Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Would he still love her…if he knew? (His Kind of Cowgirl)

Would he still love her…if he knew?

Tanner Hayes smashed Claire's life to pieces when he chose the rodeo over her ten years ago. And now he'd wrecked her truck! Fantastic. She'd lost her husband, the family ranch was mired in debt, her father was recuperating from a stroke and her son was being bullied. Why not throw a reckless bull rider into the mix?

All she'd wanted was a safe, stable life. But with Tanner back in town—and staying on her ranch—nothing was safe, or under control. Not the feelings she'd fought so hard to forget. Not the son she was determined to protect. And certainly not her long-held secret…

Everything happened at once and in slow motion.
A crushing jolt shuddered through the truck. Her wheels skidded sideways. She smacked against the window when her pickup rolled down an embankment, as if punched by something large and lethal. Glass rained deadly sharp. The earth tumbled around her, her truck in spin cycle. When a massive tree loomed, the Chevy slammed into it then stilled.
Winded and stunned, she hung upside-down in her lap belt, blood, metallic and warm, on her tongue, a rushing sound whistling in her ears. Her heartbeat changed and grew slow and rolling in darkness. Something hurt, a long way away. Then nothing.
“Ma’am. Ma’am. Are you all right?” A man’s voice shouted, rousing her. She tried turning her head but pain held it in place. When she opened her mouth, silent panic flew out.
“Hold on. I’m getting you out of there.”
Acrid smoke pierced her consciousness. She closed her eyes against the billowing grit.
This wasn’t happening. It was a dream. No. A nightmare.
A tugging motion jerked her right and left, followed by a ripping sound. Large hands halted her sudden fall.
“Got you.”
Her rescuer cradled her against his chest, his breaths heaving beneath her ear. After carrying her some distance, he lowered her slowly to the ground. Grass scraped against her stinging cheeks and she opened her eyes.
“What?” she croaked, then swiped at the trickle leaking from her mouth. A man wearing a cowboy hat hunched over her, his features blurred.
“You’ve been in an accident. We have. Our trucks collided in the intersection.”
“My truck!” She bolted upright and clutched the swirling ground.
An arm snaked around her back and eased her down. “I called the dispatcher. The fire department’s on the way.”
A wail sounded in the distance and Claire wanted to shriek with it.
Her special day. Her anniversary. Ruined. No. Demolished by this…this…
She squinted upward and focused. A dark swirl of hair brushed across the tall man’s forehead; a light scar zigzagged down his square jaw. Recognition zapped through her.
It couldn’t be…
“Hello, Claire.” His mouth went up, just a fraction—the same ready-for-anything smile that had once undone her.
She closed her eyes, heart thudding. Ten years since she’d vowed never to see him again…and now here he stood, two for two in wrecking her life.

Karen Rock is an award-winning YA and adult contemporary romance author. She holds a master's degree in English and was an ELA instructor before becoming a full-time writer. Currently she writes for Harlequin Blaze and Harlequin Heartwarming. Her novel, A LEAGUE OF HER OWN, won the 2015 National Excellence in Romance Fiction award in contemporary romance series and the 2015 Bookseller's Best award for contemporary romance, long.

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Sunday, February 21, 2016

Write Like a Wizard 2016 Writing Challenge Entry: Time-Witch by, Allison Whitmore

Write Like a Wizard 

2016 Writing Challenge Entry: 


by, Allison Whitmore

In 3000 words or less, tell a story about a girl that escapes from a bully by closing her eyes and vanishing? How does she use this new power?

By Allison Whitmore

At nearly fifteen, Lizzy King had nothing to offer the world other than an unusual knowledge of an old band that she loved, The Doors. She lived in Venice Beach, California, which many considered the epicenter of everything Jim Morrison. Jim Morrison had been the lead singer of the famous band. He was a rock legend, and a part of the 27-club, which she found fascinating in and of itself. Entry to be a member—oh, you just had to be an ultra-cool counter-culture hippy type person with a lot of talent—and also die at the age of 27. Her earphones sang the beachy electric guitar as his godlike voice filtered into her ears telling her that days were strange. She believed it. The next song perpetuated the idea that people were strange. She believed that, too.
As she reached one of the more populated streets in her neighborhood, Abbott Kinney, she saw three figures at the end of it. Great. She normally didn’t encounter the trio until she hit Main Street. They were in front of an eatery known as Lemonade. It had really great food and, of course, fabulous lemonade. She had been dreaming of one since fourth period that day. But, she had not counted on Frankie Baxter and her two goons filling the space in front of the shop before she got there. Her stomach curled. She passed a food truck that sat in front of the bar her Uncle Ward worked in. She checked her watch. It was 3:15. Her uncle didn’t usually get in until four to start checking the stock of whatever it was they stocked inside and preparing for the night of bands, locals, tourists, and hipsters from Silverlake who decided to take a jaunt over to Venice to further their stance of being hip without wanting to be. 
Lizzy could dip inside and hide, stating that she was waiting for her uncle, but no, she had a right to have her lemonade, didn’t she? The problem was Frankie’s favorite goon, Tasha, had a boyfriend, who’d sat next to Lizzy during the pep rally last week. They were partners in biology class and on top of that, their teacher had assigned them to participate in the science fair together. But that didn’t matter to Tasha. She accused Lizzy of trying to “swoop in on her man.” Of course, that was followed by a howl from Tasha, a guffaw from Frankie, and a snicker by their quieter friend, Marie. “As if he’d want a puny little nerd like you.”
Lizzy hated the girls. The very sight of them turned her stomach sour. And they were always there; in third period math where she was the only 10th grader in a sea of juniors—like Frankie and her goons—and seniors. Lizzy hated that class. She didn’t even really like math. She was just good at school, getting her work done as best she could and as fast as she could.
“Hey!” she heard a girl’s voice stage whisper from behind her. She whipped around, on edge. “Lizzy. Meet me in your uncle’s place. The side door is unlocked.”
“What? Where are you?” she called out, as a man on a bike with his son strapped in a toddler’s seat behind him passed her frowning.
“I have a way to help you!” the voice came again, but Lizzy still saw no one.
“Look, I’m not going wherever you ask me to go, and…” Lizzy realized that she was hearing the voice loud and clear through her earphones. But it wasn’t like the voice was coming through the speakers. It was there alongside them, like how someone would sound if they were speaking to her while she was listening to music in her bedroom or something.
“All right, then. If you won’t come in…” the voice trailed off, suddenly leaving Lizzy afraid. That sounded sort of like a threat didn’t it?
“You’ll do what?” A slightly plump woman in jogging gear sped past her. Lizzy was thankful she too had headphones in and hadn’t heard her babbling to herself.
Deciding she had no other choice but to walk full speed toward the girls she wanted to avoid, she quickened herself up the sidewalk behind the powerwalking lady. As she moved, a bird whizzed by her head. It flew up high then flew by her again. “What the heck? Go away!”
Then she felt it. A warm bead of wetness dropping on her head. She froze, trying not to screech, looking up to see her favorite bullies still in the doorway of the shop. They had yet to spot her. She felt the wetness drip onto her shoulder. “Oh God! Gross.” When she dared look at the substance, preparing for utter disgust, she did not find what she thought she would at all. It was bright, shimmering gold and it continued rolling down her side before snaking into her hand. She screamed a little, quickly hiding her mouth behind her hand. But it was too late. The girls at the end of the road were now looking up.
She couldn’t turn back now, but her focus was more on the strange weight in her left hand. When she turned her palm over, she found a golden coin that felt warm against her skin, yet when she touched it with two fingers from her right hand, she found it to be ice cold. What on earth? Then, she heard another voice. This time it was a male.
“Lizzy King, you are a time witch, and you must embrace your destiny,” the voice went on, making her stomach churn. Everything around her seemed to blur. Frightened, she dropped the coin and rushed ahead. She ran without thinking and before she knew it, she’d smacked right into Frankie, who shoved her backward.
“What the hell is your problem?” the tall, thick girl asked her.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t see you?”
“Yeah? Just like you didn’t see us when you sat next to Tasha’s boyfriend at the rally?”
“I told you that I—“
“Shut up.”
Before she could respond, Frankie shoved her to the ground with fierceness. To Lizzy’s left, she saw the coin again.
“What’s that?” the girl asked, but before she could reach for it, Lizzy snatched it into her hand. As soon as Frankie lunged for her, she pinched her eyes shut and squeezed the coin in her hand, thrusting it behind her back.
When she expected to find a fist in her face, Lizzy instead felt a cool gust of wind stinging her cheeks. She opened her eyes to a sudden blackness all around her, and then the air thinned in her lungs.  She froze with fright, closing her eyes again, praying for the chaotic moment to end.
Then, she plopped onto a wet surface. It felt like grass and mud. She dug her hands into the substance beside her. It really did feel like mud. She scrambled backwards. It was an attempt to protect herself, but from what she did not know. She slammed her eyes shut and pinched her lips together. I-2-3. When she opened her eyes again, she was back on the sidewalk, but the bullies were gone and Lemonade was gone, even though she was still on the same corner. The crowd was thicker too. People in clothing she’d think would be reserved for a costume party waltzed by her nonchalantly. Many held an odor of perspiration as if they had not showered. What was going on?
When a man with circular sunglasses and porkchop sideburns nearly knocked her down with a plunge to her shoulder, she shrieked, and “Hey! Watch it!” was his reply. The man smirked. Then, something clicked in her mind.
“Hey, wait!” she said before the man could turn to leave. Why is everyone dressed like it’s the 60s?”
The man lowered his sunglasses and lifted his eyebrows.  “Because it’s 1967.”
“No. There must be some kind of festival.”
The man looked at her like she was crazy, and then stalked on to wherever he was in such a rush to get to. 1967? He was lying. But after she took in her environment, she had a sinking feeling that maybe he wasn’t. She reached into her pocket and found the gold coin. As soon as she tightened her hand around it, she felt the cool air against the blackness once again filling her eyes. 
“You little bitch!” yelled Frankie, her fingers poking harshly into Lizzy’s shoulder.
Lizzy clutched the coin again, squeezing her eyes shut. Then, she was back in the past, but this time her arrival had gone smoother. It was a cool slip from one space in time to the next. She stood on the same road once again, watching the people pass her by. No one seemed to notice her appearing out of thin air. 
“How is this even happening?” she mumbled quietly as she looked around for some sort of clue. The coin was obviously controlling this travelling—or whatever it was she was actually doing. But where had it come from; and why was it given to her?
 Then, a vaguely familiar male voice spoke through her headphones once more. “Lizzy, you are one of the last of your kind. Please, find me so I can give you a message and send you on your way. You can’t stay in the past too long—or it will affect you.”
“Who are you?” she asked, spinning around in a daze, hoping to catch a glimpse of the invisible man. “Affect me, how?”
The voice didn’t respond, but Lizzy was certainly turning heads in the crowd around her. She had to find him, but who was he? And more importantly, where was he?
As she walked by the place that would eventually become Lemonade, Lizzy noticed a flyer taped to a pole. She was going to ignore it, but the way it flapped in the calm breeze pulled her attention back to it. There was some scribbled writing that she couldn’t really decipher, but it was the black and white photograph in the center that made her take a second look. She shook her head and ripped the paper down from the pole. In clear, black print along the top, it read, “Come Hear the Voice of Venice on the Boardwalk.”
Was that really who she thought it was in the picture? Her thoughts shifted back to the faceless voice. Was he leading her somewhere? And if he was, did that mean she was running out of time? He had said something about how it would affect her if she stayed too long. What was going on?
Looking off in the direction of Main Street, which would lead her right to the short paths that would take her to the Boardwalk, Lizzy wondered if it would be a fool’s journey. It was less than a ten minute walk from where she stood, but how much time did she have? And what if it was all for nothing? Whoever the voice belonged to had scared her. She decided she should just use the coin to go back.
Grasping it in her hand, she clenched her eyes tightly and waited to feel the cool air brushing against her skin. Instead, nothing happened. When she opened her eyes again, she was still right in the middle of Abbot Kinney, 1967. “It’s the fear. It is how you control your power. You need to rid yourself of it. That is what I can teach you. Come hear my music,” the voice said, his tone now calm and soothing.
“I don’t even know where to go on the Boardwalk! This place doesn’t really look like it will in the future,” she whispered, earning a few more stares from passersby.
“What are you wearing?” asked a kind voice. It was that of an old woman who wore a large, orange hat with feathers protruding from the top.
“Excuse me?”
“Those things,” she said, pointing at Lizzy’s face.
“Oh,” she gasped, yanking her headphones from her ears. As she stuffed them into her pocket, she tried to come up with a believable anecdote. “They’re these new earmuffs I’m testing out. Small, insulated.”
“In California?”
“I’m heading to Boston for college in the fall,” she sputtered.
It was a horrible lie, but Lizzy had been put on the spot. She was no expert on earmuffs, and she knew she did not look old enough to be going away to college. But she hoped the lady would accept her as another Venice Beach kook and move on. It must have worked because the woman smiled and let out a hearty chuckle. “I’m losing touch with this new batch of kids. All these new, flashy things; we didn’t have half this junk when I was a kid.”
“Imagine how it will be in the future,” Lizzy said with a laugh.
“Well you take care, dear. It’s starting to get cold near the beach, so try to stay warm,” the woman said, turning away with a single wave to say goodbye.
It wasn’t exactly what Lizzy would call cold, but night was fast approaching. How long had she been in the past? And what if she didn’t get back to present time soon? Her heart began pounding furiously, nearly escaping from her chest as the world spun around her. “Calm yourself and find peace. It’s all about perception. How others see you will open doors to things and places you’ve never imagined. Your time is thinning, Lizzy King. Find me, now.”
The voice sounded more familiar now than it had before, but it was probably just time affecting her as he had warned. Unwilling to risk it getting worse, Lizzy made her way toward the coast. Whether she’d find the mystery figure was unknown, but further attempts at using the coin were a failure.
The sounds of the Boardwalk could be heard after a short walk through the strange streets that she thought she knew so well. She was still in Venice, where she had lived all her life, but it looked so different. Even the people were different; friendlier and less self-indulged.
By the time she arrived at her destination, Lizzy had almost completely forgotten about Frankie and her goons until their faces flashed back in her mind. “Oh no,” she gasped, the fear of uncertainty striking again. Surely, they must have realized that she had disappeared for a long time. How would she explain herself? It looked like more bullying would be in her near future.
As she walked along the pier, taking in the differences of a world she’d never known, a familiar tune played in the distance. Was that—? It was! Lizzy followed the sound, singing along with the faint lyrics as they got closer. “Riders on the Storm!”
There they were, performing on the boardwalk. It was the Doors, and front and center stood Jim Morrison, his eyes closed as his soothing voice filled the air with his words. Then, he paused and looked out into the crowd; right in Lizzy’s direction.
She paused, her heart skipping a beat as she tried to piece everything together. Was he the voice in her head? Or wherever it had been?
When the song reached its end, Jim walked off and disappeared into the crowd that had surrounded the group. Moments later, however, the voice returned. “You’ve come. Now let’s send you back with the one thing that will set you on your way.”
Lizzy felt as if he was speaking to her from the water, so she walked down the pier and darted through the sand. There he was, his bare feet soaking up the water as it washed up against the shore. Turning around, he smiled and nodded. “I didn’t think you were coming, but I’m glad you have.”
“Oh my god!” she whispered, trying to contain her excitement. It was difficult because her ability to breathe properly had left her. He stood there. Slender, beautiful, and more soulful than she could have ever imagined. “You’re really him?”
“It appears so,” he chuckled, staring back toward the sunset. “But set that aside for now. We’ll speak again in the future; or the past. Either way, there’s no time now. You need to understand your power and master how to use it. Then, you won’t have to worry about the ill effects of time travel.”
“And how do I do that?”
“You let go of your fear. Embrace what you believe, but stand firm in your convictions. A friend of mine sent you here. She is the one who gave you the coin so you could find me. That will be your timepiece; it allows you to harness your power to manipulate the fabric of time and space. As an empath, I’ve been able to speak with you here, but I’m no time-witch, so speaking into the future is difficult and costly for me. I imprint my spirit in my music, my words, you dig? It’s different. But you are something special, Lizzy.”
“What about Frankie? She’ll know something weird happened. Her goons, too.”
“Clutch your timepiece and think back to that very moment. Exercise your fears and confront your tormenters. They will torment no more when they see that you’re fearless. Show you are bold and more beautiful than you know. Go now, Lizzy King. Become who you’re meant to be.”
Holding the coin in her hand, it suddenly went from ice cold to fiery warm. The sensation tickled her palm as harsh winds blew against her exposed skin. Seconds later, she opened her eyes to see Frankie and her goons walking down the street.
Was she really back to that afternoon? And back to where she had first traveled from?  Lemonade was right near her this time, but the strange bird seemed to be absent. That aside, it seemed whatever Jim had told her to do had worked.
“Look who it is, Tasha. It’s the puny thing that tried to steal your man.”
Instead of panicking or cowering in fear, Lizzy walked onward with an air of arrogance. “I didn’t steal your man, but if you don’t leave me alone, I will,” she said, her voice peaceful but stern.
Frankie’s mouth fell open as Tasha and Marie gasped in shock. “You think we’re afraid of you all of a sudden?”
“No, but you should be,” Lizzy said, walking past the bullies to get her lemonade. They never said another word that day, but she no longer had a reason to fear them. She was a time witch, and fear had no place in her life.

About the Author

Allison Whitmore was born in Los Angeles and studied literature and writing at Long Island University. She spent several years teaching English and history after earning her master's degree at Mount St. Mary's University. Outside of writing and reading, Allison loves classic Hollywood films, and spending time with her family and friends. In 2011, she started working on The Lost Heir (Book I in The Diadem Chronicles) with two of her good friends, Erin Virginia and Grace Arden. She is grateful to have them along for the ride as she developed the characters and etched out the massive story world of the novel and the exciting series-to-come. 

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

#NEWRELEASE Angel Hands By: Cait Reynolds

Angel Hands
By: Cait Reynolds

You can’t love what you hate, but you can desire it.


Sometimes, it is best to begin at the end.

Angel Hands, by Cait Reynolds, begins at the end of The Phantom of the Opera, revealing, for the first time, the true story behind Leroux’s fantastical tale and the real fate of the Phantom himself.

When the Opera de Paris is purchased and renovated, years after a mysterious fire nearly destroyed it, the Phantom finds himself unexpectedly resurrected - in the form of a young boy hired by the manager’s daughter to play pranks on the cast, crew, and audience. After all, the return of the infamous “Opera Ghost” can only be good for ticket sales, and Mireille Dubienne is determined to see her father’s investment become profitable.

Plain, shrewd, and proud, Mireille pours the rage of her disappointed hopes and looming spinsterhood into helping her father manage the Opera de Paris and making it a success.

What she doesn’t count on is the real “Opera Ghost” deciding he no longer wishes to be an understudy in his own domain, the theater that Mireille believes is hers.

The Phantom and Mireille push each other to the limits of their cunning to control and manipulate each other, with no game too low to play. With each passing day, the stakes get higher, until surrender is no longer an option for the Phantom or Mireille.

Every trick and betrayal drives them toward a startling truth that will change more than one life forever: you can’t love what you hate…but you can desire it.
An Exclusive Excerpt!

“Well?” Mireille snapped. “What's it to be? Hot oil or the rack?”

She was tired of waiting for her phantom fellow to answer her with the expected threat. After pinning her against the wall, all he had done was stare at her. He hadn't moved an inch. She had been a little disconcerted at the glazing over of his eyes as he had gazed down at her, and she felt his rather obvious arousal grind into her hips.

He blinked twice, as if coming to, and Mireille felt a vague stab of anxiety as he looked down at her with the kind of undisguised lust that Carcasonne had revealed earlier. Only this time, the lust in his eyes was...well, not welcome, no, certainly not...but neither was it entirely repugnant.

She took a quick breath in, and for an instant, almost believed that he would kiss her. His eyes were half-lidded, and his lips parted.

“Monsieur, you do an excellent imitation of a dead carp,” she said, trying to regain control of the situation.

“Says the harping fishwife!” he snarled back, all the lust fled from his expression.

Mireille surprised herself with the laugh that bubbled up inside her and spilled out as inelegant giggles and snorts. The phantom stepped back quickly, releasing her as if she was a burning coal. Through the tears of her mirth, she thought she saw a look of genuine astonishment on his face.

Bon soir,” she said as her laughter subsided and a faint smile lingered like the last moments of sunset before twilight. “I will be going now.”

She saw him looking at her, his eyes almost glowing with some unreadable emotion.

“I still have not said you can leave.” His voice was as cold as the water in the canals, cold as stone, and hot as fire.

“Do you want me to stay?”

She had meant to be challenging and impertinent, yet, for a moment, he seemed to hesitate.
Their eyes met, and they both quickly looked away.

“Until next week,” he said flatly, still not looking at her.

“Same time,” she confirmed, gazing everywhere but at him.

“You had best leave now.”

“I was already going.”

“Well, now you may go.”

The urge to have the last word was almost overpowering. Digging her nails into her palms, she turned and marched back out the way she came. She plotted how the next time, she would be the one to dismiss him, then stopped in her tracks. It was absolutely horrifying.

She was actually looking forward to the next time.

Cait Reynolds Bio:

Cait Reynolds lives in Boston area with her husband and 4-legged fur child. She discovered her passion for writing early and has bugged her family and friends with it ever since. When she isn’t cooking delicious meals, running around the city, rock climbing like a boss, or enjoying the rooftop deck that brings her closer to the stars, she writes. Reynolds is able to pull from real life experiences such as her kidney transplant, and her writing reflects her passion for life from having to face the darkest  places and find the will to laugh.

Cait Reynolds Social Media:

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Friday, February 12, 2016

An Interview with Raz T. Slasher

Today we feature an interview with actor, Raz. T. Slasher!

Where are you from? 
What inspired you to write your first book?
It’s something that I spent a lot of time thinking about doing over the years. I’d written a lot of songs for the band I toured with on and off for seven years, wrote a lot of poems, short stories, and even a few scrpts. With my life finally starting to settle down I guess I thought it was time to tackle my dream.
Do you write full-time or part-time? How do you balance your writing life with your family/work life?  
At this point I’m writing full time. My career as an LMT ended after a series of accidents and I decided to make writing and acting my full time focus. It’s been difficult, but all things that are worth it in this life don’t come easy.
What book are you reading now?  
Right now I’m re-reading my favorite book of all time. Cabal  By: Clive Barker

Can you share a little of your current work with us?
The ruined face of The Mime seemed to almost grin at Matthew, pristine white glove waved at him. Shock set in on Matthew at that moment, his mind unable to even process what he was seeing. Whatever that thing was, it shouldn't exist, he thought to himself. It's skin was pale and cracked, it's face split in so many places that it couldn't be alive. Even it's eyes were clouded over, the pupils looking down right unnatural. He wanted to point it out to Mary, to scream for her to run. Something in him wouldn't allow it, and he felt absolutely helpless. Mary, seeing the look in Matthew's eyes gave pause. She'd never seen him act like this before and it frightened her.

“What's wrong baby? You're scaring me! Please, talk to........”
Mary would never find out what was wrong with Matthew. From behind her a gloved hand reached out and pressed over her mouth and nose so hard she wouldn't be able to breathe, let alone speak. The other glove casually moved down, and in an instant a nearly foot long knife slipped out of the black and white striped sleeve and into it's grasp. Matthew saw the gleam of the parking lot light shine off the metal just before it moved up against Mary's throat. Mary fought against the hold on her, her eyes going wide when she saw the blade. Try as she might, the creature had her. Every attempt glanced of it as if it were a solid wall. Her screamed were muffled behind that sinister white fabric.
It was then that Matthew's words came back to him.
“Oh FUCK! Mary, hold on baby! I'm here!”
Matthew tore into action, heading directly for Mary and the creature that held her. He had no idea what he would do when he reached it, but he had to do something. Everything seemed to slow down, as if time was beginning to freeze. Every step he took feeling like an eternity. He was only a few feet away when that intimidating blade ripped through Mary's throat with no resistance. Arterial blood pumped out so hard that a thick stream of blood shot forth and splattered across Matthew's face, bringing him to a halt. The now bloody white glove released Mary and her body crumpled to the ground at an unnatural angle. Her screams turning to so many gurgles as blood continued to ooze from that jagged wound.

How do you overcome writer’s block? 
When the writer’s block kicks in I revisit the films and novels that inspire me the most. They always remind me what I do what I do and inevitably spark some deep desire in me to write again.

What was the most fun part of writing your book? 
I think the most fun about writing the book was actually creating the script and filming the movie at the same time. I wanted to do something that no one had ever done in the horror genre before. The days and nights were long, and often I’d come home with The Mime makeup and blood caked all over me, but every second was well worth it.

What was the hardest part of writing your book?
I think the hardest part of writing the book was likely overcoming my own insecurities as a writer. It’s one thing to write a small piece, but when you write a novel you bare your soul to the world. I put so much of myself into various characters that it ended up being more like therapy I guess. Sometimes it’s hard to face yourself in your weakest moments.
Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it? 
I think while writing this book I learned to trust myself. I spent a lot of time in the beginning worrying about how what I’d written would be received that I nearly forgot to enjoy myself. It became this all consuming thing to get my thoughts down on paper. I also learned that sometimes what you need most is a fresh pair of eyes. I can’t begin to tell you how important that is. It’s ok to ask for advice, in fact sometimes it’s the best course of action.
Do you have any advice for other writers?
My advice to other writers would be to never give up. You have to write for yourself first and foremost. Sure, selling copies of your work is an amazing feeling, but if you’re not happy with what you’ve written, then what was the point? Find the genre/genres that speak to you the most and share your voice with the world. Your passion will show in your work, and that’s what people will connect with more than anything.
Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
Above all I hope people enjoy what I write. To me horror is a life style, no other genre teaches us as many important life lessons. With everything I write, I hope to give the readers a little more understanding of me as a person. I want to be that driving force that makes you check your backseat when you get into your car at night. I want to be the reason you’re afraid to investigate the noises in your home that wake you up in the dark. To me, there is no greater honor than that.
Do you have an agent or publisher? How did you go about finding one?
I don’t have an agent but I’ve been lucky enough to pick up an amazing manager, Michelle Keyser, and the best PA a guy could ever have, Christina Brumback. They work hard to keep me focused and writing, and let me tell you that’s not an easy job. Publisher wise, I was picked up by Meztrailov Fantasy Games. Matt and Rachel have really been a dream come true during this long and crazy process. I met them through a friend of mine that’s an author, Mariah Lynde,  and sent them a sample of my work. They signed me the second they finished reading it. I simply couldn’t do what I do without the best team of people I’ve ever met having my back.

If you could live anywhere, where would it be?  
I actually love living in Ohio, it’s like the horror mecca. We’re known for more serial killers, bigfoot sightings, alien sightings, and many other things in the world. Hell more horror novels/films are based in Ohio than any other state! I just don’t think I’d be happy anywhere else. I would like to find a nice quiet little cabin in the woods though, I think that’s my biggest dream right now.

If you could have any super power, what would it be? 
Wow, that’s a tough one! I guess if I could have any superpower in the world it would be Wolverine’s healing capabilities. My favorite story lines of his make him essentially an immortal. Imagine the books I could write with that sort of time!

Read his entry in the Write Like a Wizard 2016 Writing Challenge!

Raz T. Slasher is an upcoming independent horror actor and writer. When he's not killing people he co-hosts the Twisted Geekdom Podcast with his best friends. Raz enjoys spending time with his family and friends, worshiping The Great Cthulhu, hanging out with his cat Stoker, and talking about himself in the third person. His favorite quote about his writing is “It's like Lovecraft and Clive Barker had a love child and gave it up for adoption to be raised by Charles Manson.” Raz was born in Dayton,OH and he never plans to leave. He is currently banned from jumping out at people from dark rooms around the house.
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Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Paranormal Love Wednesday Blog Hop

Paranormal Love Wednesday Blog Hop

An exclusive excerpt from The Scarlett Legacy:

Avalon cracked a grin, smoothing her thigh with his soft palm. He took his hand away, leaving her cold.
He’s messing with me, she thought. He has to be using magic. I cannot melt like a desperate school girl whenever he looks at me or touches me.
She shivered and lifted her glass of water to her lips the second the waiter was done pouring from the glass jug.
“I’ll have a whisky,” Avalon said.
“Very well,” the waiter said. “I’ll be back for your orders.”
Evie drank her entire glass of water before setting it back down on the white tablecloth.
The wine and whisky was brought to their table by another server. Evie took a hearty sip, wincing at the bitter flavor of the rich cabernet. Avalon swished his whisky around in his glass before taking a sip.
“Do you like your new room?”
Evie took another sip, shrugging. “Its fine. I miss my own.”
“No you don’t. You know you’re glad to be out of that place. Admit it.”
Evie frowned. “What do you mean? Scarlett Hall is my home.”
“No,” Avalon said. “Albrect Mansion is your home now.”
Pursing her lips, Evie nodded. “Not much I can do about that, is there?”
“Of course there is,” he said, rubbing his tattooed knuckles across his chin. “You can get used to it.”
“How long do I have to stay?”
Avalon’s face went serious. In his eyes, she saw how much he adored her. It was scary. Parker looked at her the same way.
“Until you love me,” he said.
Swallowing hard, Evie couldn’t break free from his gaze. She hated how he did that, but his statement caught her off guard.
“What are you talking about?”
He sighed. “Do I have to keep explaining myself to you, Evie? What is it going to take for you to really understand what’s happening here? None of this was about my father, or your father, or Wes. It was about you. Always has been.”