My latest creation, a book trailer for my short story Huntin’
My latest creation, a book trailer for my short story Huntin’
Friday November 21st, 2014 marks the release day for the paranormal short story Huntin’ , the latest from author V. L. Murray.
Huntin’ is a thriller which highlights the teachings of the Medicine Wheel as it lures the reader into the world of a young man trying to escape his past.
Here’s an excerpt from the story.
“Usually it was Hawk who called to her from above and helped her on her day’s journey, communicating with single piercing cries whenever she needed guidance. Hawk would appear in her dreams, sometimes showing the future.
He had come two weeks ago as she was dreaming, and told her the story of the hunt camp to come. She sighed again with resolve, knowing what she must do if Spirit was ever to return to her beloved son. Now, Wolf howled once more, and this time Jack looked up as if listening to its voice.
“I think he’s calling to you, my son. Wolf has been around a lot lately.”
A wry smile touched Jack’s face. “Maybe it’s just because he’s being driven out of his habitat by all the construction around here. Maybe he’s just complaining. I would.”
There was no point in arguing. He would understand soon enough. Now, she needed to continue her preparations for their journey. Much food had to be assembled, equipment and clothing, tools and tents. There were lots of things to do. And then there was some personal preparation she needed to finish. She hoped Hawk would come tonight in her dreams and refresh her memory of the future to be. She would find some sage for smudge and make herself ready for the night.”
More coming this week on the story and the author.
Donna Jean McDunn is a writer of fiction for young adults, women’s romance and short stories for children and women. At the tender age of twelve, she dreamed of writing, but she had no way of knowing the many journeys she would take before reaching her dream. She married at nineteen, had three daughters by the age of twenty-seven and graduated from college at forty-two. The first of eight grandchildren was born by age forty-five. She earned a 3rd degree black belt in Songahm Taekwondo at age fifty-eight. And so today she writes and her dream is no longer just a dream. She has had three children’s stories and one adult story published. She was also one of nine winners in The Mystery Times Nine 2012 Young Adult Short Story Mystery Contest sponsored by Buddhapuss Ink Publishing.
Author’s Other Works:
Mystery Times Nine – An Anthology of nine short stories to be published Sept./Oct. 2012 by Buddhapuss Ink LLC
The Nightmare Series
Young Adult Paranormal
Emily must accept her gift of clairvoyance and remember her past, when a psychopath returns to kill again.
Emily must help a murdered child find closure and stop a vengeful ghost from possessing and destroying innocent lives.
Today is the release day for a very special book by well known author Rosemary Morris. The Captain and The Countess was a fun book to work on. I thoroughly enjoyed the story and had to rip through it quickly in order to be able to concentrate on the edits. Such is the nature of the action/adventure romances which Rosemary produces. Super read! Loved the heroine and the hero! Great antagonists to hate with a vengeance. 5***** stars all the way!!!!!
The Captain and The Countess: His heart captured by the Countess, only Captain Howard sees pain behind her fashionable façade and is determined to help her.
The Captain and The Countess by Rosemary Morris
Available from MuseItUp Publishing:
Sales price: $4.76
Sales price without tax: $5.95
Available where all your favourite ebooks are sold.
Genre: Historical Romance
Tags: Naval captain, artist, bachelor, Countess, widow, Queen Anne Stuart, Duke of Marlborough, Sarah Churchill, Fleet Street, High Society, Marriage, 18th century culture,18th century society, fashion, wine, the spice trade, The Royal Exchange, Dr Moore’s Almanac, Historical Novel, Historical Romance, Mainstream Fiction.
Release: February 21, 2014
Editor: V.L. Murray
Line Editor: Greta Gunselman
Cover Designer Charlotte Volnek
Why does heart-rending pain lurk in the back of the wealthy Countess of Sinclair’s eyes?
Captain Howard’s life changes forever from the moment he meets Kate, the intriguing Countess, and resolves to banish her pain.
Although the air sizzles when widowed Kate, victim of an abusive marriage, meets Edward Howard, a captain in Queen Anne’s navy, she has no intention of ever marrying again.
However, when Kate becomes better acquainted with the Captain she realises he is the only man who understands her grief and can help her to untangle her past.
The Countess of Sinclair’s cool blue eyes were speculative.
Captain Edward Howard gazed without blinking at the acclaimed beauty, whose sobriquet was “The Fatal Widow”’.
Did she have the devil-may-care attitude gossips attributed to her? If she did, it explained why some respectable members of society shunned her.
The lady’s fair charms did not entirely explain what drew many gallants to her side.
He advanced toward her, conscious of the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor, the muted noise of coaches and drays through the closed windows and, from the fireplace, the crackle of burning logs which relieved the chill of early spring.
Her ladyship scrutinised him. Did she approve of his appearance? A smile curved her heart-shaped mouth.
“How do you do, sir,” she said when he stood before her. “I think we have not met previously.” Her eyes assessed him dispassionately. “My name is Sinclair, Katherine Sinclair. I dislike formality. You may call me Kate.”
“Captain Howard at your service, Countess.” Shocked but amused by boldness more suited to a tavern wench than a great lady, Edward paid homage with a low bow before he spoke again. “Despite your permission, I am not presumptuous enough to call you Kate.”
“You seem gallant, sir, but you are young to have achieved so high a rank in Her Majesty’s navy.”
“An unexpected promotion earned in battle.”
“You are to be congratulated on what, I can only assume, were acts of bravery.”
“Thank you, Countess.”
The depths of her ladyship’s sapphire cross and earrings blazed, matching his sudden fierce desire.
Kate looked up at him.
He leaned forward. The customary greeting of a kiss on her lips lingered longer than etiquette dictated. Her eyes widened before she permitted him to lead her across the room to the sopha on which his godmother sat next to Mistress Martyn.
With a hint of amusement in her eyes, Kate regarded Mrs Radcliffe. “My apologies, madam, I suspect my visit is untimely.”
Her melodious voice sent shivers up and down his spine, nevertheless, Edward laughed. Had the countess guessed his godmother, who enjoyed match-making, wanted him to marry Mistress Martyn?
“You are most welcome, Lady Sinclair. Please take a seat and partake of a glass of cherry ratafia.” Frances said.
“Perhaps, milady prefers red viana,” Edward suggested.
“Captain, you read my mind. Sweet wine is not to my taste.”
In response to the lady’s provocative smile, heat seared his cheeks.
Kate smoothed the gleaming folds of her turquoise blue silk gown. The lady knew how to dress to make the utmost of her natural beauty. Her gown relied for effect on simple design and fine fabrics. Later, he would sketch her from memory.
Kate inclined her head to his godmother. “Will you not warn your godson I am unsound, wild, and a bad influence on the young?”
Edward gazed into Kate’s eyes. Before his demise, had her husband banished her to a manor deep in the country? If it were true, why had he done so?
Kate’s eyebrows slanted down at the inner corners. She stared back at him. He laughed, raised her hands to his lips, and kissed each in turn. “I look forward to furthering my acquaintance with you.”
“High-handed.” Kate gurgled with laughter. “Captain, please release me.”
What did he care if she were some ten years his elder? He wanted to get to know her better. Edward bowed. “Your slightest wish is my command.”
His godmother fluttered her fan. “Edward, Lady Sinclair, please be seated.”
When they sat side-by-side opposite Mrs Radcliffe, although Kate smiled at him, the expression in her large blue eyes remained cool. “Tomorrow, please join those who visit me daily at my morning levee.”
“I fear my voice would be lost among many, thus casting me into obscurity,” Edward replied, much amused.
“I don’t take you for one to be ignored. However, I respect your wishes. Besides those who seek my patronage, there are many gentlemen eager to wait on me. ’Tis more than my porter’s life is worth to deny them entry.” She looked at his godmother. “Mrs Radcliffe, do you not agree it is pleasant to lie abed in the morning while indulging in conversation with one’s admirers?”
Frances toyed with her fan. “It does help to pass the time.”
“Come, come, madam, confess you value their advice,” Kate teased.
Kate turned her attention to Edward. “I have no doubt you would become a cherished member of the group of those who seek my favour.”
“Countess, life at sea teaches a man to be wary of enemies, not to compete with them. I am not a flirt who is given to haunting ladies’ bedchambers.”
“If I seclude myself with you tomorrow morning, may I have the pleasure of your company?”
“Alone with you in your bedchamber? How improper. Are you always so careless of your reputation?” he asked, with a hint of laughter in his voice.
Her eyes widened. “I have no reputation to guard, Captain.” She had spoken in a forward manner he was unaccustomed to in polite society.
“Have you not?” Edward needed a plunge in icy water.
A frozen glimpse of despair deep in her eyes unsettled him. Did he imagine it? He could not speak. Why should a lady like the countess despair?
He recovered his voice. “If it is your custom to take the air in The Mall, I shall be pleased to be your sole escort.”
Kate fidgeted with a diamond buckle. “Are the battle lines drawn?”
“Don’t confuse battle lines with a mere skirmish at sea.” His voice hinted at the chuckle he restrained.
“There are those who would welcome an invitation to a tête-à-tête with me.”
He preferred to take the lead in affairs of the heart. “Perhaps I am not one of them. Maybe I would like to be your friend.”
“My friend? Is that all you want of me?”
His eyes widened.
Kate laughed. “No, I thought not.”
Rosemary Morris was born in Sidcup, Kent in 1940. As a child, when she was not making up stories, her head was always ‘in a book’.
While working in a travel agency she met her Indian husband. He encouraged her to continue her education at WestminsterCollege.
In 1961 Rosemary and her husband, now a barrister, moved to his birthplace, Kenya, where she lived from 1961 to 1982. After an attempted coup d’etat, she and four of her children lived in an ashram in France.
Back in England, Rosemary wrote historical fiction. The Captain and The Countess is her fifth published novel.
She is a member of The Romantic Novelist’s Association, The Historical Novel Society and Watford Writers.
Rosemary enjoys classical Indian literature, reading, visiting places of historical interest, vegetarian cooking, growing organic fruit and vegetables and creative crafts.
A New Release from MuseItUP Publishing
Genre: Supernatural Dark Fiction/Horror
Tags: Supernatural, horror, suspense, thriller, ghosts, revenants, spirits, wraiths, historical, Civil War, Indian Wars, American History, Tennessee, The Confederacy, cemeteries, graveyards, zombies, undead, folklore
Release: July 5, 2013
Editor: V.L. Murray
Line Editor: Greta Gunselman
On a sloping hill overlooking the poetically named little town of Sugar Creek, Tennessee, rests an old cemetery where, in the 19th century, the people in the village buried their dead. Some of the stones date back to before the Civil War. Those who once tended the one hundred or so graves have long since departed this world. Only random aluminum cans and scraps of windblown paper and plastic keep them company now. The old timers call the strip of land The Resting Place, but local legend suggests it is anything but restful.
Maybe everyone sees that which they believe in. This is a statement that resonates with many Sugar Creek residents for good reason. Whether the members of the McCullough, the Langford, or the Finch families ever found rest was a dubious question considering how their lives and deaths spun out in curious directions.
For some, a century and a half might not be long enough to find eternal rest. It is for a newcomer to try and answer the question, for he is destined to stir echoes from the past as the tales of Sugar Creek, the resting place, and its most memorable ghost again become more than the murmurings of ancient history.
At her bedroom window, Polly’s current thoughts moved from Gladys’s sing-song voice, and the off-tune old ladies at Emily’s graveside, to the shapes that steadfastly resided beyond her house. The light breeze ceased; the owl quieted. All was as still as death along the road that passed by her gate. The stillness was eerie rather than peaceful. Everything slept, almost everything, for the next sound was something that bore the quality of her frightening stories—the squeak of a door opening.
She walked from the window to her own bedroom door. The boards again protested under her weight. She eased the chair from beneath the doorknob—a precaution she had taken ever since Emily’s murder. Incongruously, she thought of Priscilla. She had never seen the image locals swore to having witnessed, but it was not a haunting she was worried about. A perpetrator was still on the loose and she had no confidence in local law enforcement. Sheriff Spalding was good at cards, but little else.
What makes a human want to hurt another human? Honor? Loyalty to country? Those seemed humble and misleading excuses for delivering carnage. Polly did not understand the impulse, but people did it all the time. The war and its aftermath was a testament to that.
Another question overrode both of these. Why had Edwin wound up bedridden? Why did he have a stroke in the fields and turn into an invalid and leave her with all the work? If he were well, he could go plodding through the house with his pistol. What defense did she have, an older woman in a house too big to tend properly? But Edwin would not have done that. “Foolish old woman,” he would have said to her.
As Polly’s mind returned to the present, she felt compelled to check the house. She slowly opened her bedroom door and peered into the hallway. Edwin had his own room down the hall. No reason to change accommodations after all these years. Although he’d had the stroke and could not manage getting to the privy, “to tap a kidney” as he used to say, he remained somewhat mobile, usually when Polly did not want him to be. He had crawled from his bed a couple of times while she was in the throes of a story and scratched at her bedroom door, scaring the living daylights out of her. He couldn’t speak; only move his jaws pathetically in that helpless way of stroke patients. She took in meals and helped him with the eating process ever since he knocked over a glass and spread a lake of milk over the floor. She cut her finger picking up the pieces. She briefly considered a convalescence hospital, filled with veterans never to recover from their wounds, but it was too many towns away and beyond their financial means. An occasional visit from the horse-and-buggy doctor they had for the whole county would have to do.
Polly ventured into Edwin’s room several times a day, but not normally at night. She padded barefoot down to his door and turned the knob. There he lay, the jaw working up and down, trying to utter something, or just dreaming the dreams of those lost in some world between this one and the next. She barely looked at his paleness, or the cracked and dry lips. The air was thick with the atmosphere of a sickroom. She walked to his window and peered out into the moonlit night. It reminded her of how isolated she was. On the outer windowsill, a fallen leaf was snagged. It was brown and gnarled, curled upon itself like a crunchy, dead creature. It gave her a start, a reminder that death was all around.
Edwin’s breathing was too shallow to make noise. It was only the thumping in Polly’s chest that did so. She reentered the hallway and quietly walked into the main room. Again, everything was bone chillingly quiet, but the air was cooler than in the rest of the house. Only one reason—something was open. Yes. She and Edwin were not alone in the house.
“Who’s there?” she called, but all she heard was her own voice echoing back like the lonely cry of a ghost. She felt her pulse quicken and wondered if someone or something could be hiding along a wall just out of sight; some giggling thing which would reach out and grab hold of her ankle when the time was right.
Another creak. Nothing could be as nerve-wracking as when an old house seemed to become organic. She had a sense of foreboding like when entering an unfamiliar place as a child, and when she saw her front door was ajar, she felt a cold spot where her heart was supposed to be. All around, dark secrets clung to every corner. She sought the courage to reach for an oil lamp. It did not come. She was too afraid that something cold and slimy would reach back.
Whatever is lurking, it has trapped us in here, Polly decided. Me, with a husband who is already at death’s doorstep. Something dreadful was about to happen. She was at the final stage of desolation. She headed for the door to shut it soundly when she noticed what was different. Something blocked the outline of a coat tree next to the open door. A dark shape stood there accompanied by the sound of steady, labored breathing.
Polly gasped. Bile rose in her throat as she put one hand to her mouth to halt a scream. The shape lit an oil lamp and turned the flickering wick higher until features became recognizable.
About the Author
J. T. has written everything from humor to the erotic to the macabre, and is especially keen on stories that transcend genre pigeonholing. “Although I enjoy writing in all genres, as well as non-fiction, it’s the mysterious and the macabre that seem to influence the funny monkey in my brain the most. In addition to his novels and novellas, his short stories and memoirs appear in numerous magazines, newspapers, anthologies and webzines. Recent publications can be found at http://www.melange-books.com, http://www.whispershome.com, and http://www.museituppublishing.com for those who like their tales intertwined with the paranormal. See more on http://www.troyseateauthor.webs.com/ and on amazon.com. Blog: http://supernaturalsnackbar.wordpress.com/ Facebook author page: www.facebook.com/JTSeate
A Resting Place is available on MuseItUp Publishing at http://tinyurl.com/msv3c6a
Amazon at http://tinyurl.com/mqubdph
Friday May 10, 2013 is release day for the book Nightmares by author Donna Jean McDunn and so…
Today, Natter and Review would like to welcome back author Donna Jean McDunn. Here is a short biography of our visitor.
Donna Jean McDunn lives in Iowa with her husband, four cats and two dogs. She is the mother of three daughters and the grandmother of eight. Donna enjoys spending time with her family and friends, camping, fishing, bicycle riding, listening to music and dancing. She is a third degree black belt in Songham Taekwondo and loves working out. Donna writes fiction for young adults and women in her off hours, but spends most of her days as an administrative assistant. She hopes someday to retire and write full time.
N&R: Hi Donna, you’re back. Welcome to Natter and Review once again. Donna is one of my new authors with MuseItUp Publishing and tomorrow, May 10, 2013 is a very special day for Donna, as her first book, the young adult paranormal romance, Nightmares, is being released from MuseItUp Publishing. I bet you are excited!
DJM: Thank you, Lynne. Yes, I have to keep reminding myself, all of this is real!
N&R: How about sharing a little of the story, Nightmares.
DJM: Eighteen-year old Emily Preston has it all. She’s beautiful, strong and confident. But just weeks before graduating from high school, the nightmares she’d experienced as a child, begin to plague her once more. When a mysterious voice warns that she must remember her past and accept her gift of seeing into the future in order to save her boyfriend’s life, she believes she’s losing her mind. The nightmares escalate into visions of long ago and memories begin to return. Will Emily allow herself to accept the gift or will she lose everything, including her life.
DJM: Tagline for Nightmares: Emily must accept her gift of clairvoyance and remember her past, when a psychopath returns to kill again.
Here is a short excerpt from the book.
“She knew it was too soon to expect Tony’s return, but peered into the darkness anyway. She saw her own distorted reflection in the glass. The images shifted and changed as she watched. She felt herself being drawn into the shadows until they completely dissolved. She saw the child from her nightmares lying in a bed asleep, while a terrible thunderstorm raged outside.
Lightning flashed around the room and a crack of thunder rattled the windows. The child sat up and for the first time Emily could see her face and blond hair. A dog howled and the girl’s eyes widened with fear as she scooted off the bed.
Her heart hammered inside her own chest to the same rhythm as the child’s. Emily wanted to warn the little girl to lie down and stay where she’d be safe. She wanted to tell her it was too late, she’d already run out of time.
“No!” Emily screamed when the child ran toward the window. “Don’t look.”’
N&R: Well thanks Donna. I won’t keep you because I know you are busy promoting your book. Please support this talented new author and buy Nightmares at the link below. Donna is planning on a sequel to the novel, so there will be more from these characters and this author coming up on the horizon.
You can find Donna at the following links:
Her blog: http://www.donnajeanmcdunn.wordpress.com
Her Facebook author page: http://www.facebook.com/DonnaJeanMcDunn
To purchase the book: MuseItUp Link to Nightmares: http://tinyurl.com/c747opc
Congratulations Donna! We wish you much success!