Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Blood Mines by Lynelle Clark is on Sale. Get your copy today..


Title: Blood Mines
Author: Lynelle Clark
Book cover: Manuela Cardiga
Pages 300
#Thriller #suspense #futuristic #Environmental #romance #Strongwoman
E-book Created in 2017
ISBN: 978-0-620-78336-1(e-book)
Printed Book Created in 2017
ISBN: 978-1-928434-52-8
Now available for R120 excluding postage. 
South Africa only
Place your order directly with the author at lynellecdl64@gmail.com


Blurb
Tanya’s life was turned upside down when her son, Steve was attacked by renegades and she had to dig deep facing her worst fear to save them both.
It is the year 2048, 30 years after a devastating quake had changed Gauteng’s geographic features. The effects of the acid water, that covered most of the area, was visible to everyone but the government. The silent death crawling closer leaving devastation in its path. Nothing is excluded from the terror.
Tanya and Steve’s path of survival meet up with the rebels in their search for clean water and she had to face much more than just acid water to stay alive.
A thrilling story of courage and survival.






Available at these websites


About the Author:
Lynelle Clark lives in Gauteng, South Africa. Her writing career began in 2010. Lynelle has always loved to read books, in which she discovers new worlds. Meeting new people and travelling is one of her passions. So far, the writing journey has been exciting, helping aspiring authors in her free time as she mature.
Connecting with readers is important, so feel free to get in touch with Lynelle on any of the following links:

WEBSITE:  Inspire to Read Website: Vanuit my pen 




https://www.smashwords.com/interview/lynelle2012

Now available for R120 excluding postage. 
South Africa only
Place your order directly with the author at lynellecdl64@gmail.com

Excerpt 1: Excerpt 2

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Comes A Specter by Keta Diablo, the second book in The Ghostland Series


Keta: First of all, thank you so much for hosting my latest Western Romance Ghost story, Comes A Specter. Your generosity is much appreciated.

Tell us a little about yourself.

Keta: I live in the Midwest part of the United States on six acres of gorgeous woodland. When I'm not writing or gardening I love to commune with nature. A pair of barn owls returns to the property every year to birth their young and show them off in the high branches of the oak trees. Nothing more adorable than these white fluffy babies with heart-shaped faces. A lifelong animal lover, I devote my time and support to the local animal shelter. Emma LaPounce, a rescued feline, has been my furry companion for the last ten years.

I'm an award-winning and best-selling author who writes in several genres: Western Romance, Historical Romance, Paranormal Romance and Contemporary Romance. In a past life, I wrote Gay Romance. My books have received numerous accolades, including RWA contest finalist, Authors After Dark finalist, Top Pick of the Month and Recommended Review from top review sites, and Best Romance Finalist from The Independent Author Network. 

Ps: For some strange reason, ghosts often show up in my stories, no matter the genre.

Have you always wanted to be an author?

Keta: Oh, no. My mother, now 91 years young, reminds me that I always wanted to be number 1) a boy (I had four brothers), number 2) professional equestrian (course I called it a cowgirl).


Tell us a little about the last/latest book you’ve written

Keta: See above in my Author Bio – for some strange reason ghosts always show up in my stories. No different in Comes A Specter, Book 2, Ghostland Series. Several reviewers said they loved the book, but the ghost scared the bejeebers out of them. Gee, I wasn't scared.

Anyway, I didn't even know I was writing about all these ghosts. One day, as I was going through my backlist of books, I said, "Oh. My. Gosh. Keta!! You write about ghosts all the time." Read some of my blurbs and you'll see what I mean. No matter what genre I choose, somehow a ghost shows up. I used to see them—ghosts—when I was a toddler, but that's another story for another day. Maybe subconsciously, that's why they keep showing up in my stories.

Where did you get the inspiration for this particular book?



Keta: Let's see, where were we? Oh, yeah…inspiration for Comes A Specter. I love Western Romance, and since I have such a penchant for dead people, er, I mean those who have crossed over, I created sort of a new sub-genre, Western Romance Ghost Stories. I love writing about cowboys, cowgirls, horses, ranches, rodeos, and…did I mention translucent spirits?

On average how long does it take it for you to write a book?

Keta: That depends on many factors. First, a writer has to be at the top of her/his game physically and mentally to pull this off. Second, she/he has to create a great plot and well-developed characters (no cookie-cutter walk-ons). Third, he/she must plant their butt in the chair and write, write every day, even if you have to pull the words out of the air. Better to have gibberish at times than a blank page, right? Fourth, it depends on whether one is writing a novella or a novel. A novella, two months; a full-length novel 4-5 months. Caveat: Keta is a slow writer compared to many others.

Do you have any unpublished/unfinished scripts?

Keta: Yes, we all have those. Some I keep under the bed, never to see the light of day. Others are sitting on my computer and flash me now and then to finish them.

What types of books do you read?

Keta: Across many genres, but never romance when I'm writing romance. Thrillers, suspense, angels/demons, Native American fiction, and small-town contemporary (serious stuff). I hardly ever read humorous. I bet that doesn't surprise you coming from a person who saw ghosts as a child, huh?

 What books are you reading right now?

Freefall (Kristen Heitzmann)
The Dead Game (Suzanne Leist)
and…1,697 waiting for me on my Paperwhite Kindle (sad)

 Which are your three favourite books of all time?

Keta: To Kill A Mockingbird, Man On Fire, Gone With the Wind, Legends of the Fall.

Do you/have you ever read a copy of your book after it has been published?

Keta: Gosh, no. I read it so many times while writing it; I'd get bored to death with the same old, same old. LOL.

What advice would you give to an aspiring author who is just starting out?

Keta: Well, I'm really no one to be giving advice to other writers. I made plenty of mistakes starting out myself, so maybe that's it – study the craft of writing. Know the basic rules at least, and then get good enough at writing you feel comfortable breaking some. I mean, there are some you should never break, but breaking one now and then won't cause the earth to stop spinning. I have a lot of books on my Kindle (see above). I can't tell you how many times I read one chapter and delete the book. If it doesn't grab me right away with lots of questions, then I'm outta there. Take for example Harper Lee's opening line in To Kill A Mockingbird: Scout: When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow.

I mean, she hooked me. Completely. I was in the sixth grade the first time I read that line, and from that moment on, I wanted to know who Jem was and how the heck did he break his arm? That book really opened my eyes to reading, gave me an appreciation and love of the written word.  

I hope all your reads are good ones; I hope you fall in love all over again with the written word every time you sit down to read a book.

Keta

* * *
About Comes a Specter, Book 2, Ghostland Series
Six months ago, Anya Fleming's ten-year-old son, Willie-boy, found his father hanging in the barn. Traumatized over his father's suicide, the boy hasn't spoken a word since. Now, Willie-boy has come down with a grave, unknown illness and there's only one man who can save him, Sutter Sky, a learned Blackfoot shaman known as Yellow Smoke—a shaman who was once deeply in love with Anya.

But Fate had other plans for Anya and Sutter—she was forced to marry Lewis Fleming, a cruel man who berated her night and day, and brokenhearted Sutter immersed himself in the mystical customs and beliefs of his People and became a shaman
.
As if Anya didn't have enough to deal with after her husband's death and her son's illness, an evil, sinister ghost is terrorizing their ranch. Anya is convinced the spirit is Lewis, who apparently isn't done making her life miserable.
When she turns to Yellow Smoke for help, will he put aside his bitterness and save Willie-boy? And can the renowned shaman dispel the powerful ghost from their lives and send him back to Hades?

EXCERPT: Sutter confronts the ghost.


Chapter Fourteen

"Make my enemy brave and strong, so that if defeated, I will not be ashamed."
 Plains Tribes

Tendrils of darkness breached the room as Sutter slipped through the window of Anya's room. He didn't want Willie-boy to see him dressed for war, the ebony handprints –chin to cheek—the tunic and leggings splashed with blood red paint. If he didn't return, he wanted the boy to remember how he looked the last time he saw him. A misty cloud of energy trailed Sutter as he sprinted through the woods, a sign the wraith was on the prowl and primed for killing. That suited Sutter just fine. He had one goal in mind—lead the ghost toward the pit. He'd worry about how to implement the second part of his plan when the time came. An odious stench spiraled up his nostrils, another potent omen the heavy, scuffing footsteps behind him belonged to Ten Wounds.


Moments later, a cry from the dead and damned cleaved the dark, chilling Sutter's blood. No wonder Lewis had cracked, no wonder Anya and Willie-boy were terrified of the evil spirit. No wonder Cobb had said, 'Run, brother. Take Anya and run.' Close, the Zeuzeu was close now. Sutter imagined the ghost's rank breath stirring the long, dark hair at the nape of his neck.

The pit loomed ahead. Sutter spotted the pine branches and broken boughs he'd placed over the illusory grave. "Now or never", he said to the full moon overhead and came to an abrupt halt. Drawing a deep breath, he mustered up his courage and turned to face Ten Wounds. A haze of gray mist swirled around the spirit's form, his human form. If the situation weren't so serious, Sutter could have shouted with joy.
He took in the ghost's visage. A quiver hung from his shoulder stocked with sharp, pointed arrows—a sign he'd transformed into the fierce warrior who once walked the earth. Steeped in blood (no doubt from his recent kills), his clothing hung in tatters around his massive frame—a vest made of animal hides, a breechcloth and fringed leggings. Sutter's gaze traveled to his painted, pock-marked face. Yellow and white stripes marked his forehead and chin, and black circles blended into his dark eyes. For a brief second, Sutter's insides quivered and ropes of tension knotted every cord and fiber of his body. Bleary, unearthly eyes speared Sutter when the wraith raised a hand of claw-like fingers and pointed at his enemy’s chest.
The wind, much like the sound of a thousand women wailing, keened into the deafening silence. Fire exploded from the ghost's eyes—flames the fires of Hell couldn't compete with. Sutter shouted over the infernal noise and flames. "You are not welcome here! Hear my words, you are dead!"
Like a misty cloud of energy, Ten Wounds lurched forward, a staccato rhythm of hisses and howls spewing from his foam-drooling mouth. Sutter had never imagined such a demonic apparition.

Available on All venues November 1st

Five (5) Winners will receive an ebook of their choice from Keta's book list (Comes A Specter excluded). Visit her website or Amazon to choose.

And

Five (5) winners will receive a large bar of speciality bath soap from Asquith & Somerset or Castelbel (Keta's favourite soap vendors).

For a chance to win follow Keta:
on Twitter @ketadiablo
Follow her Amazon Author Page:https://www.amazon.com/Keta-Diablo/e/B002BODURI/ 
Sign up for her newsletter: http://authorketadiablo.com

Winners will be notified three days after the blog tour ends.

Thursday, September 20, 2018

Excerpt from Shayla Black's newest book: More than crave you.





 

I'm Evan Cook—billionaire tech entrepreneur and widower. Professionally, I’ve got it all. But since my wife died, my personal life has fallen apart. Remarrying seems like the obvious answer, so I place an ad. I'm not asking for much. The ideal woman only needs to be smart, organized, pretty, and helpful—both in and out of bed—without expecting romance. I never thought to look right in front of me…but it turns out that Nia Wright, my sexy, sassy assistant, just might be the perfect candidate. After an unexpectedly hot night together, I'm ready to stop interviewing strangers and simply marry her. On paper, she ticks every box on my list. Best of all, she's far too sensible to fall for me. I didn’t see the flaw in my logic until it was far too late. I never thought I’d lose my heart for the first time. And I definitely never imagined that she could consume me until I more than crave her. But she's harboring a secret that could tear us apart—just as I'm finally putting myself together.




I charge down the hall toward what might be the stupidest mistake of my life. I move through the sea of bodies, shrugging past the Latina dancer, a few of the French maids, then bump into my assistant’s handsy dance partner. I stare him down. He looks at me blankly. One thing I realize instantly? My gaydar is absolutely silent. He’s every bit as straight as I am. As he hovers protectively around Nia’s dressing room, I snarl and shoulder my way past him. He grabs my arm. “Where do you think you’re going?” “To see Nia. Let go.” His eyes narrow. “Is she expecting you?” No. In fact, I’m about to shock the hell out of her. I don’t know if I’ll be unwelcome, but I’m going to test Bas’s theory that she wants me. If he’s right…this could get messy really fast. I shake him off, barrel inside the room, and shut the door. Behind me, I immediately hear the asshole jimmying the knob. I throw my weight against the portal to keep him out and lock it behind me. Nia whirls to the sound of my intrusion, dressed in an inch of stage makeup, a silky white robe—and nothing else. The moment she recognizes me, her mouth drops open. Shock spreads across her face. “E-Evan?” “Nia.” I can’t find more words. I can’t do anything except stare and put one foot in front of the other. I certainly can’t defuse the anger and possessiveness I know I have no right to feel. “What are you doing here?” “That’s my question for you,” I growl. “Why the fuck are you taking your clothes off for strangers?” She rears back and blinks at me. I don’t think she’s ever heard me curse. I keep the office professional, totally aboveboard. But I can’t manage decorum now when she’s breathing hard and her nipples are poking her thin robe. She raises her chin and glares at me. Everything about her demeanor is like waving a red cape in front of a bull. “It’s burlesque, not stripping,” she snaps. “I don’t do this for money. I do it because I enjoy dancing.” “Yeah? You enjoy that asshole’s hands all over you, too?” Even though the logical side of my brain tells me I’m way out of line, I point at the door behind me and stalk closer to her. “You enjoy sex standing up with him?” Her nostrils flare. Her mouth presses into a firm line. “Last time I checked, boss, I don’t have to justify my personal life to you.” The fact she’s right only pisses me off more. “You do when your behavior reflects badly on Stratus Solutions.” She shoots me a quelling glare. “You’ll have to do better than that. No one in the audience knows who I am. I never take off my mask and I never use my real name. Nothing I do on stage can taint your reputation.” Arms crossed over her chest, she saunters closer. “Why don’t you be honest and tell me what’s really bothering you? I know you’re not this mad simply because I was dressed a little risqué and gyrated on stage with Kyle?” I debate the wisdom of blurting the truth. The rational part of my brain tells me to shut up, leave, and act on Monday like nothing happened tonight. Every other part of me knows that ship has sailed. My cock is especially eager to lay my cards on the table, grab Nia in my arms…and not worry about what happens next. “You’re right. I’m mad because I think you’ve fucked him.” She jerks as if I’ve slapped her. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we haven’t been together in almost two years. Thanks for letting me know you think I’m a whore.” Hearing I was right royally pisses me off. Having her put words in my mouth kills what’s left of my patience, stripping away anything resembling professional civility. I try not to squeeze her arms as I drag her close. “I never said that. Or thought it. I’m telling you that I can’t stand knowing he’s touched you. I don’t like the fact you still have anything to do with him. I don’t even understand why I’m here yelling and angry. I’m just…” How the hell do I put the storm raging inside me into words? No clue, but I need to get it all out somehow or I’m going to explode. “Jealous?” Soft surprise crosses her face. Something about her confusion rips the confession from me. “Yes.” “Because you…want me?” I grit my teeth and try again to think through the wisdom of spilling all this to her. But I can’t keep it in. The softness of warm silk and hot woman under my palms almost undoes me. “Yes. I know I shouldn’t. I’ve spent forty-eight hours telling myself what I’m feeling is ridiculous and I can’t allow this—whatever it is—into our perfectly comfortable, efficient working relationship. But I can’t turn it off. I can’t fight it. I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.” “Is that what you’d rather do? Bury your head in the sand and not feel it?” She looks hurt. Her expression makes me feel like an asshole. Nia always asks insightful questions. Why should now be different? I shake my head. “For the first time in months—maybe years—I feel alive.” Nia stares at me in silence, her gaze fused to mine. I swear I see a hundred thoughts whip through her head. For once, I can’t read a single one. “Say something.” If she doesn’t soon, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t even know if I can be responsible for what happens next. “Have you been drinking?” “Not enough to drown out how much I want you.” “In spite of your opinion about my sexual past? And what about our working relationship?” She’s not wrong, but they’re barbed questions. I have to maneuver around them carefully. “Nothing matters to me except touching you right now.” Before Nia can chew on my answer and remember all the reasons she should say no, I pull her against me. She gasps. The instant her soft body makes contact with my hard, aching cock, I groan and hold her tighter, cupping her face and lowering my mouth to her parted lips.


Books In More Than Words Series

More Than Want You, Book 1

More Than Need You, Book 2

More Than Love You, Book 3

 

Shayla Black is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than sixty novels. For nearly twenty years, she’s written contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances via traditional, independent, foreign, and audio publishers. Her books have sold millions of copies and been published in a dozen languages. Raised an only child, Shayla occupied herself with lots of daydreaming, much to the chagrin of her teachers. In college, she found her love for reading and realized that she could have a career publishing the stories spinning in her imagination. Though she graduated with a degree in Marketing/Advertising and embarked on a stint in corporate America to pay the bills, her heart has always been with her characters. She’s thrilled that she’s been living her dream as a full-time author for the past eight years. Shayla currently lives in North Texas with her wonderfully supportive husband, her teenage daughter, and two spoiled tabbies. In her “free” time, she enjoys reality TV, reading, and listening to an eclectic blend of music.



Tuesday, September 18, 2018

MORE THAN CRAVE YOU (More Than Words, Book 4) by Shayla Black

I’m beyond excited of the release for 
I can’t wait to bring you to read the newest installment in my 
More Than Words series. I also hope to see you at my upcoming release party in the Book Beauties!
~ Shayla Black


 
I'm Evan Cook—billionaire tech entrepreneur and widower. Professionally, I’ve got it all. But since my wife died, my personal life has fallen apart. Remarrying seems like the obvious answer, so I place an ad. I'm not asking for much. The ideal woman only needs to be smart, organized, pretty, and helpful—both in and out of bed—without expecting romance. I never thought to look right in front of me…but it turns out that Nia Wright, my sexy, sassy assistant, just might be the perfect candidate. After an unexpectedly hot night together, I'm ready to stop interviewing strangers and simply marry her. On paper, she ticks every box on my list. Best of all, she's far too sensible to fall for me. I didn’t see the flaw in my logic until it was far too late. I never thought I’d lose my heart for the first time. And I definitely never imagined that she could consume me until I more than crave her. But she's harboring a secret that could tear us apart—just as I'm finally putting myself together.



Books In More Than Words Series


More Than Want You, Book 1


More Than Need You, Book 2


More Than Love You, Book 3


 


Shayla Black is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than sixty novels. For nearly twenty years, she’s written contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances via traditional, independent, foreign, and audio publishers. Her books have sold millions of copies and been published in a dozen languages. Raised an only child, Shayla occupied herself with lots of daydreaming, much to the chagrin of her teachers. In college, she found her love for reading and realized that she could have a career publishing the stories spinning in her imagination. Though she graduated with a degree in Marketing/Advertising and embarked on a stint in corporate America to pay the bills, her heart has always been with her characters. She’s thrilled that she’s been living her dream as a full-time author for the past eight years. Shayla currently lives in North Texas with her wonderfully supportive husband, her teenage daughter, and two spoiled tabbies. In her “free” time, she enjoys reality TV, reading, and listening to an eclectic blend of music. 



Monday, September 17, 2018

Comes A Specter by Keta Diablo, the second book in The Ghostland Series coming soon.


Keta: First of all, thank you so much for hosting my latest Western Romance Ghost story, Comes A Specter. Your generosity is much appreciated.

Tell us a little about yourself.

Keta: I live in the Midwest part of the United States on six acres of gorgeous woodland. When I'm not writing or gardening I love to commune with nature. A pair of barn owls returns to the property every year to birth their young and show them off in the high branches of the oak trees. Nothing more adorable than these white fluffy babies with heart-shaped faces. A lifelong animal lover, I devote my time and support to the local animal shelter. Emma LaPounce, a rescued feline, has been my furry companion for the last ten years.

I'm an award-winning and best-selling author who writes in several genres: Western Romance, Historical Romance, Paranormal Romance and Contemporary Romance. In a past life, I wrote Gay Romance. My books have received numerous accolades, including RWA contest finalist, Authors After Dark finalist, Top Pick of the Month and Recommended Review from top review sites, and Best Romance Finalist from The Independent Author Network. 

Ps: For some strange reason, ghosts often show up in my stories, no matter the genre.

Have you always wanted to be an author?

Keta: Oh, no. My mother, now 91 years young, reminds me that I always wanted to be number 1) a boy (I had four brothers), number 2) professional equestrian (course I called it a cowgirl).


Tell us a little about the last/latest book you’ve written

Keta: See above in my Author Bio – for some strange reason ghosts always show up in my stories. No different in Comes A Specter, Book 2, Ghostland Series. Several reviewers said they loved the book, but the ghost scared the bejeebers out of them. Gee, I wasn't scared.

Anyway, I didn't even know I was writing about all these ghosts. One day, as I was going through my backlist of books, I said, "Oh. My. Gosh. Keta!! You write about ghosts all the time." Read some of my blurbs and you'll see what I mean. No matter what genre I choose, somehow a ghost shows up. I used to see them—ghosts—when I was a toddler, but that's another story for another day. Maybe subconsciously, that's why they keep showing up in my stories.

Where did you get the inspiration for this particular book?



Keta: Let's see, where were we? Oh, yeah…inspiration for Comes A Specter. I love Western Romance, and since I have such a penchant for dead people, er, I mean those who have crossed over, I created sort of a new sub-genre, Western Romance Ghost Stories. I love writing about cowboys, cowgirls, horses, ranches, rodeos, and…did I mention translucent spirits?

On average how long does it take it for you to write a book?

Keta: That depends on many factors. First, a writer has to be at the top of her/his game physically and mentally to pull this off. Second, she/he has to create a great plot and well-developed characters (no cookie-cutter walk-ons). Third, he/she must plant their butt in the chair and write, write every day, even if you have to pull the words out of the air. Better to have gibberish at times than a blank page, right? Fourth, it depends on whether one is writing a novella or a novel. A novella, two months; a full-length novel 4-5 months. Caveat: Keta is a slow writer compared to many others.

Do you have any unpublished/unfinished scripts?

Keta: Yes, we all have those. Some I keep under the bed, never to see the light of day. Others are sitting on my computer and flash me now and then to finish them.

What types of books do you read?

Keta: Across many genres, but never romance when I'm writing romance. Thrillers, suspense, angels/demons, Native American fiction, and small-town contemporary (serious stuff). I hardly ever read humorous. I bet that doesn't surprise you coming from a person who saw ghosts as a child, huh?

 What books are you reading right now?

Freefall (Kristen Heitzmann)
The Dead Game (Suzanne Leist)
and…1,697 waiting for me on my Paperwhite Kindle (sad)

 Which are your three favourite books of all time?

Keta: To Kill A Mockingbird, Man On Fire, Gone With the Wind, Legends of the Fall.

Do you/have you ever read a copy of your book after it has been published?

Keta: Gosh, no. I read it so many times while writing it; I'd get bored to death with the same old, same old. LOL.

What advice would you give to an aspiring author who is just starting out?

Keta: Well, I'm really no one to be giving advice to other writers. I made plenty of mistakes starting out myself, so maybe that's it – study the craft of writing. Know the basic rules at least, and then get good enough at writing you feel comfortable breaking some. I mean, there are some you should never break, but breaking one now and then won't cause the earth to stop spinning. I have a lot of books on my Kindle (see above). I can't tell you how many times I read one chapter and delete the book. If it doesn't grab me right away with lots of questions, then I'm outta there. Take for example Harper Lee's opening line in To Kill A Mockingbird: Scout: When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow.

I mean, she hooked me. Completely. I was in the sixth grade the first time I read that line, and from that moment on, I wanted to know who Jem was and how the heck did he break his arm? That book really opened my eyes to reading, gave me an appreciation and love of the written word.  

I hope all your reads are good ones; I hope you fall in love all over again with the written word every time you sit down to read a book.

Keta

* * *
About Comes a Specter, Book 2, Ghostland Series
Six months ago, Anya Fleming's ten-year-old son, Willie-boy, found his father hanging in the barn. Traumatized over his father's suicide, the boy hasn't spoken a word since. Now, Willie-boy has come down with a grave, unknown illness and there's only one man who can save him, Sutter Sky, a learned Blackfoot shaman known as Yellow Smoke—a shaman who was once deeply in love with Anya.

But Fate had other plans for Anya and Sutter—she was forced to marry Lewis Fleming, a cruel man who berated her night and day, and brokenhearted Sutter immersed himself in the mystical customs and beliefs of his People and became a shaman
.
As if Anya didn't have enough to deal with after her husband's death and her son's illness, an evil, sinister ghost is terrorizing their ranch. Anya is convinced the spirit is Lewis, who apparently isn't done making her life miserable.
When she turns to Yellow Smoke for help, will he put aside his bitterness and save Willie-boy? And can the renowned shaman dispel the powerful ghost from their lives and send him back to Hades?


EXCERPT: Sutter confronts the ghost.


Chapter Fourteen

"Make my enemy brave and strong, so that if defeated, I will not be ashamed."
 Plains Tribes

Tendrils of darkness breached the room as Sutter slipped through the window of Anya's room. He didn't want Willie-boy to see him dressed for war, the ebony handprints –chin to cheek—the tunic and leggings splashed with blood red paint. If he didn't return, he wanted the boy to remember how he looked the last time he saw him. A misty cloud of energy trailed Sutter as he sprinted through the woods, a sign the wraith was on the prowl and primed for killing. That suited Sutter just fine. He had one goal in mind—lead the ghost toward the pit. He'd worry about how to implement the second part of his plan when the time came. An odious stench spiraled up his nostrils, another potent omen the heavy, scuffing footsteps behind him belonged to Ten Wounds.


Moments later, a cry from the dead and damned cleaved the dark, chilling Sutter's blood. No wonder Lewis had cracked, no wonder Anya and Willie-boy were terrified of the evil spirit. No wonder Cobb had said, 'Run, brother. Take Anya and run.' Close, the Zeuzeu was close now. Sutter imagined the ghost's rank breath stirring the long, dark hair at the nape of his neck.
The pit loomed ahead. Sutter spotted the pine branches and broken boughs he'd placed over the illusory grave. "Now or never", he said to the full moon overhead and came to an abrupt halt. Drawing a deep breath, he mustered up his courage and turned to face Ten Wounds. A haze of gray mist swirled around the spirit's form, his human form. If the situation weren't so serious, Sutter could have shouted with joy.
He took in the ghost's visage. A quiver hung from his shoulder stocked with sharp, pointed arrows—a sign he'd transformed into the fierce warrior who once walked the earth. Steeped in blood (no doubt from his recent kills), his clothing hung in tatters around his massive frame—a vest made of animal hides, a breechcloth and fringed leggings. Sutter's gaze traveled to his painted, pock-marked face. Yellow and white stripes marked his forehead and chin, and black circles blended into his dark eyes. For a brief second, Sutter's insides quivered and ropes of tension knotted every cord and fiber of his body. Bleary, unearthly eyes speared Sutter when the wraith raised a hand of claw-like fingers and pointed at his enemy’s chest.
The wind, much like the sound of a thousand women wailing, keened into the deafening silence. Fire exploded from the ghost's eyes—flames the fires of Hell couldn't compete with. Sutter shouted over the infernal noise and flames. "You are not welcome here! Hear my words, you are dead!"
Like a misty cloud of energy, Ten Wounds lurched forward, a staccato rhythm of hisses and howls spewing from his foam-drooling mouth. Sutter had never imagined such a demonic apparition.

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Review: The Bestowing sun by Neil Grimmett


I received the book from the family for an honest review.

I was shocked when I learned about the author's passing when they contacted me. I have read two other books from the author which I truly liked. And, without hesitation, I agreed to read this book as well.
It has a slow start and I had no idea where it was going since the scenes were all over the place.
I really struggled to get into this book, only halfway through the story started to shape enough for me to enjoy the plot.  Sibling rivalry is the main focus, and you learn about each turmoil and reasons for either moving away or staying and the effects that shaped them individually.
Not sure what the objective of the story was and I struggled to get through it. It didn't capture my attention as I would have liked, as with his other books.
Overall it is well written with a few grammatical errors but I did not find it difficult to read. 



Thursday, August 30, 2018

Review of Rae of Hope book 1 in The chronicles of Kerrigan.


Currently FREE ON AMAZON





Review

This young-adult book, the first in the series was a great read.
The author's ability to keep your attention right through the book was definitely accomplished. he kept the tension just perfectly to keep you intrigued. The book is fast paced and written very well.

The characters were interesting and believable. Rae, the main character, had quite a few obstacles overcome while adapting to a new school. I thought the budding relationship between her and Devon was very sweet and have the promise of something wonderful down the line. 

The villain was clever and concealed his evil side very well. Never had you an idea that this man was the person behind all her troubles. 

 A book I can recommend to all book lovers of young adult books with a good dose of adventure. 

Blurp

How hard do you have to shake the family tree to find the truth about the past?

Fifteen year-old Rae Kerrigan never really knew her family's history. Her mother and father died when she was young and it is only when she accepts a scholarship to the prestigious Guilder Boarding School in England that a mysterious family secret is revealed.

Will the sins of the father be the sins of the daughter?

As Rae struggles with new friends, a new school and a star-struck forbidden love, she must also face the ultimate challenge: receive a tattoo on her sixteenth birthday with specific powers that may bind her to an unspeakable darkness. It's up to Rae to undo the dark evil in her family's past and have a ray of hope for her future.

Fans of Amanda Hocking, Veronica Roth, Suzanne Collins, Richelle Mead, Stephenie Meyer, or Bella Forrest, will love this young adult paranormal romance series by W.J. May.
 



Friday, August 3, 2018

From the book: Blood Mines by Lynelle Clark... Excerpt 4

Wiping the sweat away from her brow, Tanya peered straight into the scorching heat. Her face was covered by the wide-brimmed hat, her eyes protected by dark sunglasses ─ the heavy duty kind that hardly allows any light to pass through.
It was early November with no sign of rain in the sky. The previous day they had a few drops which splattered onto the dust-covered earth, but it had made no significant difference to the parched earth. They needed a downpour soaking the earth, and soon.
Death was around her in various forms, and it didn’t discriminate between the strong and the weak. It was as if the Grim Reaper had a license to kill and touched everything with robustness. Fires were a constant enemy due to the scorching heat, and with the dry winds, it ran rampant over the veld[1] destroying all in its path. At times she could swear she heard death laughing at their expense ─ he was a living being who had carte blanche on everything that had breath and he revelled in every minute of their anguish.
With a last glance over the dry veld, she turned her back on the vegetable garden and made for indoor cover. She tried to maintain the feeble veggies, but between the sun and the lack of water, it was impossible. Every drop of water that she could save was put in the ground, nursing the seedlings to yield a harvest: even if it was just enough for her and her son. She didn’t ask for much, but now and then help would be appreciated, she thought with some aggression.
Ma[2], what will we eat tonight?” Steve asked and drew her back from her morbid thoughts. Her boy has grown the last year. Again, she looked at him, fascinated, at her kid’s lanky body. Soon he would tower over her, she thought with a sad smile. Crouched in front of the fridge, he scanned the meagre contents of the icebox. She knew there was not much to look at.  Their options became slimmer by the day and it pained her. She had no idea what would they do once it was done.
In town the people were already fighting about the scarce food supply and she would rather stay far away from that commotion as possible. Violence was at the order of the day and no one was safe. Law enforcement was useless and would rather take part in the looting than protect the innocent. She tried to visit the town a week ago, but only got so far as the outskirts when gunshots were fired and a bullet slammed into her car. The bullet’s trajectory ended up close to Steve’s head, leaving a burnt hole in the headrest of his seat. She knew she would not make that mistake again.
She brushed away the wisps of hair from her wet forehead, “I will have to open a few cans. Get some in the cellar.” she requested with a tired sigh.
She hung her hat on the doorknob, placing her spectacles on the shelf next to the now-empty spaghetti bottle. She could still remember a time when all the canisters on the shelves were filled with a variety of noodles, pasta and rice. It was her pride and joy, decorating the cheerful kitchen with all kinds of bric-a-brac. Now they were empty reminders of a past she could only vaguely recall.
 “Okay, Ma.” He ran outside, his thick blond hair rustling as he moved. He jumped over Brutus, who lay lazing in the scant shade.
The once-beautiful oak tree gave plenty of shade when it was younger. She could remember the countless times she played under it: Her, Etienne and Susan. Now there was barely enough shade left to cover the dog’s body. How things have changed over the years!
The once-abundant country had become a shadow of its former self. With each passing year of the last thirty years, things deteriorated. The more people complained, the worse it got, with a government that was only looking out for themselves. The masses that helped to get them there long forgotten. She could remember her father arguing with the Water Board about the poor maintenance and the pollution—it was like talking with ignorant children that had no idea of the importance of the issue. Later on, it became worse when the sewerage systems failed and the river was polluted. Even though they tried to filter the water, E-Coli became a constant threat.
They held meetings with the councillors and ministers even went as far as to rally in front of the Union Buildings - all in an attempt to convince the regime that they had a potential problem on their hands.
Even the threat of enormous lawsuits didn’t scare them into action. They would find loopholes to cover themselves, unwilling to admit that there was a problem at all. Empty promises resulted in more decline until thirty years later the once-blooming province became nothing more than a wasteland. This soon went on to affect the rest of the country, since Gauteng was a major source of supplies to the rest of the country. Horror stories inundated social media networks and it spread like the infection it was.
Once a fertile piece of land that delivered vegetables to a retail group within the city, which in turn supplied the whole of South Africa, they had to scale down until there was only this little piece of land left standing with their house on it.
Her grandfather was murdered during a farm attack the same year she turned twelve. He was brutally massacred. Her father’s blood curling screams still filled her ears at night when he found what was left of his father. His killers were never found. The house was burnt down, losing everything of value they had within that fire.
Her father had to try and rebuild with money he didn’t have. Then she saw the changes in him: The bursts of anger followed by long silences as depression overwhelmed him. Then the alcohol started. It was a slow process where he just didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone. He refused to take care of the simplest things on the farm and neglect was evident everywhere, even in himself.
Her mother left them when she was sixteen. She refused to take care of him any longer. She had met a black man, a wealthy businessman from the city and ran off with him the moment they had sensed a spark.
The last time she saw her, she was living in a shack near Nelspruit, alone and hopeless. Tanya had heard they had a child together. The man left her with nothing to support herself or the child. Her once-vibrant and pretty mother had become a completely different person. Lack, neglect and poverty had taken its toll over her. The bastard child, her half-brother, was playing with the kids in the filth and dirt as if it was the most natural thing to do. All the wealth the man had promised her was a scam and he had left her mom broken. She had tried to help, but after a while, she couldn’t do it any longer. She barely had enough for them as it were.
She offered them a place to stay on the farm, but pride or foolishness – Tanya wasn’t sure which – caused her mother to turn a deaf ear to her assistance and she declined her offer.
Tanya tried to reason with her, gave her the full picture of her situation and that of the decaying country. Told her why they should come and stay with them, but her mother was adamant that she would make it on her own.
Tanya knew that in her mom’s mind she still hoped that the man would come back, even after all those years. Looking at her half-brother she could recognize the fear of want in him – maybe he had been the reason she took the time to talk some sense into her mother. He seemed like a bright youngster but schooling wasn’t in his future now and she doubted it ever would be if things continued the way they were going. When she rode away from the informal settlement that day she knew she would never see her mother again. That was four years ago.
At the age of sixteen, Tanya took over the position of mother to the youngest children and had taken the responsibility of running the farm. Her father would disappear for days, just to be found somewhere he had fallen asleep again after another drunken binge. Sometime later, he too left the farm and became a bum. Her father died a broken man who couldn’t accept the changes or face the neglect. The sheer powerlessness of the problems that he had to face continued to mount and it eventually drained his will to fight.
Now, on days like this, she could understand his despair that she felt most days. Powerless.
Unlike her father, she had the will to confront things, but nowadays even her will was starting to slip. She knew it. She didn’t see what he had seen in his time, so she was in no position to judge him.
The death of his own father broke him. The death of his land and dwindling account left him bankrupt in both body and soul. She could only tap into the strength of the love for her son and the country she still had after all this time. She owed it to her son to give him something better.
What? She had no idea.
How? She had no plan.
However, the fact remained that she had to keep going, even if it took all her willpower to get ahead.
The acid water seeping through the pores of the earth poisoned everything it touched. Because they had nowhere to go, they stayed.
They referred to it as ‘blood water’ due to its coppery colour. The water had already reached the western borders of the property. The neighbours on that side of the fence had abandoned ship ages ago, leaving the once blooming farm to become another wasteland. The stench would reach them on days that the wind was blowing from that direction, reminding them of what their future held.  At times it would be so bad they were forced to wear medical masks. At times fresh air was a luxury that many could not afford and people would simply collapse due to the lack of it.
Where could you go in any case if the rest of the territory looked like this?
Out of pure frustration and in the hopes that things would turn for the better, she married Derek, another farmer when she was only nineteen years old. Her son was the only good that had come from it.
Now, it was only the two of them left and she had no idea how to move forward. The work that she did in town didn’t bring in enough for them to survive. After their ordeal a week ago she abruptly called her former boss and told him that she quit with immediate effect.
He tried to convince her but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Far and wide it was the same struggle, the same desperation, with people losing the battle day after day. Still, the government told the rest of the world that we were a thriving country that had no problems.
While they sipped their expensive whiskey out of crystal, they continued to steal from the land; emptying the state coffers with a greedy speed. Nothing was safe in their hands – government pensions like Parastatal Organizations disappeared overnight leaving thousands of pensioners stranded, forever dependable on other people to survive. The government of the day had no problem taking what didn’t belong to them while living lavishly in their mansions.
Misappropriations of government resources were never resolved, even after long court battles. Fingers pointed to the former president but he had rejected the allegations brought against him. He was assassinated two days before the next election in 2019. He thought he would have another term, but an unknown shooter cut his dreams of a further term as president short. He was gunned down in broad daylight at the very place that he had built with corrupted funds, no tears were shed and the sniper was never apprehended. Oh, there were many speculations, of course, but nothing was ever confirmed. It was just another unresolved murder that was swept under the carpet.
She heard that the stronghold was kaput[3]. Nothing was left of the once-pristine place. The previously immaculate pool that made headlines was now a rubbish heap. The squatters simply had taken over and the still-remaining presidential family lives in fear for their lives.
They say Karma is a bitch as no one seemed to care enough to help them. They had worn out every favour, depleted their bank accounts and lived like beggars. Immediately after the election in 2019 the military was declared bankrupt and was swiftly removed from the stately family house.
The police would only protect them for money, but they had nothing to pay them with. Tanya had heard that some of the women were used by the men for services rendered to them. Allegations of abuse and rape were filtering through but no one cared enough to help. They were all alone in a sea of squatters that controlled that area now.
They thought that things would change with the newly elected president, but he soon showed that he was another greedy vulture out only for himself and six months later he was overpowered and killed in his house. Still a mystery today, his death remained unexplained and people refused to talk. His arrogance cost him his life and the masses refused to accept him. But by then the damage was already done. From there everything went downhill fast.
Investors left the region, businesses shut down, towns disappeared and the already neglected services declined further and became non-existent in the end. The Electricity Utility Supplier was shut down and could not operate any longer. Constant power cuts and maintenance problems overwhelmed them; they basically couldn’t deliver any service to the public.
Corruption multiplied and its effects could be seen everywhere. The money disappeared without a trace and swept under the carpet with an elusive answer to quiet the masses. However, everyone knew.
There was no money to rectify the previous government’s mistakes. All the resources were stolen and moved out of the country. Many of the former leaders lived exotic somewhere else in the world with money that was never theirs in the first place. The last Tanya had heard was that two prominent groups worked together sending a petition to the International Criminal Tribunal: They felt that these former leaders should be prosecuted for their crimes against the citizens of South Africa. If they would stand trial or not was still a hotly-discussed subject debated around many kitchen tables. That would not help the country or its people. The damage was worse than anybody could imagine.
Nevertheless, anarchy ruled in the country that had once been peaceful and undisturbed by human intervention. Now it wasn’t strange to see young children walking around with AK47’s, handguns or machetes in their hands which they hardly knew how to use.
Arrogant, cocky and self-assured these small bandits roamed the country, intimidating the people and small towns as far as they went. Nobody was safe where they walked. On ground level skin colour wasn’t a problem, people simply worked together to survive. In the previous regime Black Economic Empowerment or BEE ─ the abbreviation more commonly used, broke the people’s spirit and was diligently enforced so that they had no income.
Due to that, a once proud nation was now starving and lived in informal settlements – some even worse than the commonly-known ones. Even now, thirty years after all the damage they were still being targeted by the country’s wealthy and work was extremely erratic where it existed at all.
Cholera had spread amongst the people like wildfire due to filthy water and unhealthy living habits. The government refused to help or even acknowledge that they exist. They turned a blind eye to the white race, in particular.
It didn’t take long before new drugs flowed in their veins and prostitution became a viable profession. Many of the young people already had AIDS or syphilis with no treatment available.
The children born from these acts died within three months after birth. There were no small children to be seen around. The laughing of children was a far-off memory. They died systematically, making the gap between the ages bigger. You would only see children from the age of nine and up – if you were lucky.
Then there were the games. Games where people were hunted like animals for money with the hopes of a new life—played with vigour by the rich and power-lusting people.
She had heard of this sport before from other countries and was horrified, now it had spilt over. It was a new sport among the bored black rich and younger elite. These young white men and women offered themselves in the hopes that it would be better for their families.
They would never return to witness the result. Of course, the families weren’t better off. In fact, they were worse, but parents still offered their children up one by one, clinging to the hope.
The games were simple: Caged like animals, these children would be left for days without food, and then released under the guise of hunting for their own food.
Once outside, they would grasp the true horror of their demise: There was nothing to hunt and the scorching sun, lack of oxygen and hunger drove them deeper into the swamp. Between the scorching sun and the contaminated water, the veld was desolate. All that was left was barren swamps with no life in it.
Stories of monsters now roaming these swamps were told to keep people from prying, and if the children were not caught by the groupies these grotesque, mythical monsters would catch them.
Tanya heard that they would be released in these areas and like a pack of wild dog, these “hunters” chased them until there was nothing left of their bodies. These children had no chance of survival from the first second, and once a body was found bonfires would light the sky. Parties were held in their “honour”. The destruction of basic human rights was evident in the grandeur of these gatherings.
Clean, fresh water had become a commodity, so expensive that only a handful of people could afford it. Reservoirs were protected by militant groups—in many areas they were only myths. If caught trespassing, they would shoot first and ask questions later.
The people had grown listless, but there still existed factions that believed they could fight in the hopes to free the people from this tyranny.
Tanya made sure that Steve knew how to handle a gun from an early age. He became skilled and could hold his own in a fight, she made sure of that. She would do all she could to allow him the freedom of life no matter how desperate it may seem. She wanted him to live.
“Maaa…!” Drawn away from her thoughts she heard his bellowing, a shout that caused the hair at the back of her neck to stand upright. She moved anxiously towards the back door to see why he was shouting at her.
At the door, she swiftly scanned the yard and turned ice-cold. Taking in everything with one glance, she screamed: A bloodcurdling scream that would make the strongest stomach churn. Why? It was the only way to release her immediate anger, frustration and fear.
“God, Almighty! No!”
Tanya raced out the door without thinking and was immediately stopped by a savage knock to the back. Pain shot through her body as she fell into the dust. She heard Steve’s frantic screams but was too paralysed to help. Then everything went black.
@LynelleClark



Available in paperback and Kindle. 




[1] The veld is a large expanse of grassy or cultivated land
[2] Ma is an Afrikaans word commonly used for mother.
[3] Kaput is a German word meaning “no longer working” it is commonly used in South Africa.