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Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Wenona's Writing Prompts #writingprompts



After a rough day I was in desperate need of comfort food.


Where’s Sailor Jack? By John Uttley



What books or authors have had the most influence on your own writing? And why?

There are many I’ve read over the last fifty-five years as an adult. I’ll discuss just seven: Tolstoy, Graham Greene, Iris Murdoch, Saul Bellow, Anthony Burgess, Malcolm Bradbury and Ian McEwan. I’ll start with Graham Greene, introduced to me as a late teenager by a girlfriend I was trying to impress who was reading The End of the Affair at her convent school. I came to love the Catholic guilt of Greeneland, although I was and remain an Anglican and innocent. Then back to Tolstoy. I did read War and Peace to show off a bit (not in the original Russian), but at a confusing point in my early twenties I read Resurrection which was a powerful testimony to the inner peace of a redemption. Iris Murdoch’s complex novels with a philosophical background became must-reads, The Sea, The Sea being my favourite despite winning the Booker Prize. Saul Bellow’s conversational style of writing and understanding of the male psyche make him a stand-out for me, with Henderson the Rain King perhaps my favourite, although I loved Herzog too. Then I started to lighten up a bit. Anthony Burgess’s rumbustious style with Inside Mr Enderby  made me laugh out loud, taking me back to my younger days when J P Donleavy and Joseph Heller had done the same. Malcolm Bradbury and David Lodge were very different authors, though both worked brilliantly with the campus novel. Lodge gave me belly-laughs and I’d have loved to have met his character Robyn Penrose. But I’ve listed Malcolm Bradbury for the brilliantly wicked satire that The History Man constitutes. There’s a chapter in my novel where the affluent yet intelligent engineer goes to an academic party and faces similar behaviour. Finally I come to an author younger than myself, Ian McEwan, who is far more serious and earnest in his writings. Saturday is perhaps my favourite but all his books are worth waiting for, as are those of William Boyd and Sebastian Faulks. The McEwan I like least is Atonement, where nothing is atoned, speaking to me the post-modern dilemma in finding meaning. I guess that’s why Tolstoy’s Resurrection is put at the top.



Tell us about your book…

Where’s Sailor Jack? is a family saga combining plot and humour with a moral centre. Three generations are in play, but the core characters are nearer the end than the beginning and thus look back as much as they look forward, still trying to figure it all out. One of the many questions the story asks (and answers) is will there be too much baggage when Bob Swarbrick’s s ship comes in?

Bob is an engineer. He's a working class Northerner made good, and his origins place him always slightly outside the professional class to which he now belongs. He was inspired by the cultural revolution of the late-fifties and early-sixties, and although he did well out of Thatcherism, his roots have left him with a rebellious scepticism in which corporate greed and leftwing intellectualism are held in roughly equal contempt. Since the failure of his first marriage he has been unable to sustain a serious personal relationship, and still carries a torch for his ex-wife, Jane (a feminist academic who tries to steal every scene in which she appears). His best friend, Richard, is an investment banker with enough doubts about his profession to return a bonus. He partly regrets his decision not to enter the church as a young man, although his younger wife is far from convinced that Christianity holds all the answers. He’s also from the North, with lower middle-class roots.

Now nearing retirement, Bob and Richard are working together for one last time on the flotation of a clean energy start-up company. Against this backdrop, Bob is offered two chances for love, one new, one old, while Richard's apparently idyllic marriage is sorely tested. And all the while, in many different ways, major and minor characters search for some sort of meaning to their lives, from faith to politics to love, all of them in one way or another trying to answer the question the book's title asks, `Where's Sailor Jack?' (Bob's late father): Where do we go when we die? The novel doesn’t preach an answer, but allows different world views, inviting readers to decide their own answer to the book's question. Either way, there is a fundamentally uplifting message, whether taken as Christian or simply Humanist and Existential.

The music of the fifties and sixties, the music of the early baby boomers provides the soundtrack to the mood and pace of the text, where a sexual honesty describes the emotions of the characters. The subplot about the flotation provides an insight into investment banking at the point when the sub-prime crisis is about to break.

This is not a saga where everything is left up in the air. No multiverses are to be seen. All major loose threads are joined together after the veil is rent in twain. The show goes on.


 What books are you reading at the moment? How did you choose them?

Last Orders by Graham Swift, a book I missed first time round.
Unfaithful Music and Disappearing Ink by Elvis Costello. Bought for me for Christmas by younger family who knew I quite like Costello. Dylan he’s not but he’s good.

What books or authors are on your reading wish list, and why?

Mothering Sunday by Graham Swift. I saw the review in the Sunday Times and I’m liking  Last Orders so I bought it.

What a  Carve Up by Jonathan Coe. Missed this too when it first came out and thought I should give it a bash.

Shark Alley by Stephen Carver. I owe a major debt of gratitude to Stephen who was developmental editor of my novel. He gave me the confidence to carry on and publish. I’m looking forward to reading all about Victorian penny-a-liner writers.

How many books do you read a year?

About a dozen.

Where do you do most of your reading (ie.,when commuting, on holiday, in bed…)

All of the above, plus in an armchair and a garden chair in summer.

 Where do you get your books from? (Do you buy, borrow, swap…)

Usually buy, Amazon or Waterstone’s

Tell us about your self-publishing experience!

I decided to self-publish following advice from Steve Carver, my developmental editor, after a frustrating time hawking the book round the agents, who all seemed too young and metropolitan to appreciate it. Steve’s wife Gracie is a superb designer and she did the fantastic cover through their company Green Door. (They were both suitably impressed that I immediately got the Frankie Vaughan reference which they had intended.) Steve recommended that I go with CreateSpace and Kindle as the most straightforward route to market. This I did about a year ago. The book sold respectably but that platform requires much self-promotion on digital media, not my forte. Also, it provides little opportunity to reach the shelves of bookshops. The book received excellent reviews including one from a 74 year old listener to The Wireless, Age UK’s radio channel who featured the book. This listener had got what the book was about perfectly and had really liked it. By then I was using Helen Lewis at LiterallyPR as my publicist, and she suggested that we run a second edition with Matador, to find new markets and maybe to reach the bookshelves, where perhaps more of my natural demographic will be looking. I have had many much younger people who have appreciated the book too, including some who went overboard about it. I don’t think they were just being nice. So we are now starting a campaign with the Matador edition.


Where's Sailor Jack?
John Uttley

Publication Date: April 15, 2015

ASIN: B00W851QLM

Print Length: 324 pages

Book Description:

A family saga that takes in three generations of two families and all the struggles, tribulations and fireworks that you would expect as well as plenty you wouldn’t. Where’s Sailor Jack is the story of Bob Swarbrick’s journey from Northern-grammar-school-boy to business magnate through the break up of his marriage, the arrival of a new lover and an unhurried, consistent search for meaning in his life.

Bob and Richard are grammar school boys ‘done good’. Starting life in similar working class homes they have progressively climbed the ladder until they are able to both sit comfortably as champions of industry, and look back on their achievements and failures with the keen Northern wit that never left them, even after years of exile life in the south.

As they reflect on their lives, loves and business decisions both try to find an explanation to fit their lives: Bob seeks purpose, Richard meaning. While soul-searching, the reader is witness to an exemplary part of British history - from their childhoods in post war Northern England to the boom years in a prospering South (before survivors guilt starts to bite in their latter years and they wonder just how their opportunities would have worked out if they were born a few decades later).

The book covers and takes a unique look at romance, religion, business sense and social mobility but does so with wry tongue in its cheek whilst looking for a laugh, not a deep and meaningful conversation.

Excerpt from Where’s Sailor Jack? By John Uttley
Second edition, published by Matador, released April 28th 2016

Chapter One
On a Sunday soon after his move north-west, Bob was flying high on Virgin, to LAX, as everyone but he knew Los Angeles airport was called. His last long-haul flight had been on Atomic Futures’ business in the bulkhead with British Airways. At over six foot and heavily built, he could make good use of the leg room. In an unflattering lavatory mirror he saw receding, grey hair and many wrinkles above a jaw line a boxer could break a fist on. He’d never quite understood how his rugged looks had charmed the several-to-many women along the way. The seating arrangement in Virgin’s best seats made the cabin look like a beauty salon, but he’d played safe and eschewed the offer of an on-board facial. The Journey Information on the monitor told him there was about an hour of the flight to go, confirmed by something looking like the Grand Canyon out of the window, though it looked bleak enough to have been the surface of another planet.

He was trying not to sleep on the way out, nor to go to be until at least ten o’clock Pacific Standard Time. He’d flicked between the films on the in-flight entertainment system, and found nothing he’d wanted. He’d then settled down to listen to some music, first Elvis, then Ray Charles and finally Abba, who’d bounced along merrily at first until a cold sweat told him that he was the loser standing small alongside seventies woman. He switched Agnetha off to pick up the book he’d brought, Ian McEwan’s Saturday, which he immediately put down again. His eyes were tired.

He reclined the chair to be alone with his musings on his return to Lancashire. Blackpool was making a good fist of doing itself up, despite New Labour lousing up the Las Vegas style casino scheme, the place was alive with young ladies joyfully, sometimes even decorously, celebrating their hen nights with like-minded friends. The folk who lived in St Chad’s hadn’t changed that much. The young people at church had the same freshness that he’d once had, full of their multimedia world and excited about their opportunities, though the ladder had been pulled up since his day, leaving cows from the Fylde fields with more chance of going through the eye of a needle than any ordinary kid entering the kingdom of riches he’s inherited. Lancashire wasn’t at the centre of things the way it had been back then, with Blackpool the Mecca for comedians, Liverpool the capital of music, the mighty Granada television like a second BBC, and the Manchester Guardian thinking about what the world would do tomorrow. He saw The Guardian moving to London as an even bigger betrayal than John Lennon’s sleep-in.

The summer of 1963 with Freewheelin’ on his turntable and the Mersey sound on every radio was forever to remain his Archimedean point. Martin Luther King was dreaming his dream accompanied vibrator by Joan Baez and civil rights were coming. Bras weren’t being burnt though. Much later Jane challenged him why not. He’d answered that women’s liberation hadn’t come out of nowhere. She’d generously agreed that it was only fair for apes like him to have had their day in the sun before the real business got done.

He’d had a vacation job in Stanley Park and that had given him an affinity with the old codgers from the Great War who came for the brass band concerts. Though they were sitting in God’s waiting room, they were cheerful, talking for hours about space travel and the like but not of course about their health problems or the trenches. He thought of his never-liberated Grannie who died at the start of the pivotal year. She’d make him green jelly with bananas whenever he went round as a kid and had knitted most of the jumpers he was still wearing through university after he death. His sister had in her kitchen the old milking stool from Grannie’s farm-girl days, with more than a thousand years of history stored in its battered wood. Like the religion his ancestors had shared, its purpose had been endorsed by the long passage of time. To lose either would be to lose his soul. He didn’t want to live so long that his memory of Grannie dimmed.



About the Author:

John Uttley was born in Lancashire just as the war was ending. Grammar school educated there, he read Physics at Oxford before embarking on a long career with the CEGB and National Grid Group. He was Finance Director at the time of the miners' strike, the Sizewell Inquiry and privatisation, receiving an OBE in 1991. Shortly afterwards, he suffered his fifteen minutes of fame when he publicly gave a dividend to charity in the middle of the fat cat furore. More recently, he has taken an external London degree in Divinity while acting as chairman of numerous smaller companies, both UK and US based. This is his first novel. He is married to Janet, living just north of London with three grown children and dog.



Monday, May 23, 2016

Wenona's Writing Prompts #writingprompts



Tea time

Phantasma by Efthalia



Phantasma
Phi Athanatoi Series
Book One
Efthalia

Genre: Fantasy, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Romance

Publisher:  Mill City Press

Date of Publication:  12th April 2016

ISBN:  978-1-63413-905-2

Number of pages:  386
Word Count:  90,000

Cover Artist:  Yoolia Design

Book Description:

One night’s transgression. A love unveiled. The in-escapable outcome of passion and vengeance. 

Carissa Alkippes is a daughter of a god but she doesn’t know it. As a cop she’s seen her fair share of bad but nothing prepared her for the horror of the world she has been plunged into. 

Xen Lyson is the head of the Phi Athanatoi, a group of immortals who have been protecting man for over 2,000 years from the Kakodiamones - demons who want nothing more than to feast on humanity. 

Thrown face to face with Xen during a skirmish with the demons, Carissa becomes a pawn in a deadly game of a demi-god who seeks godly power.




Excerpt from Chapter Two

Xen Lyson’s fingers moved to the pulse point of the woman lying at his feet. Skata! He swore internally. He should have guessed she’d come back for her partner. He’d have to leave her.
Take her. He jerked at the sudden possessiveness that demanded he acquire ownership. She’s yours.
His hand moved to her hair as he pushed the strands back from her face. The pads of his fingers deliberately caressed her cheek. His nostrils flared when the scent of her exotic blood hit his nose. He examined her without delay. A large bump and cut graced the back of her skull. He lifted his fingers to his mouth and tasted her blood. Ambrosia danced over his tongue and warmth spread through every cell in his body.
Dikia mou... she’s mine.“Xen, we should move.” Kane Hart, his right hand man, brought him out of his strange musings and sudden infatuation. “Bring the truck. Get the clean team. Stack the demon bodies.”
His brow creased in contemplation at what would be the best course of action for the female and her partner. Taking her would risk exposing her to his world. He looked over her body again. Take her. He wanted to give in and do as his mind bid. “Leave these two untouched.”
As the leader of the Phi Athanatoi, an ancient specialist group of vampires and werewolves, he was sworn to protect humankind. Right now, leaving the woman and her wounded partner would be an act of protecting them from the Kakodiamones, the demons that walked amongst man. Bringing them into his world would only paint them as moving targets.
He stood and sheathed his double-edged xiphos. His acute senses picked up the strong smell of demons. Before he could turn, one descended upon him, blade in hand. He braced himself. The impact was inescapable. Slamming into his back, the demon knocked him forward.
“Vlaka!” Xen yelled.He found his footing quickly, speed and skill on his side. Reaching for his sword, he readied himself for combat. The demon changed tactics when he saw Xen’s weapon. He stopped on the spot, trying to avoid his opponent’s blade.
Xen sneered and bore his fangs at the demon. A threat—one other creatures would acknowledge as to who held the power. The demon stood expressionless.
“Well, come and get me.” Xen coaxed. The demon didn’t move.
Statues...thicker than Greek marble. Xen didn’t need an invitation. His blade hissed through the air, cutting through the demon’s neck and spinal cord, severing his existence. Blood splattered on the already sticky floor. The head thudded on the ground while the body teetered for a second before it too slumped to the concrete.
Kane laid his boot into the beast. “Nice cut, Xen. The bastard didn’t have enough time to blink.”The lykos let out a growl of satisfaction, but then his demeanor changed, his nostrils expanded at the scent of another demon headed in their direction. He turned in time and swung his double swords, severing the demon’s head, blood gushing over him.
“Damn! I just bought this jacket.” He gave the headless body a kick to let out his frustration. The body flew through the air and landed with a thud when it hit the wall on their right. “Dumbass! When will you demons get it?”

Xen smirked. His friend excelled at the combination of lethal and loyal.


About the Author:

Efthalia lives in Sydney, Australia with her husband and two children.

Her passion for writing was cultivated by the stories her mother told her as a child.

She has an MA in Writing and is currently studying the Classics and Archaeology at Sydney University.

Phantasma is her debut novel and the first in the Phi Athanatoi Series.




Goodreads: http://goo.gl/xQXSdD




Release Day Blitz The Queen’s Dance by Jamie K. Schmidt




The Queen’s Dance
The Emerging Queens Series
Book Three
Jamie K. Schmidt

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Entangled

Date of Publication: 5/23/16

Number of pages: 267
Word Count: 63,000

Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde

Book Description:

After newly shifted dragon Queen, Margery Cooper, is rescued from smugglers she has a choice to continue to hunt down the story that nearly killed her when she was an investigative reporter or embrace her royalty and build a court of protectors and studs.  Remy “Champ” Champlain is first on the scene and assigned her protector while she sorts out her affairs.  He wants nothing more to get back to his solitude and his small town, but as an unclaimed dragon he doesn’t get a choice. 

The Queen is his responsibility until her court is formalized.  He wants to settle her down right away, but she has this wild hair up her Queenly butt to find out who is smuggling dangerous drugs into the country. 

Sparks fly between them, but as she's a sky dragon and he's a water dragon, well she can't swim and he can't fly and those aren't the only differences they're facing.


Excerpt 2:

The healing burn of the sun pinned Margery to the ground. Her eyes wouldn’t open, but she could see the blazing orange from under her lids. She’d been saved. Pressing her cheek against the sun-warmed grass, she took a deep breath of fresh air for the first time in a week. Coughs racked her body. She was still so weak. A tear leaked out of her eye.
“Please don’t cry, chérie. You’re safe here.”
That was the lake dragon. The one who’d helped rescue her. Margery’s hands clutched the ground. She was no longer on the water, trapped in a smuggler’s hold hidden under the deck of a yacht. No longer lying in her own waste, dying a slow and painful death.
“Where am I?” she asked, her words coming out as a strangled whisper.
“You’re at my home in North Hero, Vermont. It’s very private here.”
He had a sexy way of talking. French Canadian accent, if she wasn’t mistaken. It was comforting, nonthreatening. Margery stretched as the healing sunbeams sank into her core.
“Your kidnappers have been brought to justice.”
They were more than kidnappers. In return for pimping Margery out to Champ, they had wanted him to turn a blind eye to their smuggling operation on his lake.
The doll!
Margery bolted upright and regretted it immediately. “Where is it?” she cried. The sun blinded her, but she didn’t care. She groped around with her hands.
“What?” he said, panic in his voice.
“The Smooshie.”
“What the hell is a—” Champ cut himself off and continued in a more polite tone. “I don’t understand, my Queen.”
Queen? Oh, right.
“The red dragon doll. I had it in my hand when you rescued me. It’s very important.”
“Uh, hold on. Let me check my truck.”
She heard him run.
Great. He probably thought she was an idiot looking for her little dolly.
 Rubbing her eyes, Margery tried to stand up. But her legs refused to obey her, muscles trembling as she strained to rise.
The pirates had grabbed her when her camera’s flash malfunctioned and went off while she was taking pictures of their illicit activity—stuffing the dolls with drugs. When they saw her, they tried to kill her. If she’d been human, they would have. But when the bullets tore into her, she had instinctively shifted into her sky dragon form.

She’d only been a dragon for three weeks. Actually, she had always been a dragon, but an ancient curse had stopped her shift at puberty and blocked her dragon magic. When that curse was shattered, all the suppressed Queens shifted into their true forms. It took a lot of getting used to. The first week, all she did was cry and break things. The second week she flew around the world over and over again until sheer exhaustion claimed her. By the time the third week rolled around, Margery figured she’d better get over herself and return to her career as an investigative reporter.

About the Author:

USA Today bestselling author, Jamie K. Schmidt, writes erotic contemporary love stories and paranormal romances.  Her Club Inferno series from Random House’s Loveswept line has hit both the Amazon and Barnes & Noble top one hundred lists.   She has two other series with Loveswept: Hawaii Heat, in which the first book Life’s A Beach is the perfect staycation to Maui, and The Sentinels of Babylon, about members of vigilante Motorcycle Club and their old ladies. Her dragon paranormal romance series from Entangled Publishing, has been called “fun and quirky” and “endearing.” Partnered with New York Times bestselling author and former porn actress, Jenna Jameson, Jamie’s hardcover debut, SPICE, continues Jenna’s FATE trilogy.

An avid knitter and jewelry maker, Jamie is never bored.  She can often be found with a mug of tea on the computer flanked by her little dogs & fluffy white cat.  You can follow her on twitter at @Jamiekswriter or on her author page on Facebook. When she's not writing or crafting, Jamie loves playing games, everything from board games to strategy card games, console and online MMORPGs.







Pinterest http://pinterest.com/jamiekswriter/



Tour giveaway:


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Sunday, May 22, 2016

Wenona's Writing Prompts #writingprompts



While exploring I stumbled across the odd little building, very rustic with strange adornments that seemed very out of place.


Friday, May 20, 2016

Wenona's Writing Prompts #writingprompts



Would you like to know your future?

Spotlight and Giveaway Gonzo by Candace Blevins








Gonzo 
RTMC
Book  Seven
Candace Blevins

Genre:  MC, Bikers, Werewolves,
PNR, Bad Boys

Publisher:  Excessica

Date of Publication:  May 13, 2016

Word Count: 105,300

Cover Artist:  Syneca Featherstone

Book Description:

Gonzo has not only had to come to terms with the loss of his entire family, but he also barely survived being shot in the chest multiple times while still a human, and was then later turned into a werewolf during a vicious attack while hiking as he tried to put his life back together.

Constance has had her own losses to deal with, and while nowhere near as bad as Gonzo’s, they’ve left a mark on her as well. She’s determined to live her life without a partner though, because her two sexual experiences in college convinced her she’s asexual.

Gonzo’s a biker people cross the road to avoid, while Constance has multiple doctorate degrees and works as a research scientist for a leading pharmaceutical firm. Gonzo doesn’t trust women, Constance has no use for men — and yet they’re going to find themselves working toward the same goals.

Can they form a team to do what needs to be done?

Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club Book Seven, can be read as a stand-alone


Chapter One Excerpt

Gonzo

Most everyone in the RTMC works in one of our businesses. I can bartend in a pinch, but most nights I work as a bouncer. Duke says I’m not good with people. 

He’s right. People are fucked up. Some are more fucked than others, but there’s no way to know who might be just a cunt hair away from losing their shit.

I trust my brothers in the MC and a few of their ol’ladies, but that’s it. I have no intention of having a conversation with anyone else. I mean, I have to talk to people to order food or buy shit at the store, but that isn’t a conversation. I don’t do small talk. It’s pointless.

Funny, though — I get just as many tips as Dawg when I bartend. Everyone likes Dawg. He can look a woman in the eyes for ten seconds and make her fall in love with him. Brain says they tip me as much as Dawg because I scare the fuck out of them and they don’t want to piss me off.

Apparently, I look at people and give them nightmares. Maybe they know I’d just as soon bite their head off as talk to them?

On this particular Thursday night I was bouncing, and something was up with a woman sitting at the bar.

She’d had one margarita when she first arrived, but now she was nursing a soda, and she kept looking at me, but she’d look away when I turned towards her. She wasn’t doing anything bounce-able but she had my nerves on edge. My wolf’s, too.

A group of women were having a party at one of the tables, and two of them staggered off to the bathroom. On their way back two men stood in their way — it was apparent the women wanted to go back to their table and the men weren’t letting them. I tuned into the conversation and heard the men telling the women they wanted to take them back to their place to party. The women were shit-faced, but still obviously weren’t interested and only wanted to get back to their friends. I walked to the men, wrapped a hand around the back of their necks, and leaned in to say, “They told you they aren’t interested. I see you approach them again and you’re out of here.”

I moved the men out of the way, nodded to the women to go around, and looked back to the men as I squeezed hard enough to bring tears to their eyes. “Not cool. Don’t try to pull that shit again in our bar.”

As I returned to the wall, the woman at the bar downed the rest of her soda and went to the restroom. I put her out of my mind as I stepped towards two gentlemen who seemed to be arguing over a piece of ass — and not even an attractive piece of ass. One had apparently been dating her and only broke up earlier in the week, the other had her out on a date tonight and the wounded party felt like the new guy had broken the bro-code by taking her out so soon. All I had to do was stand five feet away, cross my arms and look at them, and they sat down and lowered their voices.

Looking scary can come in handy, sometimes.

I moved back to my favorite perch, leaned against the wall so I could see the bar and dance floor, and my stomach dropped as the woman I’d been watching earlier came out of the bathroom and made a beeline for me.

Our bar in Atlanta had been a biker bar, with pretty much only friends of the one percent feeling comfortable stepping in the door. However, somehow we’d attracted the ninety-nine percent here in Chattanooga. It was incredibly profitable, but a pain in the ass to deal with outsiders, sometimes.
It was hard to say this woman didn’t belong here, because so many other people were dressed just as prissy as this bitch, but I had a feeling she hadn’t stepped into any bar in years, and I wondered why she was here, alone. She might’ve been attractive if she’d been dressed different, or had her hair down — but all I could see was the prissy-assed bitch I’d first noticed paying way too much attention to me.

She stepped to me, held out her hand as if to shake mine, and said, “I’m Constance.”

I just looked at her, my arms crossed. Eventually, she dropped her hand and said, “Ummm, you’re working, right? Do you not talk when you’re working?”

I gave her my most intimidating look, but she planted her feet, squared her shoulders, and asked, “What time do you get off work? Do you think, if I stuck around, we could talk when you aren’t working?”

What the ever-loving fuck? “Are you one of those chicks who just drew up a bucket list, and you need to check off fuck a biker?”

“What? No!” she looked down a few seconds, and then met my gaze again. “I’ve never been good at this, but I appear to be doing even worse than usual. I’ve watched you, and I’m intrigued, and I’d like to get to know you.”

“You a reporter?”

She shook her head.

“A cop?”

“I’m a research scientist.”

I moved one hand to my crotch and casually rubbed. “Behavioral research? You wantin’ to know what makes bikers tick?” Okay, so now I was just fucking with her, but at this point I needed to find out who she was and why she was interested in me.

“No. Pharmaceuticals. I help invent new drugs.”

I looked up and around, zeroed in on a few conversations, and looked back to the woman. What had she said her name was? Shit. Total blank. I hadn’t given a fuck when she’d told me. Still didn’t care, but I seemed to remember it was a prissy-assed name that’d pissed me off just by watching her mouth say it.

Despite my silence and hostility, she tried again. “I’d like to take you to Waffle House, or another restaurant if you’d rather, when you get off. My treat.”

Like I couldn’t afford fucking Waffle House. If I chose to eat with the bitch, I wouldn’t let her feed me. I crossed my arms again. “And if I wanna get off while I pound my cock in your ass?”

She took a step back as her face flamed hot, and I smelled true fear from her. She’d been wary and nervous before but I’d finally managed to scare the fuck out of her.

I shook my head, disgusted. “Not gonna do anything you don’t want. Plenty of willing ass I can have — don’t have to rape someone to get it.”

“Oh, you’re mad at me for being scared when YOU are the one who said it!? Shit, this was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

She turned to leave and I grabbed her arm as I touched my earpiece. “I’m gonna take a twenty minute break.”

“She don’t seem like your type,” Dozer said with a chuckle, but I didn’t respond.

I pulled the woman into the office and closed the door. She shook her head, “No, I don’t want to be alone with you. I wanted to talk to you in a public place.”

“You want to talk? This is your only option.”

She pulled a phone out of her purse, quickly engaged it, and turned it towards me as she asked, “Do you remember her?”

I recognized the face but couldn’t remember a name. “Yeah. Years since I saw her, though. Bud kicked her out when I caught her snorting a line in the bathroom. She isn’t welcome back on RTMC property.”

The woman stared at me, her face stricken. “Someone else kicked her out? Not you?”

“I told her she had to leave because we don’t allow that shit in our compound, but Bud’s the Prez in Atlanta so he made it permanent.” I paused a few seconds as I smelled true grief coming from her. I’d been about to ask if she was a private detective who’d lied about being a research scientist, but this was personal.

“Why, what happened to her, and how do you know her?” And even more, why had she come to me, specifically? The bitch she was asking about hadn’t been a club whore — she’d only fucked me, as far as I knew. It wasn’t a relationship, but when she was around I’d usually fuck her instead of someone else. The fact I couldn’t remember her name, and had never given her a nickname, should speak volumes to how little she’d meant to me. The bitch had known her place, though. She fucked me and then left. She didn’t want conversation, didn’t ask for meals. Just spread her legs and went on her way. She’d been a damned good lay for a human, too.

“She was my sister. She’s dead.”

“And why did you come to me?” My wife died of cancer and my kids were murdered. Everyone has dead loved ones — if this cunt wanted sympathy she’d come to the wrong place.

“Can we sit down?”


Fuck, why not.”

About the Author:

Candace Blevins lives with her husband of 18 years and their two daughters. When not working or driving kids all over the place she can be found reading, writing, meditating, or swimming.

Candace writes Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Contemporary BDSM Romance, and is currently writing a kick-ass Motorcycle Club series.

Her urban fantasy series, Only Human, gives us a world where weredragons, werewolves, werelions, three different species of vampires, as well as a variety of other mythological beings exist.

Candace's two paranormal romance series, The Chattanooga Supernaturals and The Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club, are both sister series to the Only Human series, and give some secondary characters their happily ever after.

Her Safeword Series gives us characters who happen to have some extreme kinks. Relationships can be difficult enough without throwing power exchange into the mix, and her books show characters who care enough about each other to fight to make the relationship work. Each book in the Safeword series highlights a couple with a different BDSM issue to resolve. 

You can visit Candace on the web at candaceblevins.com and feel free to friend her on Facebook at facebook.com/candacesblevins and Goodreads at goodreads.com/CandaceBlevins. You can also join facebook.com/groups/CandacesKinksters to get sneak peeks into what she's writing now, images that inspire her, and the occasional juicy blurb. 

Stay up to date on Candace’s newest releases, and get exclusive excerpts by joining her mailing list!





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Thursday, May 19, 2016

Wenona's Writing Prompts #writingprompts



Red had something different in mind.




Guest Blog and Giveaway Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb by Lexi George



These Are A Few Of My Favorite  . . . Er . . . Demons

Made you think of that song, didn’t I? But, instead of raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, today I’m going to talk about some of my favorite demons from movies and fiction.

Disclaimer: I am a world-class chicken. The flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz scared the crap out of me when I was a kid, and I have NEVER seen The Exorcist. There. Go ahead and say it. Yes, I am a wuss. There’s a certain irony in the fact that I write about demon hunters.  

That being said, I will forge on.

1.     Lucifer Morningstar. The main character from the eponymous comic book series. Can I just say Neil Gaiman is a genius? And now it’s a show! Tom Ellis is perfect. Smooth, urbane, sarcastic, and a snappy dresser. And, like every tortured hero, he has his dark side. 



2.     Hellboy. One of my favorite superheroes. Gruff, stone hand, cloven hooves, stumps where he filed his horns off, and he smells like roasted peanuts. He smells like roasted peanuts!  I love roasted peanuts, and I have a soft spot for a guy who’s a champion of good, has a sense of humor, and loves his daddy. His foster father, not Azazel, his . . . um . . . demon dad. 



3.     Black. Black is Dilvish the Damned’s demonic metal horse in the fantasy short stories by Roger Zelazny. Dilvish is a half elf whose soul is banished to hell. He escapes with Black, his trusty equine companion. Black likes scotch and, in human form, is a burly black-bearded man in a kilt. Naturally. 



4.     Isabeau “Bo” Dennis. A succubus on the show Lost Girl. Bo has attitude to the max. Girls can kick butt, too. 



5.     Betelguese. Betelguese or “Beetlejuice” is a trickster in the movie by the same name. Say Beetlejuice three times to summon him, if you dare. He’s rude, foul-mouthed, and perverted. In short, a real sweetheart of a guy. He blackmails the young girl Lydia into marrying him. She is saved by Adam and Barbara Maitland, a couple of Caspers who haunt the house purchased by Lydia’s parents. I have a fond spot for the movie Beetlejuice. When my oldest was four, she begged me to watch it, and I acquiesced. I’d forgotten about the F word in the graveyard scene. Fortunately, Thing One didn’t seem to notice. Still, it was a horrifying moment in Mom-i-tude. 


6.     Randall Flagg. Flagg, aka the Walking Man in Stephen King’s The Stand, appears in several King novels, but he made his first appearance in The Stand wearing jeans and cowboy boots. Lloyd Henreid, one of the characters, becomes the Walking Man’s servant after Randall frees him from prison . . . but only after he’s subsisted on rats and the leg of his cellmate. Shiver. 



7.      Sardo Numspa. Numsy was the devil in the Eddie Murphy movie The Golden Child. Love this movie, and Numsy’s sophisticated manner. Eddie, of course, is his sarcastic self and the combination is hilarious. “I-I-I w-a-n-t the kni-i-fe.”  


8.     The Creepy Clown in It. As is often the case, the book was way scarier than the movie/miniseries. Maybe the Clown isn’t strictly a demon, but he is certainly the epitome of evil. 


9.     Lord of Darkness. Tim Curry is fabulous as the devil in the movie Legend in all his red, horned magnificence. He just wants to be loved. 


10.  The Nazgul from Lord of the Rings: Technically, they are wraiths, but they look pretty demonic to me, with their scabrous hands and black cloaks. And they ride flying reptile-monster-thingys. As a young girl, I loved the fact that Eowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan, slew the Witch-King of Angmar. 



So, there you have it, a few of my favorite imps. What about you?


Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb
Demon Hunting Series
Book Four
Lexi George

Genre: paranormal romance

Publisher: Kensington

Date of Publication: May 24, 2016

ISBN: 9781601831774
ASIN:  B014NWMH0G

Number of pages: 452
Word Count:  105,000

Cover Artist: Lyrical Press

Book Description:

Deep South legends. Deep fried curses. Deep dish revenge . . .

This Debutante Is Having A Ball!

Way down south in the land of cotton, one belle's plans are soon forgotten--when Sassy Peterson drives her Maserati off the road to avoid a deer and lands smack-dab in the proverbial creek without a paddle. The Alabama heiress should have known something weird was going on when she saw the deer's ginormous fangs. Hello, Predator Bambi!

But nothing can prepare her for the leather-clad, muscle-bound, golden-eyed sex god who rescues her. Who wears leather in May? That's just the first of many questions Sassy has when her savior reveals he's a demon hunter named Grim. Also: Why would a troop of fairies want to give her magical powers and rainbow hair? Why would a style-challenged beast called the Howling Hag want to hunt her down?

Most importantly, what's a nice debutante like Sassy doing in a place like this anyway? Besides feeling Grim . . .

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Excerpt:

“Sugar,” Sassy murmured. She laid her head on Grim’s shoulder. “Fairies.”
With a drowsy sigh, she relaxed against him and went to sleep.
Grim stilled. A surge of lust hit him, hard and fierce. Sassy smelled delightful, a dizzying combination of summer roses and female. Curling tendrils of her hair lifted to caress his jaw, like flowers reaching for the sun.
I am her sword and shield. The vow rose unbidden in his mind. Here and now I vow to protect her, from anyone or anything that threatens her.
An admirable sentiment, I am sure, the Provider said, but hardly necessary. She leaves tomorrow, and you return to the hunt. That is good, is it not?
Yes, of course.

Then why the hollow ache in his chest?

About the Author:

Lexi George writes snarky, Southern-fried paranormal romance for Kensington. Her debut novel, Demon Hunting in Dixie, was released in 2011, and a novella and two more demon hunter books followed. Demon Hunting in a Dive Bar, the third book in the series, was nominated for a RITA in 2014. The fourth book, Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb, is due to be released May 24, 2016. Lexi enjoys reading and writing romance, but her first love is fantasy. A Meddle of Wizards is the story of Raine Stewart, a sheltered, sickly young woman who comes into her own when she’s transported to a magical world, discovers her burgeoning powers as an adept, and faces the evil wizard who killed her parents. Lexi’s day job as an appellate attorney requires reading transcripts filled with murder, mayhem, and worse. Perhaps this is why she enjoys stories filled with humor, action, adventure, and magical creatures. She has a violent aversion to sad movies, having been scarred by Old Yeller at the age of nine. She drinks tea, not coffee, and has never seen The Exorcist, because she is a world-class chicken. She is the third of four children, with all the attendant neuroses.




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