Excerpt:I was born in a house with bad bones. I was seven when I saw him push her through the door, breaking her arm in a cocaine-fueled rage. I was dismantled at a young age.He was never really around, you know he's gotta be a man. He had gone out to get himself a brand new life with no room for me or his past. She wasn't ready for the flood that would hit our home, drowning herself in bottles of rum.Perhaps nostalgia had began spilling secrets of the angry war vet she could never please as a little girl. I just don't know. I don't think I can blame her, though. Maybe she didn't know any better.But in the end, it was these two who gave me life; who sealed my fate. Who made me think that love feels like a punch in the face, Begging and going after people who just don't care. It was they, who left me to wonder if I was invisible. A deprived little girl with self-esteem issues.Was it worth it? I know when you die, you'll know finally know who I am. I know you'll swim in a sea of my tears. Maybe then you'll know I was real.
SUPERNATURAL CENTRAL
Friday, January 10, 2025
A HOUSE WITH BAD BONES by ADELINE TATUM
Wednesday, January 8, 2025
FAST TIMES BIG CITY by SHELLY FROME
Excerpt from Chapter One
Bud Palmer slipped on his sunglasses and set off in his Ford Sunliner convertible on this balmy subtropical Satur- day morning. All the while he tried to convince himself he could get this meeting over with quickly no matter what his shady uncle Rick was up to.
Then again Bud wished he’d just hung up on him. Not put up with “Can’t tell you over the phone. I need you here in person, soon as possible.” That way he wouldn’t be driving across the MacArthur Causeway. Moreover, if his mother hadn’t asked him to look out for her kid brother while she and his dad were on their Caribbean cruise, he’d never have been reminded of Rick’s schemes such as hanging up a dual Realtor/ PI sign.
He wouldn’t be thinking of Rick Ellis at all.
As he drove on, more disconcerting images came to mind: a wiry little guy clutching a polaroid camera, hiding behind the poinsettias as some floozy snuck into a garish motel with some- one’s husband in tow.
Not that Bud himself was always straightforward. At twenty- nine, while his friends were married with kids he was still easing out of relationships the minute he was asked, “Tell me, Bud, how much does a sportswriter make?” Or, “I hear there’s a new subdivision going up in Miramar, each house with a Lanai. Perfect for raising a family.”
In comparison with Rick, however, Bud was always honest about his intentions whether it be his work or love life. In contrast, when playing tennis for instance, Rick was always looking for an angle. He’d crouch behind the net ready to pounce or cut off an opponent’s serve, always looking to throw the server off his game.
Bud crossed over onto Miami Beach, tooled around, passed the ballfield at Flamingo Park, eased by the pastel sidewalks taking him up to Ocean Drive and the fresh fruit juice stand at 10th Street Beach. He parked by a curb directly in line with the juice stand, got out and crossed the sun-dappled street.
Glancing around, he took in the cool tinge of fall blowing in from the ocean, fusing with the salty scent of the water. The sun’s rays streamed through the fluffy clouds; the waves rippled, beckoning the smattering of sunbathers to take a dip.
Everywhere Bud looked nothing had changed. Which included the sight of middle-aged women across the way in their flowery sun dresses, whiling away the hours on the patios of their pink-stucco efficiency apartments; shuffling mahjong tiles; glancing over at the white sands stretching off into the distance in hopes of spotting some lonely bachelor. It was all predictable. Even his paper, the Miami Herald and source of his livelihood, discarded on the empty green bench, seconded the motion.
There was a photo of President Eisenhower above the fold playing golf nearby at Jackie Gleeson’s country club, and a sidebar noting the U.S. was gaining in the space race with the Soviets.
Whatever Rick was champing at the bit about had to be taken with the proverbial grain of salt.
As if in agreement, a voluptuous blond in a fuchsia bikini came into view, turned on the outdoor shower a few yards away, casually washed off the salt water residue on her shoulders, and winked.
Bud smiled back, checked his watch and gazed beyond the mahjong ladies to a gap in the row of efficiency apartments at the end of the block where the weathered bungalow sat a few yards back. The one with the fading sign fronting the bamboo porch railing that read Walk-ins Welcome: Services Unlimited.
He crossed over, hurried past the row of squat apartments, pivoted by the sign, noted the rear end of the rusty Studebaker sitting in the carport, and nodded. It was all the same-old same- old promising more of the same. He bound up the steps, called out “Hello?” opened the screen door and walked right in.
And, sure enough, there Rick was ready and waiting, sporting that signature Charlie Chaplin mustache, flowered short-sleeved shirt and white linen slacks. The first worrisome signal, however, was his bleary, blood-shot eyes as he over-poured a carafe of steaming black coffee into a mug. He whipped out a handkerchief, plunked the carafe and mug on the edge of the desk in the center of the room, and mopped up the spill. At the same time, Bud took in the rest of the place and saw that it hadn’t changed a bit, starting from the girlie calendars on the walls, milk boxes full of paperbacks on the floor; the cluttered desk topped by a scuffed black rotary phone, notary stamp, and the Smith-Corona typewriter flanked by a hat stand with a random display. To complete the picture, there was the rack of glossy magazines so that Rick could keep up with the latest, plus a wooden perch that once accommodated a talking parrot on the near side of a shaded window and a sun-bleached deck chair.
Everything was the same and not at all the same.
Thursday, January 2, 2025
THE STORM DESCENDS-DEMON STORM Book 7 by VALERIE STORM
Excerpt:
Kari knelt in a field of dark grass beneath a dark cloud pouring dark rain. Ari lay limp in her arms, dead to the world. She bowed her head over his prone body, colder than death even without the rain to drench them. It pattered, loud against her flicking ears—the only sound all around.
“Wake up, Ari, please,” she whispered to his chest, clutching him tighter. “Please.” Her voice broke, and a wail wrenched free.
“Love makes you weak.”
Kari’s head shot up at the whisper, but there was no one around. There was only the rain, hissing now, each drop harder and sharper.“You are a plague.”
The whispers came from the rain, now searing pinpricks rather than drops of frozen water. Gritting her teeth, Kari lifted Ari, held him close to her chest, and ran.
“One day, you will wish for the power you forsake!”
Kari’s feet sloshed through thick, black puddles. She slipped and barely managed to roll onto her back before she and Ari fell. She grunted, struggled to get back up with his weight.
A beam of light broke the murky sky. Kari squinted at it; the sight filled her with an unexplainable, instinctual hope. She pushed off from the muddy ground—harder now with her and Ari both sopping wet—and ran for the light.
“PLEASE!” she screamed to the sky. “SAVE HIM!”
It was all she wanted; she would give anything—anything.
“You have a destiny.” This whisper was deeper, ancient—a voice so full of raw power, it grabbed Kari’s spine and forced her to straighten. “Vessels do not earn worldly attachments.”
Velthas. His pull was strong even now, even though she had not seen the Tree in weeks—months. Forced rigid, Kari dragged her eyes to the beam of light.
“Holy light,” she managed through a jaw clenched shut. She curled her fingers around Ari. “I forsake everything else to you.”
A ripple—the jarring snap of something breaking in her mind. Kari gasped and fell forward, barely catching herself on one hand before she collapsed on top of Ari.
The rain slowed, she thought; at least, she felt the pattering on her back less. She closed her eyes, hoping, wishing, praying.
Fingers touched her cheek. Her eyes flew open and found Ari’s eyes—green as the deepest forest. He lifted one corner of his mouth tiredly.
“You’ll carry my faith, won’t you?” he whispered. “My light?”
Friday, December 27, 2024
THE HARLEQUIN'S LEGACY Book One by ANDRES ROSAS HOTT
Today we are welcoming Andres to the page to answer a few questions:
Supernatural Central Short and Quick Interview
1. Tell me a little bit about your main character of this book.
Let me introduce the trio:
Pascal - Meet Pascal, the good-hearted 17-year-old dreamer. He is a bit naive, almost foolish for his age, viewing the world as an exciting adventure rather than just a place to survive. With his friendly smile and endless curiosity, he craves adventure and longs to uncover everything that lies beyond the orphanage. Pascal believes there is so much more to discover about himself and the world around him.
Paloma - Introducing a street-savvy 16-year-old girl and former gang leader haunted by the loss of her parents. With her fierce spirit and unwavering bravery, she is imposing and unafraid of confrontation. A true fighter at heart, Paloma is always ready to defend those she cares about, drawing strength from her skills and the bonds of friendship.
Pierrot - Meet Pierrot, a quiet enigma and intelligent 13-year-old whose good-hearted nature shines through his deep empathy. Sensitive and introspective, he intuitively senses unspoken emotions, recognizing when shadows hide behind a smile. He finds comfort in books and cherishes his friendships with Pascal and Paloma.
Together, they embark on a journey filled with adventure, courage, and the power of friendship.
2. Do you believe in the paranormal and if so, do you have an experience you can share?
I I did, but unfortunately, I do not! That is where books come in, though—they let us dive into all the paranormal and exciting possibilities that spark our imagination. It is like a fun escape into worlds filled with mystery and wonder, even if they are just make-believe. Or are they? Who knows, right? The idea that there could be something more out there makes it even more thrilling!
3. What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?
I currently working on the sequel to The Harlequin's Legacy! There are some fun easter eggs in book one that I am excited to explore further in book two. I am also looking to weave in and flesh out additional elements that I left out in book one, adding more depth and intrigue to the story. Cannot wait to share more about it!
Excerpt:
Pascal was late. Again. He stepped quickly over fallen logs and ducked low beneath swooping evergreen branches. Though the wilderness was dense in this part of the forest, he navigated it with remarkable ease. His footsteps as light as a whisper over treacherous mossy rocks. With each exhale, misty clouds formed in the shake of his breath, the biting cold of winter creeping all the way through the thickness of his coat. He pulled his collar tighter to forbid the chill from entering even more.
Yet, as he walked, his mind strayed from his course, far from the natural beauty surrounding him.
He muttered under his breath as he walked over the gnarled roots, every step a cautious dance. He slipped and slid in his frequent eff orts to stoop under even more pointy twigs of evergreen that sought to block his path, to grab him as he passed. Pascal had taken this route countless times before, and today, that thought was a frustrating one.
After spending the majority of his life at the orphanage, he wanted nothing more than to leave, to see the world, to taste all that lay unseen and undiscovered. He would soon have that opportunity. Yet, knowing that he’d soon be graduating also left him uneasy.
Can I even handle surviving on my own? He wondered. I´ve always had the comfort of Mistress Alma and the orphanage to look after me.
The bittersweet longing left him conflicted and a little in secure, truth be told. How would he know when he was ready? What threshold would he finally cross?
The forest, usually a great source of comfort and solace, felt somehow different on this day. It seemed to be echoing his inner turmoil, causing him to lose all sense of time.
The sun stretched over the tree line of the Quiet Wilds, reminding him that his walk should have ended about fifteen minutes ago. He picked up his pace.
Great. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint Mistress Alma. And miss dinner.
The final approach was quick, as he nearly ran the remaining half-mile. Once he spotted the entrance, he slipped in with stealth. The mess hall was already full. He’d have to wait for the perfect moment to sneak inside.
“Have you seen Pascal?”
Whispers spread through the orphanage’s mess hall like wildfire as the children ate their typical meal for a Wednesday night: potatoes and vegetable stew. A classic, one that Pascal didn’t want to miss.
When he peered around the corner, he spotted his friends Clarion and Danton exchanging a knowing glance. Surely, they were assuming he’d been caught up in his exploration outside the orphanage grounds. Which he had. In fact, that was exactly what he had done.
His eyes wandered down the table to Tania, one of the older girls at the orphanage, just as she was motioning for Mistress Alma. Damn. Of course, Tania would notice his absence. She never knew how to keep quiet about these sorts of things.
Removing her pince-nez glasses, Mistress Alma scanned over the mess hall. She rubbed at her eyes, which seemed to be sore at the day´s end, a fact that proved fortunate for Pascal. In her scan, she’d somehow managed to Miss Tania’s raised hand. She circled the room slowly and met children along the wall, all beaming in her presence.
Then, she turned on her heel to stride toward the kitchen, her simple brown dress and jacket flowing behind her.
Poor Tania was stretching her arm ever-higher, looking fit to burst from her efforts, but still, Mistress Alma did not see. That was a relief. Though, the win was short-lived; it was just a matter of time before she realized Pascal wasn´t present and that he was late again.
Once she disappeared into the kitchen, Pascal exhaled, his eyes glinting. This was the perfect opportunity. Yet, when he glanced around the mess hall at the tame expressions the children wore, he couldn’t suppress the urge to liven up their evening a bit more. After all, he’d been working on a few tricks that he could hardly wait to show them. Why not come in with a bang? He’d probably get in some amount of trouble anyway…
He walked around to the main mess hall entrance and burst through the doors with as much dramatic flair as he could muster. He flipped into a handstand, pressing his palms against the floor, and then strutted through the mess hall on his hands.
The room erupted in laughter. Pascal could never do things quietly.
About the Author:
Meet Andrés Rosas Hott, a fresh voice in the literary scene whose debut novel is a vibrant tapestry woven from diverse experiences. With a master's degree in Graphic Design and Illustration from Konstfack - University of Arts, Crafts and Design, and a background as a commercial director focused on creating animated and live-action commercials, Andrés emerges not only as an author but as a passionate storyteller devoted to whisking readers away on captivating journeys.
In his much-anticipated first book, "The Harlequin's Legacy," Andrés draws inspiration from his favorite character, The Harlequin, spinning a unique mythology around this mysterious figure. The tagline, "Dare to dream, Dare to believe, Dare to embrace your Legacy," sets the stage for a transformative adventure with his characters.
Beyond the fantastical realm, Andrés skillfully weaves conceptual storytelling
with a deep understanding of personal growth, relationships, and emotions.
Themes of courage, identity, and embracing one's true potential resonate with
readers on a profound level, making his work more than just an escape into fantasy.
Andrés, grounded in diverse creative experiences, values his role as a family
man. In the heart of Stockholm, Sweden, he adeptly juggles the realms of
fantasy and family life, carving out precious moments with his wife and two
sons. His story reflects the simple truth that creativity thrives not only in
the world of imagination but also within the embrace of family.
As readers embark on a remarkable journey into fantasy YA literature with
Andrés, they can expect not only an adventure filled with imagination and
wonder but also a tale of self-discovery. "The Harlequin's Legacy"
marks the beginning of an exciting series, and Andrés extends a warm invitation
for readers to join him on this extraordinary literary expedition
Website: https://www.redmoonpublishing.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/redmoonpublishing/
GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/218594098
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61565516144086
Thursday, December 19, 2024
BEYOND EARTH ANTHOLOGY (Various Authors)
Excerpt from “Claiming Kaden” by Celia Breslin
The station’s vid screen flared to life, blocking her view. A handsome and angry male face filled the space. The brightest amber eyes she’d ever seen glared at her.
“Stop shooting,” the man growled.
The face disappeared.
“Who the hell was that, Athena?” A Zyphorran? She ignored the gorgeous stranger and kept firing at the battleship.
The face reappeared. Dark brows furrowed over his blazing whiskey eyes. “Desist, woman!”
“Desist this, you jerk!” She shot at the enemy. Continued to miss. “Ugh!”
She didn’t care how handsome he seemed, with his pale, silvery blue skin and spiky dark hair, and those glowing eyes which looked like they could melt a girl’s panties.
No one told her what to do, and no one would force her into servitude.
Never again.
The green vessel took out two enemy ships before it planted itself in front of Calie’s station.
Angry Guy’s face filled her screen. “I’m trying to help you. Stop firing!”
Oh… Cranky Guy was the pilot of the green ship. Possibly a good guy? Calie lifted her hands away from the controls.
As she watched, he took out every single destroyer then turned his attention to the warship.
“Shield at eight point seven percent,” Athena announced. “Hm…”
“What do you mean, hm? Should we head for an escape pod?”
“This is most intriguing. And disconcerting,” Athena murmured, not answering her escape question.
“What, that guy’s amazing battle prowess?”
“No. He infiltrated and took over my communication system to speak with you.”
Okay, now Calie was doubly impressed with good-looking Mister Frowny, because Athena was a powerful genius. No one bested her.
Calie plastered her palms on the controls. “Let’s help him kick that warship’s ass.”
“Don’t you dare,” their unknown ally barked, audio only.
“Are you eavesdropping on us? Rude!”
“The unknown male is attempting to take control of all station systems, Calie.”
“Cut it out, whoever you are,” Calie warned him. She aimed one of the station laser cannons at his ship.
“Who I am? I’m the male who’s going to disable and commandeer the warship, then eliminate everyone on board it while you sit on your pretty ass and stay out of my way.”
He thinks I’m pretty? She shook off the frisson skating down her spine. “Screw you. I’m blowing up that warship. Athena, take it out.”
THE COAL ELF by MARIA DeVIVO with bonus holiday recipe.
Holiday
Recipe – Rainbow Cookies
Materials needed:
Three bowls
Electric mixer
Parchment paper
Three large cookie/baking pans
Small bowl for egg whites
Ingredients
needed: