Wednesday, January 25, 2023

In the Kitchen with A.N. Sage- Recipe for Mocha à la Joe #InTheKitchen #Recipe #MochaàlaJoe



Mocha à la Joe


Ingredients:
• 1/2 cup cocoa 
• 2 tablespoons caramel sauce
• whipped cream
• 1/2 cup 2% milk
• heavy cream
• Double long espresso shot
• Optional: a dash of sugar and sea salt 

Instructions:
1. Combine cocoa and milk and heat in a double broiler slowly until mixture is creamy. If using a microwave to heat, do so in 30 seconds intervals.
2. Add mixture to espresso and stir.
3. Drizzle 1 tablespoon of caramel sauce inside a glass jar or cup.
4. Pour coffee and chocolate mixture into cup.
5. Froth 1/4 cup of heavy cream and add to cup (add as much as preferred to taste, more cream will create a richer consistency).
6. Add whipped cream on top and drizzle remaining 1 tablespoon of caramel atop whipped cream.
7. Sprinkle cocoa powder to top of caramel and whipped cream. 
8. For an added bite, sprinkle a dash of sugar and sea salt mix.

A Grave Roast
Orchard Hollow 
Book One
A.N. Sage

Genre: Paranormal Cozy Mystery
Publisher: Cauldron Press
Date of Publication: January 23, 2023
ISBN: 978-1-989868-28-7
ASIN: B0BPDXZ7F5
Number of pages: Approximately 340
Word Count: 80,000
Cover Artist: Cauldron Press Designs

Book Description: 

Piper Addison has three problems: a broken espresso machine, malfunctioning magic, and a dead body. Guess which one she doesn’t see coming?

One month from forty, Piper Addison thinks she finally has life figured out. Sure, her bank account could be fuller and the cafe she opened with the last of her savings could use some help, but what’s a few kinks for an Orchard Hollow witch?

Too bad Piper can’t witch to save her life, which is exactly what she might need to do when a dead body is discovered in the alley behind her cafe. To make matters worse, all the evidence points to Piper and the local sheriff is not too keen on the town’s paranormal inhabitants.

When a mysterious envelope lands on Piper’s doorstep, she has a decision to make: go behind the sheriff’s back and try to clear her name, or spend her fortieth birthday in a prison cell.

A Grave Roast is a paranormal cozy mystery complete with an unlucky witch, a ghost familiar, and a feisty raccoon with a talent for getting into sticky situations.




Excerpt:

We started for the front door when my attention caught on something on the floor of the hall. Close to the bedroom lay a small carpet with two silver dishes, one filled with water and the other empty. I bent down and picked up the empty dish, reading the inscription etched into the metal. “Margaret the Third.”

“Who?” Stella asked.

I put the dish down. “Daniel’s dog. Did you see a dog around here?”

The ghost shook her head and looked around.

“Me either. Very odd.”

“Maybe someone else has it? Or the police took it or something?”

My thoughts ran a mile a minute, and I steadied my breathing, continuing the trek to the front. “Maybe.” Before leaving, I went back into the kitchen and opened all the cupboards.

Motioning for Stella to get closer, I nodded toward the big bag of dog food in one cupboard. “Don’t you think if they took the dog, they’d take her food?”

“I don’t know,” Stella said. She opened her mouth with a fake yawn. “Well, this was about as fun as a trip to the dollar store, so good luck with the rest and I’ll see you at home.”

With that, she disappeared, leaving me alone in the apartment once more. I stared at the dog food for another few minutes, trying to figure out why someone would take Daniel’s dog, but not anything to feed her with. If Daniel had a dog sitter, I was sure they’d take care of the animal, considering how important she was to the warlock. And if it was the police who took her… I shook the thought away. Why did the police need a spoiled brat of a dog? If anything, they’d ship her off to a shelter.

I made a mental note to check the animal shelter in the morning to ease my spinning mind and walked to the front. Before I left, I cast a glance at the stack of papers on the console table where Cilia’s threatening email hid in the pile.

“Why was she so angry with you?” I asked the empty room.

The next question I kept to myself, refusing to give it power. Was Cilia angry enough to kill? If it was her that hurt the warlock, it still didn’t explain the envelope I received or the talisman. Unless the talisman was Cilia’s and Daniel stole it?

But why?

It seemed the visit to the warlock’s apartment only sparked more questions, and I still found nothing that could help clear my name in the eyes of the police. “What if—No, don’t even think about it!”

I reached for the door handle.

“Don’t think about what?” Stella asked behind me.

My mind must have been spinning furiously because this time, I didn’t have a mini heart attack when she snuck up on me. “I thought you went home.”

“I did. Turns out it’s quite a bore there as well,” she explained. “So, what is it you shouldn’t think about?”

Lips in a thin line, I looked at the console table again. “Just wondering about the dog,” I told her. “And the hex pouch. And Cilia.”

“Who’s Cilia?”

“One of Nancy’s coven mates. Looks like she was pretty ticked off with Daniel for some promotion he got. I was wondering if she could have been mad enough to do something about it.”

Stella’s face paled, or as pale as it could get for a ghost. “Witches will be witches, darling.” She turned around and started to vanish again, but before she did, she said something absolutely crazy. “If you’re that worried about it, why not ask her yourself?”

As my wild familiar disappeared, her words lingered in the air where she once stood, and for the first time, I didn’t think her insane. I hated to admit it, but Stella had a point. There was one clear way to answer all my questions and find out how I got roped into this gruesome situation.

I had to question Cilia, and I had to do it before the police. If I was right and she had something to do with Daniel’s death, I knew the witch would pin the entire thing on me, if only for the chance to gain favor with Nancy.

This, friends, was exactly why I didn’t have a coven.

You couldn’t trust a witch, not in Orchard Hollow.





About the Author:

A.N. Sage is a bestselling, award-winning author of mystery and fantasy novels. She has spent most of her life waiting to meet a witch, vampire, or at least get haunted by a ghost. In between failed seances and many questionable outfit choices, she has developed a keen eye for the extra-ordinary.

A.N. spends her free time reading and binge-watching television shows in her pajamas. Currently, she resides in Toronto, Canada with her husband who is not a creature of the night and their daughter who just might be.

A.N. Sage is a Scorpio and a massive advocate of leggings for pants.











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Thursday, January 19, 2023

Poetry Corner with Linda Robertson Reinhardt



Thanks to Wenona for hosting me at Creatively Green Write at Home Mom. 

While I am ‘touring’ many blogs in support of my new trilogy the Immanence series (I’m sure the links etc. for that will be posted below) it is refreshing to talk a little about something else. 

Like my poetry. I do not claim to be a poet, a friend of mine who passed about a year ago had been a poetry professor. 

Her poems were indeed as lovely as she was, but her stance on poetry seemed rigid to me and she used terms like quatrains and iambic pentameter. She was a wonderful woman and I miss her, but I didn’t share my poems with her because I had never studied the forms she’d earned her living on, and I didn’t want to be that person. I doubt my freeform style was up to her classical standards. But my poems make me happy, and that’s all I sought in the few I’ve written. That’s enough for me.

Last year I published more than the Immanence series. I also published a collection of my short stories, titled Widow’s Bridge and Other Fantasy Tales. Link: Amazon.com: Widow’s Bridge And other Fantasy Tales eBook : Robertson Reinhardt, Linda: Kindle Store

Some of the stories had been previously published in anthologies, some are brand new. There are several pieces of my older art in the collection, as well as this poem which I wrote for my granddaughter. An ode of womanhood looking to inspirea child to become all she dreams of being.

What is a Girl?

A girl is a flame.
Fiery dreams and ambitious hope.
A girl is the rain and a gentle wind.
She nurtures growth.

I, too, am flame and wind and rain.
I’m all this and I am more.
I’m the fuel on the fire,
Burning bright in my core.
I’m the ice and the cold.
I’m something you’ve never seen before.
I am the summer sun
And the waves crashing on the shore.
I’m a lioness in your face
Can you hear me roar?
I’m charity for the poor.
I’m the end of the war.
Yes.
I am all this. 
And I’m more.
For I am a woman—
A wildfire wrapped in an unstoppable storm.

A girl is a flame.
Fiery dreams and ambitious hope.
A girl is the rain and a gentle wind.
She nurtures growth.
She will change. She will age.
She will become like me.
She will gather her strength and
In herself she will believe.


Linda Robertson Reinhardt
2019

Covenant with the Devil 
The Immanence Series
Book One
Linda Robertson Reinhardt

Genre: Dark Fantasy
Publisher: Igni House Publishing
Date of Publication: Oct 31, 2022
ISBN: 9781685440077 
ASIN: B0BKJXJZMY
Number of pages:   506 pages
Word Count: 118,000
Cover Artist: Linda Robertson Reinhardt

Book Description: 

After a car crash killed her family and left her in a coma, divine intervention provided Jovienne with a set of enhanced skills and directed her into Andrei’s care. He’s instructed her through years of intense demon slayer training.

Before sending her into the grueling final test, Andrei reveals a truth he’s kept hidden: if she passes, she will be transformed into an angel. His deception threatens to undermine her efforts, but after the hard-won battle, Jovienne is remade.

She quickly realizes this isn’t the life she was promised, and it isn’t what she wants. But there’s more to Andrei’s secrets and lies, and, worse, the man she trusted has manipulated her into eternal servitude.

Good thing she has a few secrets of her own. They might be the only thing that could set her free.

Listen to the Immanence Soundtrack

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/qG3suMw5SvQ

Amazon  

Excerpt Book One

While washing up the dinner dishes, Andrei heard Jovienne’s door open down the hall. She called, “Sun’s gonna set soon. You ready?”

He rinsed the last dish and placed it in the rack. “Yeah. Are you?” He moved to lean in the doorway, drying his calloused hands on a dishtowel.

On one knee, Jovienne tightened the lacing on her boot. “Almost.”

He glanced around the empty living room where they sometimes sparred. The walls had been drab green long before they moved in. Stains marred the ceiling, some from age and others from leaks. The floor wasn’t much better. Worn and dark, the boards had little shine left. They all creaked under foot.

He imagined the abhadhim had far better living quarters than this. Though he was stuck here, she wasn’t. She deserved better.

She stood and tossed her head, resettling her long mane of black hair. Rocking from her heels to her toes, she tested the feel of the footwear, then approached the wide wooden cabinet. As usual, she studied the weapons on the shelves. She always started by loading her pockets with throwing stars. Next, she would strap leather dagger sheaths to her wrists.  

He smiled to himself when she did just that. He knew her well.

Her every move seemed part of a dance, a choreographed routine she’d performed for years. He noted every detail as her fingers worked those buckles. Nails trimmed short. A web of pale, thin scars marked the brown skin of her hands, badges earned in the mastery of all those blades.

She was a fierce sparring partner who would seize the tactical advantage. A clever and competent student and a serious young woman whose beauty drew the eye, he admired everything about her. She embodied much more than he ever aspired to be.

He could not have been more proud.

He wanted to tell her the news, but a lump swelled in his throat. Revealing the news would bring his tears. He had to master his emotion first. He’d been tough on her. Couldn’t ruin that now and risk her remembering him as a sniveling fool.

Still, he’d have to say those words soon. Too soon. But not yet.

She gave him the once over in a glance. “You going empty-handed?”

On a normal night, he’d already have his sword on his belt and daggers on his hips. But he didn’t need gear tonight.

His stomach churned. Each minute brought him closer to their parting. He didn’t know what zone she’d get, but it was possible he’d never see her again. Every second felt precious. More so because she didn’t know what awaited her tonight. She didn’t have to carry the weight of their inevitable goodbye. For now, he carried the bittersweet burden for her.

You need her far more than she ever needed you.

Every healthy thing in his life stemmed from her. Not just the training routine or emphasis on nutrition. He gained stability from being her teacher. Pushing her physical abilities to ever-better levels required him to be engaged and sharp. And it kept old weaknesses at bay. With her, he achieved his best self.

Still, the need to atone for mistakes of the past haunted him.

His highest, best hope for her entailed a successful future that justified what had been taken from her. She’d had a family. He hadn’t been so lucky.

She slid daggers into the wrist sheaths and retrieved her short jacket from the peg by the door. As the coat settled on her shoulders, the costume jewels of the collar pin sparkled in the light. Andrei grimaced and the knot in his gut twisted tighter.

He’d given her the decorative lapel dagger on her sixteenth birthday. Just over three years ago. That night should have been a happy memory. Instead, an unforgettable trauma etched into his mind.

That night she’d touched him. The child he raised had declared herself a woman and offered herself to him.

He’d refused her. Morally, ethically, it was his only option. He was the only man in her life. She had a teenage crush. It was understandable. Predictable, even.

But it wasn’t easily dismissed.

Disgusted with himself at how quickly he’d grown hard under her hand, all his self-loathing coiled into his throat as he rejected her. His tone had been harsh and critical, bursting with his need to prevent her from ever tempting him again.

In hindsight, he’d been too forceful. Bullish, even. Her defeated expression and posture told him his words had landed like fists. He fled from her room praying he hadn’t done the one thing he never meant to do: break her will.

Jovienne proved too resilient to break, but the incident cost them. Their closeness evaporated. A rift opened, impossible to bridge. The pin on her lapel became a jeweled reminder of the day they destroyed their sense of family. All that remained was teacher and student.

As it should have been all along.

A new ferocity developed in her training regimen afterward. As if she’d discarded secret feelings that had held her back. Or she’d developed new emotional armor.

Either way, it would serve her well in the future. Starting tonight.

 

 

Heretic’s Penance 
The Immanence Series
Book Two
Linda Robertson Reinhardt

Genre: Dark Fantasy
Publisher: Igni House Publishing
Date of Publication: November 14, 2022
ISBN:   9781685440084   
Number of pages:   440
Word Count: 99,000
Cover Artist: Linda Robertson Reinhardt

Book Description: 

Jovienne and Andrei face a new battle —each other. Andrei has embraced an ultra-religious mindset and sees her magical power heresy. Jovienne feels so persecuted at home she leaves. She wants to build a new life, yet the Call continues. 

Whenever a demon arrives, she must slay it.

Not all of the demons seem evil, though, and she struggles with the work. Worse, Lucifer still wants her for her strange abilities. She turns to a local occult shop for help understanding her power. Too late, she learns she’s put them in serious danger.

Amazon     

Excerpt Book Two:

Jovienne pointed at him, hand trembling with anger. “Don’t blame me for what you lost. I begged you to leave. You stayed. Like you said, choices have consequences.”

“You don’t care what your evil witchcraft cost me, do you?”

Her mouth opened, but she wasn’t willing to voice her first thoughts. “I wish more than anything you would have left.” You wouldn’t have been in danger, and I wouldn’t have done what I did to save you. Her eyes burned. Unwilling to cry in front of him, she left.

Even without the boots, her heels thudded on the cracked linoleum.

“Jovienne,” Andrei called.

Ms. Davis, the neighbor downstairs, thumped her ceiling at the noise.

Jovienne didn’t care. She stomped down the hall and slammed her door. In her darkened bedroom, she stared out the front bay window.

Moving back in was stupid. I was naïve to think we could avoid this fight.

She fought both the tears and the scream building in her throat by concentrating on the lights beyond the glass and measuring her breaths.

Andrei flung open her door without knocking.

She spun.

His face contorted and he twisted and smacked the switch up. Harsh light filled the room.

He remained silent a beat longer than she expected.

“You’re an angel now. You can’t act like a spiteful child.”

His expression and tone conveyed calm, but the flush in his face and his white-knuckled hand on the doorknob said otherwise. His dominant pose declared his control of the room.

But she saw he didn’t have control of himself.

She activated the quickening to give herself an extra moment to think.

He’d always been a firm teacher. When she first started besting him in sparring matches, he resorted to taunting her to make her lose her temper. She’d seen right through the bully tactics.

He’d done the same thing in the kitchen, but this time they weren’t physically sparring.

She’d fallen for it and let him use her emotional investment against her.

Though he blocked the doorway with his body, he was not a threat. Not physically. But his beliefs were. He didn’t care if she was a slave. Worse, he felt the servitude was an honor.

She released the quickening and sank onto the bed, staring at the floor between them. Her throat remained tight from her unvoiced scream and when she spoke, it hurt. “Moving back in seemed like a great idea.” She looked up. “Last night, I thought we were on common ground.

But today you’re acting as if you expect to pick up right where we left off.”

His brows knit. “Aren’t we?”

“You’re not my teacher anymore, Andrei. And you never were my father.”

His shoulders sagged. He released the doorknob and raked fingers through his hair.

“You’re right.” The words stood for but a second before he straightened and hurried on. “If I hadn’t failed to nurture your spiritual path—”

“Stop.”

“—if I had only—”

“Stop!”

Andrei winced, then clamped his jaw.

She stood. “There are two things you need to get through your head right now. One, I cannot forget what I learned from you or what I learned from my gramma. Not even if I wanted to. And two, you don’t get to instruct me anymore. If you have an opinion about what I should think or do or how I should live my life, you will keep it to yourself.”



Martyr     
The Immanence Series
Book Three
Linda Robertson Reinhardt

Genre: Dark Fantasy
Publisher: Igni House Publishing
Date of Publication: Nov 28, 2022   
ISBN:   9781685440091
Number of pages:  635
Word Count: 148,000 
Cover Artist: Linda Robertson Reinhardt

Series Tagline: A renegade angel once changed human society forever… now a new angel will change it again.   

Book Description: 

Jovienne’s quest to understand her power and claim her freedom leads to a shocking discovery--one that will shake the foundations of modern society and sends her straight to Hell.

Bewitching Excerpt: Martyr

Jovienne found a box of Jade Oolong tea, filled the kettle, and set on the burner.

Samedi sauntered to the doorway and leaned on the far side of the casing. He blew a puff of smoke and watched her. He’d put the cane away again.

“So, Trouble, do you have any fuckin’ idea what you did back there?”

The nickname couldn’t compare with Black Diamond Woman, but it didn’t entirely displease her. “Without dirt under my feet, I had to draw on the electricity somehow. So I pulled it straight from the wires.” 

He shook his head and laughed softly. “The fuck you did.”

Offended, she leaned on the counter.

“Are you not going to ask me what you did do?”

“If you have something helpful to add, by all means, say it so I can decide if I believe you.”

He touched his chest as if wounded. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Really?” She crossed her arms. “Sitting back and judging seems more your style.”

“Like you’re doing now?”

“You’re not denying it.”

“Neither are you.”

She arched a brow.

Samedi gave her a judgmental once over. “My ‘style’ is malleable,” he said, “adjusting to fit the moment, but fuck you just the same for being a rude bitch.”

Jovienne had learned a lot from spirited chats with Andrei and Eitan and Araxiel. She sensed no threat from Samedi, but saw an amused gleam, and perhaps a playful challenge, in his eyes. It reminded her of the first time she met Araxiel.

“Maybe you should start over, because from where I stand, you’re the rude bitch. You’re acting superior, hoping I’ll change my demands. Or forget them. But I won’t.” She nodded toward the other room where Nathan sat. “What happened at the morgue just threw a lot of responsibility on my shoulders.”

“I’m relieved as fuck to hear you understand the gravity of the situation.” Samedi shifted to lean on the closer side of the doorway. “I see why you think you rerouted electricity to power your magic, but it only proves you don’t know shit about electricity.”

“Demon slaying doesn’t usually involve—” She stopped. In the last week, very little lined up with what she’d trained for. Giving him her back, she opened the cupboard and searched for a coffee cup. “Electricity wasn’t in the curriculum.”

“Of course not. An abhadhon isn’t supposed to have what you have.”

“A nephilim bloodline. Yeah. I know.” She chose a Shang-Chi mug and dropped the tea bag in.

“You shouldn’t be an abhadhon.”

“I didn’t ask for it.” She pushed the mug closer to the kettle then recrossed her arms. “Again, if you have something helpful to add, say it.”

His gaze flitted from the kettle to the mug and on to the floor as he considered. She waited. Finally, his eyes found hers. “You wouldn’t compare a nine-volt battery to a nuclear power plant because you understand enough to know that would be a fuckin’ stupid thing to say. Yet you called the power electricity. That tells me you’re ignorant.”

She turned away.

Samedi grabbed her arm and jerked her back. “That’s not an insult. It’s truth. The only remedy for ignorance is learning, so put your ego aside and let me teach you something.”

Jovienne pointedly glanced at his hand on her arm. He released her.

“Your mind made the leap straight to Frankenstein,” he said. “I get why,but forget that shit. Electricity and lightning can’t bring long-dead people back to fuckin’ life. You didn’t pull electricity from the transformers down the street. That power is crude, small, and rudimentary. It wouldn’t want to go through you.”

“Why not?”

“You aren’t negative.”

“I could introduce you to someone who’d say you’re wrong.”

“And I may well agree with them, but I’m talking about polarity, not attitude.”

The water boiled. She lifted the kettle and poured into the mug.

Samedi leaned on the doorway casing again. “Every switch has a ground wire—literally a wire that runs into the fuckin’ ground. Positive electrical charge is attracted to negative electrical charge, so any excess of positive follows the wire down and disburses into the ground.”

“Are you saying I reconnected the disbursed energy and brought it up?”

“No. I’m saying you couldn’t have used electricity because it doesn’t exist in the place you drew from.”

“If not electricity what was it?” She raised and lowered the tea bag by the string, glad for something to do with her hands. “Ley energy?”

“Fuck no.” The note of his voice dropped. “This came from a place deeper down.”

She lowered the bag slowly and let the string go. “How deep?”

“Add some sugar. It will do him good.”

“How deep?”

“Take him the tea. Then we continue.”

Jovienne let the tea steep while she searched for the sugar. Finding nothing but a few pink packets of Sweet-n-Low, she waggled them at Samedi.

“It’ll do.”

She finished preparing the tea and took it to Nathan. After passing it to him, she straightened. Samedi halted close behind her. “What?”

“Knowing without understanding has made you hard. And dangerous.” He offered his hand. “Are you ready?”

            “To what?”

“To understand.” The vortex opened behind him.

She’d demanded to talk to the Angel of Death. Looked like he was going to let her.

 


About the Author:

Linda Robertson Reinhardt is an internationally published novelist and her short stories have appeared in several anthologies. In 2022, she released The Immanence Series, a dark fantasy trilogy for which she created the covers and all the interior artwork. A life-long musician, she’s also an award-winning composer, so it’s no surprise she also wrote and produced a 72-minute original orchestral score to accompany the new books. She has even scored a few short, independent films. Her music is available on most streaming channels. She is also a graphic artist and a painter, and her artwork is available through Redbubble. If that’s not enough, she makes jewelry and hand-blends/hand-bottles fragrances that she sells on her Etsy store. A mother of four boys, Linda is married and lives in Ohio.

 







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Tuesday, January 17, 2023

The Lives of Lilly Parris by Daniel Sugar #Paranormal #AltHistory


The Lives of Lilly Parris by Daniel Sugar


Let yourself fall through time with Lilly Parris, a reincarnated witch.

 Experience the horrors of the Salem witch trials, the terror of the French Revolution, and the shock of the Russian Revolution. Follow Lilly through the Second World War, the English Civil War, and 19th century, Victorian England during the time of Jack the Ripper. 

Live the lives of Lilly Parris.




Salem Burning Book 1:

In 1692, a disreputable young man named Kyle Edwards breaks his engagement by accusing his fiancee, Lilly Parris, of witchcraft. Kyle is a liar; he does not believe in witchcraft, he is simply trying to get rid of Lilly. But Kyle is in for a shock because, as it turns out, Lilly really is a witch. “Salem Burning” is a fast-paced, brand-new take on the Salem witch trials. 




The Witch And The Guillotine Book 2:

After narrowly escaping the horrors of the Salem witch trials, Lilly Parris comes of age in 18th century France, where she is pampered by Louis XVI and pursued by one of history’s greatest fiends: Maximilien Robespierre, the monster who sent thousands of innocent men, women and children to the guillotine. “The Witch and the Guillotine” is a fast-paced, brand-new take on the French Revolution. 




The Witch and the Revolution Book 3:

As the Tsar’s subjects turn against him, Lilly Parris races to save Anastasia Romanov and her brother Alexis - the heir to the Russian throne. “The Witch and the Revolution” is a fast-paced, brand-new take on the Russian Revolution. 







The Witch And The Resistance Book 4:

As the Allies prepare to liberate Europe, Lilly Parris learns of a diabolical Nazi plot. “The Witch and The Resistance” is a fast-paced, brand-new take on the Second World War. 







The Witch And The Merry Monarch Book 5:

After witnessing the execution of King Charles I, Lilly Parris tries to save the life of his son, Charles II. “The Witch and The Merry Monarch” is a fast-paced, brand-new take on the English Civil War. 







The Witch And The Physician Book 6:

As fear grips London, Lilly Parris matches wits with one of history’s most notorious serial killers. “The Witch and the Physician” is a fast-paced, brand-new take on a killing spree that shocked the world. 








#AlternativeHistory #FantasyFiction #ParanormalFiction #Witchcraft #Witches #HistoricalFiction #ParanormalHistorical #AlternateHistorySciFi

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Monday, January 16, 2023

Juggling Family and Writing with Maria DeVivo


The struggle is real. Not gonna lie. Marriage, kids, work, friends, family, LIFE… now throw a full-on writing career on top of that, and it’s enough to make a person bonkers! Because writing isn’t just writing, ya know. There’s planning, and research, and the actual writing part, and editing, and rewriting, and querying, and appearances, and marketing (and let me tell you, marketing itself can be a full-time job!)

I’ve been writing professionally since 2010, and those first few years were nothing short of chaotic. I was trying to juggle too much all at once and I almost tossed away the proverbial pen when things weren’t happening as quickly as I wanted them to, or as I thought they should be. 
But I slowly changed my perspective and started to realize this is a marathon, not a sprint. And once that idea took root, I knew I needed an action plan to make this writing thing come to fruition because time was definitely not on my side, and I certainly couldn’t be in two (sometimes three or four) places at once.

It's all about DISCIPLINE and carving up your time like a turkey on Thanksgiving. The key is taking your everyday routine and tweaking it a little bit so that you add writing into the mix. Being an author is not easy, and books don’t write themselves. Having a hundred great ideas is all good and well, but you’ll never realize your dream with a composition notebook full of great ideas! If you’re serious about writing (even if it’s just for a personal goal to say you did it) you must be committed to the process. 

BUT HOW!?

There are so many ways to go about it, but I’m going to share with you what works for me. I’m a very OCD kind of person, so scheduling is my forte! By day, I’m a teacher, so for me, I’m afforded the gift of time during the summer. In order to keep my home life stable, I set aside 3 days out of the week to write. Each day, the goal is to knock out one chapter of roughly 3,000 words (sometimes more, sometimes less). Those three days are ALL DAY affairs. I’m talking from 8am to about 2-3pm. I do take breaks for bathroom and food. Those sessions include the actual writing and sometimes researching. By the end of the summer, I have an 18 chapter, 60k-ish novel complete. Six weeks’ time. Now, that’s an appropriate word count for my genre. Others might require more. 

During the school year is a little different because I’m not only doing my own school stuff, but my 13-year old’s life takes on a whole other portion of my time. Writing a novel while working requires a lot more structure, dedication, and flexibility. Three nights a week is dedicated to writing, and I set my goal at 1,000 words a night. Depending on my “distraction” level, I can knock out 1,000 words in anywhere from 1 – 2 hours. This gives me a completed chapter each week. I take a few weeks off for holidays and such, but if I start in September, I can have an 18-chapter book complete by the end of January.

OBVIOUSLY, this isn’t going to work for everyone. And yes, life happens and sometimes derails us in our journeys. But the point is, if you are serious and dedicated to the cause, having a plan can make all the difference. You have to find something that works for YOU. I’ve found that having a routine has made all the difference since I started writing. Since 2010, I’ve written twelve books, and am almost done with #13. Again, not a sprint, but a marathon. And with a little bit of discipline, it CAN be worked in to your everyday lifestyle! 😊


Witch of the Black Circle
Dawn of the Blood Witch
Book One
Maria DeVivo

Genre: Horror
Publisher: 4 Horsemen Publications
Date of Publication: March 7, 2022
ASIN: B09NB1G11Y
Number of pages: 217
Word Count: 64k

Cover Artist:

Tagline: When it comes to witchcraft, it's never just a teenage phase...

Book Description: 

For as long as she can remember, high school senior Joephie Turner's mother has told her she is cursed by a witch. As she settles into her new hometown of Northport, Long Island at the height of the 1980s Satanic Panic era, Joephie is accepted into a circle of friends obsessed with the occult. Demonic messages on cassette tapes, shady youth group leaders, and passionate sexual encounters push the teen into a thrilling world that lends a deeper meaning to the proverbial mantra: "sex, drugs, and rock and roll." Until it all goes wrong.

A decade later, haunted by nightmares of cults and rituals, formidable burgeoning witch Joephie pieces her memories together in search of answers about the small group of suburban teens that meddled with dark forces. As an adult, Joephie will have to decide what, or who, she is willing to sacrifice from her past in order to claw her way back to sanity.

Inspired by true events, Witch of the Black Circle is a deliciously wicked and nostalgic journey through time where the lines of reality and the supernatural blur. Content warning: satanic rituals; sex; graphic violence; language; drug use


Excerpt

Dan reaches over to his bag and pulls out his math book. In the front pouch, I notice a small novel with a black cover. “Hey,” I say, nodding my head in the backpack’s direction. “Whatcha reading?”

“Uh, nothing,” he answers, shrugging his shoulders.
I put out my arms and tap my fingers together like a baby grasping at something. “Lemme see it!”

“Nah. It’s really nothing,” he repeats, but he’s unconvincing, and it makes my curiosity burn a hole in my brain.

Kit’s curiosity is piqued as well, so she stands up and moves behind the chair with the backpack. “Now, now,” she sings. “No secrets here, Dan!” She grabs the bag from the chair and pulls out the book. “The Satanic Bible?”

Dan quickly shoots up from the chair, snatches the book away from her, and cradles it to his chest as to hide the cover from us. “Shhhh…” he admonishes as he looks side to side, assessing if my mother was in the vicinity or not.

I hold out my hand again. “What are you reading that for?” I ask. “Give it here.”

Reluctantly, he turns the book over to me, and I examine the cover, the spine, and the back like an investigator studying a piece of crime-scene evidence. Only, I don’t have on rubber gloves. I’ve known about this book. Heard about it. Knew the story of the author, Dr. Anton LaVey, and his Church of Satan. Practically, every youth ministry I had attended had mentioned the evil of this piece of literature at some point in time: If you even look at the book, you can be possessed. Being in its presence alone can have a profound effect on your heavenly soul. Dare not open or read the pages for fear of infiltration by a powerful demonic force. But as I actually hold the book for the first time in my life, I feel … nothing. No fear. No wonder. No spooky taboo. I press the book in my palms trying to feel for any ‘other-worldly’ vibrations or indication that if I open it up I will be damned to hell. But no. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. And more lies and deception from my past teachers come into clear view. “Dude. It’s just a book.”

“Yeah, I know it’s just a book,” he huffs, grabs it from me, and shoves it back into his bag.

The three of us sit back down in silence for a few minutes.

“You okay, man?” Kit asks, concerned.

“Yeah. Fine.”

Clearly, he’s not.

“Where’d you get it?” I ask.

“Why’d you get it?” Kit emphasizes.

Dan looks behind him and scans the kitchen again. Then, he moves his upper body slightly across the table as if to beckon me and Kit to huddle in. We oblige him and he speaks in a soft, hushed tone: “Thomas. This guy from my school. He got the connection with that Ricky kid and the Knights of the Black Circle.”

“The Knights of the Black Circle?” I ask. “What’s that?”

Dan glares at me and holds up his arm revealing the faded black circles drawn up and down his arm, over and over and over. I had thought they were just silly drawings borne out of boredom, but…

 “They wanted him to read the book and know some stuff before they accepted him,” he continues. “Thomas said he could probably get me in, too, and told me what passages to study and shit.”

Kit’s pretty eyes widen, and her bangs touch her eyelashes again. “He knows the Acid King?”

A sneer forms on Dan’s lips and he nods. “Uh huh.”

“Wait,” I protest. “What are you talking about? Who are the Knights of the Black Circle?

What’s an Acid King?”

“The Knights…” Dan explains, “they’re a group. Local. They do stuff. They know stuff.”

 


Witch of the Red Thorn 
Dawn of the Blood Witch 
Book Two
Maria DeVivo

Genre: Occult Horror 
Publisher: 4 Horsemen Publications
Date of Publication: June 5, 2022
ISBN: 1644505614
ASIN: B09TGWNY76
Number of pages: 254
Word Count: 58k

Tagline: Three years after the Salem Witch Trials, a new evil awakens to terrorize an unsuspecting town.

Book Description: 

The residents of New Haven Harbor, Massachusetts think they've escaped the madness of the Salem Witch Trials, but when a new Reverend is dispatched to their church to take over for their aging vicar, they soon realize the darkness is far from over. Dutiful Christian wife Barbara Flynn is immediately affected by the new pastor's presence. Intense thoughts and feelings she has never experienced before stir inside, drawing her close to the strange man.

When a series of grisly occurrences tear through the town, Barbara and the new Reverend join together to wade through the carnage. But on their journey, Barbara soon discovers she is part of a larger design - a plan that has been in the making since the dawn of time. As shadows loom over the quiet seaside town, the simple townsfolk grow frightened. Fear soon turns to anger as fingers point in every direction to snuff out the source who has once again brought witchcraft into their midst.

Can Barbara control the demons within her to assure the town's safety? Or will the mob force Barbara and the new Reverend to atone for the sinister magic devouring New Haven Harbor?

Reader Advisory: Witch of the Red Thorn contains violence, gore, Satanic rituals, and graphic sexual situations



Excerpt:

I didn’t realize how long we had been out in the clearing of the woods until Tansy’s screaming snapped me back into reality. It was almost like a dream—when you fall asleep into that dream world and your story just picks up in the middle of a scene, yet you have all the memory and knowledge of the world your mind has temporarily created for you. One moment we were walking out into the forest in the purest daylight to gather fresh flowers for the chapel, and in the next instance, it was pitch black and Tansy was pulling hard on my pinafore dress and howling at the top of her lungs for us to run.

“Run, Barbara! Run! Go!” she commanded as I twirled at the edge of the clearing, awestruck at the sight that lay before me—strewn in a circle lay twisted animal parts covered in leaves and muck and blood. Symbols arranged neatly with twigs, flower heads drenched in the crimson sticky blood, and black candles burned to their nubs protruded from the ground. Something about it enthralled me, bewitched me, and I stared hard at the tableau—unafraid and somewhat curious at the peculiarity of it all.

With one final tug of my dress and a shake to my shoulder, I locked eyes with my sister. Her words finally registered in my head, and her urgency struck deep into my soul: Run. Go. Now. We both took off running, my legs swiftly carrying me to presumed safety, my hands still clutching tightly to the cluster of Bellflowers I had previously picked (with no recollection of doing so).

When we finally made it to the edge of the Black Wood, the both of us slumped forward, hands on knees, panting hard for air to fill our lungs back up.

“Did you see it? Did you see it?” Tansy struggled to force the words out.

“Yes, Tansy, I saw!” I answered.

“I… I… I thought we were done with all of that! I thought that was passed us! I thought…”

“As did I. As did I.”

Tansy’s upper body shot up with a sense of awareness. Her torso tensed and stiffened, and her face drew dark and contemplative. She furrowed her brow as if trying to piece some wild puzzle together or connect the dots to some great revelation. I saw it glittering in her soft hazel eyes, like words and images dancing in her mind, yet they were too fast for her to catch and put together. When it dawned on her, it was like a candle flame flickering to life. “Today’s the 20th, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes, why?”

She stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. “It’s been almost three years, Barbara. Almost three years to the day that Martha Corey and the others were hanged in Salem. You know, the last of the trial judgments. Do you think it’s happening again? Do you think what happened over there is now happening here?”

“Hush your mouth, Tansy Wilkins!” I snapped back. “We are God-fearing women of our community. Peace-loving. We reject Satan and all his minions.” I paused after those words. For some reason, it didn’t feel right for me to say them. A creeping feeling of doubt entered my heart, but I pushed it aside. “Don’t you be putting that energy out into the universe,” I continued my admonition. “And for God’s sake, don’t go saying that around anyone else. You know how on edge everyone has been since all that business over there.”

“But Barbara, I’ve heard stories. Been hearing stories…”

“And stories they just are. The same ones I’ve been hearing, too. Nothing but silly ghost tales and monsters under the bed. Now shush, and don’t go putting wood on someone’s fire. Because the last thing we surely need is what happened there to infect us here. It’s still fresh. It’s going to take a little while for that wound to heal.” That much was true! I knew our town of New Haven Harbor would never be able to survive the horrors of Salem.

Her face darkened again at my words. It was obvious she wasn’t fully convinced by what I told her. I knew I wasn’t convinced myself, but I had to say the words to quell my sister’s suspicions. It would be a shame if she had opened herself to the hysteria of our neighboring town. Who knows what influence or bogeymen she might allow in?
Like a pinprick in the back of my mind, I could feel the scene in the clearing calling me—beckoning me to go and investigate. But I ignored it, and instead, I tried to convince my sister nothing nefarious was afoot.

“Winnie Gordon told me that two young children went missing over in Salem just last week.

They were playing at the bottom of the ledge where the witches were hanged, and no one has seen them since. Winnie says those little kids must have awakened something because strange things have been happening since then.”

“You know I can’t stand that Winnie Gordon. Never could,” I barked.

Tansy’s eyes went wild. “Barbara, stop that! How could you say that! Winnie has been my best friend since grammar school!”

“And pray tell, why is it that she needed to repeat her studies multiple times? Winnie Gordon is not the smartest of women, now is she? There are at least four, maybe five children in this town who bear the face of her sweet husband Jedidiah Gordon yet do not belong to Winnie herself…”

With a swift shot to the shoulder, Tansy huffed, “Barbara!”

I smirked from the corner of my mouth. “I speak nothing but truth, dear sister. And as for Winnie Gordon, I don’t think she could recognize truth if it slithered its way from between…”
She gasped again at my seeming vulgarity. “Barbara! Enough!”

I must admit, I too was taken aback by the images in my mind and the words that formed on my lips. It was no secret that Winnie’s husband was a fine catch for her. A brokered deal among their families to afford the best financial possible outcome for all parties involved. And it was no secret that Jedidiah Gordon was the desire of many of the women in New Haven Harbor, to which he heartily obliged. I envisioned all types of women in our town lying on their backs, receiving the full weight and girth of Jedidiah at once in a passionate ceremony, as if he were shapeshifter who could penetrate them at the very same time, all at once, thrusting and pulsating and rising and… I shook my head to rid myself of the thought, but the pinprick sensation was still needling its edge in the back of my head, sending electric waves down my spine.

I gave Tansy the bouquet of bluebells and instructed her: “Take these back to the chapel.

Someone will probably be wondering where we are and why we’re taking so long. Not a word of this, though. To anyone. Not even Winnie Gordon, you understand me. Someone is clearly playing a cruel joke, trying to get everyone excited and spooked for the upcoming anniversary. I’m going to go back to the clearing to tidy up so no one else sees it. I’ll be quick and come back with more flowers. Say I was unhappy with what was out there and wanted prettier ones.”

Tansy gave a quick nod and went on her way. I turned on my heels and headed straight for the clearing—straight back to the scene of grisly ritualistic murder, straight back to the scene that seemed to call to me, that drew me in. On closer inspection, I realized the twigs were arranged in the shape of a makeshift circle with the five-pointed star in the center. At each point of the star, a black melted candle was stuck into the earth. The waxy pools at their bases held them in place. A squirrel’s severed head was in the center of the star and there was blood—so much blood— adorning the center and outside of the circle.

But the blood sings.

I knelt at the end of the ground altar, entranced with the precision at which it was constructed and thought: Who could have done this? Why did they do this? What is the meaning behind it all? But my internal questions were drowned out by the song of the blood and replaced with the only thing I could describe the feeling as—knowing. The scene was suddenly beautiful to me, and a wave of guilt tumbled into my soul. I should not feel this way. I should not feel this way…

Yet something in me did.


Witch of the Silver Locust 
Dawn of the Blood Witch 
Book Three
Maria DeVivo

Genre: Occult Horror 
Publisher: 4 Horsemen Publications
Date of Publication: January 24, 2023
ISBN: 
ASIN: 
Word Count: 59k

Tagline: Trent travels through time to find the Blodheska and open the gates of Hell.

Book Description: 

Follow Trent as he unveils the origin story of the mysterious and powerful world of witches across centuries. He’s been known as the witch Trond, or even as Galen, and finally Trent, the Witch of the Silver Locust. He will seek the Blodheska no matter where or when to nurture the powers they hold.

Traversing each moment, he must face opposing forces that have their own plans for their ideal apocalypse. He will face his enemies no matter if they are human or demon--or even the Church of Satan itself. As he defends his goal, Trent will ally with both new and old friends as he tries to open the gateway to the old ones and bring about the witch utopia of New Eden on earth.

Inspired by true events, this tale follows Trent as he endures an exorcism, the Church of Satan, and the Son of Sam while moving closer to fulfilling his destiny.

Reader Advisory: Witch of the Silver Locust contains violence, gore, Satanic rituals, and graphic sexual situations

Books2Read     Amazon   

Excerpt:

Three moon tides had passed, and Runa remained in our care. A subject? A prisoner? I could not truly tell the difference. Sten had returned to the cave that first night with the supplies Aizel told him to procure—supplies that were just a diversion so that she could make her final judgment on what was to be done with the girl. Aizel told Sten to set up camp in our village and wait for us to call for him. He knew she was well respected and that our people would take care of him if need be, so he left our cave to go into town and patiently waited until his child was delivered from the evil that took hold of her hugr and fylgja—in essence, her soul.

Sten was obedient and did as he was told—partly because he was a doting father who wanted to see his daughter healed, and partly, because at his core, he was a weak man who fell easily under Aizel’s spell. She promised him she would do whatever she could to help Runa, and if that meant Sten had to run into a pack of snarling wolves, he would have complied. But I knew the truth. There was no intention of expelling the draugr from the girl. Aizel was stalling for time as the demon inside Runa slowly festered and consumed her bit by bit.

And as the days passed, I purposefully and consciously locked my mind like a steel cage against Aizel so she couldn’t go digging around. I hadn’t told her what I had heard Runa say—how she had called out the sacred nickname my sister had bestowed upon me, for I knew she would have forbidden me to even go near the girl after that. Nevertheless, I was intrigued. How would she have known that name unless by some divine intervention? I was certainly convinced that this was more than just the average possession we were used to dealing with, and I was determined to find out more. What was this demon, and why had it made itself known to me the night of the full moon, and more specifically during a time of my great despondency?

So, without Aizel’s knowledge of my actions, I stole away into the storage alcove where Runa had been tied up for the last three nights in hopes of getting as much information from the creature as I could. I brought my canteen of water under the assumption that maybe a drink would satisfy it and give it reason to open up. When I reached the room, the air was thick with an unnatural heat and a steamy sheen blanketed the space around us, much like the steam from the hot springs a bit south of us.

I stood in the opening and watched as Runa’s slumped body breathed in and out with those frenzied pants. Her head tilted to one side as if the weight of her long, silky black hair was pulling her down in her slumber. She looked peaceful, even with her chest heaving up and down as frantically as it was. I wondered what type of frenetic dream she must be having. Was she running in a field? Were the wolves chasing her? Was a hoard of marauders ravaging her fragile body?

I dipped my foot gingerly across the imaginary threshold of the room, and suddenly she stopped, shot up, and opened her eyes wide. “All three,” she cooed with a smirk.
I froze for a moment, surprised by her abrupt actions, then continued my way inside.
Runa smiled wide, and the evidence of the draugr’s hold on her was blatantly clear. The soft pink tissue of her gums was coated with a dark black substance giving her mouth the appearance of a gaping void.

A void to swallow me whole and transport me to another dimension…

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” she blurted.

“You know I’m not afraid of you, right?” I said. “I’ve seen the likes of you before.”

She giggled. “Oh, have you?” she responded. Her voice was low and gravelly, and it echoed in the cave as if there were more than one being speaking simultaneously. I couldn’t tell if it was the acoustics or if she actually represented the power of the many. And the voice, that guttural, grinding tone was so familiar to me, yet I could not place where I’d heard it before.
I approached her in the chair and held my canteen to her face. She eyed me coolly. “No,” she

said. “It would just prolong the process.”

“Oh? And what process is this you speak of?”

“I know your plans. The girl is gone. There’s no use in saving her now.”

I pursed my lips together and nodded. “True. True.” I agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you still can’t serve a purpose for us.”

The draugr laughed aloud. Its voice pierced the inside of my eardrums so sharply that I winced.

“Untie me, and I’ll show you what purpose I can serve,” she said with a sly hint of seduction.

I looked down upon her and scoffed. Up close I could see the demon had begun to transform her. Runa’s visage had begun to crack. The pale skin of her once soft face had turned gray, and the dark green veins from beneath her skin pressed up close to the surface and pulsated as if they were their own living, breathing entities. Her cheeks had further sunken in, giving the sharp angles of her face an even more inhuman appearance. She grazed her thick black tongue across the surface of her dry lips. “I won’t bite,” she cooed.

I huffed and took a step back. “Do you think that’s what it would take to tempt me? I told you, I’ve done this before. You’re not the first draugr to grace this cavern. Do you even know how old I am?”

“Do you even know how old I am?” she shot back.

I knelt next to her and decided to seize the opportunity. Demons are all-knowing, or at least they think they are. And they like to talk, mainly about themselves and their powers. And it’s often their narcissism that contributes to their downfall. I remembered that from Blodwyn’s teachings. Long ago, she had guided me through my first expulsion of a draugr. I had watched her perform the ritual flawlessly on many occasions, and when it came time for me to go out on my own, it was less than a stellar effort. “Don’t worry,” Blodwyn had said, “your strengths lie elsewhere. We each have our own gifts and talents. Don’t let this one failure discourage you. And I wouldn’t even call it a failure…”

“The boy would have died anyway,” the draugr said, finishing my memory.

I pulled back a bit. “Oh. So, you’re in here?” I said, pointing to my temple.

“Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. It comes and goes like flashes of light, like a gust of icy wind, like the paper-thin cry of the locust swelling to a crescendo then leveling off.”

My face twisted in confusion for a second. “How did you know that name?”

She closed her eyes and bowed her head forward. “I know not of what you speak,” she said with an agitated tone.

I placed my hand on her knee, and she quickly opened her eyes again. “Yes, you do. You said a name the first night you were here. You called out to me.”

She laughed again. A low and menacing rumble from her chest. “Pink Silver,” she grimaced, and her chest heaved up giving way to a wretched cough. She turned her head to the opposite side of where I knelt, spit out a gob of inky black substance, cleared her throat, and looked back at me.

“Tell me your name,” I commanded.

The draugr ‘tsked’ her thick black tongue against the back of her teeth.

“You told Aizel! Why won’t you tell me? You know my name, Trond. And you know my secret name, Ruz. It’s only fair if we’re going to continue this relationship, don’t you think?”

The draugr’s voice lowered, “I told that witch nothing!” it spat. “She stole that from me.

The girl was fighting hard, and there was a moment of weakness. I’m better now.” It smiled again, and for a split second. There were maggots weaving in and out of its teeth. I blinked rapidly, hoping it would go away. The draugr laughed.



About the Author:

Maria is the Author of the Amazon bestselling and award winning series The Coal Elf Chronicles, the YA psychological horror series The Altered Experience, and the NA Urban Fantasy series The Aestrangel Trinity. 

When not writing about dark fantasy and horror, she teaches Language Arts and Journalism to middle school students in Florida. A lover of all things dark and demented, she takes pleasure in warping the comfort factor in her readers’ minds. Just when you think you’ve reached a safe space in her stories, she snaps you back into her twisted reality.














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