Fisher-Fleming spotlights her book Dancing on the Dark Side, a paranormal romance with MuseItUp.
Spirited college senior Bliss is preparing to make her mark in the world of contemporary dance. She’s thrilled to be training at the prestigious Windhaven College of the Arts in Salem, Massachusetts. But things get weird the moment she sets foot on the campus. Her new roommate, Rowan, is a mind-reading, storm-calling descendent of the Sidhe, the Fae of Ireland, with a secret agenda.
Ciarán, the charming TA for her performance class, is the most brilliant dancer she’s ever seen. Too bad he hides from the sun and has a taste for human blood.
Bliss should have run screaming in terror, but Rowan’s magic has woken memories of a past life she cannot deny. The more she learns of Ciarán’s tragic past and the family of Sidhe he protects, the more she realizes she is a part of their world and her new ‘normal’ is anything but.
Enter the Order, ancient enemy of everything supernatural. To protect Bliss and the Sidhe, Ciarán draws her into the very heart of his magical world. Soon, instead of dancing together, they are fighting a bitter battle to prevent disaster from tearing them apart again. This time forever.

“Dancing on the Dark Side” is set in contemporary Salem, Massachusetts, where an unfaithful fiancé and a skanky roommate send Bliss in search of a new beginning. Miraculously, a place opens up at Windhaven, with both a scholarship and a TA position. Totally unheard of for a transfer student, but she knows better than to question her luck. 

The populace at Windhaven is a bit different. A sexy barista flees the shop after she places her order, but reappears in her dance class. Her roommate, Rowan, always seems to know exactly what to say. More than a few females are resentful of her smooth slide into the TA job. Then there’s the feeling that somehow everything seems familiar, a sort of Déjà Vu…only not in this lifetime.

“Dancing on the Dark Side” seamlessly combines magic, vampires, legends and past lives in a believable, intriguing read. This fast-paced novel features lush imagery, realistic dialogue, and shows as opposed to tells. Bliss is a likable college student whose twin goals include being the best dancer she can be and getting away from a sucky situation. Even though her attraction to barista Ciarán is immediate, her realization that they knew each other in another lifetime is slower in coming, which gives it an authentic feel. Ciaran is a strong character, wrestling both with his love for Bliss and who she was in another life, and how that life ended because of him.

Máirín Fisher-Fleming draws together fae, folklore, hot dancers, and college-life conflicts into this year’s must-read novel! 

“Bliss? Would you like to start over?” he asked again, sounding patient in a strained way.

“Should I start before or after I accused you of being a vampire?” She edged a little closer to the end of the bench and set her feet firmly into the turf, ready to run.

“Since you raised the issue, let’s go with that. I’m a vampire. Satisfied?”

She stared at him; how was a person supposed to respond to a statement like that? An icy lump formed in the pit of her stomach. His tone was suddenly much harder. And entirely serious. Laughter edged with hysteria burst from her lips. He didn’t move. There was no possible way it could actually be true. Just couldn’t! But even as she watched he changed. It was subtle, easy to overlook if someone wasn’t completely focused on him, but it was real. The eyes darkened until even the whites vanished, like the eyes of some rare and beautiful beast. And between his slightly parted lips, the points of inhumanly sharp canines gleamed.

“Holy shit!” She cringed and pulled away, promptly falling off the bench. Bliss scrambled back to her feet. While Ciarán, the most beautiful dancer she had ever known, watched an air of remote indifference.

ABOUT Máirín Fisher-Fleming
Although born and raised in British Columbia, Máirín takes pride in her Scots/Irish roots and in her family tradition of oral story telling. Her love of reading and writing came at an early age, a gift inherited from her Dad. Her taste in books is eclectic but there is nothing more satisfying than a well-spun tale full of intriguing characters.

A former teacher of Theatre, Dance, Creative Writing and Journalism, she lives and works on the family farm in the Okanagan Valley, where she is slave to several feline overlords. In addition to writing, Máirín is passionate about travel, especially to any place with an ocean beach. If she can’t have sand between her toes, Nordic skiing, riding her motorcycle and camping will suffice.  |

Oct 27, 2016

The Bowdancer Saga on #Thursday13 with #MFRWauthor @JanieFranz

MFRW AuthorJanie Franz comes from a long line of liars and storytellers. Retired from freelance journalism, Franz now writes fantasy, anthropology paranormal thrillers, and contemporary romances through MuseItUp Publishing.

Franz hosts seminars based on her self-help book: Standing Strong: Honoring the Unexpected Changes in Our Lives (Lessons along the Journey of Becoming a Woman of Power).

Previously, Franz ran an online music magazine, was a band agent/publicist, a radio announcer, a book reviewer, a yoga/relaxation instructor, a pet/housesitter, a music festival publicist, and a private chef.

She lives in Santa Fe, NM. When not writing, you’ll find her on a dance floor.

                                                    The Bowdancer Saga
Genre- Fantasy, GLBT
Publisher - MuseItUp Publishing 

 The Bowdancer series chronicles the life of Jan-nell, a young healer and keeper of tribal lore, who seeks belonging as she discovers a vast world outside of her village. The Bowdancer Saga presents her early years in that quest as she discovers rogues, bards, kings, beespinners, and muscular sword dancers with as much grace as the bowdancer herself, and many unusual beliefs and lifeways as she seeks to create family in some form.

Buy link Amazon

 My 13 Favorite Authors
1. J.K. Rowling (Do I need to say more?)
2. Stuart Clark (author of the Project U. L. F. series)
3. Joan Hess (author of the Maggody Mysteries)
4.C.S. Marks (author of the Elf Hunter series)
5. Agatha Christie (the grand dame of mystery)
6. Gregg Hurwitz (the Godfather of Thriller)
7. Teresa Reasor (Navy Seal Romance Thrillers)
8.Trace Conger (He writes incredible thrillers)
9.Marian Allen (She writes everything)
10. Dan Jolley (A master of fantasy)
11.Gil Hough (Writes great heroic characters)
12.Lynn Tincher (She writes strong women)

13. Kim Smith (she writes romance, fantasy, YA, everything)

You can stalk the author here:
Anasazi Dreams (blog where I host other writers)

Apr 13, 2015

#MFRWauthor BOOK SPOTLIGHT: On Wings of Darkness @JoliePethtel

On Wings of Darkness
Mainstream Paranormal Romance
Jolie Pethtel
Muse It Up Publishing

What would happen if you were meant to die, but someone intervened? Your very existence would disrupt the natural balance, effecting everyone you touch for the remainder of your unnatural life. What if you met your soul mate? A man who was meant for you alone, but at the same time not because you should no longer exist? This is what happens to Adara James when she crosses paths with Journey Montgomery, a man unknowingly shadowed by darkness. This is no chance meeting between two human strangers, but a collision of souls whose continued proximity to one another has the potential to tear apart the world.

When a fallen angel battles for control over her body, Adara James must fight to resist her dark side. BUY LINK

Adele curled herself into a fetal position, in an effort to fight off whatever agony was consuming her flesh. Unable to bear it any longer, she let out a blood curdling scream.
Journey ran to her side, gripping her shoulders forcefully.
“Adele! What is happening to you? Tell me!”
Wordlessly, she turned her back to him and he nearly scuttled backward in horror at the sight of her flesh tearing. Something was protruding from the two gashes in her back. It looked like black feathers wet with some sticky substance he couldn’t identify.
“My God! What is it?” He turned to the healer, who was backing away from the woman in fear.
“Evil.” The man muttered.
“Can’t you do something?”
The healer wordlessly shook his head no. Whatever this was, it was beyond his powers. It was beyond anything. They had been fools to think they could trick this possessing spirit. Now she was angry. He could feel the rage bursting from the helpless woman’s body. It was doubtful she would survive whatever came next.
A whimpering came from the other side of the fire. Adara bit her lip till it bled to hold back her own scream of agony. Much like her sister, she was curled into a tight ball, trying to evade whatever was coming. She rocked back and forth muttering under her breath.
Journey couldn’t quite hear what she was saying, until he reached her side.  She was repeating the same three words over and over.
“Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.”
He turned her ever so gently, so he could see her back where something undulated beneath her skin. Whatever was inside her sought a way out and when it found none, it tore through her flesh. Two rips appeared, as with Adele and white feathers tinged in red poked through. Now he understood what the wet, sticky substance was—blood. Finally Adara could hold back her scream no longer. A long, piercing shriek rent the air, echoing around the camp.
Adara pushed away from him, rising to her knees, facing Adele across the fire. Adele rose to the same position. Their eyes locked briefly and then they seemed to slump weakly, their heads falling forward. They both appeared ready to topple over into the fire pit. Journey held himself ready to pull them out, should such a thing occur. God! He hated feeling this helpless.
He wanted to do something to stop their pain. Hell, he wanted to stop whatever horror was about to happen. It certainly couldn’t be anything good. Yet he sensed that whatever lay ahead was as inevitable as it was inescapable.
        Blood ran like a river down Adara’s back, as a pair of wings pushed their way outward through her flesh, but she did not scream again, nor did Adele. It was exactly like the mirrored image painting. The internal struggle between light versus darkness. But this time the battle was out in the open and there appeared to be one hell of a smackdown about to take place here on his mother’s reservation. One woman had white wings and the other black. They rose to their feet simultaneously, facing off against each other. No longer sisters, but rivals, prepared for a fight to the death.
ABOUT Jolie Pethtel
Jolie Pethtel, an avid reader and writer, has always loved a good plot twist. In fact, when watching movies with her family she typically spoils the ending before the big reveal with her guesses, but nothing thrills her more than being wrong—except maybe hearing that a reader never saw the twists and turns coming in one of her own books. She has two published novels from her Jezebel Jinx Mystery series; Painted Jezebel and Poison Pens. On Wings of Darkness is her first paranormal romance.

Oct 20, 2014

A Short & Sweet Interview with #MFRWauthor Margaret Fieland @MadCapMaggie

We asked MFRW Author Margaret Fieland a few short questions. She gave us a few sweet answers. Read more about Margaret and enjoy an excerpt from her 2013 release.

Born and raised in New York City, Margaret Fieland has been around art and music all her life.  Her poems and stories have appeared in journals such as  Turbulence Magazine, Front Range Review, and All Rights Reserved. She is one of the Poetic Muselings. Their poetry anthology, Lifelines, was published by Inkspotter Publishing in November, 2011.  She is the author of  Relocated, Geek Games, and Broken Bonds, published by MuseItUp Publishing , and of Sand in the Desert, a collection of science fiction persona poems. A chapter book is due out later this year.

Why did I decide to write romance novels?
I didn't *decide* to write one. I wrote a sci fi novel with no intention of writing any sequels, and lo and behold, my characters kept poking at me to answer questions and write more. One of the characters in my first sci fi novel is living alone at the time of the first novel in my Novels of Aleyne series, and I wondered why. I ended up writing a sci fi romance with him as one of the characters in a four-way M/M/M/F relationship.

How much of your life experience ends up in your writing?
An awful lot. For one thing, the things I'm passionate about -- art, music, poetry, politics, computers, relationships -- are things that inform my novels, and then, too, various bits and pieces make their way in.  A couple of my father's old World War Two army stories made their way, suitable modified, as incidents in my sci fi romance, ""Broken Bonds.""

What kind of research do you do for a book?
Whatever I need to. I need to know enough about whatever it is to picture my character moving through the scene. For the novel I'm just finishing up, the fourth Aleyne novel, I picked the brains of my middle son, who was in the army for seven or eight years, as the main character is a colonel in theTerran Federation Guard, and I needed a fair amount of detail about army procedures and the like.

Tell us about your latest book?
My latest book is the fourth in the Novels of Aleyne series, and it does not yet have a real title. I've been calling it ""Rob's Book,"" after the main character, who is a colonel in the Terran Federation Guard. He is posted to Aleyne to arrest Major Brad Reynolds, the main character from ""Broken Bonds,"" for treason. The opening scene occurs in ""Broken Bonds,"" but here it's told from Rob's point of view, and goes on to chronicle his trials in attempting to help negotiate a new treaty between the Federation and Aleyne.

What motivated it?
The characters kept poking at me. I rewrote ""Broken Bonds"" a couple of times, and in one of the versions, I have a meeting between Brad and Rob. That got cut out, but I by then I had  Rob and his two wives and their dicey family situation in my head, so I ended up putting them into their own novel. The politics is the main thrust of this book, but there is a strong romantic sub-plot as well.

Where did the idea come from?
Good question. From the characters and their situation and my desire to know what happens next.

What is my writing routine once I start a book?
I'm fairly linear, so I start writing at the beginning of the book and write through to the end. At that point I have the first draft, and I know the arc of the book, the characters, really what the story is about. Then I go back and revise.  I do have a plot outline and a good idea of where I'm going and the major plot points, but not how I'm going to get there.

Does my family know not to bother me?
Not really, but I have tunnel vision when I'm writing. I tend not to notice interruptions, and when I do, I jump and bark, ""What?"" It tends to lead to relatively few interruptions.

What do I do to relax and recharge?
Walk my dogs, listen to music, pull weeds, do dishes, play music -- I play the flute and the piccolo. And read. I'm a book junky. If I don't have a large stack of reading material, I get very anxious.

Connect with Margaret...

Margaret Fieland released Broken Bonds, Novels of Aleyne Book 2, a GLBT Sci Fi Romance, with MuseItUp Publishing in July 2013.

When Major Brad Reynolds is assigned to head the Terran Federation base on planet Aleyne, the last thing he expects to find is love, and certainly not with one of the alien Aleyni. How can he keep his lover, in the face of political maneuvering and of Ardaval's feelings for his former partners— and theirs for him? When you bend the rules, they may snap back and hit you in the face.

MuseItUp  |  Amazon  |  Barnes & Noble

I loved this book. Marvellous. I devoured it in a day.It was so nice to be able to go back and visit with this cast of characters. Aleyni is such a unique place. The scenery there, never ceases to amaze. Ardaval was still my favourite character, there is just something about him that continues to fascinate me. But it was nice to get a window into more of the other characters past and present. Broken Bonds, surprised me. It's a science fiction romance, but it gave me so many things to think about. Poetry, love. relationships. spirituality, family, right and wrong.I think that's what I love most about this series, it's not a heavy book/series but it's not fluff either. I can not think of any other book I could relate to this series, it's so unique and refreshing.
5 stars, can not wait for more from the series!
          Posted by Amazon Reviewer

Brad took a deep breath of cool night air, inhaling the nutmeg scent of the flowers planted around Ardaval's front door. Before Brad could knock, the door opened and Ardaval stood in the doorway. Brad hesitated before putting out his hands palm up.

Ardaval placed his hands over Brad's. ""My heart, my home, my hearth.""

""My hearth, my home, my heart,"" Brad murmured in response.

Smiling, Ardaval directed his gaze at Brad's eyes; it evoked the same curious flutter in the pit of his stomach as the last time they'd met. Ardaval held open the door and gestured for Brad to enter. ""You've come to discuss Gavin.""

""I have."" Brad followed Ardaval into the front hall where tiles of local stone sparkled on the floor and a padded bench stood under a window. Through a doorway on one side, a glance revealed a kitchen furnished with dark wood cabinets, clean and a bit bare.

""Come."" Ardaval gestured toward the back of the hallway where a doorway led into a center courtyard, open to the cool night air, and motioned to a small table. A red-leafed tree in the center spread its leaves overhead. Brad sat, and Ardaval sat beside him.

Brad needed to talk about Gavin Frey's political views. Views that, as far as he could tell from the records, were the opposite of his own. A breath brought him the scent of Ardaval's skin, musky, with a hint of clove. Was it duty or cowardice keeping him from reaching for Ardaval's hand and kissing the palm?

Ardaval clasped Brad's hand in his. ""Tell me more about why you were posted to Aleyne.""

Should he remove his hand? No. He enjoyed Ardaval's touch and what was the harm, really? When he glanced up, he found Ardaval regarding him with evident amusement.

""I recommended that a man who used psi to save his squad be given a dishonorable discharge."" Brad hesitated. ""Although the soldier deserved a medal rather than a court martial, he was a fool to admit he caught a thought.”

Ardaval nodded.

""About Gavin Frey. Is he your shan?"" The thoughts slipped out.

Ardaval stared into Brad's eyes for a a second or two before he replied. ""As you surmise, he is my son; my shan, because I didn't raise him.""

Might as well ask this, too. ""His mother never told you about him?""

Ardaval shook his head. ""No, she didn't. He spent six months here after she died. Then we disagreed over a matter of ethical principal and he left.""

Given what he understood about Frey, Brad would have been surprised if they hadn't.

""He married, but his wife died. He has a son who is now fourteen by Terran Standard years.""

""His mother possessed a strong psi talent.""

""She contacted you?"" Brad's eyebrows rose to his hairline.

""She did. I suggest you keep an eye on the boy.""

""Do you believe he has gazal?"" If the boy developed Aleyni mind speech abilities, he'd need careful watching. Brad's own family had been fairly accepting but how would Frey react if he discovered his son possessed gazal? And what about the terrorists, who might try to exploit Keth's talent?

Ardaval nodded. ""I do, though of course we've never met. Gavin doesn't, or at least if he does, he keeps his mind so locked down it's the same thing.""

Brad sighed and rose. He'd completed what he'd said he'd come to do.

""It happens this way with us, at times."" Ardaval paused for a moment. ""We'll meet again.""

Brad turned to leave. He couldn't ignore this connection, wish it away, any longer. Only Ardaval's assurance kept him moving out the door.

Sep 25, 2014

Broken Bonds on #Thursday13 with #MFRWauthor @MadCapMaggie

MFRW Author Margaret Fieland released Broken Bonds, Novels of Aleyne Book 2, a GLBT Sci Fi Romance, with MuseItUp Publishing in July 2013.

When Major Brad Reynolds is assigned to head the Terran Federation base on planet Aleyne, the last thing he expects to find is love, and certainly not with one of the alien Aleyni. How can he keep his lover, in the face of political maneuvering and of Ardaval's feelings for his former partners— and theirs for him? When you bend the rules, they may snap back and hit you in the face.

MuseItUp  |  Amazon  |  Barnes & Noble

Broken Bonds, surprised me. It's a science fiction romance, but it gave me so many things to think about. Poetry, love. relationships. spirituality, family, right and wrong.I think that's what I love most about this series, it's not a heavy book/series but it's not fluff either. I can not think of any other book I could relate to this series, it's so unique and refreshing. The action kept me reading way passed bedtime. I could not put it down I just had to see how things were going to end.A book that stayed true to the magic of the series and one I will most definitely read again and again.
5 stars, can not wait for more from the series!
          Posted by Amazon Reviewer

Thirteen sentences from Broken Bonds

1. Until a moment ago, Brad would rather have settled into his quarters than attend the formal reception welcoming him here.

 2. He couldn't ignore this connection, wish it away, any longer.

 3. Ardaval drew him close, and Brad opened his mouth for the kiss.

4. Brad hesitated for a moment, then leaned over and kissed Ardaval on the mouth, a promise of more.

5. “In Common I'd simply say I love you.”

6. He'd received his answer, but what did the spirits want him to do?

7. He couldn't put words to the depth of his love for Ardaval.

8. Holding out a hand, Ardaval drew Brad closer still.

9.Imarin was very possessive, but normally he held himself in check better than this.

10.  How could he react so strongly to another man, especially after he and Ardaval swore rolor?

11.“Major Reynolds, you are accused of high treason and are to be remanded for trial on New Oregon.”

12.  If only he could return to the day Imarin and the others left for good, the day he'd stood by and let Imra go.

13.  Nothing would glue their love together again.

About Margaret
Born and raised in New York City, Margaret Fieland has been around art and music all her life.  Her poems and stories have appeared in journals such as  Turbulence Magazine, Front Range Review, and All Rights Reserved. She is one of the Poetic Muselings. Their poetry anthology, Lifelines, was published by Inkspotter Publishing in November, 2011.  She is the author of  Relocated, Geek Games, and Broken Bonds, published by MuseItUp Publishing , and of Sand in the Desert, a collection of science fiction persona poems. A chapter book is due out later this year.

Connect with Margaret...

Mar 14, 2013

Book Spotlight ~ Twinkle Lights

Author:  Vicki Batman
Book:  Twinkle Lights
Release Date:  December 5, 2012
Publisher: MuseItUp Publishing
ISBN: 978-1-77127-212-4
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Length:  33 Pages
Price:  $2.50
Warnings:  None
Heat Level:  G
Format: E-Book, multiple formats

A do-gooder joins forces with a reformed delinquent-turned-lawyer to run a Christmas tree stand benefiting the children's hospital, but when the money goes missing, fingers are pointed.

Feb 21, 2013

Book Spotlight ~ In Loving Hate

Author:  Lynette Sofras
Book:  In Loving Hate
Release Date:  November 9th 2012
Publisher:  MuseItUp Publications, Inc.
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Length:  65,000 Words [@ 200 Pages (ed.)]
Heat Level:  PG13
Format: E-Book in Multiple Formats
Author Website:

How far will the rich and powerful go in order to achieve their goals? That is the question Lyssa must decide when she finds herself caught between two formidable adversaries: powerful business tycoon and shipping magnate, Alex Andrakis and close childhood friend, ‘Dynamic’ Nell Winters, brewery heiress and prolific businesswoman.
Following the failure of her marriage in Greece, Lyssa returns to her family home in London, to discover that her mother, a once-celebrated actress, is now facing crippling debts.  When Lyssa begins to investigate these, she becomes embroiled in the intricate business dealings of Nell and her arch-rival Alex.  Irresistibly drawn towards widower Alex and his unhappy young son, Lyssa begins to uncover some unexpected and disturbing facts. 
The more involved she becomes, the more shocking are the discoveries she makes.  The conflicts culminate in a frightening battle for survival as Lyssa finds herself the prime target between the possessive Nell and obsessive Alex.   With her loyalties deeply divided, can Lyssa make the right choice for everyone concerned?

Nov 2, 2011

New Author Gail Roughton Branan's Unruly Interview

Today we welcome new author, Gail Roughton Branan, who is ready to introduce us to her characters from her upcoming book, Miami Days & Truscan (K)nights. Welcome, Gail! I see you’re brought some people with to explain who they are?

Hello, folks!  I’m Gail Roughton Branan and I’m thrilled to be here with you today to introduce you to my heroine Tess Ames and my hero Dalph appearing directly from the pages of  Miami Days & Truscan (K)nights, coming April, 2012 from MuseItUp Publishing.  First up, …

Flowers On The Wall
Tess:  Okay, enough.  First you have me on a plane flying through a door in the Bermuda Triangle and crash landing in this weird parallel world where I have to be rescued from cannibal pigs by some dude built like Arnold Schwarzenegger playing Conan the Barbarian – and dressed like him too –

Dalph:  Green Eyes!  Manners!  We are guests here.  Wherever here is.  And who exactly is this Arnold Schwarzenegger?  You never mentioned him before.  I thought Carlos Ramos back in Miami was the only man in your past I had to worry about.
Tess:  Exactly!  Where’s here? I think this lady’s got some problems. Where does she come up with all this?  And why does she think she’s got the right to just move us around and plop us down like this? Don’t talk to me about manners! 
Gail:  Hold on!  I didn’t mean to plop you here, there, or anywhere!  Well, okay, I did plop you down in Trusca.  And that’s where you’re supposed to be, so why are you here?
Dalph:  Tess? This Arnold?
Tess:  Oh, give it up already!  I was only trying to let everybody know you’re a hunk, for cryin’ out loud!
Gail:  I’ll say. 
Tess:  Excuse me.  I’m not sure I appreciate the tone those words were uttered in.  You don’t have a life?  You’ve got your eyes on my hero?
Gail:  Well, duh!  I had my eyes on him, my hands on him – okay, let’s back up and not go there.  Let me rephrase that.  I created that man.  You said he was a hunk.  I agreed.  Of course he is.  Why would I make up a hero who wasn’t?
Dalph:  If I might intervene – you also created my Tess.  Might I inquire if it ever occurred to you that she could be a bit less headstrong and impulsive?
Gail:  Look here, your majesty, I don’t know about other writers, but my heroines are always some aspect of me so let’s not get insulting here.  I wrote you into existence, I can write you out of it. 
Dalph:  Though I hasten to add she has the really annoying habit of usually being right.  As well as always beautiful. 
Gail:  Much better, discretion being the better part of valor and all that.  Now, where did Tess go? Oh, Lord!  She’s gone!  Tess!  Come back here!  Honestly, characters are worse than kids, you just can’t take ‘em anywhere!  Hey, Dalph!  Your Majesty!  Randalph of Trusca! Yeah, I’m talking to you!  Come back here!  Where are you goin’ now?
And with that, gentle readers – Gail Roughton Branan has left the building in pursuit of fleeing characters.  So if anyone should see them – could you call BR 549?
Gail and Grandson
Gail Roughton Branan is a native of small town Georgia who grew up on the banks of Stone Creek Swamp, immersing herself in imaginary worlds fueled by whichever book was in her hand at the moment including, but definitely not limited to, Edgar Allen Poe, H. P. Lovecraft, Bram Stoker and Ray Bradbury. She has spent over thirty years in a law office as a paralegal, having decided during the course of her first work experience that while she was as fascinated by the legal world as the imaginary worlds of her childhood, she never wanted to be a lawyer. Sharpening her technical legal writing abilities all day, every day while working full-time and raising her three children, her “spare” time has been devoted to writing because “I couldn’t have this much fun for free doing anything else.”

Please check out Gail's Blog, Flowers On The Fence, for a special tribute to a friend and much more at

Oct 29, 2011

Jerry Race's New Release ~ More Than A Stud

Today we have Jerry Race with us, author of More Than A Stud, an M/M Vampire, Erotic Paranormal Romance.  Although Jerry was born in Los Angeles, California he was raised and education in Tulsa, Oklahoma. He became interested in writing fiction during his high school years but didn’t pursue writing seriously until 2003. He loves to read and write various genres. Horror, suspense, romance and comedy are his favorites. He currently lives in Portland, Oregon where he’s writing another story.

More Than A Stud
Genre: Paranormal Erotica M/M Romance
Editor: Lea Schizas
Line editor: Anita Baron Ford
Cover artist: Suzannah Safi
Words: 31269Pages: 110
ISBN: 978-1-927085-56-1
Warning: Adult Content

Jerry Race
Blurb: Will stakes and fangs keep Shane and Jamie from being a couple before their relationship begins? Shane Richards, 24, male model, has a few problems. His rival threatens to discredit him if he participates in the upcoming America’s Top Male Model contest. Near his twenty-fifth birthday, the dormant vampire abilities within him begin to surface and he starts having nightmares about meeting the father he’s never met. As if that isn’t enough, one of his male friends who has the hots for him is determined to make him his lover. On his birthday, his nightmares come true and he winds up risking his life in a battle with his father over a pendant with supernatural powers.

This book is a new release from Muse It Up Publishing.

Oct 21, 2011

Bruce Jenvey's Angela's Coven

Today, we have with us Bruce Jenvey, author of Angela’s Coven. It’s release day for his book and he’s very excited to tell us everything about it. Help me welcome Bruce to the MFRWA Blog.

This is the release date for my novel, Angela’s Coven. It’s the story of modern-day witches practicing olde world witchcraft in their attempt to save an aging rock star from his unfortunate deal with the Devil. This is a story of new beginnings and second chances within the setting of the battle between good and evil. You’ll meet Lucifer and his chief recruiter, Mr. Ajax as well as you will find Guardian Angels. But mind you, my Guardian Angels act more like a Secret Service protection squad and they carry Berrettas! This leaves our witches and our rock star caught in the middle. You will laugh, you will cry, you will question authority and tradition but in the end, it will cast a different light on anything you may have ever considered as faith. And it’s on sale, starting today, where ever E-Books are sold.
What’s different about Angela’s Coven, is there are no pointy hats, no magic wands, no spell books or bubbling cauldrons. It’s based on witchcraft as it was over a thousand years ago; it’s chemistry, herbology, and what we today would call ‘home remedies.’ Of course, being a work of fiction, I am assuming these poor witches have made some breakthroughs and advancements in their art over the past millennium, so yes, you will most certainly find the unexplained and unexpected. But that takes us into what I want to share with you today: What’s the truth about witchcraft and why do I know so much about it?
First, the truth about witchcraft is the image, the stereotype we have of what a witch is and does, was created by the Church during the Dark Ages. It’s true! Witches were actually midwives and healers, often widows or single women struggling to support themselves within the village or community. What passed for Physicians in those days were trained by ‘medical schools’ supported and controlled by the Church. A degree in medicine also required a degree in theology and doctors had to practice according to the Church’s laws of decency.
Now remember, this was a Church that in those days, burned people at the stake for saying the Earth was round and revolved around the Sun. Doctors were only allowed to examine a patient’s hand and forearm as it was extend through the bed curtains. Any diagnosis, any treatment had to be done with the same limitation. That’s where we got the treatments of applying leaches and bloodletting. But the midwives were allowed behind the curtains and could often see the true nature of someone’s ailment. It didn’t take long for word to get around that if you were really sick or hurt, your best chances of survival were with the midwife, not the Doctors.
The Doctors asked the Church to level the playing field but in their infinite wisdom, rather than allow more patient contact, the Church decided to make villains of the midwives. They labeled them witches, said all sorts of things about them like: If you let yourself be treated by a witch, you could risk your place in heaven. Witches are in league with Satan. Witches might well steal your baby and eat it. They have tricked you into thinking they’re young and beautiful, they are actually old, ugly, have hairy warts on their noses… some even have green skin. And that’s only the beginning of the rumors that were spread. But the really frightening part about all this, is that people believed it!
About the time they started burning them at the stake and hanging them in the town square, the midwives took their art of healing and herbal remedies and went underground where they have basically hidden for more than a thousand years. Occasionally the Church would launch a ‘witch hunt’ just to remind people of the danger of it all and how they were the people’s only salvation. They had roaming ‘witch courts’ that would go from village to village, set up a court, hunt down a few unfortunates, hang them, and then move on. As recently as the latter 1400s, when Columbus was discovering America, there were reports of one witch court that conducted trials in a small town in what is now Germany. When they were done, they had hung every female of every age in town.
It’s been only during the ‘enlightenment’ we have endured since the 1960s, that witches have begun to come out of the closet again. But now, there are two kinds of witches: There are those that can’t wait to tell you they’re a witch. They appear very ‘Goth’ and surround themselves with everything from black candles to enchanted objects. These are not witches. They are only playing witch and are busy living up to every stereotype and image created for them by the Church.
The other kind you have been living with perhaps your entire life and never knew it. They will probably deny it and some have even denied it to themselves, not seeing what they do as ‘witchcraft.’ These, are the real deal! She’s the woman in your neighborhood who seems to know every home remedy and every cleaning tip ever invented… and several you’ve never heard of before. She often has something simmering on the back burner of her stove that never seems to get included on the dinner table. Married, widowed or single, they will be very independent and even casually confident, often answering your question with yet another question. They don’t boast, and rarely even admit that what they do might be considered witchcraft.
So then, the next question is, how do I know all this? For a good number of years, I owned a travel and history magazine for the Great Lakes region aimed primarily at boaters. My staff and I visited countless small waterfront towns and traveled through even more burgs and villages along the way. Every year, we did a Halloween issue, mostly because I love Halloween, and we shared some truly unforgettable history and local legends with our readers over the years. I have seen and experienced some pretty fantastic things and reported about many, many more. I have gone Ghost Hunting in some of the most popular lighthouses, B&Bs and waterfront hotels from upstate New York to the shores of Lake Superior. I‘ve seen silverware rattle and jump at the Olde Angel Inn in Niagara On The Lake and I’ve seen Ghostly faces appear and twist in mirror at the old Seul Choix Lighthouse on Lake Michigan.
One thing I noticed right away, is that where ever you find reports of ghostly activity, talk of witches is never far behind. Sometimes, people blame a rumored, local ‘witch’ for bringing their paranormal problems. In other cases, I’ve had people quietly admit that they have tried everything to deal with their haunted troubles, even consulting the local ‘witch.
One of the many things that were shared with me, were ‘witch bottles.’ This is a practice, a tradition that seems to have been quietly used for centuries and while you don’t find it much in newer homes, I had no trouble finding people who knew all about them. A witch bottle is most frequently found in old homes dating back to the early 1800s and before. The most common usage was to create these ‘witch bottles’ and include them in your house at the time of construction. Often, they were an empty wine bottle, cleansed and then partially filled with ‘stuff.’ (What appears to be various powders mixed with leaves, roots, and other such organic things.) The bottles were then sealed tightly and often plastered into ceilings. Most all of them that I have seen were mounted in the ceilings of the parlor, one in each corner. The bottle was mounted vertically so that the bottom of the bottle extended into the room from the ceiling and the top of the bottle would extend into the attic above. Most houses had attic windows and you get some interesting light play in the parlor as the sun hit the top of the bottle in the attic. The idea being that these were protection against ‘witch attacks’ and by placing one in each corner of the parlor, you had in essence, created a ‘safe room’ where your family could comfortably and safely ride out the evil storm. Now remember, while I have seen these in some form where ever I have gone, most are in upstate New York… the land of Sleepy Hollow, Rip Van Winkle and other old American legends.
My only question ever: So, who made the magic witch bottles? Another witch? How would you know which one to trust? Maybe you were protecting your family against witches, or maybe you were giving them the master key to your house! It always sound to me like asking the Cat Burglars Union to design you next alarm system.
But there were also those things I stumbled across, or… were shared with me, that I was asked not to include but helped in my understanding of what I would write about. What struck me the most, was that everywhere I went, there were great similarities in the stories I heard and the practices I witnessed. Even though many of these ‘back kitchen witches’ thought they were the only ones in the world, they all did things surprisingly the same way. And this is the setting, the homebrew style of witches at work I have brought to life in Angela’s Coven. Please know, this is not a ‘how to’ book. Yes, it’s a work of fiction and I have embellished. But the processes are real and while I have changed the names of some of what was shown to me, it is very much the way they look at life and ‘their calling’ as so many put it.
Angela’s Coven is about a modern-day witch who risks all to save an aging rock star from his unfortunate deal with the Devil. You can learn a lot more about the book and the culture at our web page:, you can see the trailer on You Tube (just search Bruce Jenvey) or go to: And of course, Angela’s Coven is now available for every Nook and Kindle where ever the best E-Books are sold or directly from our publisher:
Thanks for having me today and I will hang around to post along with you if you have any questions or comments.

Bruce Jenvey

Here’s an excerpt from Angela’s Coven:

How fortunate they were to have yet another bright, warm autumn day, he thought to himself as he sat on the bench in Greenwich Village. Across the street, he could see the flow of customers come and go from Angela’s shop. Perhaps it was another good night’s sleep contributing to his take on the situation, but whatever the reason, he felt buoyant, eager, and filled with curiosity.
He was here to ask questions he hadn’t even yet formed in his mind. How do you ask someone if they were involved in the unexplainable?  Especially when they weren’t even there when it happened?  Maybe he didn’t really know why he was here. But here he was, in his hoodie and his sunglasses, sitting on the bench in the mid-afternoon light, anxiously waiting for the ‘Pointyhats and the Wannabes’ to thin out before he ventured across the street.
He must have lost track of those coming and going from the little shop among the other happenings and distractions on the street. He suddenly heard the shop bell ring and looked up to see her, standing in the open doorway with her hands on her hips. She stared directly at him as if to say, ‘are you coming in or not.’  Getting off the bench, he made his way across the street and followed her through the front door. Entering the shop he noticed they were alone, so he removed his hood and shoved his sunglasses into the sweatshirt pocket.
“See, I knew you’d be back,” she started as she took her place behind the counter.
“Well, I’m surprised to say you were right.”
“And you look well-rested, too.”
“Actually, I am. I’ve slept pretty well these past two nights.”
“The Dream Catcher hang in your window okay?”
“How do you know I hung it in my window?” he playfully challenged.
“Because you did. And because you’re well-rested.”
“Sure of that, are you?”
“Did the pounding wake you up?” The fact she knew about the pounding in the middle of the night suddenly unsettled him.
“Yes… But how do you know—”
“I said my customers were all Pointyhats and Wannabes… I never said I was…”
“Then, just what are you?” he asked with great interest.
“Me?  I’m the ‘real deal,’ as they say…”
“Now, come on. Do you really expect me to believe—”
“I don’t care what you believe, I’m just glad to see it all worked out for you…” And then she paused, as if lost in thought, and her expression changed to one of more concern. “Okay, back here.” She reached across the counter and lightly grabbed his sweatshirt. “Someone’s coming…” she said as she led him around the counter and back into the kitchen.
It was Reggie’s first opportunity to take in this behind-the-scenes glimpse into Angela’s life. Much as he had seen two days before, it was a very dated kitchen with aging appliances and fixtures, yet spotlessly clean. The twin stoves were still covered in various pots and pans all slowly simmering away on a low heat making the kitchen feel cozy, even on this warm, autumn day.
But to his left, along the wall, was a small breakfast table with two chairs completely out of sight from the shop floor. They were old, once painted white, but well-worn with decades of use. She guided him down into the far chair as it groaned slightly in protest under his weight. From here, he faced toward the shop, but he was concealed from view by the wall behind the counter and on his side, a refrigerator and a door he assumed led to a closet.
“I thought you didn’t care who found out I was here?” he asked with mild curiosity. “‘Good for business’ I think you said…”
“That doesn’t mean you want to be discovered. After all, you’re the one with the hood and the sunglasses. Besides, right now I want them buying things, not distracted by the great Reggie Sinclair. So, sit!”
“And what makes you think I’ll obey?” There was a good natured taunting in his voice. She looked at him with a great confidence.
“Because I’m going to give you a potion that immobilizes men,” she said as she reached into the refrigerator behind her and pulled out a long-necked bottle of beer. She twisted off the cap and set it in front of him. “It will also make you very susceptible to suggestion. Now, stay!”
“You are so full of it—” he said, starting to laugh. But she snatched up the bottle by its long neck, and with her thumb over the opening, she gave it a quick, single shake. As she set it back down, she released the pressure in his direction spraying him in the face. “Okay!” He instantly surrendered and picked up a dish towel off the table top, wiping the beer foam from his face.
“I’m sure they won’t be long, Reggie Sinclair,” she said with a smile as she hesitated in the doorway that led back to her counter.
“What do you say, we just make it… ‘Reggie’. I don’t go around calling you by your full name.”
“That’s because you don’t know it.”
“Even if I did…” he started, now realizing his disadvantage.
“Bradbury...” she interrupted. “Angela Bradbury, but Angela will be just fine… Reggie.” She smiled softly at him. And then, on cue, the bell over the shop door jangled as new customers entered. He could tell by their voices and footsteps on the wooden floor, there were at least three that had come in together. “There’s more potion in the fridge if that one starts to wear off…”
From where he sat, he could hear her greet her customers with the same ‘Welcome’ he’d received just the other day. And then after that, the women’s voices all started to mingle together, lost in words and phrases unfamiliar to him. But it gave him a chance to study his surroundings as he sipped on his beer.
The stoves intrigued him the most. They were old, a brand that probably hadn’t been produced since the 1950s. They were also electric, and there was just something that hit him odd about a self-proclaimed witch not cooking over an open fire… or at least with gas. But it even felt odder to think of her as a ‘witch’ for the very first time. A ‘witch…’  She was about as far as you could get from any preconceived notion he’d ever had of a ‘witch.’  But then, he’d never spent a great deal of time thinking about witches.
He tried to peer up from his seat into the pots on the stove to see what was simmering away, but being immobilized in his chair limited his view. From what he could see, it was all water, some with more foam and scum floating on top than others, and none smelled the least bit appetizing. His attention was suddenly drawn to the voices in the other room.
“Conjuring powder!” exclaimed one of the women. And then he recognized Angela’s voice responding.
“It’s something new I just got in from the Far East… still working with it myself.”
“Haven’t conjured up that perfect man yet?” teased a third voice.
“And who could be the ‘perfect’ man?” laughed another.
“Oh, I’d settle for a nice Wade Owens, quarterback-type,” came the first voice again. “Or
better yet, Steve Crosby. Love the way he sings!” And they all laughed.
“What about Reggie Sinclair?” came still another unfamiliar voice. “I always thought he was way cuter when I was a girl.” More giggling erupted.
“You know, I have all his records right back to the Spitfires,” came the first voice again. “And then I bought them all again on CD, too.”
“He still lives here in New York, you know… I get tweets from his fan club and he’s been seen a couple of times just this week!”
“Oh really?” he could hear Angela’s voice playing along.
“He was signing autographs in the Mid-Town FYE just the other day. That’s when he’s not running around in that sweatshirt and sunglasses pretending to be invisible!”
“You’re kidding, he really does that?” again, it was Angela’s voice playing along.
“Yes. In fact, he’s been seen several times lately right here in the Village. But the fan club says when he’s wearing the hoodie and the sunglasses he wants to be left alone, so we shouldn’t ask him for autographs then.” In the kitchen, Reggie pulled his sunglasses out of his sweatshirt pocket and looked at them with disappointment before tossing them into the wastebasket next to the stoves.
“But he’s still so hot. Even in that silly disguise. Anybody like that come in here, lately, Angela?  Or is that who you’ve been conjuring up with your new powder?”
“Why of course!” she said sarcastically. “What if I told you he was back in my kitchen right now, drinking a beer?” And they all hooted and giggled with the idea as Angela’s cash register began to ring.
When the shop fell quiet again, she stepped back through the doorway and smugly leaned against the fridge. From where she stood, she peered into the wastebasket at the discarded sunglasses.
“You sure Mr. Ed doesn’t want those back?”
“Ha! Ha!”
She reached into the fridge and grabbed two more beers, one for each of them, and then joined him at the table. She rested an elbow on the table top and cradled her chin on her palm as she looked into his face.
“So, tell me about the dream…”
Suddenly self conscious, Reggie looked away and put up his defenses. “Not much to tell, really… it’s gone anyway.”
“How did you know someone was sending you this dream?”
“You know, I never really bought into that whole idea—”
“You hung it in your window… you even heard the pounding… so what made you realize it wasn’t your own dream?”
He took a deep breath before answering. “The dream wasn’t right… I mean the memory is right, but that’s not exactly how it happened. It was… changed.”
“Bad memory?”
Very bad. But in the dream, it was different from what really happened… made me feel even worse—”
“More guilt…more regret?”
“A lot more…and it was the same God damned dream every night…exactly the same and exactly wrong the same exact way—”
“And seemed to wake you up at about the same time?”
“Every night.”
“That’s a ‘sent’ dream…classic signs…”
Reggie started to feel agitated by her prying, or was it just the pain of the memory opening the wound yet again. “Just what do you mean, sent?”
“People can send you a dream…good dream, bad dream, your dream, their dream… sometimes, they don’t even realize they’re doing it.”
“How can that be?”
“So a woman breaks up with her boyfriend…she goes through a period of vengeful thinking, wishing ill on him, reliving an important moment or two in the breakup…of course, her version of it…and probably altered to make her feel better, which of course, would make him feel worse. If she’s any kind of a psychic or a sensitive and knows it, she may deliberately wish these thoughts on to him. If she does that while he’s sleeping, it can manifest as a dream. Most people get over these vengeful feelings in a while, at least the worst of them, and that gives the other person’s dreams a rest. But if the person doesn’t even know they have an ounce of psychic power, they may not even realize they’re sending you this dream. I knew a man once who was plagued by the same bad dream about his ex-wife every night, at exactly the same time but on weeknights only, never on a weekend. Come to find out, after the divorce, she moved back to Europe to be with her family and every morning at the same time, she was getting on a train to go to work…which she hated. Of course, she blamed this on him and she would ride that train, every morning just steaming about their divorce. Of course, during her commute time, he’s trying to sleep back here in New York. So, bad dream, every night, same time, same place. It happens a lot more often than you think but people shrug it off. All it takes is some connection between those two people… and just a little bit of magical energy…that’s all.”
“Sounds like rubbish,” He tried to dismiss the whole idea.
“Said the man with the Dream Catcher hanging in his window.”
“Okay, but what can I do about it?”
“Well, you can sleep with the Dream Catcher until whoever gets over it all or gives up.”
“What if they don’t?”
“Either way, you could also send them a ‘Boomerang.”
“Boomerang?  What the hell is that?”
She took a deep swig off her beer before continuing. “It’s a reflector for negative energy. It’s a way of bouncing back to the sender the negative energy they’re giving off.”
“And that would work… how?”
“Well, the Boomerang would bounce the negative energy back to them and it could manifest itself in a bad dream of their own…something pulled from their own memories. If the dream is being deliberately sent to you, it’s kind of like punching the bully full in the nose…lets him know you’ll fight back if need be, and lets him know it’s going to hurt. If the sender doesn’t even realize they’re giving you a bad dream, one bad dream of their own is usually enough to distract them from thinking about you and more about themselves. Either way, you win. Think of it like the ‘star-6-9’ of the dream world.”
“And I’ll bet you have this Boomerang attachment to fit my Dream Catcher?”
“No, but I can easily make you one.” She got up from the table and stepped back into the other room. From there, he could hear her opening a draw or two, and the rattle of glass jars. When she returned, she had a small collection of interesting objects stacked on her clipboard. She set them on the table as she found her seat again. She started by opening a paper envelope and removing what looked like a small plant root, barely an inch long.
“What’s that?” he asked with keen interest.
“Oh, it’s got a lot of names, but I know it best as ‘St. Isaac’s Root.’  It’s just part of an herb plant.” She then opened the first of two jars, this one filled with a fine, gray powder, and began to rub the powder into the surface of the root, one pinch at a time.
“And what’s that?” he asked with even more anticipation. She paused a brief moment to look at him with a smile on her face.
“Patience, little boy.  It’s a mixture of other herbs, mixed, boiled down and then ground into a powder… I guess you’d call it a ‘concoction.’ There are more things like this simmering on the stove over there.”
“You mean, this didn’t come from the ‘Mysterious Far East?’”
“Some of it…part of it…but it’s what you do with it and how you combine it that makes it all work.”
“That’s what’s on the stove?”
“Among other things. It takes days, sometimes weeks, to make something like this. You have to simmer slowly, never boil. Sometimes, you have to simmer twice, down to nothing, and then grind what’s left into a powder you can combine with other powders. It’s all pretty complicated… really.”
“I was going to ask about the electric stove…”
“What?  You think I should be ‘bubbling, bubbling, toil and troubling’ in some big, black cauldron over an open fire someplace?  Well, this is New York City and they frown on open fires you know.” She was teasing him pretty hard as she continued to work the gray powder into the herb root. And as she did so, the root’s color slowly changed from off white to a bright yellow.
“It would fit the image…”
“You mean the stereotype. The misconception.”
“What would you call it?”
“Basically, it’s chemistry, that’s all.”
“And there’ll be no magic words or spells to cast?” He tried to hide behind his sarcasm and snicker.
“No,” she said casually as she closed the jar with the gray powder and opened the second jar filled with a nearly black powder. “When you go to your doctor for a flu shot, does he chant or dance around the room before he injects you?”
“No,” he said sheepishly.
“No magic words?”
“Other than ‘If you don’t cry, Reggie, I’ll give you one of the suckers I save for the children’?”
“Yes, other than those magic words.” She laughed.
“No, I guess not.”
“It’s all chemistry, and that’s what you’ll find here, too. Maybe a long forgotten chemistry, but simple chemistry just the same.” As she worked this powder into the root, it slowly changed its color again, this time, into a bright, emerald green.
“So, what’s in that jar?”
“Oh, you don’t want to know…really…and yes, I will be washing my hands before I do anything else.” And she laughed again. A really delightful laugh, too, thought Reggie.
When the root was sufficiently treated, she closed the jar and produced a small wire hook that was probably nothing more than one of those used to hang Christmas ornaments. She forced the small end through the root, much like baiting a fish hook, and then held up her finished work with a sense of pride.
“There you go. One Boomerang.” She gently dropped the root and its hook into a small plastic zipper bag and sealed it. “Just hang this in the center ring of your Dream Catcher between the Dream Catcher and the glass. That’s the important part, it has to be right next to the glass.”
“And what do I owe you?” asked the rock star, reaching for his wallet.
“Dinner!” she answered without hesitation. “Here, tomorrow night. I’ll cook.”
“Cook?” he said with reservation as he pointed to the stoves next to him. She laughed again.
“No…nothing from there. Upstairs. I live upstairs and I actually cook and eat real food, too. No roast Hansel, no grilled Gretel…I promise.”
“Well, that’s comforting…” he said with a genuine relief.
“Be here just before the shop closes at six, and you can tell me how this little thing worked as well,” she said, handing him the envelope.


Angela’s Coven

Books Coming Soon

The Great Northern Coven (Book 2 in the Cabbottown Witch Novels, October 2012)
“In the wilds of Alaska, a bush pilot, haunted by his past, becomes lost in an ancient prophecy. And the only one who can save them all has forgotten… she was born a witch!”


You Tube: Search: Bruce Jenvey


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