This link is for the space nerds out there, and was brought to my attention from one of Jeremy Corbell's instagram posts. Scientists have discover what could possibly be a fifth force of nature, the known forces being gravity, electro-magetic fields, the strong force and the weak force. Happy reading.
Friday, April 8, 2022
Monday, April 4, 2022
SPOTLIGHT ON HARKWORTH HALL (L.S. JOHNSON_
Excerpt:
I first heard of Edward Masterson the day of the birds, though I forgot about them through much of what happened after. Indeed, in the moment, their strange flight was only a disturbing inconvenience, as it turned my father back from his walk to the village on laundry day.
My father was a gentleman of small, regular habits. He walked to the village twice each week, to gain news of the wider world and have two pints of ale before walking back. In winter, he had Mr. Simmons, who served as our steward as well as sometime butler and valet, drive him. But in the fine weather of late spring he would set off walking, in his plain suit but with his sword polished and ready should he meet any ruffians.
The rest of our little household—myself and Mr. and Mrs. Simmons; my poor mother had passed when I was young—would plan much around this simple outing, for the house was too much work for the Simmonses alone. My father made no objection to my helping with light chores such as dusting, but he had recently been infected with the disease of matchmaking, and he feared for my prospects should I develop a working woman’s hands and complexion. His solution for our overworked staff was to simply hire more help as needed, but I often snuck into his study to review our account books and there was no surplus for such luxuries. Thus, I learned to separate want from necessity, and while other women my age were dancing at assemblies or practicing their needlework, I was scrubbing floors and learning to make pastry. I learned, and I learned as well to not reflect upon my circumstances, lest I fall into melancholy—and many days there was simply no time for such indulgence. As soon as my father left, I put aside my role as Caroline Daniels, landowner’s daughter, and became Caroline Daniels, maid, stableboy, or whatever we needed me to be. Laundry especially was a daylong affair, and more than once we had sent Mr. Simmons out to delay my father so we could get the last damp pieces inside before he returned.
My father left, drawing the door closed behind him. I waited in the hall, seeing in my mind’s eye his stout figure striding down the drive. Now he would pat his pockets, ensuring he had a shilling but little more, for he had once been robbed on his return and had a fine watch and several shillings taken off him. Now he would think about that watch, and touch his sword in reassurance. All was well and nothing was forgotten; he could enjoy his journey in peace, and we could set about our work. I counted to fifty, then with a deep breath seized the first laundry basket and began dragging it back to the yard—
—when I heard the terrible sound of the door swinging open again, and my father bellowing for Mr. Simmons. At once I dropped the basket, smiling brightly. My smile faded, however, when I saw the spatters on his hat and coat, including a red smear on his face.
“Are you all right? Did you fall?” I rushed towards him, thinking to stop any bleeding with my apron.
“Quite all right,” he said. “Only the birds are going mad.”
For a moment I stared at him, believing I misheard him, but then I saw movement in the sky past his shoulder. Birds of all sizes and shapes, flying at odd angles to each other but all heading inland. As I watched two collided, then set at each other with horrific shrieks and bared claws. Feathers drifted down as they fought.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s quite late in the year to be mating, and there are gulls up there. They usually stay close to the shore—” My father suddenly broke off, frowning at the laundry basket. “What are you doing with that laundry?”
“I was looking for a petticoat,” I said quickly. “I cannot find it anywhere.”
He gave me a suspicious look, but I was saved from further inquiry by Mr. Simmons appearing. As he fetched my father a fresh coat, I slipped past him and went out onto the drive. Dozens of birds filled the sky, and save for when their paths provoked a conflict, they were doing so in near silence, as if they needed all their strength to fly. But what were they flying towards—or were they fleeing something? I scanned the horizon: there was not so much as a cloud, not a hint of an incoming storm.
Above me two more birds crossed paths, and the larger one viciously raked the smaller. It tumbled to the ground, then carefully righted itself and began limping forward, still heading unerringly inland.
“Caroline, dear, don’t distress yourself with such sights.” My father took my arm and led me back to the house.
“But what could be causing it?” I asked, still craning my head. “Something has frightened them, something worse than a storm.”
“They were probably startled by an animal—perhaps we have a wolf again. I’ll ask in the village,” he said. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you! I will be stopping at the Fitzroys’ on my way home. I was thinking if Diana spends the season in town again, perhaps you could join her? A stay of some weeks will help you become more comfortable in society, and develop your acquaintanceships further.”
And there were so many replies I wished to make, all at once. The Fitzroys were our closest neighbors, and Diana my oldest friend. Having both lost our mothers early, and without siblings, we had been for a time closer than sisters. The memories of our girlhood, pretending to be the pirates Anne Bonny and Mary Read, or the tragic princess Caroline, still filled me with longing. But the Fitzroys’ finances had flourished where ours had declined, and I took no pleasure in the prospect of marriage. A season with Diana promised only embarrassing shortfalls and uncomfortable encounters.
I wanted to say all these things, and that I had seen far worse than a wounded bird in my life, for had I not seen my own mother die in childbirth? But such was not the speech of a dutiful daughter, and I quailed at the thought of disrupting our affectionate relationship. I was still struggling for words when he kissed me on my forehead and shooed me back inside, as if I was still a little girl.
INTERVIEW WITH LYNETTE CHARRIER (The Frelsarien Chronicles)
Hello! Thanks for stopping in today. We're having a little chat with author Lynette Charrier today. Grab a seat.
SC: Tell me a little bit about your main character of this book.
LC: Idun is a headstrong adrenaline junkie. She’s naturally skeptical so doesn’t initially accept her new responsibilities
Ayla is a college nursing student and a devout christian. She accepts her responsibility from the overseers enthusiastically
Colton is a self-confident marine sniper. When he’s taken from his home, he’s angry about it, but he recognizes his duty and understands that he doesn’t have a say in the matter. Ayla mentions that he’s doing the right thing but for all the wrong reasons.
SC: Do you believe in the paranormal and if so, do you have an experience you can share?
LC: Unfortunately I’m one of those people who has to see to believe. I LOVE anything paranormal though, and I really wanted to believe, I just haven’t seen anything to convince me. When I was a teenager we used to go to places that were said to be haunted, so it’s not like I didn’t look. All of my friends said they swore they saw things, but it conveniently never happened when I was around. I think it’s pretty safe to say that there are things that we can’t fully explain, but I’m not ready to claim that it’s something like a spirit, or fairy, or any other paranormal being. I do draw influence from paranormal studies and use it in my writing.
SC: What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?
LC: I have 4 more books plotted out in this series. Then after that I have a both stand alones and more series that are all part of the same multiverse. In the end I plan to bring them all together.
SC: Great! Thanks for stopping by today, Lynette. Let's take a look at your novel now.
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/sY8fe_d2hSc
Excerpt:
Idun’s eyes flickered open. She had been dreaming again.
A throbbing pain pounded within her skull. She groaned and rubbed the back of her head and felt a large welt. Her bruised fingers glided around to the right side of her head, where she found another welt. She sighed while slowly propping herself up and looking around. Her eyes were still hazy, but she could just barely make out the silhouette of a woman sitting across from her. Idun rubbed her eyes before reopening them.
“I doubt that will help,” the woman said, just as Idun came to that very conclusion. “You have a concussion.”
To her surprise, Idun recognized the voice.
“Ayla?”
The woman stood up and moved towards her, taking her seat on the bed next to Idun. There were two of her in Idun’s eyes, but she could still make out the features of her lifelong friend. She didn’t look like herself. Her long, curly, brown-black hair framed a smooth face, free of acne, and unhidden by glasses. But the most striking difference was her weight. The last time Idun saw her, she was skin and bones and likely less than one hundred pounds. The Ayla sitting in front of her looked… healthy.
“Jesus! How long have I been out?” She wondered if this was still part of the dream.
“Idun! Language,” she snapped.
Idun chuckled and put her head back down on the pillow. “Seriously, though, how long have I been out?”
“Almost twenty-four hours.”
A confused expression crossed Idun’s face, and she looked up from her pillow. “Can’t be. Don’t take this the wrong way, but there’s no way you look like this after just twenty-four hours. And my hair doesn’t grow this fast either,” she said, holding up a lock of auburn hair which was now longer than the length of her arm.
“These are our Frelsarien bodies…” She said as if that were obvious. She waited a moment as if to see if this triggered a memory, but it didn’t. Idun had no idea what that meant. “So, you really haven’t been briefed on this?”
“What?” Idun picked her head off the pillow and looked up at the blur which was Ayla. “What are you talking about?”
“Where do you think we are?” Ayla questioned.
Idun looked around the room, which, from what she could tell, was made completely of stone and decorated in red. “I don’t know…”
Ayla sighed. “What is the last thing you remember?”
“The last thing I know for sure wasn’t a dream.” Idun had to think for a moment. “I climbed that cliff just outside of town.” She rubbed the back of her head again. “I must have hit my head when I fell, though. I had this weird hallucination about being chased by the grim reaper.”
Ayla stood up to pour Idun a glass of water, then walked back and placed it in her hand. “Idun… that wasn’t a hallucination. It wasn’t the grim reaper, though,” She said, with a laugh.
Idun brought the cup to her lips but stopped, giving Ayla a confused yet doubtful glance. She opened her mouth to ask her to elaborate, but Ayla beat her to it.
“It’s called the soul splitter. It separated our souls from our bodies on Earth and brought them to our bodies here on Eyon.” She waited for a moment to study Idun’s expression again; Which happened to be one of disbelief. “Does any of that ring a bell?”
“Not even a little one.” Idun tipped back her cup and then placed it down on the table. “I’m actually pretty sure I’m still asleep.”
Ayla reached over and pinched the skin on the underside of Idun’s arm.
“What the heck!” Idun propped herself up with a jolt.
“Well, you’re not asleep,” Ayla giggled.
Idun scrunched her eyebrows together and massaged the back of her arm. “And you’re not Ayla...”
Thursday, March 24, 2022
INTERVIEW WITH DENISE HOWARD (Hidden Lake: The Prophecy)
Today we have author Denise Howard visiting us. Welcome, Denise!
SC: Tell me a little bit about your main character of this
book.
DH: Gracie is the name of the main character she is a teenage
girl from a small town. She does not know she is a witch at fire and has the
bizarre way of finding out. I would consider her a strong personality she has
handled a lot through her life. A fun fact is my main character is named after
my baby sister Grace, not based on her those two share very different
personalities.
SC: Do you believe in the paranormal and if so, do you have an
experience you can share?
DH: Of course I believe in the paranormal. When I was younger
around 15 years old I was using an Ouija board with my friend at a party and I
learned his dad died when he was younger and that was something he never told
anybody. I do believe we were communicating with my friend’s dad. He is a very
private person and I was friends with him for years and I did not know that
detail about his life till that day.
SC: I don't run into too many Ouija players these days. Good on you. What titles are you working on now that you can tell us
about?
DH: Without giving it away I am working on my second book to
the Hidden Lake series. Except new characters, more drama and even more
fighting and character development!
SC: Sounds fun, I'm sure your fans can't wait. Let's take a look at Hidden Lake now.
COVER REVEAL: WRATH: A KENDRA SPARK NOVEL (S. PETERS-DAVIS)
Wednesday, March 16, 2022
INTERVIEW WITH DONNETTE SMITH (Buried Alive)
Thanks for dropping by the page today. We have author Donnette Smith with us to talk about her novel BURIED ALIVE. Welcome, Donnette!
SC: Tell me a little bit about your main character of this book.
DS: Jenna Langley is the kind of woman who takes matters deeply to heart. Like for instance, when Cole Rainwater, the teenage love of her life promised her it would be she and him forever, that was as good as written in stone as far as she was concerned. Even though tragedy struck in their lives at the age of seventeen, and they were forced apart for ten years, there wasn’t a day that went by she didn’t think of him and remember the vow they’d made so long ago.
Jenna has a way of sympathizing with others on a profound level. And I believe it is this gift that awakened her clairvoyant abilities at a young age. Although she sustains these incredible, psychic talents, she would give anything to just be a normal girl living an average life. But she finds the longer she must content with these psychic episodes, the more she begins to realize that being ordinary will never be in the cards for her. And she struggles to find a way to accept that.
Jenna also has an independent streak a mile wide. More than anything, her take-charge attitude came from her mother’s constant meddling in her life. Too many important decisions had been taken away from her when she was a teen, and the penance paid for her mom’s intrusion was Jenna’s happiness. When she became a woman, she decided no one would be responsible for the course of her life other than herself. And when something happens that makes her rethink that, she must decide if letting go of her independence is worth the reward she stands to gain.
SC: We all certainly have some tough decisions to make on our journey. Sounds like Jenna can handle it. Do you believe in the paranormal and if so, do you have an experience you can share?
DS: I believe when people fully open themselves up to the world around them, they will be blessed with an insight into things they can’t see. Call it a sixth sense, an intuition, whatever label you want to stick on it. Like white noise…there are things out there beyond the realm of our knowledge. And the awesome thing is, we can all tap into it, simply by paying attention to what we can’t see, and allowing ourselves to believe we are not the only ones exiting on earth.
There have been times in my life when I’ve seen things before they’ve happened. And I’ve heard people say things before they had an opportunity to speak them. For instance, I’ll never forget what happened right before my husband’s father passed away. His bone cancer had progressed, and we got the call they were transporting him to hospice. We drove down as quickly as we could. We’d spent a few days with him, and we knew the time was drawing near. But he’d held on for so long that the nurses were baffled as to what was keeping him from letting go.
I remember sitting in his room with the family. We all knew he was waiting for something, and everyone began to ask what it could be. The nurse, who stood by his bedside looked at us and announced he was waiting for his youngest son, Michael. I remember at the time thinking how strange it was she would say that when she didn’t know who Michael was and had no idea that he was on his way to hospice to see his father. It wasn’t long after Michael arrived to say goodbye to his dad, that his father passed away.
Hours later, the family and the nurse who had been in the room with us, gathered outside. We were all sitting around the picnic bench when someone asked again why he had held on so long. Me and my husband’s sister looked at each other, and we both said in unison that he had been waiting for Michael to arrive. Everyone stared at us in shock. And I said, remember. The nurse said as much in his room. The nurse shook her head and insisted she’d never spoken any such words. Everyone else agreed they hadn’t heard her say that at all.
But me and my sister-in-law heard her say it as clear as a bell. I knew that day from the bottom of my heart that was my husband’s father’s way of reaching out to us to let us know who he had been waiting for.
SC: Thanks so much for sharing that with us. Sounds like you've met the Clair's... i.e. Clairaudience. For those who can't see into the future, what titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?
DS: I’m working on book 3 of the Spirit Walker Series, The Stolen. In book 3, Jenna Langley faces her biggest challenge yet. She gets kidnapped by a human trafficking ring, and she must rely on the guidance of a dead girl who was once their captive to survive this latest horror.
Writing about the subject of human trafficking was something that pressed upon my heart. Human trafficking has become the second most profitable criminal activity in the United States, second only to illegal drugs. Yet, it doesn’t seem to get the attention it deserves. There are an estimated 27 million victims of trafficking. 50% are children, and 80% are women and girls. That’s a frightening statistic. And it begs the question of what exactly it’s going to take to stop these monsters.
SC: Best of luck with that! Thanks for chatting with us today. Let's take a look at Book Two from your Spirit Walker series now.
Excerpt:
At the same time
a sharp intake of breath filled her lungs, Jenna’s eyes snapped open. Blackness
surrounded her; panic set in instantly as soft whimpers set off a series of
echoes. It took a moment for it to sink in the sounds were her own.
Raising both
hands, her palms struck a hard object not a foot above her head. She slid her
palms over a rough surface, searching, feeling across the top and down the
sides of what felt like a wooden crate.
That embodied
her like a tomb.
She let go a
shriek, crying out in agony, “No! no! please, no!” There was no doubt she was
in the very place that stoked the deepest fear in her heart. Just the way her
vision forewarned. She was buried alive.
Tuesday, March 15, 2022
COVER REVEAL: AMETHYST Ambrosia Hill (REBECCA HENRY)
EXCERPT
By Rebecca Henry
Charlie flashed me a big, fatherly smile. The wrinkles around his eyes traveled down the sides of his face, and for a moment I couldn’t believe how time had caught up to him since my last visit. “Well, look at you, Zinnia! You’ve shot up like a string bean.”
Charlie reached straight for my suitcase and threw it into the truck. His hearty laugh filled the cabin as we both buckled in. “I almost didn’t recognize you there with how you’ve grown.” I looked down at my cramped legs, desperate to stretch out as my knees touched the glove compartment. Charlie patted my back and turned the key inside the ignition, bringing life to the beat-up truck as the engine groaned like an old dog too tired to wake from its nap. “Here we go, String Bean! Off like a herd of turtles at the races.”
I cracked a smile at this, almost by accident, before wiping it away and looking out of the window. I could admit that I liked Ole Charlie. He’d been neighbors with my aunts for over forty years, and I’d known him all my life, so I thought it was safe to say that he was basically family. “Wait till your aunts get a look at you, string bean.”
I rolled my eyes as I tried, and once again failed, to conceal my smile. Every time I visited my aunts, Ole Charlie gave me a new nickname. I suppose my nickname for this summer is going to be string bean. I whispered it to myself for a test drive and annoyingly, it wasn’t so annoying.
“It’s been a few years since you and your mom visited us on Ambrosia Hill.” Charlie looked over at me with his old brown eyes full of affection. “Not ashamed to say we’ve missed you, string bean.”