Friday, September 30, 2016

Bewitching Book Tours Halloween Spooktacular ~ #Giveaway ~ Sneak Peek - Opening Scene From Seven Seals Series, Book 4 by Traci Douglass, Author of Blood Bound (Blood Ravagers, Book One)

Blood Bound 

Blood Ravagers, Book One

Traci Douglass

ISBN: 978-1-945879-17-3

Release Date: October 10, 2016

About the Book:

Anna Frost had a bad feeling when her twin sister, Liz, told her she’d run off with a member of the notorious Otherworld biker gang, the Blood Ravagers. And her unease skyrockets when her sister subsequently vanishes. The police have no authority and little interest, so Anna decides to take matters into her own hands by infiltrating the group to discover for herself what happened to Liz, where she meets….

Dante, half demon, half human. A mix of two worlds, accepted by neither, he’s had no choice but to learn the hard way how to play whatever side of the fence kept him alive during his nearly 500 years of existence. Now, as second-in-command of the Blood Ravagers biker gang, his survival depends on keeping his humanity a secret. Dante’s ultimate goal is to fulfill the vows he made over two centuries ago to create a world where half-breeds can live in safety and equality.

But when sheltered schoolteacher Anna finds unexpected, white-hot passion in the arms of Dante, will her quest for the truth cost him more than he ever bargained for? Or will they find a way to save Liz – and their love – together?

Purchase Links:


  Sneak Peek - Opening Scene From Seven Seals Series Book 4 by Traci Douglass:

One look around Rick and Serpent’s should have been enough to make any rational person turn tail and run. From the sweaty press of overly sexed bodies to the awful disco music booming overhead, the place reeked of bad booze and even worse decisions. Not exactly the way she’d choose to spend a Saturday night, if she’d had a choice. Too bad they were paying her damned good money to bring this bastard in.

Thana Girgis weaved her way through the crowd of drunken revelers and headed toward the makeshift bar at the back end of the narrow structure. She’d been all over the world, seen way more of life’s underbelly than any twenty-six-year-old should, yet this was the first time she’d celebrated Mardi Gras in a double-wide.

A jacked-up, pimped out double-wide but still.

Tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood at alert and she sighed.

He was here again, watching her. At first she’d thought she’d picked up a stalker. Wouldn’t have been the first time. Then she’d seen him intercede during a convenience store robbery and recognized the finely tuned moves of a former covert operative. Which meant someone had hired him to follow her.

Plus, there was the strange fact that the first time Thana had locked gazes with his feline green stare, a connection between them had been formed—dark and strong and needful. That had been almost six months ago and nothing—not work, not distance, not time—had diminished the link.

She stood on tiptoe and searched the room as best she could from her five-two-inch height, but didn’t spot him anywhere. Just as well. Distractions of the sexual kind weren’t needed. Not when she was so close to trapping her prey.

A flash of movement drew Thana’s attention back to where it firmly belonged and she pushed her way up to the bar. “Shot of Jack, please.”

“You bet, chere.” The bartender’s warm southern drawl hinted at deeper creole roots. He placed the small glass before her and filled it to the rim. “Hunting tonight?”

“No.” She knocked back the liquor in one swallow then gestured for another. “I’m working.”

The bartender eyed her up and down as he poured her another shot then took her money. “Be careful, chere. Bad juju in the air.”

Thana ignored his warning and swiveled to survey the crowd once more.

“Aw, shit.” A large, heavily tattooed guy shouldered in beside her at the bar.

Dressed in tight jeans and a skimpy top, Thana didn’t resemble her normal staid self, but then again, that was the point. Considering her new neighbor was practically staring a hole in the side of her head, it was time to get this party started.

She turned and gave him her best deadpan look, silent.

“I lost my fucking keys.” The guy made a show of checking his pockets, then stopped and grinned at her, his mouth a mix of bad teeth and gold caps. “Can I check your pants?”

“Has that line ever gotten you laid?”

“Most times I beat the bitches off with a stick, but tonight’s your lucky night.” He held his arms wide, showing off a bushy set of hairy armpits beneath his stained Sons Of Anarchy tank. “Now c’mon over here and give us a kiss.”

Thana burst out laughing.

Mr. Rico Suave didn’t seem take kindly to her giggles because he smashed his beer bottle against the metal wall. The surrounding crowd continued to party, unaffected as shattered glass tinkled to the floor. Thana remained relaxed against the bar, waiting.

His first mistake came when he wrapped a beefy hand around her upper arm. He didn’t have a chance to make a second.

Within seconds, she’d grabbed his wrist and twisted, maneuvering him down to the bar while hoisting his arm behind him. She lodged a knee firmly between his spread legs to nudge him square in the balls. “John Barbour, you are under arrest for the death of Dr. Martin Dreben.”

His curses were muffled by the sticky bar top, but she still understood the words ‘whore’ and ‘die’. Unfazed, she slapped a pair of handcuffs on him and jerked him to his feet. “C’mon, Johnny. Someone’s expecting you.”

She used his big body like a battering ram, shoving through the crowd toward the front door. Once outside, she glanced sideways before heading to her car.

Shit. There he was again, her watcher, and even more gorgeous than she remembered.

Beneath the purple neon lights, his smooth caramel-colored skin seemed to glow. And those lips—full and lush and just begging to be kissed. The material of his dark cotton shirt clung to his tall, solid form in all the right places, accentuating the muscled torso beneath. But it was still his eyes that caught her, held her captive, made her think he could peer into her very soul.

“Bitch, can we get this over with? I want my phone call so I can make bail.”

Dammit. She pushed her quarry across the street toward her small Ford Fiesta and clicked the unlock button on her key fob. She never lost focus, especially during a case. What the hell was wrong with her tonight?

She opened the back door and crammed Barbour inside then slid and locked the door before slipping into the drivers seat and jamming the keys in the ignition. Whoever the guy watching her was, the man scrambled her brains and that was unacceptable.

A blow to the back of her seat jarred her back to the task at hand. She glared at Barbour in the rearview mirror. “You break it, you buy it, asshole. And forget about bail. They’re going to lock you up tight for a long time, scumbag.”

“Fuck you. You don’t know nothing.” Barbour tipped backward and prepared to ram his feet into the back of her seat again, but never got the chance.

Something bulldozed into the side of her car, knocking it sideways. The force caused Thana’s head to collide with the side window and the glass spider-webbed from the impact. She vaguely noticed Barbour tumbling off the backseat and onto the floor with a grunt.

Time slowed and she struggled to clear her blurry vision. A blast of humid air breezed past her face and she regained her composure in time to see Barbour finagle open the back door and sprint toward an alley nearby, away from the crash.

At least she thought it was a crash.

“Son of a bitch.” Dizzy and disoriented, she fumbled out of the car and peered around the area. No fleeing cars in sight, no squealing tires. She pressed her fingers tight to her throbbing temple and made her way slowly to the other side of the vehicle to assess the damage. She stopped and squinted at the gray exterior.

Nothing. Not a scratch anywhere on the Focus.

Yet it’s current cockeyed position straddling the roadway and the curb clearly showed the car had been moved, forcefully, from it’s previous position.

Thana slumped against the passenger door. If her pounding headache was any indication, she had a mild concussion. Fantastic. Not only would she have pissed off clients to contend with, she’d have medical bills. Bills she couldn’t afford.

The world tilted before her eyes and she would have face-planted on the asphalt if it hadn’t been for a set of strong arms that came around her, pulling her tight against a warm, muscled chest.

She opened her eyes and raised her head to peer into the face of her savior.

Scratch that.

Her watcher.

Up close, he was even taller than she’d first thought, towering at least a foot over her.

Then he smiled and all her instincts went into overdrive.

Thana Girgis did not lose her shit over men, injured or not.

Not now, not ever. Period. Amen.

“Uh… thanks for the help.” She pushed away from him and this time he let her go. His expression looked as unsettled as she felt, but that didn’t matter. She had to get out of here and find Barbour. Now. She steadied herself against the vehicle as she walked back to the driver’s side. “Excuse me, but I’ve got a bad guy to catch. Again.”

She jerked the door open. Barbour would hopefully be more conspicuous with his hands trussed behind his back, but it would still be hard to find him in the all the Mardi Gras revelers.

Shit. Just shit.

She had started the engine and was about to take off when the passenger door opened.

“Mind if I join you?”

Thana blinked at him for a moment. If she’d thought his looks were deadly, his voice was lethal. Deep and smooth and laced with some exotic accent—the man was a thousand orgasms waiting to happen.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she fished it out without looking. “Girgis. No. I…uh…I had a little accident. Give me a few more hours and I’ll have him in custody.”

The line went dead while she stared at her uninvited guest. “Listen, I appreciate your assistance, but you need to get out of the vehicle.”

“I’ll help you.” He smiled pleasantly and crossed his arms. “I can handle myself.”

“I’m sure you can, whoever you are, but I work alone.” She cut the engine. “Get out or I’ll have to throw you out.”

His grin deepened. “I’d like to see you try, canim.”

Turkish. The guy had just called her darling in Turkish. She hadn’t heard that term since her childhood in Cairo. A picture of her mother’s face, so happy, so carefree, wavered in her mind before it fractured into a thousand pieces.

Dammit. She shook her head and gripped the steering wheel tight as a fresh wave of nausea swept over her. Common sense said she should head to the nearest ER for a check up. Her bank account insisted otherwise. She needed to find Barbour and collect her fee.

“Get. Out.”

“I really don’t think you should be driving with you head injury, canim. Perhaps I should take you to the hospital, have a doctor check your…”

“I’m fine. And I am not your darling. Stop calling me that.” She forced her fists to unclench. “This is your last chance. Get out now.”

“How about a compromise?”


“Yes. You wait here and I’ll get Barbour for you.”

She snorted despite her discomfort. “Really. You’ll just walk up and grab him, huh?”

“Sure. He’s lying right over there.” He pointed to a shadowed spot against a nearby brick building. “After I knocked him out, I put him there for safekeeping.”

“Safekeeping?” Thana felt like a brain-damaged parrot, repeating everything the guy said, but her mind felt sluggish. Not more than a minute could’ve passed between the collision and Barbour taking off. Even if her stalker had been poised and ready for the escape, there was no way this guy could have reacted fast enough to knock Barbour out and save her from hitting the pavement. No one had those kinds of skills. “I don’t believe you.”

“Check for yourself. I’ll wait.”

Grumbling, she shoved the door open and climbed out onto shaky legs. Ridiculous. She didn’t have time to play his ridiculous games. This was stupid. Insane.

What the hell? Propped up between a drainpipe and a section of chain-link fence, slumped John Barbour, out cold and drooling into his scruffy beard.

“Would you like help loading him into your vehicle, canim?”

Somehow, her watcher stood right behind her and she’d never heard him move.

She looked between him and her quarry, uncertain. She didn’t work with a partner. Ever. And she had no intention of splitting any of her bounty with this guy, superpowers or not. After all, she’d done all the hard work—tracking Barbour for days, watching him in this pathetic excuse for a nightclub, planning the apprehension.

Thana kicked Barbour’s foot with the toe of her combat boot. The guy had to be pushing three hundred pounds fully ambulatory. Unconscious, getting him into her compact car alone would be difficult, to put it mildly. She turned and gave her new acquaintance a hard stare. “Fine. Just don’t get in my way. Understand?”


Despite her less-than-hospitable demeanor, Luther couldn’t help but be impressed by his new target’s tenacity. She’d hoisted the criminal’s legs into the air and carried her portion of his heavy bulk all the way to the tiny vehicle, despite what must’ve been a monstrous headache. “Want to tell me who the hell you are and why you’ve been following for months?” Her questions broke him out of his reverie in time to avoid having his fingers slammed in the car door.

He stepped back and wiped his hands on his jeans, his gaze steadfast on the ground. The fact she’d spotted his surveillance didn’t bother him half as much as the fact that the strap on her barely-there top had slipped down to expose a dangerous amount of cleavage.

With her long, silky black hair and wide, dark eyes, she reminded him of an ancient Egyptian queen, only twice as shrewd and far more dangerous. Her dossier had prepared him for her military-grade training and tough bravado—being orphaned at thirteen and enduring the harsh training of the Mossad would do that to a person. What it hadn’t prepared him for was just how lovely she was, or his reaction to her. He took a deep breath and changed subjects. He didn’t want to reveal too much about his purpose. Not yet. “Why have you chosen such an unusual profession?”

“I asked you first.” She waited, arms now resting on the top of the car. “I don’t like to be followed.” She eyed him up and down. “Who do you work for?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” With her body safely hidden by the vehicle, he ventured another glance at her face. “Seems we are at an impasse, canim.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“And I told you I would help you. Based on what happened to your vehicle tonight, I’d say you could use all the help you can get.”

“You saw the people who hit me?”

“I saw the creature responsible, yes.”


Meet the Author:

Traci is a USA Today Bestselling Author of Contemporary and Paranormal Romance. Her stories feature sizzling heroes full of dark humor, quick wits and major attitudes and heroines who are smart, tenacious, and always give as good as they get. She holds an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University and she loves animals, chocolate, coffee, hot British actors, and sarcasm—not necessarily in that order.


Website and blog:

FB Author Page:


Enter the Giveaway:

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Week Blitz & #Giveaway ~ Captain No Beard, The Series, by Carole P. Roman @caroleproman

Children’s Fiction

Date Published: July 3, 2012 - December 31, 2015

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About the Book:

The Captain No Beard series has nine published books in the series.  They all take place in the imagination of a young boy who pretends he and his friends are pirates.  Each book teaches valuable lessons. The Captain No Beard series can open discussions on important subjects such as sharing, bossiness, bullying, responsibility, and stranger danger. Using imagination, the crew of the Flying Dragon navigates the waters of the world, learning valuable lessons along the way.  Whether the topic is sharing, tolerance, stranger danger or bullying, the crew resolves their issues together with humor and sensitivity.

Books in the Series:

About the Author:

Award-winning author Carole P. Roman started writing as a dare from one of her sons and combines her teaching past with her love of exploration and interest in the world around us. She has two highly successful series and is launching this new exciting series about civilizations throughout time. While she is still working in her family business, this has enabled her to share her sense of humor as well as love for history and culture with the audience she adores. Roman lives on Long Island with her husband and near her children.

Contact Links:


Purchase Links:

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Thursday, September 29, 2016

Bewitching Book Tours Haunted Halloween Spooktacular Guest Blog~ Bangkok Halloween by JC Andrijeski, Author of Black And Blue (Quentin Black Mystery, Book Five)

Black And Blue 

Quentin Black Mystery, Book Five

JC Andrijeski

Genre: Paranormal Mystery / Romance/ UF

Publisher: White Sun Press

Date of Publication: 7/27/16

ISBN: 9781370573745

Number of pages: 336
Word Count: 101,005

Cover Artist: Jennifer Munswami at J.M. Rising Horse Creations

About the Book:

“He’d be fresh meat here. And he didn’t have his sight...”

Black takes a new consulting gig with the LAPD, helping them find a contract killer who left a dead body behind the Los Angeles Theater. Despite Miri’s lingering fears after what happened to him during the last murder case he worked, he assures her it’s routine, that he won’t be doing fieldwork, that nothing could possibly go wrong.

Then, during his first night on the job at the Port of Los Angeles, all hell breaks loose and all bets are off.

Black wakes up in a nightmare he couldn’t have foreseen, with no way out and no idea how he got there. Robbed of his psychic sight, he can’t even call to Miriam for help, or use his abilities to figure out where he is, who took him, or what they want from him.

On the outside, Miri is frantic, working with the police and Black’s team to find him. She has even less information than Black… until a confession from her Uncle Charles brings her face to face with a much older enemy, the same enemy that may have killed her entire family.

BLACK AND BLUE is book five in the paranormal mystery romance starring brilliant but dangerous psychic detective, Quentin Black, and his partner, forensic psychologist Miri Fox.

Watch the Book Trailer:

Purchase Links:

Read an Excerpt: 



ALARMS EXPLODED OVERHEAD, bells clanging. The sounds slammed into his skull like a rock wielded by a psychopath. Grimacing, he raised a hand to his eyes, though it wasn’t bright. Blood pressed against the bone of his skull, harder with each throb, like a beating heart.

Even past the pain, he was groggy. He felt nauseous––that specific kind of sick feeling he associated with a head injury. But he might have been drugged.

He couldn’t clear his head enough to decide.

Either way, the specifics likely weren’t important. He got the gist. Someone clocked him good. He’d been out cold, at least a few hours.

He tried to retrace his mental footsteps.

The port. That asshole, Mozar, dragged him out to the port with his SWAT guys and Hawking and a few other detectives. It was supposed to be a simple job, advisory only. He was there as a goddamned consultant, which was humorous in and of itself.

Then it all went wrong. Seriously crazy shit went down.

Hawking... it all started with Hawking.

He fought to think, but everything kept fuzzing in and out. He got details, fragments, but it wasn’t enough to piece together. He knew that might be the head injury too. He also knew––unfortunately, from previous experience––that he might have gone into ungrat, the seer stasis, if they’d hit him hard enough. If so, his memories should start filtering back if he didn’t get himself too banged up again in the next twenty-four hours or so.

Unfortunately, he suspected he was in danger of banging himself up again right now.

The knowledge came without words, without additional information.

It didn’t come from reading anyone with his “psychic” ability, either––a term his wife, Miriam, still insisted on using, no matter how much he bitched at her at the inadequacy and fuzziness of the lame, New-Agey (and human) meanings of the word “psychic.”

This was pure instinct. That same instinct told him, unequivocally, that he had only a few minutes to get his head on straight or he was in serious fucking trouble.

Opening his eyes reluctantly, he looked around at where he was. That sense of danger started vibrating his skin, making it hard to focus at first. A different clanking sound came from a lot closer, ratcheting up that feeling of concern. He was definitely in danger.

He reached out with his sight, trying to pinpoint the source...

...And pain ripped through his spine.

It was so intense, so completely unexpected, he let out a broken gasp.

Then he lay back on the mattress, panting.

Understanding filtered into his mind, then disbelief. 

He sat up in a near panic that time––but had to stop, panting and hanging his head when nausea overwhelmed him a second time. He lay on a thin mattress pad over what looked like concrete. He recognized the institutional gray, even before his eyes shifted to the bars and wire mesh that made up one wall of the cell.

His hand went to his throat, a reflex he hadn’t had in years, one he’d broken in himself deliberately. When he first got to this version of Earth, he used to reach reflexively for his throat every time he woke up. He would feel around the full circumference of his neck, making sure, reassuring himself that he really had left that behind, that he wasn’t there anymore, in that world where his people lived like animals.

As his fingers closed over the cold metal now...

His mind fuzzed out.

Then he was breathing too much, panting, half-groaning as his hands followed the thing around his neck, using both hands now, feeling around to where it hooked into the base of his skull. He winced at the pain where the prongs sank into the back of his neck. 

It was the same.

Exactly. Fucking. The Same.

He reached out with his sight––carefully, that time––and the collar shocked him again. It was a lot less intense that time, but it still gritted his teeth. And it hurt like hell.

He let out a furious growl, then tried again.

That time, the collar shocked him harder––hard enough to blur his vision.

He sat on the edge of the cement bench, panting, so filled with rage he couldn’t think straight for what felt like several minutes.

Disbelief flooded his mind a second time; denial blotted out everything else. He knew he had to focus on the danger he could still feel coming, but he didn’t give a shit. Rage and denial and disbelief erased the pain he felt in his body, the wounds he hadn’t yet catalogued but knew were there. He forgot his pounding head, reaching out with his light a third time, trying to see, to use his seer’s sight.

The brushed metal collar shocked him for a full minute that time. That pain in his head exploded, getting so bad he couldn’t make a sound at first.

He barely noticed.

He tried to use his sight again.

The shock that time nearly blacked him out.

“No.” He spoke aloud without knowing he meant to, his voice a low, deep mantra after that first whisper. “No, no, no, no... fuck no, this isn’t happening... this isn’t fucking happening...”

He yanked on the collar, pure instinct again, no reason.

The pain that rippled up through the back of his skull that time did knock him out.

He came to seconds later, groaning.

Pulling himself off the mattress a second time, he lurched to his feet, slamming his head into a shelving unit above him, which forced him to sink back to the bed, letting out another low cry of pain. He gripped the thin mattress below and the shelf above, breathing through the blinding throbs at the base of his skull, fighting to calm down, to clear his mind. His shoulder hurt too, bad enough to reach his awareness beyond the deeper pain coming from his head.

Once he could see again, he heard another loud clanking and looked up. He watched in disbelief as the heavy metal door set in the far wall slid open in front of him.

Then, the rest of it finally fell utterly into place.

He was in fucking prison.

He looked around, taking in the scratched, metal-plate mirror, the metal sink and toilet combination, the table and shelf bolted to the opposite wall. A plastic television with a clear-plastic body stood on that shelf. Otherwise, the room was empty, stripped of life.

Someone knocked him out, put a sight-restraint collar on him, and stuck him in a fucking prison cell.

Looking down, he saw he wore royal blue formless pants, a white tank top. He had a bandage on his shoulder and one around his arm.

He touched the collar again, tentatively that time.

His fingers followed it to the back of his neck, where the prongs of metal burrowed into his skin, wrapping coldly around his spine. He touched the whole thing with both hands, still feeling that as the biggest point of unreality.

It was definitely a sight-restraint collar.

Was he back in that goddamned shit-hole where he was born? Did he fall through another goddamned door? He struggled against the idea, the rising panic that came with it. 

Then another realization hit him. Miri.

Gods. Miri.

If he wasn’t on that Earth anymore...

But his mind couldn’t finish the thought.

For a few minutes he could only sit there, breathing too hard, fighting to think. He looked at his body, at his clothes. As he did, the panic that briefly paralyzed his mind began slowly to recede. This was fucking-A real, all right.

But he was still on the right Earth.

None of this was right for his home world. None of it. He was wearing prison fatigues, but they were human. If he was back in that other world, they wouldn’t have left his hands and feet free. No way. Not at his sight rank.

He’d be wearing organic or semi-organic binders, not just the collar. They’d have him chained to the wall. And no way in hell would they open the door with him un-cuffed inside. The door was all wrong, anyway. Back home, that door would be pure organic metal, possibly with a sliding view hole. Or organic glass.

The cell would be dark.

He would also probably be drugged, or hooked up to wires. He definitely would have been beat up more, not just groggy from a head injury.

And yeah, the clothes were all wrong.

Black’s rational mind slowly began to take over as he looked around the small cell. This was definitely what he thought of as his Earth. Back home, they didn’t house seers like this, even during Black’s time. Now they probably had even more sadistic tech toys to control people like him. They’d definitely have surveillance in the room.

Taking another deep breath, he flipped over his arm, looking at his old race-cat tattoo. He found himself relaxing even more when he saw the skin unbroken.

If they’d picked him up in the old world, they would have re-chipped him immediately. He’d had the old one removed as soon as he possibly could, about ten years after he first reached this world. Running his fingers over the smooth skin, he forced himself to take another breath.

So he was still on the right Earth. The Earth where his life was.

The Earth where Miri was.

But how the fuck would anyone know to collar him here? And if they knew that much, why would they put him in with a general population at all?

Well, unless they were trying to disappear him.

Or kill him.

At the thought, he rose shakily to his feet––more cautiously that time. He gripped the cement shelf as he got up, using it for balance. Turning his head slowly, mostly because of the pain, he looked over both sides of the room, reassuring himself it was empty. He knew he wouldn’t be alone in here for long, though.

His eyes returned to the open door.

He could already hear the sounds.

Prisoners leaving their cages, joking, laughing, talking loudly, starting to walk the catwalks. Heading in his direction.

New guy. He’d be the new guy.

He again fought to pull his head together, knowing he didn’t have a lot of time. He couldn’t be found in here like this, half-blind with pain, clutching the collar and whining like a wounded dog. He’d been in prisons before. That had been in a different world, a different time and place, but some things wouldn’t have changed.

Some things never changed.

He’d be fresh meat here, just like he had been back then. And he didn’t have his sight.

Welcome to the jungle, motherfucker.

Welcome home.

Bangkok Halloween

Guest Blog by JC Andrijeski

I’m an Amreican living in Bangkok, which means every year around this time, I experience Bangkok Halloween. Holidays are always kind of a trip when you live abroad, anyway. They were weird when I lived in India and while they might be somewhat less weird here, they still have a distinctly different flavor than they do in the States.

I’m lucky living here though, in terms of American holidays –– Bangkokians love a good party. They’re also wide open to celebrating any event deemed interesting by the locals, whether Thai or not. It doesn’t hurt that there are a ton of Americans living here. 

I learned this my first Halloween living here, when I decided to venture out and see if I could find some fellow ghouls and goblins for some (mostly) harmless Halloween fun. Even though there wasn’t the full range of kids trick-or-treating on the streets or decorations in all the stores... there were a TON of Halloween bashes. There was even a Halloween street fair for kids and families, along with haunted houses, a big horror film event, numerous costume parties and other themed events at bars and restaurants for the more “adult” take of Halloween.

Thailand has a big market for paranormal stuff in general, so I guess it shouldn’t be surprising. They have a yearly Comicon in Bangkok, and of course all the supernatural and romantic and action movies, as well as most of the television shows. My first Thai teacher was a HUGE Supernatural fan, (meaning the television show) and we’d often get totally sidetracked in lessons to talk about that, the Vampire Diaries and all else sexy and supernatural.

Maybe that’s why I don’t feel too out of place here, despite the culture gaps. Still, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss Halloween in the States. It’s probably “the” holiday for a lot of my friends... and I really miss the kid side of things, and all the decorations and craziness.

Also, in a tropical climate, you just don’t get the colors from the leaves changing or the carved pumpkins or fireplaces... or the fall skies. The weather alone is a pretty stark reminder of being in a distant land.

Still, I have to say, I really love where I live. It works well for me as a writer too, so for now at least, I might just have to plan more visits to colder climes during the spooky time of the year... 

Until then, Happy Halloween everyone!

About the Author:

JC Andrijeski is a USA TODAY bestselling author who writes paranormal mysteries and apocalyptic fiction, often with a sexy, romantic and metaphysical bent. JC has a background in journalism, history and politics, and loves martial arts, yoga, meditation, hiking, swimming, horseback riding, painting… and of course reading and writing. She grew up in the Bay Area of California, but travels extensively and has lived abroad in Europe, Australia and Asia, and from coast to coast in the continental United States. She currently lives and writes full-time in Bangkok, Thailand. 

To learn more about JC and her writing, please visit 

Twitter: @jcandrijeski

Amazon Author page:

Tour Giveaway: 

2 full ebook sets of the first four Quentin Black Books 

1 signed copy of Black In White (Quentin Black Mystery #1)

$25 Amazon Gift Card

Promo Blitz ~ The Reflection Of Innocence by John Tolliver @reflectinnocenc

Literary Fiction, Paranormal Fiction, Historical Fiction, Metaphysical Fiction

Date Published: February 2016

About the Book:

If you could see the memories of every person you met would it be a blessing or a curse?

John Calabrace's life has been in havoc since he was a very small child. He spends his life fighting through a flood of memories, most of which are not his own. The second he is touched by another person, he knows every memory & feeling they have ever experienced, and those memories stay permanently etched in his head.

What might seem to be a wonderful gift to some, also has its dark sides. John flees college, finding solace in the Navy serving on a Navy ship and then aboard a nuclear submarine. That relative peace and isolation of submarine life is quickly taken away after being extracted and recruited into a world of espionage to unlock other secrets from around the world.

Is he an angel, is he a monster? Even the military men/ government handlers can't decide. While John may know everyone else's secrets, he also has secrets of his own. Those he feels, he can reveal to no one..

Meet the Author:

John Tolliver has spent his career in the world of nuclear engineering.. After college John joined the Navy where he served aboard the fast attack submarine USS Jacksonville where he acquired his love of travel and adventure. John followed his Navy years with a 30+ year career in Nuclear chemistry. John also volunteers as an arbitrator and mediator in the New York State courts. His passions include writing, researching and travel. Having given up on submarine travel decades ago, John still enjoys the sea life with the grand modern luxury of the Celebrity Cruises fleet.

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Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Bewitching Book Tours Haunted Halloween Spooktacular ~ The Multimedia Angle—The Use of Journals, Videos, and Book Quotes In Books by Laura Diamond, Author of Dawn of the Vie (Immortal Aliens, Book 1) #YA #SciFi #Dystopian



Laura Diamond

Genre: Young Adult scifi/dystopian

Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press

Date of Publication: October 3, 2016

Number of pages: 320 approx
Word Count: 80,000

Cover Artist: Curiosity Quills

About the Book:

Since their Arrival less than 30 years ago, immortal Vie rule the planet like the super-predators they are. Enslaved humans are their servants…their entertainment…and their food. Anemies—humans with various types of anemia—are simply exterminated. Their nutritionally deficient blood is useless to the Vie.

Or so it’s thought…

Alex, an Elite Vie, is a bit of a Renaissance Alien. Part scientist, part Raid Specialist, part drug addict, he knows Anemie blood is valuable. Rather than blindly carrying out his boss’s kill order, he convinces some colleagues to spare a few Anemies, not only for study, but also to reserve a secret stock. 

The more Anemie blood Alex drinks, the more he slips into delusion, and the more his double life threatens to crumble. But quitting Anemie blood is not an option. Every Anemie has their own personal flavor. Each gives a unique high. 

When Alex takes a hit of Justin’s blood, his hallucinations bleed into reality…

Anemie Justin knows his little sister, Sammie, and he are living past their expiration dates. It becomes a guarantee when they’re bitten by a Vie named Alex during a raid. (The bite is fatal, thanks to a toxin carried in Vie saliva.) Alex adds insult to injury by promising Justin a second chance—an antidote in exchange for agreeing to be a lab rat. 

And a mule…of his own blood. 

When Justin says no, Alex takes off with Sammie. 

All Justin has to do is find them, beat Alex, and cure himself and Sammie. All he has is a stake and serious lack of self-preservation.

No problem.

Alex wants Justin’s blood.

Justin wants his sister back.


Read an Excerpt: 

New City, Year 75 A.L. (After Landing), Month 5, Day 17, late afternoon

I hated afternoons the most. Soon after came darkness—the time when a raiding squad could snatch you out of bed and drain all the blood from your body. It was amazing that any Anemies survived with the extermination campaign ridding the world of us red blood cell-deficient freaks. 

I gently squeezed my sister’s hand to make sure she kept up. Dirt caked under her fingernails like it caked under mine. The cuff of her torn sleeve had stains like mine. Her pant cuffs were rolled up six times… also like mine. A younger version of me—mouthiness and all—in girl form. Unlike me, Sammie tended to dawdle, and since we held onto the last rung of the society ladder by the tips of our fingers, giving in to distraction could get us hurt—or killed. 

My gaze jumped to the pale, indifferent sky then jittered to the partially constructed biodome edge as I walked. Large, clear panels filled the metal framework in a beehive of hexagons. Eventually, the damn thing would cover the entire city, including the river surrounding the island and part of the ocean capping the south side. The project had been progressing since before I was born. 

Once the construction workers completed the biodome, Vie wouldn’t have to fear the destructive UV rays of our sun and could wander freely during the day. We’d have no safe period whatsoever. Vie could get us any time.

As soon as that thought entered my mind, I snapped my attention to the cracked sidewalk. More Anemies than usual filled the streets today, and I needed to be on high alert. At noon, we’d compete for the rations served by tranced human slaves. Most Vie wanted Anemies extinct, but the New City Association for Anemie Rights—NCAAR—fought for us. And by fighting for us, I meant they gave us nearly rotten leftovers, lab-made food, and water pellets. Vie members of the NCAAR—who somehow remained anonymous in spite of everyone knowing what the organization did—knew we Anemies kept on the move and we didn’t carry much with us, so they designed food and water pellets to fit in our pockets. The pellets also lasted a week or more, depending on how strictly you rationed them. 

I snorted. Vie had no idea what it was like to look up, down, left, right, ahead, behind, sideways all the time and all at once. They couldn’t comprehend fearing the vulnerability of sleep (yes, I’ve fallen asleep with my eyes open; Sammie screeched, thinking I’d died). The sensation of constant hunger never tortured them. As advanced beings, they’d evolved past such things. 

“What’s so funny, Justin?” Sammie’s little voice barely carried over the growing crowd. She tugged my arm, the force of it little more than the peck of a baby pigeon’s beak.

“Nothing, just something stuck in my throat.” I craned my neck, searching for a safe place for Sammie to wait. 

She’d be trampled if I dragged her along with me into the mess of emaciated, dirty bodies. 

About half a block away stood a three-story row house with wide, concrete stairs. The bricks had crumbled in sections, and large cracks fissured along the mortar. Vie construction efforts would move north at some point to smash this and other buildings down and replace them with gleaming skyscrapers. For now, the northern section of New City slowly yielded to ruin. 

Soon after their Arrival, Vie had destroyed the outer boroughs, torching houses, buildings—whatever humans had constructed. They called it part of their Cleansing. Forests had grown up in those once-urban areas. I longed to return there. To be free of terror. To be free of Vie. Then I reminded myself it would never be true. They’d moved in and taken over, reshaping the world into their vision of perfection. 

Sammie and I didn’t fit in their world. But we had to live in it. 

The Multimedia Angle—The Use of Journals, Videos, and Book Quotes In Books by Laura Diamond

Part of what made IMMORTAL ALIENS: DAWN OF THE VIE a blast to write was the multimedia aspect I developed for the story. The book takes place in a dystopian future where immortal alien vampires called Vie have taken over the planet. They’re slowly restructuring what was once New York City, dubbing it New City. They’re building a UV blocking biodome, because, despite their immortality gifted by a DNA-altering vaccine called Vitalus Sustennus, Earth’s sun does irreparable damage to them. 

They’ve also enslaved humans, using them not only as a food source, but as test subjects, errand runners, and even concubines. 

A certain population of humans—those with various forms of anemia—are useless to Vie because their blood does not provide the same nutritional value as those with normal blood. As a result, Anemies are being hunted and exterminated. 

A majority of the book is from the perspective of a teen Anemie, Justin, who finds out his blood does something that no one else’s so far has done—it ages Vie! He carries the potential of a lethal, biological weapon that humans can use against Vie to win back the planet.

In order to fully paint the picture of this sci-fi/dystopian landscape, I’ve included excerpts of The Book of Vie, a book that contains prophetical information about the Bringer of Death, the harbinger of Vie downfall. 

Excerpt from The Book of Vie: 

With their glorious Arrival, immortal Vie inherited the earth to rule with absolute power. Enslaved mortals, tormented by their bloodthirsty masters, abandoned hope and bore the yoke of submission without protest. The lowest of the low, the outcasts among outcasts, begged for mercy, but the immortals denied them. Then one day a mortal was born among them with the power to break the curse, free all mortals, and bring the gift of death.

—The Book of Vie, Author Anonymous

I’ve also included journal excerpts of Justin’s nemesis, Alex (Alejandro Reyes), an Elite Vie scientist who leads extermination raids to weed out the lingering Anemie population, who performs experiments on humans and Anemies alike, and who uses Anemie blood as a drug (because of its lack of healthy red blood cells, it makes any Vie who drinks it high, similar to any illicit drug), while also trying to atone for his sins by leading a group whose mission is to protect Anemies. Yep, the quintessential “bad guy” is trying to do some good.

Excerpt of Alejandro Reyes Journal:

Journal of Alejandro Reyes

Date: Year 75, Month 5, Day 18

I found him.

Then I lost him.

Had we not been interrupted, I could have snuck him away, using his sister as a carrot. He seemed so motivated to assist her, even at his own peril.

Perhaps I can still use her to get to him. He will no doubt be searching for her, as I will be searching for him. At some point, we’ll find each other. We have to.

Everything I built depends on it.

And, considering the technological advances the aliens brought, I’ve included video transcripts of their version of reality TV, hosted by gregarious and charming Vincent Marks.

Excerpt of Vidscreen Transcript:


Year 75, Month 5, Day 21, 12:00 PM

* * * * * * * * * *

Good afternoon, fellow New City citizens. Vincent Marks here. Welcome to Action News 7 Twelfth Hour Broadcast. Today, we bring you breaking news of three Anemies who trespassed into the Commercial Laundry Service earlier this morning…

As a reader, I find excerpts of journals, transcripts, emails, newspaper clippings, even sketches or drawings lend a tangible piece not otherwise included in the regular chapter format. It allows a glimpse into the world the protagonist and antagonist is living in, outside of the viewpoint of the main character. It’s also a lot of fun, both to write and to read, and fun is such an integral component of entertainment, something I strive for in all of my stories. If you choose to buy and read IMMORTAL ALIENS: DAWN OF THE VIE, I hope you enjoy what I’ve created! 

If you’d like to chat more with me about this or any other bookish topic, don’t hesitate to connect with me on my blog , Facebook , and Twitter.

About the Author:

Laura Diamond is a board certified psychiatrist currently specializing in emergency psychiatry. She is also an author of all things young adult—both contemporary and paranormal. An avid fan of sci-fi, fantasy, and anything magical, she thrives on quirk, her lucid dreams, and coffee. When she’s not working or writing, she can be found sniffing books and drinking a latte at the bookstore or at home pondering renovations on her 225 year old fixer upper, all while obeying her feline overlords, of course.


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Promo Blitz ~ The Storyteller's Book by Kevin Fleming #YA #SciFi #Fantasy

YA Sci-fi/Fantasy

Date Published: November 2015

About the Book:

“…you must realize and accept, neither me, your mum, nor either of you are human.”

Nick and Mel are 14 year old twins living normal lives with their parents. When they discover an ancient book in the attic and read from it, strange events begin to happen around them. Something has been awakened which prompts their parents to take them away to a town called Midway where they reveal to the twins that they are not human. They had been hidden on Earth, brought up as though they were human, awaiting the right moment for the truth to be told.

When their parents mysteriously disappear on their first night away, they are forced to discover for themselves what their roles are in the new lives they’ve been thrown into. They struggle alone as they try to understand and balance their past human lives with their alien destiny. When the book they discovered at their home is stolen, it falls on the twins to recover it. The book has a lot more power than they realised, and if they fail, it will not be they who suffer, but the whole human race.

Along the way, they meet an array of characters, some will become friends, some will become enemies, who can they trust? For now, they can trust only each other.

About the Author:

Kevin Fleming has lived in Liverpool, England, all his life, born into a family with roots in Ireland, Yorkshire and London. All his family apart from he and his wife have long since left Liverpool to spread across the globe, even as far as New Zealand. He feels as though his ancestors all congregated in Liverpool, dropped him off then quietly left.

Even as a child he wanted to write a book but never had the patience to continue beyond the first page. Despite many more failed attempts through his teens, the thought of completing a novel stayed with him as an adult working in telecommunications and afterwards running his own business. In 2012 he decided he’d been employed enough for one lifetime and concentrated on writing.

After all the years of trying, ‘The Storyteller’s Book’ finally arrived, quickly followed by 'The Mines of Kothkish', ‘The Warlords of Shreen' and finally 'Carnival of the Otherworld’, to form the series, The Chronicles of Midway.

Married for over thirty years, he has a daughter and son who have now left home and are building lives for themselves elsewhere in England.

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Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Are you brave enough to visit Coon Hollow Coven’s haunted carriage house? by Marsha A. Moore, Author of Witch’s Cursed Cabin (Coon Hollow Coven Tales, Book Two)

Witch’s Cursed Cabin
Coon Hollow Coven Tales, Book Two
Marsha A. Moore

Genre: Paranormal romance

Date of Publication: 4-27-16

Number of pages: 380
Word Count: 111,000

Cover Artist: Marsha A. Moore

About the Book:

Eager to be on her own away from home, twenty-year-old Aggie Anders accepts a relative’s invitation to live in Coon Hollow Coven. Although she’s a witch from a different coven, what locals say about the Hollow confuses her. How can witchcraft there live and breathe through souls of the dead?

Aggie’s new residence in this strange southern Indiana world is a deserted homestead cabin. The property’s carriage house serves as the coven’s haunted Halloween fundraiser. It’s a great opportunity for her to make new friends, especially with the coven’s sexy new High Priest Logan.

But living in the homestead also brings Aggie enemies. Outsiders aren’t welcome. A cantankerous, old neighbor tries to frighten her off by warning her that the homestead is cursed. Local witches who practice black magic attempt to use their evil to drive Aggie away and rid their coven of her unusual powers as a sun witch.

Determined to stay and fit in, Aggie discovers not only that the cabin is cursed, but she alone is destined to break the curse before moonrise on Samhain. If she fails, neither the living nor the dead will be safe.

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A note to readers: the books in the Coon Hollow Coven Tales series are written to be read in any order. The series is about one community, and its residents may pass in and out of various books, but each book has its own unique and special story to be told.

About the Coon Hollow Coven Tales Series:

The series is about a coven of witches in a fictitious southern Indiana community, south of Bloomington, the neck of the woods where I spent my favorite childhood years surrounded by the love of a big family. The books are rich with a warm Hoosier down-home feel. There are interesting interactions between coven members and locals from the nearby small town of Bentbone. If magic wasn’t enough of a difference between the two groups, the coven folk adhere to the 1930s lifestyle that existed when the coven formed.

Book One

Read an Excerpt from Chapter One: The Homestead:

A shove of my shoulder pried the rusty hinges on the heavy log cabin door loose. I flung my blond braid to my back and peered inside. Beings and critters, alive and furry as well as undead and translucent, flew, crawled, or slithered across dark recesses of the hallway, sitting room, and stairwell.

“You weren’t kidding. This place is haunted.” I shuddered and looked over my shoulder at Cerise. She looked perky as always with her dark bobbed hair and lively brown eyes beneath horn-rimmed eyeglasses. “Were those things relations or varmints?” I took a cautious step over the threshold to escape the blustery weather and unbuttoned my corduroy jacket.

“Oh, both, Aggie. Ghosts of witch kin and their talking animal familiars,” she said and moved past me to lift sheets off the sitting room furniture.

I raised a brow, curious about what talking familiars were but was too afraid to ask. She didn’t seem to think they were bad, and I needed a place to stay.

Cerise dropped the sheets in a pile and wiped her dusty hands on her skirt. “Those sorts of ghosts are in all the homes here in Coon Hollow Coven. Maybe some animal spirits, too, from the surrounding woods. This property has at least fifty acres of forest. The ghosts are harmless, part of the family. At least no neighbors have complained, that I’ve heard.”

Eyeing corners of the parlor and the length of the hall, I wondered if I could ever get used to living with ghosts of people who’d lived here before. In New Wish, Indiana, where I’d spent my entire twenty years, we only had an occasional ghost. Usually lost souls who, for some reason, hadn’t found their peace before death took them. Most times, those folks had been tormented by darkness and experimented with black magic while they’d lived. Or so Mom told me, but I always thought that was just her way of keeping me in line.

I pushed those thoughts out of my head. I wanted a place of my own more than anything else, and not in the tiny town of New Wish where everyone knew me…or thought they did. They all said I was the spitting image of my Aunt Faye, with the same light blond straight hair, deep blue eyes, dark brows, and quiet personality. Everyone thought I’d grow up to be like her with a houseful of kids, seven or more. Fact was, they didn’t know me. I wasn’t sure I even knew myself. There was so much I wanted to learn and do that wouldn’t happen if I stayed at my parents’ home.

Cerise struggled to open the stuck window. “Aggie, can you help me here? Some fresh air might tempt a few spirits outside. This place has been vacant since my mother passed in 2009. We might find just about anything in here after five years.”

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Are you brave enough to visit Coon Hollow Coven’s haunted carriage house?

Guest Blog by Marsha A. Moore

Coon Hollow is the setting for Witch’s Cursed Cabin, the second of my series, Coon Hollow Coven Tales, and there are a lot of strange happenings going on down in the Hollow as Samhain approaches.

The Hollow is a fictitious small valley in southern Indiana, south of Bloomington. Somewhere in Brown County near Nashville and Bean Blossom, if you’re from around those parts. It’s Hoosier hill-country at its finest.

The coven was founded on strict rules of adherence to lifestyle and customs that existed at the time of the coven’s conception, in the mid-1930s. The rationale: to keep the transmission of witchcraft from one generation to the next as pure as possible. Members dress in styles of that period and drive long sleek Packards, Studebakers, and Nashes. 

Several times during the year, the coven puts on magical events open to the public as charity fundraisers for their schools and eldercare. Witch’s Cursed Cabin opens with the coven preparing for their annual Halloween haunted carriage house. 

Here’s an excerpt of the night when the attraction is open only to coven members. Aggie Anders has just moved to the coven and is joining Cerise’s family at the event.


Dusk was changing to night, the gloaming time as I called it, with the sky ribboned in bands of blue-grays and inky purples. As we ascended the small hill that separated the two cabins, I pulled my hood over my head.

On the other side, a group of black forms mingled outside, perhaps fifty, but the dim light made counting difficult. I glanced down at my jeans, happy the blue color wasn’t too noticeable. A chilling scream that seemed to come from the cabin’s roof made me gawk, wide-eyed.

A hush spread over the crowd, and hoods turned upward toward the tall gable above the front door. Another scream pierced the air, this one more like the chilling, long wail of a banshee, which I knew signaled approaching death. And another shriek, as two dark shapes emerged from behind the chimney. One began the dreadful cry once again, while the other leered at those on the ground.

Little Bud tugged on his dad’s arm and whimpered.

“What is this I see?” A deep male voice growled down at us. “Intruders! You’ve broken the peaceful rest of the carriage house spirits.” He gave a guttural laugh, then shinnied down a trellis at one end of the small porch. From there, he rubbed his hands together while shuffling side to side as he scanned the crowd. His ragged cape hung in shreds around his hunched shape, and his death-white face reflected what little light the twilight offered. “Since you’ve awakened the spirits, why don’t you come in and pay them a friendly visit? I’m sure they’ll be glad to welcome you.” With a menacing laugh, he turned and opened the door. “We have guests of the best kind—willing.”

A chorus of howls and yelps responded from inside, and the banshee on the roof gave a higher pitched cry.

A small girl, no more than four years old, begged for her father to carry her.

The ragged spirit pointed to a sign posted high on the porch support post. “Heed this sign well before you go inside.” It warned pregnant women and people with heart conditions to not enter. With the wave of his arm, he spun on his heel, and the crowd moved toward the entrance.

“Looks like this year’s show will be good. Every year they try to top the last,” Cerise said and pulled me behind her, while Toby herded their boys.

Inside, ghouls lurched near, guiding us up the front staircase. Real enchanted spiders dropped onto our faces, bringing plenty of squeals and some momentary lost footing on steps. While clinging to the railings to keep my balance, oozy slime gushed between my fingers. Faced with the safe scares, screams that escaped my lips immediately turned to giggles.

Live rats ran the length of the upper hall, scampering across our feet. I was glad for my stiff-toed boots, but many of the ladies wearing dress pumps jumped a couple feet. One woman landed against me, and we both fell against the wall where arms extending from paintings held us captive until we pleaded loud enough for release.

The wall hazards kept people close to the middle, regardless of the rats. At the doorway to the first bedroom, the floorboards gave way. Five or more in the line ahead dropped down a black hole, their screams reverberating after them. Bats flew up the open shoot and corralled us into the bedroom and the outstretched arms of a red-eyed goblin. His touch sent a sudden disorienting delirium through me, and I fumbled behind Cerise through a connecting hall that led into the next bedroom.


What happens to Aggie? You’ll only know if you’re brave enough to enter the coven’s haunted carriage house!

Flash Fiction by Marsha A Moore

Hello! I’m Marsha A. Moore and it’s great to be here and share some Samhain fun! I’d like to share with you one of my very popular mini-stories from my collection of fantasy flash fiction Tea Leaf Tales. 

Tea Leaf Tales: The Necessary Practice Halloween Growl

“Oh, come on, Grindor,” I pleaded for the third time.

“Not until Halloween,” he replied with a terse snap, his face stoic, his body frozen.

“Just one pre-Halloween scare.” I climbed beside him and peeked over the fence. 

“There’s a teenage boy walking this way toward your gate who’d make a great practice target.”

“Nope,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to knock me off balance with his left wing.

“It’ll feel good to do just one little growl.”

A whiz of loud pops sailed inches above my head, and I jumped behind my griffin guardian who spread his protective wings wide.

The teen burst through the open gate, gun in hand, and Grindor let out a horrific roar, so loud that my teeth rattled.

From behind, I winked at the boy with the bb gun, my five-dollar bill showing in his jeans pocket.

Tea Leaf Tales is a series of original ten-sentence short stories by Marsha A. Moore, relating to photos/scenes that resonate with her. 

Visit Marsha’s website to read more archived episodes of the Mercantile of Tea Leaf Tales and watch her blog for new episodes.

Meet the Author:

Marsha A. Moore loves to write fantasy and paranormal romance. Much of her life feeds the creative flow she uses to weave highly imaginative tales.

The magic of art and nature spark life into her writing, as well as other pursuits of watercolor painting and drawing. She’s been a yoga enthusiast for over a decade and is a registered yoga teacher. Her practice helps weave the mystical into her writing. After a move from Toledo to Tampa in 2008, she’s happily transformed into a Floridian, in love with the outdoors where she’s always on the lookout for portals to other worlds. Marsha is crazy about cycling. She lives with her husband on a large saltwater lagoon, where taking her kayak out is a real treat. She never has enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at stories with toes wiggling in the sand. Every day at the beach is magical! 

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