Thursday, May 30, 2024

PROMO: Through the Storm



Nonfiction / Journal / Cancer


A breast cancer journal. I really wanted the journal to be full of life and colourful. The illustrations made it come to life, I find them so inspiring and I hope you do as well!

This book has been a genuine labor of love. It is full of purpose and hope. Everything you see is my vision come true. Cancer threatens everything you believed to be true, I had my chemo-port removed and flew to Atlanta later that day, on the flight back, I believe it was a 6AM flight, all I wanted to do was sleep for the 2 hour flight.  Instead, this idea for a bookmark started forming in my head. I figured lots of people read in waiting rooms and chemo suites etc., so it made sense to create bookmarks with little quips to lift the spirit during these waits. Well, the ideas were flowing so fast that I couldn’t write fast enough and I had no paper, so I wrote on the plane barf bag (I still have it). It became apparent I had a lot more to say than a bookmark could hold. I still plan to make bookmarks some day soon.

I have included prompts for questions to ask. Symptom trackers to report to providers. Daily prompts to do something intentionally kind and uplifting in small bites because some days are really tough and it becomes difficult to remember the amazing person you were prior to a breast cancer diagnosis and treatment. I am truly proud of it. There is a prayer/meditation script written by one of my dearest friends who chose words that can resonate with anyone regardless of faith or the absence thereof and in any tough life situation. There is a feature to track daily water intake and so much more.


#breastcancersurvivor🎀 #breastcancerbaddie #breastcancer


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Wednesday, May 29, 2024

PROMO: The Ocean Hugs Hard



Date Published: 06-24-2024

Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing


Surfside City, New Jersey. 1966. Cub reporter Harman Bass is cutting his teeth in the fast world of local journalism and getting out-scooped by the competition. Facetious, cocky, and always quoting Nietzsche, Harman isn’t making any friends both in and out of the newsroom.

All that changes when the daughter of a prominent family is found dead on the beach, handing Harman the juiciest news story of the year. But she wasn’t any old beauty pageant queen; she was his high school girlfriend. Harman’s dogged reporting into the young woman’s death reveals pushback from the authorities and pulls the newshound into the resort’s darkest corners.

After one of his sources is murdered, the routine story becomes dangerous and personal. Something watches Harman from the shadows, something ancient and hungry, worshipped by powerful men who kill to keep their secrets. Harman’s job and life are soon threatened, and the once brash reporter must battle his boss, rival journalists, and his own sanity before filing what could be his last story.

THE OCEAN HUGS HARD is a mystery with the salty whiff of the ocean, a tinge of nostalgia, and a dollop of mind-shattering eldritch horror.

About the Author

ERIC AVEDISSIAN is an adjunct professor and speculative fiction author. His published work includes the novels Accursed Son, Mr. Penny-Farthing, Midnight at Bat Hollow, and the role-playing game Ravaged Earth. His short stories appear in various anthologies, including Across the Universe, Great Wars, and Rituals & Grimoires. Avedissian received a 2024 Fellowship in Prose from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts. He lives in New Jersey with his wife and a ridiculous number of books. Find him online at if you dare.


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Blog Tour: 19: The Musical



Historical Musical

Date Published: March 2024

Publisher: Through the 4th Wall


Katie Ganem / Millicent Scarlett / Maria Ciarrocchi / Brenda Parker / Meredith Eib

Brian Lyons-Burke / Elizabeth Keith / Sidney Davis / Karen Spigel / Odette Gutierrez del Arroyo

Run Time: 02:36:38


19: The Musical is the dynamic and little-known story of Alice Paul, Ida B. Wells, Susan B. Anthony, Carrie Chapman Catt, Inez Milholland and the other suffragists who fought to get women the right to vote - The 19th Amendment. The inspirational story of these fearless women is brought to life through jazz, traditional musical standards style, spoken word, and hints of gospel. Alice Paul and the suffragist's fight for equality have been re-imagined for a new generation with a poignant and uplifting message that will resonate for years to come.

Originally created and performed on stage, 19: The Musical has been adapted for a new medium to reach a broader audience through audiobooks.


Book & Lyrics by Jennifer Schwed and Doug Bradshaw, ​​​​​​​Music Composed & Arranged by Charlie Barnett



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Blog Tour: Susie Drake and the Stolen Memories



Date Published: 01-06-2024

Publisher: 44th Morning LLC


Haunted by insurmountable grief, the nearly indestructible Susie Drake temporarily sacrifices all memories of her human friends. Unbeknownst to her, Ren Pith, a semi-immortal plagued by seizures and OCD, snatches her remembrances in pursuit of a time traveler, with the hope of rewriting the past.

Meanwhile, recruited by the grandchildren of her forgotten friends, Susie confronts a murder investigation intertwined with her purloined past and teams up with a private eye to unravel a perplexing link between her stolen recollections and a man who taunted her nearly a century prior. Racing against the possibility of total memory loss, Susie and the detective navigate time and space to follow a lead and venture into the future of an alternate Earth.

Susie’s quest intertwines self-discovery, justice, and a high-stakes race into a tangled web bridging past, present, and parallel worlds.

Chapter 1: Misty Susie’s Detached Memories

August 17, 2050

Midnight in a cemetery on the outskirts of Tucson.

“ALL THESE DEAD PEOPLE,” SUSIE said to no one. “I didn’t kill any of them.” Flashlight in hand, she aimed the beam toward one of the graveyard’s older sections. “Scratch that. I see three headstones for guys I murdered. Hmm. I thought the caporegime had them buried in Phoenix. In fact … I know I have three dead guys there. Just not the same fellows.”

Soon, the illumination carried across a tombstone bearing a more recent date. “Sacha Fitzpatrick Ahern. The last of my Earthling friends. Gone at ninety-one years of age. You lived a long, full life. Why’d you have to leave me?”

Did she expect an answer? There wasn’t any other human around, living or deceased. Trilling insects, yes, and maybe a fox or coyote.

During the act of transferring the lantern from one hand to the other, the light weaved over something which made her perform a double-take. She held the torch firmly by the handle, scoffing as it poured across the anthropomorphic form.

“A full-sized granite angel. Wings, too. Nice.” Spotting a bronze bench located in front of the statue, she eased down upon it. “Me in the presence of a carved occupant of heaven. Who’d’ve thunk it? Let me introduce myself. Oh, yeah, I do talk to myself and inanimate objects a lot. More than I do people.” She quickly patted the figure’s forever-praying hands. “Are you asking something from God or me? Ha! Not a lot I can give you. How about a fast rundown of who I am? Good, because it’s all I got time for.

“I’m Susie Drake. I was born in 1902. Yep, I’m one hundred and forty-eight years old, and I don’t look much older than twenty-one. My parents had powers. I inherited some myself. Besides being almost immortal, I’m practically impervious to harm, can manipulate people’s will and memories by touching them, run short distances very fast, and am very strong. My pops was a nutcase. He killed my mom and almost done me in. In the aftermath, I had memory problems for a long time.

“What does someone with a face compared to a long-ago actresses do for a living? Model? Act? Not I! Assassin! It became my profession for half a decade or so before I met some people whose kind ways changed me. This led to my working for the government, doing greater good stuff.

“Later, I wander into a war between my friends and an army of alien wizards. It’s a battle unknown by ninety-nine percent of the world at the time—the 1970s. Not long after the fighting ended, I became a soldier of fortune. Many times, I used my strength and speed to save people, tampering with their recall, as I don’t want publicity. Make that … didn’t want publicity.”

Drake directed a shimmer at Ahern’s resting spot. “My late friend testified before Congress about the secret war after being the first to publish a book on the subject. The Joint Chiefs reluctantly backed her story, and then all hell broke loose. Uh, sorry, all heck broke loose. By then, all but a few of my friends’ children survived, except for some exceptional off-world pals and myself. The press hounded me, made me a superstar. Poor me, yeah.

“Tiring of the attention, I traveled incognito into most every country before receiving an invite from Sacha. She and her hubby have a guesthouse, and would I like to stay? Indeed, I did for seven years … until she passed six months after him.”

Rising, she paced the ground between her and the sculpture. “What do I do now? On her deathbed, Sacha recited the same ol’ lecture. Make new friends. Understanding others, she insisted, will make me understand myself better. Sweet old gal she was, but I already know me as best as I ever will. I. Don’t. Make. New. Friends. Very. Well. Too much trouble.” Susie halted, moving her face close to the stone object. “You’re stuck in mid-prayer. Pray me an answer. I need one.”

Drake scanned the night sky. A shooting star streaked diagonally before burning out above the angel’s head. Rather than admit grief overwhelmed her, Susie interpreted the meteor’s movement as a sign.

Nose to nose with the stone spirit, she attempted communication. “You got an answer to the prayer, didn’t cha? Tell me. What do I do now?”

Silence … until something clicks.

“E’tatanya! Of course. She’s an Exile. I’ve been in exile from living for years. I know another Exile whose name is Angel. It all fits!”

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Tuesday, May 28, 2024

PROMO: Kit-Kat



(Maw of Mayhem MC)

Paranormal, Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: May 31, 2024


Grimdarke James’ problems have gone from bad to worse. Ousted from his MC and on the run, all he wants is to keep Kit safe while he sets things right. But calling in a favor drops more than trouble into his lap.

As he tries to salvage what’s left of the Maw of Mayhem, forces close in on them and tensions rise. New allies are found and old loyalties are put to the test. So is Grim’s relationship with Kit when someone from his past tries to come between them.

Kit doesn’t share and the threat to her position as Grim’s mate raises her hackles. With her heat triggered, she’s running on instinct and battle lines are drawn. Can Grim win back his MC, and prove he’s the man for her, or will he lose it all?




Grim stalked out of the break room, riffling his hair. How the fuck had everything gone to shit so fast? He blew the messy locks from his face and frowned, glancing around the garage --

And did a double take at the trio of bikes by the bay door. Brick and Wrench’s hogs, and Grim’s Bobber. How had that made it out of the city? Holy -- He stumbled over to them, not quite believing his bike was really there. One of the crew must’ve ridden it out of the garage before the club blew, which meant Stitch had left his down there.

Christ, he’d abandoned his own bike to snag the Bobber? A lump gummed up Grim’s throat. You only did that kind of shit for your alpha.

He swallowed, gritting his teeth and hating himself. How much of this clusterfuck could he have avoided if he’d just sucked it the fuck up and owned the position after Clay’s murder?

Guess he’d never know.

Grim blinked, his eyes hot. Fingers trailing down the leather seat. Listening to the click and ping of the engine cooling. Avoiding the rest of the crew packing up. He frowned, guilt eating at him, his stomach a fucking mess. Staring at the bathroom door, willing it to open.

For Kit to come out on two legs.

Come on, baby… Hands down, she was his priority, but Jesus fuck, the rest of the crew depended on him, too, and they all needed to get gone. Clay’s refusal to take a mate abruptly made more sense than Grim wanted it to. Some part of that equation was gonna get fucked, and he’d be damned if it was gonna be Kit unless she was squarely on his dick.

Kat say anything else to you? he asked his cat.

-- no. fighting with Kit --

Grim grunted, the angst of having to choose between his mate and his club landing a gut punch of shame. Christ, he knew what that was like. Being at odds with your beast. The terror of feeling trapped inside yourself, of sinking down so fucking deep you didn’t know if you could come back.


-- different --

Same, Grim snapped. Shit was close enough, less the cuffs. He rubbed at the scars on his wrists, the lines of ink blurred and broken. The memory of the snick of silver setting his teeth on edge. That creeping, seeping burn infecting his veins with its poison.

He wiped the sweat from his brow. Yeah, he knew how it felt, and granted, he wasn’t keeping her there, but he’d sent Kit on that downward spiral by pushing her to change. Jesus, he was a piece of shit. A sad laugh slid from his lips.

But fuck, that’s what everyone thought anyway, wasn’t it? The media, the rest of Mayhem… Mama Roe sure as hell did, and he was about to go kiss her fucking --

Grim’s breath caught as the bathroom door swung open and Kit strode out, looking classy as fuck and like the last person he should be with. Triss dropped the crap she was packing into the cage’s trunk and ran over to hug her.

Christ, he wanted to do the same… but, damn. Grim wet his lips. Kit wasn’t… Damn. She was wearing that soft sweater he’d snagged from the vamp queen’s trophy closet. Shit was fucking sinful the way it hung off her shoulders and clung to her tits. The jeans she’d been so crazy about did the same to her hips, a sliver of her flat stomach flashing as she raised her arms to hug the girl back. And when Triss skipped away, and Kit turned toward the cages?

Woman was a fucking goddess.

Grim bit back a groan at the way her long black hair dusted her ass as she bent to put her bag in the trunk. She looked like a million fucking bucks, which was easily nine hundred ninety-nine thousand and change above his pay grade.

-- ours --

The pang in Grim’s chest echoed the truth of that statement. Maybe he didn’t deserve her now, but he’d fucking bust his ass until he did. If she still wants us. His throat bobbed at the possibility she wouldn’t after what he’d done to her.

-- asked to shift --

Yeah, but the idea of being a shifter versus the reality of it were two very different things, and Grim’d only known Kit for a hot fucking minute. When they’d met, she’d been so damned adamant she didn’t want to change.

-- Reaper decided for her --

Grim’s knuckles whitened. And he’s gonna die for it. Darke chuffed in agreement.

A growl welled up in Grim’s throat, his eyes narrowing.

Asorav had ended his call and wrapped his hand around Kit’s arm, pulling her off to the side. He spoke to her adamantly in hushed tones in the next bay.

-- listen? --

Yeah. Grim stepped back into the shadows, his hearing sharpening.

Kit was smiling up at the vamp like he’d caught her at something. She was trying to play it off as he was talking. “…understand the temptation to eavesdrop on one’s elders, but strongly suggest you resist the urge.” Asorav looped her arm through his, and a muscle in Grim’s jaw twitched at the asshole’s familiarity with her.

-- known her longer --

Don’t remind me, Grim muttered. He still couldn’t believe Kit had been the Darkling’s dog walker.

“There are those that do not take kindly to such invasions of privacy,” the vamp scolded.

Kit’s eyes widened, her pupils waffling --

Grim did a double take. Shit, did I really see that? Aside from the mirror, he’d never seen anyone else’s flip between theirs and their beast’s.

-- did. Kat’s scared. Won’t talk --

He bit back a growl. Was that fucking right?

“Which is why you’re only getting a warning.” The vamp patted her hand like some kind of benevolent fucking uncle. Grim’s lip curled, knowing that grift all too well. He was gonna beat the shit outta --

“Vampires really can read minds?” Kit squeaked. “I thought --”

Wait, what? Grim froze.

“Yes and no,” Asorav said. “Your compatriots’ thoughts are closed to me, but it seems you and I share an affinity.” The asshole chuckled. “Yes, it surprised me as well. However, after Cecelia --”

“I want to know what you meant when you said she was elsewhere.”

Asorav sighed, and Grim had to smirk at Kit’s indignation over the MIA Pomeranian. “I don’t totally understand it,” the vamp said, “but I believe she’s trapped somewhere between. It’s… the place one goes to get from here to there. I’m afraid I can’t explain it any better than that. She wasn’t strong enough to anchor my form at this end, and when I pulled, she was sucked in.”

Well, that sounded like total bullshit, but Grim supposed the prick couldn’t admit to killing the thing. In either case, Kit sounded like she bought it.

“Because she was your heart. Aryanna told me you were a day-walker.”

“Did she now.”

Grim scratched his stubble, wondering how much of an issue that was gonna be. Vampires were enough of a pain in the ass at night. One lurking around 24/7 didn’t exactly give him the warm fuzzies, but then again, this conversation didn’t either.

“… mentioned you couldn’t be, um, de-animated, without your heart.” Kit said, rubbing her arms like she was cold. “Don’t worry, she’s not around anymore to note it in the queen’s memoir.”

Asorav laughed, and Grim wanted to smash his fist through the vamp’s fangs. “How delightful. I never could understand how Aryanna abided that vitriolic shrew. I’m only sorry I wasn’t there to see it, but suppose that’s neither here nor there, and you, my dear, most certainly are. She told you, then, of my Maker’s triumph?”

Kit nodded like she was humoring him. Grim rolled his eyes. Fucking vamps had sticks shoved up their asses almost as far as the witches. Christ, they were pretentious fucks.

“It’s a metaphor, you know,” Asorav said. “She wasn’t my heart; she had my heart. The spell transformed the physical organ and created a bridge, tying our life forces to those we held dearest. It was genius, really. Love is such a fickle thing, and given a vampire’s lifespan, in most cases, transfers quite organically before the object of our affection dies… or is lost, in this case.”

He pulled a wide, platinum bracelet from his pocket, studded with what Grim was positive were diamonds, and closed Kit’s fingers around it. The fuck? “And it seems once again, my heart has been captured by another. I assure you, I am aware this is most inconvenient, but, as I said, the heart wants what the heart wants, now, doesn’t it?”

Grim bared his teeth, knuckles white as he clenched his fists. Had that motherfucker just given Kit a fucking king’s ransom in jewelry and told her he loved her?

-- no, his heart --

I don’t give a fuck, she’s MINE.


About the Author

AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up camo Chucks. Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time. AK pays the bills writing a copious amount of copy, along with a column on SFF. She belongs to the Authors Guild, is an RWA chapter board member, volunteers for far too many committees, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion, sleeps.

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

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Blog Tour: Alla

Iconic New Look of DIOR



Date Published: March 18, 2024

Publisher: MindStir Media


Today, it is difficult to imagine a fashion show of a high-end brand without the presence of Asian and Black models. However, until the mid-20th century, it was considered a taboo. Who were the pioneers to break this barrier and tread this new and difficult path?

For the very first time in the history of high fashion, a model with a non-European appearance graced the runways - Alla Ilchun. Discovered by Dior himself, she was described by him as "one of the born mannequins". In the United States, she held the esteemed title of Ambassador for the House of Dior.

Since 1947, the creative concept behind Dior's New Look was often perceived as a new trend in fashion. This book presents a much broader context of the New Look concept that includes a human component: a new type of model. A woman for whom this fashion design was created. Alla was an Asian beauty whose body perfectly corresponded to the aesthetic of the New Look. Her impassive, distant, and notably aristocratic expression captivated the couturier's attention.

However, the story of her appearance at Dior has remained a mystery until recently. Her name was doomed to be forgotten. This amazing story of the Muse of Dior as a bearer of multiculturalism is explored in our books "L'Énigme d'Alla. Muse de Dior" (2021) in French and "A Pearl of the Orient at Dior" (2022) in Chinese. The value of these books along with their English counterparts lies in the fact that we rely on official documents, unique photographs, and diverse sources of information about Alla's saga. The story of Alla Ilchun, as an Icon of the New Look and Muse of the great couturier, is a story of wisdom and foresight of the legendary architect of fashion and elegance, Christian Dior.



About the Author

A multi-faceted individual, Dr Berlin Irishev is a researcher, diplomat, founder of the global project aimed at reviving the name of the legendary Muse of Dior - Alla Ilchun. This biography is part of a series of books dedicated to chronicle Alla’s fascinating story. The book "L’Enigme d'Alla. Muse de Dior" in French (2021) and "A Pearl of the Orient at Dior" in Chinese (2022) unravel the extraordinary destiny of the Muse of Dior.

In addition to telling the story of Alla’s life, this book focuses on the study of Alla as an icon of the New Look. Dior's groundbreaking decision to invite a model of non-European appearance to the High Fashion runway for the first time marked a true revolution in the fashion industry. Additionally, Dr Irishev serves as the general producer of the documentary "Alla - the Oriental Pearl of Dior".


“Alla is one of the born mannequins”

 “My models are the life of my dresses. And I want my dresses to be happy.”

-         Christian DIOR

“Over the years I have learned that what is important in a dress is the woman who is wearing it.”

 -Yves Saint LAURENT

“Alla was an Asian beauty whose silhouette perfectly corresponded to the aesthetic of the New Look.” 

-Catherine ORMEN (DIOR Forever)

 “In every swarm of bees, Alla is the Queen”

-Frédérique MITTERAND

 “The star of all stars, unsurpassed”


“Happy end guaranteed”





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Monday, May 27, 2024

PROMO: Shifters' Sea



Romantic Moments, Book 5


Paranormal Romance

Date Published: 06-01-2024



Kai – Once upon a time, my kind were protectors, but the modern world doesn’t believe in legends, so I cruise the oceans, happily single with no responsibility. During a storm at sea, I rescue an irresistible woman and get dragged into a battle with a crazy cousin who has developed a taste for selkies.

Ivy – When I left home to escape an arranged marriage to the leader of our selkie harem, I didn’t expect to be caught in a storm and hauled aboard an old tub by a gorgeous guy. Kai is everything I want, but when I return home to tie up loose ends, I find a killer hunting my people. We selkies learn fast that to kill a shark, it takes a shark.


The seal fights its way closer to the boat. I’m about to dive in after it when it reaches the edge. Grabbing a coil of rope, I toss it overboard. The seal shifts to a blond woman. She clings to my line.

Grunting, I haul her up, fighting wind and water, until she lands, naked and panting on my deck.

"Hey are you okay?" I kneel beside her. Still breathing hard, she lifts her gaze to mine and nods. I'm momentarily stunned. She has the most amazing green eyes I've ever seen, not to mention a gorgeous body. Muscles, generous curves, long legs. If we weren't in the middle of a storm, I'd be slack-jawed, but right now my main concern is to keep us afloat. Not that I couldn't survive in the open sea, even in a storm, but I've gotten attached to this boat and I'd rather not lose it.

"Come on. I have clothes you can put on."

We stand and the ship lurches. I reach out to steady her, but her sea legs are just as good as mine. Not shocking, considering what she is.

I glance off to the side. Another giant wave rises and in it, I glimpse a big, dark silhouette with glowing amber eyes. It's gone in seconds.

"What's wrong?" asks my unexpected guest.

"I thought I saw something, that's all."

About the Author

Kate Hill is a vegetarian New Englander who loves writing romantic fantasies. When she's not working on her books, Kate enjoys reading, working out, watching horror movies, and researching vampires and Viking history. She runs the Compelling Beasts Blog that is dedicated to antagonists, antiheroes, and paranormal creatures. Kate also writes as Saloni Quinby.


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Blog Tour: Quantum Consequence


Physic, Lust and Greed Series, Book 5



Date Published: 05-16-2024

Publisher: Acorn Publishing


After foiling the political ambitions of a would-be American dictator, time-traveling lovers Marta Hamilton and Marshall Grissom return to their life in the Caribbean only to confront the murder of a friend and inherit responsibility for a gutsy 10-year old boy. Throughout their unlikely and tumultuous relationship, Marta has harbored suspicions that her time-traveling companion is not being honest with her. Is Marshall really the bumbling, good-hearted klutz she has come to love and trust? Or is he the cunning, cold-blooded assassin Gillis Kerg suspects him to be? In this fifth tale of physics, lust and greed, a bizarre parallel universe and a monstrous product of artificial intelligence will impose a costly consequence requiring both Marta and Marshall to face the truth of her most haunting question:  “Who are you, Marshall Grissom?”



Everyone familiar with Marshall Grissom and Marta Hamilton knew Marta was the scary one.

Marshall towered six foot seven and was as wispy as a soda straw. Clumsy, self-effacing and kind. In contrast, Marta stood barely five feet, sinewy, built like a marathoner. Although her romantic liaison with Marshall had softened some of her bristles, she could be as mean as a mamba snake and unforgiving as a loan shark.

Once she’d allowed someone to pick their way through her tangled emotional defenses, though, her loyalty was fierce. Which was why she was quick to respond when she heard a man yelling from the dock beside Cecil’s boat, Somewhere Over China.

“Come on, old man! Come out here!”

Marta scrambled to the deck of Dontchaknow—a thirty-two-foot Bavaria tied bow to stern with Cecil’s ketch-rigged Tayana in Grenada’s Prickly Bay Marina. On the dock a hulking man, his belly peeking out from under a T‑shirt that strained to contain beefy biceps, swayed a little, like a long-distance sailor who hadn’t quite found his land legs.

“Come out, you, and bring Baptiste! His mama want him home right now,” Cecil’s would-be assailant bellowed in a Caribbean-Creole accent.

Cecil emerged onto his boat’s deck, brandishing a speargun.

“Stop right there, Ignace Aguillard,” Cecil said. “Baptiste doesn’t have to go anywhere with you. You hit this boy. Go away, or we’ll call the constable.”

“I’m da only father he got,” Aguillard answered. “Boy sass me, need to get hit. Boys gotta learn respect. Put down that toothpick you holdin’, you, or I come up there and stick it up your ass.”

Marshall clambered up on deck after Marta. “What’s going—‍”

The question died on his lips as Baptiste peeked from behind Cecil, revealing a black and purple shiner that closed his left eye.

“Marshall,” Marta said, “go below and get the flare gun.”

Instead, Marshall vaulted over Dontchaknow’s lifelines, landing with surprising agility onto the narrow dock.

“Marshall, no!” Marta called.

Aguillard turned to confront this new threat.

“Now you in trouble, you!” Baptiste shouted with all the venom a ten-year-old could muster. “Dis da one I tell you about. He a famous killer, not afraid a’ da likes a’ you.”

Aguillard glanced at Cecil, still pointing his speargun, then back to Marshall. He laughed. “You who dis boy been yappin’ about? I break you like a stick.”

Marshall looked around, blinking, as if surprised to find himself in the middle of this confrontation but quickly collected himself. “You hurt Baptiste? He’s just a little boy.”

“Believe me,” Aguillard said, “gonna hurt you a lot worse.”

Aguillard took a step forward.

Bugger, thought Marta. Her only weapon, a flare gun, was below deck. She saw Cecil lean forward, the speargun steady in his hands.

“What are you doing, Marshall?” she said. “You can’t—‍”

Aguillard charged with Marshall dead in his sights.

“Run, Marshall!” she yelled.

Marshall appeared frozen, paralyzed with fear.

“Oh no!” Cecil called, tracking Aguillard with his speargun, finger on the trigger.

Marshall flinched but stood his ground as Aguillard gathered momentum.

Marta wondered if Marshall wanted flowers at his funeral.

At the last instant before impact, though, Marshall stood tall—almost on tiptoe—and executed an elegant spin, like a matador’s pase natural, allowing Aguillard to brush past him, only a whisper of space between them. As he passed, Marshall gave Aguillard a backhanded nudge with just enough pressure to alter the big man’s trajectory.

Aguillard careened off the dock into fifteen feet of warm, green water, then came up sputtering and cursing. Marta appeared at Marshall’s side, carrying an aluminum dinghy oar. Aguillard swallowed a mouthful of seawater and gagged. Marta swung the oar with all her might, striking him on the head.

Baptiste had leapt onto the dock and stood beside Marshall and Marta as they watched Aguillard sink. Bubbles drifted to the surface, their wet little pops waning in frequency.

Eventually, Baptiste said, “Somebody don’t do somethin’, he gonna drown.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Marta said.

Cecil joined them. They regarded her with imploring eyes.

“Oh, all right,” she said. “Marshall, go to the beach.”

Marta dove in, grabbed Aguillard by his hair and kicked toward shore.

Marshall helped haul him onto the gleaming sand where Aguillard lay unmoving, turning a curious shade of blue.

“Um . . . shouldn’t we, you know . . . do mouth-to-mouth or something?” Marshall asked.

“Not my mouth,” said Marta. “And not yours either, if you want it to have anything to do with mine.”

“We can’t just let him—‍”

“Oh, I suppose not,” Marta said.

She jumped into the air, then using her whole weight, slammed her elbow onto Aguillard’s chest, which made a cracking sound. Water spewed from his mouth as he gagged and gasped.

“Roll him onto his side,” Marta said.

“Okay, now what?” Marshall asked.

“If he doesn’t get up and walk away in an hour, we’ll call someone to haul him off.”

“I think,” Marshall said, “the tide’s coming in.”

“Then I guess he’d better hurry.”

About the Author

Mike Murphey is a native of eastern New Mexico and spent almost thirty years as an award-winning newspaper journalist in the Southwest and Pacific Northwest. His debut novel, Section Roads, has been recognized by Indie Reader Discovery Awards, Reader Views Reviewers Choice Awards, The IAN Book of the Year Awards, the Somerset Contemporary Fiction Awards, and the Independent Publishers Book Awards. His novel, The Conman has been recognized by the International Book Awards, the eLit Awards and the Manhattan Book Awards. His award-winning Physics, Lust and Greed Series includes Taking Time,  Wasting Time, Killing Time and  The Outlaw Gillis Kerg. “We Never Knew Just What It Was… The Story of the Chad Mitchell Trio” is his first non-fiction work. Mike loves fiction, cats, baseball and sailing. He splits his time between Spokane, Washington, and Phoenix, Arizona.


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PROMO: Doctor Misery's City of Music



Science Fiction/Fantasy



Can laughter save the mortal soul? Perhaps it can as a beauty-obsessed mad scientist becomes the cultural and political leader of a nation. Deceived by his pupil Doctor Praterius, Doctor and Mizzieri and Gelsomina are driven again to creating new realities facilitated by transformative music. Great innovations are on display; AI created propaganda such as the Mexican Robin Hood La Carambada, musically induced blockchains and introducing Crotox, a cryptocurrency based on the value of skin rejuvenators.

Musicians develop personal leitmotifs as they navigate between mundane and extraordinary worlds, from the forested hills of New York to the Italian mountaintop city of Ravello, to a neighborhood in Venice where the feeble-minded are barred from technologies created after 1980, and finally on a river journey through a South American rain forest, a world that becomes entirely transformed into music. Will music enable higher consciousness or bring about submission through mesmerization? Will it strengthen the conscience or assist Praterius in fulfilling her corrupt ambitions? Engaged in battles with dissonant harmonies and immoral regimes, these musicians will attempt to reconcile the paradoxes of human nature, proving music can indeed save the mortal soul.


About the Author

Nick Cascino is a media theorist, part-time musician and aspiring astrophysicist attempting to integrate knowledge across the realms of Quantum Physics, the creation myths of ancient cultures, the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, and the superintelligence embedded in progressive jazz, musicals and operas. He wrestles with the great paradoxes of human nature, how the fundamental building blocks of the soul create infinite blends of morality and depravity, and how we can reconcile these by revealing the unconscious through music. While he pursues an elusive apprenticeship with the great Neil deGrasse Tyson that would greatly improve his prospects, it's most likely that he will attain his astrophysicist credentials no earlier than 2039, in time for the Centennials of the 1939 World's Fair and the Wizard of Oz. He has however, developed a cutting edge concept called QUANTUM AROUSAL THEORY, central to the work of his main protagonist, Doctor Bruno Mizzieri. It's an artistic concept based on science, mythology, history and complex math equations. It's long-term objective is enabling the perception of simultaneous realities, but at a minimum it will make you the life at parties.


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Friday, May 24, 2024

Blog Tour: The Caretaker



Haunted Historical Mystery Series, Book 3


Paranormal Thriller

Date Published: February 25, 2024

A blizzard rips through the Black Hills of South Dakota, as journalist Rachael embarks on a journey to Hawthorne House, a remote inn located deep in the frigid wilderness. As the storm rages on, Rachael finds herself caught in a gripping tale of mystery and intrigue, unsure of what lies ahead in the enigmatic world of the treacherous snow-covered landscape and the sinister forces that lurk within Hawthorn House. The icy snowstorm blurs the lines between reality and imagination as Rachael uncovers secrets and revelations that challenge her perception of the caretaker and the true nature of Hawthorn House.


Viewing the house piece by piece, with its arched windows and elaborate porch it was beautiful, but the disparate elements did not come together to make a harmonious home. It squatted there in its hovel, the whiteness of the siding disappearing in the grayness of the photo. The small windows in the attic appeared to be hooded eyes, malevolent in the darkness of winter's twilight, and I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. The pictures I had seen of Mawthorne Mouse had been taken in the summer, when the over: growth of trees had masked much of the home. I stepped closer to the monitor and studied the house closely. The entrance appeared to be a dark, wooden door. It's usually hard to go wrong with a door shape, but it seemed shorter and broader than most. There was depth to the opening, as if I could reach out with my finger, push through that door, and enter the house. I shivered again. I was letting the lateness of the night and the ambience of the Alex Johnson get to me - I, who always resided in the here and now. I reached out to the mouse to close the browser and paused. Perhaps it was a weak connection or a faulty signal, but snowflakes appeared to drift across the screen, twisting and spiraling as they swept around the house. I grabbed the mouse, and the screen settled - no movement, Yust a picture of an uneasy house, shivering in the cold. I closed the tab and went to bed, shrugging off my apprehension.

About the Author

 Regina endeavors to take her readers on a journey around the United States to be fascinated by our country's history in a series of chilling books she hopes you will love. She blends a captivating blend of mystery, historical intrigue, and paranormal elements, her gripping novels, weaving together tales of secrets and revelations that span centuries. Her stories often delved into the hidden depths of history, uncovering long-forgotten mysteries and unsolved crimes that haunted the past. It was the paranormal twists that set Regina's work apart, adding an extra layer of intrigue and suspense that kept readers eagerly turning the pages until the very end. She continues to explore the darker corners of the human experience through her captivating storytelling.

Thank you for reading and please leave a review. Her next book will be coming out in the summer of 2024, The Haunting of York Hall. Any questions or comments? Please visit her wheebsite at or follow her on Facebook where she will keep you updated on upcoming books. Questions? Please email her at – She'll be happy to hear from you!


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