Friday, November 24, 2017

FIVE-DOLLAR FRIDAY!

I feel a cover design binge coming on!

So I want to clear out older pre-made covers 
to make room on my web site for newer ones. 
To do that, I've decided to run 
Five-Dollar Friday specials. 

Every Friday, I'll post a pre-made cover 
that can be purchased for $5. 
After that, it's gone and will be removed
from my Designs by Ms. G web site. 

At this time of year, 
of course I'll be featuring holiday covers
 for the next few weeks. 
And here's today's 
FIVE-DOLLAR FRIDAY SPECIAL:

If you wish to buy this cover,
just leave a comment
and I'll contact you
about the title and author name
to go on this cover!

Friday, November 17, 2017

FIVE-DOLLAR FRIDAY

I feel a cover design binge coming on!

So I want to clear out older pre-made covers 
to make room on my web site for newer ones. 
To do that, I've decided to run 
Five-Dollar Friday specials. 

Every Friday, I'll post a pre-made cover 
that can be purchased for $5. 
After that, it's gone and will be removed
from my Designs by Ms. G web site. 

At this time of year, 
of course I'll be featuring holiday covers
 for the next few weeks. 
And here's today's 
FIVE-DOLLAR FRIDAY SPECIAL:

If you wish to buy this cover,
just leave a comment
and I'll contact you!

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

FEATURED BLOG POST: LOVE SICK LOVE

GIVEAWAY!
THE AUTHOR WILL BE GIVING AWAY 
A DIGITAL COPY OF LOVE SICK LOVE
to a randomly drawn commenter during this blog tour.

Angus has battled an obsession with sex throughout his adult life. Although outwardly a model husband and father with a respectable life and a well-paying job, he has a shameful secret life which he has become highly skilled at hiding.

Cassy is married to Angus and has no idea about his secret life. In fact, with her own worries she has been pulling away from him, emotionally and physically which is making his behaviour worse. Although she does not know it, Cassy is fanning the flames of an inferno which threatens to destroy their marriage.

Lovesickness: the eternal bane of humanity, the inescapable affliction which we simultaneously crave and fear. For Angus and Cassy, already in the thirteenth year of their marriage, the painful journey to true happiness has only just began.


BUY AT:
Amazon, Barnes and Noble

AUTHOR BIO
Heavy metal lover and cricket tragic, D.A. Cairns lives in Darwin in Australia’s Northern Territory, where he works as an English language teacher and writes stories in his very limited spare time. He has had over fifty short stories published (but who’s counting, right?) He blogs at Square pegs http://dacairns.blogspot.com.au and has authored four novels, Devolution, Loathe Your Neighbor, Ashmore Grief, and A Muddy Red River which is also available from Rogue Phoenix Press.

ABOUT THE COVER FROM THE AUTHOR
"It's great. Thanks for bringing my vision to life. I love it."
--D.A. Cairns

Friday, November 10, 2017

FRIDAY FIVE x2!


The first three novellas of 
AUNT MADDIE'S DOGGONE MISADVENTURES
are now available as a boxed set--
either digital or print--
and I'm giving away five copies of each!
If you prefer digital copies, enter for a chance to win on Amazon.com <https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/6efa072ef787ca77
OR
If you'd rather have a print book, enter for a chance to win at Goodreads <https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/262255-aunt-maddie-s-doggone-misadventures-books-1-3>


THE ULTERIOR MOTIVE...
A new Christmas anthology
ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS MOON
will be released December 1, 2017 
that will include the fourth novella of 
Aunt Maddie's Doggone Misadventures!


Wednesday, November 8, 2017

FEATURED BLOG TOUR: YOU ENTER A ROOM

ENTER FOR A CHANCE TO WIN!
The author will give away a digital copy of 
YOU ENTER A ROOM 
to one randomly drawn commenter
during this tour.

KEYWORDS: Murder mystery; Woman amateur detective

BUY AT:

EXCERPT
“Yeah, well, they meant business, so I knew something was going down there. After circling the house, the cops pounded on the door again, then one of them looks through a window he’d already passed and returned to, standing on his toes, and yells something. The other one comes back to the front, or I guess, really a side door, and starts kicking at it. Then both of them were smashing their boots against the door. I mean, I’ve seen this kind of smash in the door on TV, but to actually see these guys break something down is damned impressive.”
Suddenly, I wanted him to slow up and not say the next part out loud, but Sam urged him on. “Then?”
“They went in, and I ran across the street like I was still jogging and looked in the open doorway because I guess I wasn’t thinking about anybody having guns, and I realize that wasn’t the smartest thing for me to do—see, I wasn’t even thinking about myself at that point.”
“Andrew!” I wanted to slap him.
“It was awful, really. This guy, he was hanging from the ceiling fixture at the top.” I covered my face and Sam gripped my arm, her painted nails digging in and leaving little impressions. “They were trying to get him down, so they didn’t see me. One cop grabbed his legs and pulled him back to the top of the stairs to check for a pulse. Then he let him go, accidentally, I think, and the guy starts swinging back and forth like a pendulum. I stepped back then because I’d never seen a dead person hanging like that, and that’s when I saw his boot at the bottom just inside the door. One of his boots was still on, but the other had fallen. I was so close that I could have picked it up. I went back to the other side of the street and called my friend Jay to come get me. I was starting to feel sick.”
At first the detail of the boot seemed pointless and then I saw the image as clearly as Andrew had, marking the death of the individual. Michael’s boot, the worn, old leather ones that he wore every day. “How do you know the shoe or boot was Michael Lawler's?” Sam asked. “Did you know him?”
“No, never heard of him, but when an ambulance pulled up and the EMTs went in, I was still waiting for my friend. Jay had been sleeping in that morning because he didn’t have class, so he wasn’t there yet. See, I didn’t feel like running anymore, I was nauseous, like you.” He looks at me, then said, “Just like you. Another cop came and took pictures, then they brought out his body covered up like on a TV show. One of the cops said to the other, ‘Anything in his pockets?’”
““License says Michael Lawler,” I’m pretty sure the cop said. “Student ID on him too. University of Rochester student. Suicide.” I didn’t want the cops to notice me, so I stepped back further and ducked around behind a house. Thinking about what I did now, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea because they might have thought I had something to do with it, like I was involved in a murder or something. I mean, he was hanging, but who knew how he got there, even if he did say suicide?”
“Oh, no,” was all I could get out. Sam was crying. Looking back later, I realized Andrew might have been the one to put the word 'murder' in my head.
“You’re sure?” Sam asked, and he nodded. I liked Sam a little bit more during those moments we were drawn together in horror. Whatever else life held for either of us, we experienced a temporary bond in that claustrophobic space where breathing becomes more difficult.
Andrew waited a few minutes but saw that neither one of us was up to questioning him further, so he walked off, ready to repeat his tale. He probably had friends back home who had yet to hear of his dramatic morning. That would be all the experience was for Andrew, an opportunity to enlarge his life.
Sam hugged me, and I took that solace greedily. We finally stopped holding one another. “You okay?” she asked.
I nodded, “I can’t believe it.”
“Me either. I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to go,” and we parted. As soon as I left the bookstore, I was hit again, my whole body aching. By the time I reached my apartment, my head hurt so badly that I turned off the lights, pulled the curtains, and rolled into a fetal position on my bed where I stayed for hours. It didn’t help and changed nothing. Hours later, I woke to restless fear and more nausea.
Although I didn’t know Michael well, I was aware of his peculiarities, his withdrawn silence, his intelligence and gentleness. What was certain was I wanted to know him better. What I recognized him best for, however, was his talent. We had read each other’s work on multiple occasions, wrote a few comments that were generous rather than critical. I couldn’t quite believe that Michael had taken his own life, that he was gone. Logically, my search should have ended there with his death and certainty. We were told he had hanged himself. Everything should have been obvious, as related circumstances appeared to be to nearly everyone around me, but suicide and Michael did not fit, would never fit.
My mind kept seeing Michael’s worn boot at the bottom of the stairs and then him swinging when the cop let go of his body either accidentally or deliberately. Unlike Andrew, I was not a witness, had not been at the crime scene, but I might as well have been because I conjured up the sight as clearly as if I had been standing outside in the snow, looking through that open doorway. My eyes followed a line of dread up narrow stairs in disbelief, but I kept turning away before seeing his distorted face, as if I couldn’t bear to look at him in death, even in imagination.

AUTHOR BIO
Writer, poet, and educator Nancy Avery Dafoe, Homer, NY, has published books on teaching writing, Breaking Open the Box and Writing Creatively: A Guided Journal through Rowman & Littlefield Education in 2013 and 2014, respectively. Her latest book on education policy, The Misdirection of Education Policy: Raising Questions about School Reform was published by Rowman & Littlefield in June 2016. Her first chapbook of poetry, Poets Diving in the Night, is due out from Finishing Line Press in January 2017. She recently won the William Faulkner-William Wisdom creative writing award in poetry for 2016 and previously won the New Century Writer award for short stories. Dafoe’s poems, essays, and stories have appeared in numerous literary publications. Her fiction work also appears in the anthology Lost Orchard, published by SUNY Press in 2014.

Facebook page: Nancy Dafoe, Nancy A. Dafoe, Dafoe Writing and Consulting

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ABOUT THE COVER FROM THE AUTHOR: 
"I very much like the purple hair girl cover you designed."
--Nancy Avery Dafoe

Monday, November 6, 2017

FEATURED BLOG POST: NORTH OF THE AZORES

The author will give a digital copy of 
NORTH OF THE AZORES
to one randomly drawn commenter.
The year is 1780 and the Devil’s Isles, a group of islands in the North Atlantic Ocean, have recently been conquered by Britain after a brief war. The inhabitants of the Devil’s Isles practice magic and both human and animal sacrifice. Nebula, a young princess from the islands, struggles with this and is beginning to question what she has been taught.

Aware of a plot to kill everyone on the islands, Nebula defects to the British side where she takes on a new identity and a new life. Under the name Adeliza, she works in England as a maid for a Dr Moon. Only two men know her real identity; the kind-hearted doctor and the seemingly terrifying Mr Lastman.


KEYWORDS: Alternative history; historical thrillers; 18th century historical fiction; historical romances

BUY AT:
Amazon, Barnes and Noble

AUTHOR BIO
Ruth Danes has enjoyed history and fiction since childhood and has travelled widely within three continents. These interests and experiences were the inspiration for the Life on Another Island series which is set in a world where many characters unexpectedly start new lives in foreign, sometimes seemingly hostile, lands.
Ruth currently lives in the heart of England and works in administration. Writing novels forms her secret life.

Friday, November 3, 2017

FRIDAY FIVE x2!


The first three novellas of 
AUNT MADDIE'S DOGGONE MISADVENTURES
are now available as a boxed set--
either digital or print--
and I'm giving away five copies of each!
If you prefer digital copies, enter for a chance to win on Amazon.com <https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/6efa072ef787ca77
OR
If you'd rather have a print book, enter for a chance to win at Goodreads <https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/262255-aunt-maddie-s-doggone-misadventures-books-1-3>


THE ULTERIOR MOTIVE...
A new Christmas anthology
ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS MOON
will be released December 1, 2017 
that will include the fourth novella of 
Aunt Maddie's Doggone Misadventures!

One of the advantages of being a graphic designer:
I had the pleasure of designing both of these covers!

Monday, October 23, 2017

FEATURED BLOG TOUR: THE POWER CLUB

The author will give a digital copy of 
THE POWER CLUB 
to one randomly drawn commenter
during this blog tour. 


MID-GRADE FICTION
SUPER POWERS
SUPER HEROES
SUPER KIDS

BUY AT:
Amazon, Barnes and Noble

EXCERPT
 Two agonizing days passed before Damon’s leg healed enough that he could walk into the Evanses’ backyard. He approached carefully.
“HEYDAMON.” Vee’s words ran together as he sped by. Damon looked left and right. He barely caught a glimpse of the super-fast kid.
“Glad ya made it.” Danner’s voice boomed from overhead. Damon looked up to see Danner towering at a height of fifteen feet.
Kyle waved to him from across the yard and turned to Denise—yes, Denise was there, after all. So was another girl. Ali Reeves lived up the street. She possessed one of the most coveted powers in the district: the ability to fly. Ali gracefully swooped above Danner’s head. He reached out to grab her with his massive hands, but she flitted higher, out of his reach.
Her long brown hair flowed over her face, partly masking an exhilarated smile. “You can’t catch me,” she teased.
“I can if I grow bigger,” Danner boomed, “but I wanna give ya a fair chance.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet.” She swooped down between his arms, mussed his hair, and took off again.
“Hey, Danner—catch me!” Vee ran circles around Danner’s tree trunk-size legs. Danner ignored him.
Damon, unsure what to do, walked over to Kyle, who called, “Hey, Denise. What am I going to do next?”
The blonde girl stood several feet away near the stoop of the back porch. Her arms were folded as if she were bored by it all, but when Kyle called her name, her face lit up. Then her eyes glazed over, and she did something Damon did not expect. She raised her arms to the sky.
...fft.
A football appeared in the air several feet above Denise and dropped into her arms. She held up the football and laughed nervously as if catching it were a great achievement.
“Where’d the football come from?” Damon asked.
“My room,” said Kyle, finally turning to acknowledge him. “I can now teleport things without seeing them if I know where they are.”
“Cool,” Damon replied. Everyone knew powers got stronger as kids grew up. “But how did Denise know what you were going to do?”
Kyle leaned closer. “Can you keep a secret—” He stopped himself and rolled his eyes at his own mistake. “Of course you can. You’re one of us now. Denise can see the future.”
A light turned on somewhere in the attic of Damon’s memory. The jar of peaches! Denise didn’t make him drop it. She predicted he would drop it. Damon felt badly for misjudging her. Trying to cover his embarrassment, he joked, “I wonder if she can see how I’ll do on my math test tomorrow.”
“A big fat F!” Denise yelled from the stoop.
Damon felt exposed. “She heard me?”
“Or she predicted you were going to say it.” Kyle smirked. “Don’t listen to half of what she says. She sometimes jokes about predicting our futures.” He reached out to Denise and clapped his hands.
She raised the football to throw it. “I predict Damon’s going to catch this one.” A blur rushed behind her and the football disappeared from her hand. “VEE!” she bellowed. “Give it back.”
“Stopmeifyoucan.” The voice came from everywhere, some syllables from halfway across the yard, others hitting Damon in the face. Twice the blur rushed right in front of him, nearly blowing him off his feet.
“Vee, stop it!” Denise shouted. “You’re getting carried away.”
The backyard spanned an area large enough to allow Vee to run around the perimeter, creating what appeared to be a blurry fence, boxing everyone in. He darted between Kyle and Damon, zoomed behind Denise, and circled Danner’s massive legs, creating a powerful wind which assaulted everyone from all sides.
The wind pushed Ali higher and higher. “Help me! Her arms and legs flailed about in the air.
Danner grew another five feet and reached out his hand. Ali grabbed his giant fingers and thumb and held on for dear life as he guided her back to the ground.
Still, Vee did not slow down.
“He’ll tire himself out eventually,” Kyle shouted over the wind storm.
Damon remembered something he’d learned in science class. “Won’t he burn himself?” he shouted back. “The friction—”
“He’s got a speed aura. Almost nothing can hurt him while he’s running.”
Another light went on in Damon’s brain. He knew how he could both impress the others and join in the fun. The timing would have to be just right. He carefully studied every object in the backyard and noted Vee’s pattern. At just the right moment, he exhaled.

AUTHOR BIO
Greg Gildersleeve grew up in the northwestern corner of Missouri, where comic books and science fiction caught his eye at an early age. In addition to writing, Greg teaches writing at an online university, and won the 2013 Publication Award at Johnson County Community College, Overland Park, KS. He earned a bachelor's degree in English from Missouri Western State University and a master's in English from the University of Missouri-Kansas City. His work has appeared in Show & Tell, Teenagers From the Future, The Teaching Professor, Faculty Focus, and the Grantham Blog. He lives in the Kansas City area, where he hangs around too many coffee shops, listens to classic and modern rock, and daydreams a lot.


BUY AT:
Amazon, Barnes and Noble

Monday, September 18, 2017

FEATURED BLOG TOUR: HEY JOEY JOURNAL


BUY AT:
Amazon, Barnes and Noble

After the psychologically scarring death of her father, wild child Rosie Dwyer is introduced to journal keeping. She initially considers this writing form to be cliché. Before the death, Rosie valued chaos and rebellion- from “protest-peeing” in class to shoving a Twinkie in a classmate’s eye. However, once Rosie gives into this mode of writing, a cathartic obsession begins.

Her entries often focus on her childhood enemy, Logan Fields, after he becomes Rosie’s permanent peer editor in creative writing class. While Rosie loses touch with both loved ones and reality, an unlikely friendship builds between her and Logan. Together, they must try to find the meaning behind insanity- in the school theatre, in the public library, and in the middle of a false Apocalypse.

KEYWORDS: teenagers, mental illness, suicide, Bipolar Disorder, journaling

COMMENT FOR A CHANCE TO WIN!
The author will giveaway a digital copy of Hey Joey Journal during this blog tour.

EXCERPT
 August 17, 2012

Hey, Journal,

That “Dear journal” shtick is overused, so I’ll address you with the word “hey.” Hey, journal. I usually write exclusively on scraps of paper. Underneath my bed is my literature’s habitat and the paragraphs are seldom about anything. Last year, I discussed career goals with my high school’s counselor. Once my writing aspirations were revealed, Counselor became giddy and asked about my writing style. She said, “I’d love to hear about it, Rosie.”

“It’s disorganized,” I said. Then she handed me this ginormous journal and I witnessed a disgusting “I’m-a-cool-adult” wink.

This is the first time I’ve cracked you open.

Time seems to have decelerated. The slowing of time is the only gift August 2012 has coughed up. There’s been a drought, among other eyesores. I’m beneath our backyard’s oak tree, its gargantuan arms stretching far, shade encompassing the entire lawn. Many leaves are dehydrated. It’s as pleasant to lie beneath as Magic Mike is to watch. Allow me to explain that analogy. The film’s previews had me expecting a rollicking rom-com...something less serious. It differed from the ads. Still, every scene featuring scantily clad men made it worth the cash. That’s what happened with this shade. I’m below it, experiencing a full body itch, but it could be worse. Due to lacking rain, the ground isn’t summer turf in the slightest. Imagine wearing a pantsuit crafted out of hay and sandpaper. The shade is nice, though. Makes me able to bear my eyes being open.

Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick. I kid you not, as I placed the period after “open,” a bird landed in my eye line and inched toward me. Soon, it was atop this journal. I thought, Birds are flighty. Timid. Not this one. Its eyes were a familiar mess. I was confronted by the undeniable fact that birds were my dad’s favorite animal. I blinked, eyelids capturing wetness and holding it hostage. Moisture subsided and the bird was all kinds of nowhere.

I wonder what it would be like to sprout wings. To be gone. My pencil is begging me to release it from my monstrous grip and my legs are screaming, “Let us run far away, Rosie.”

I’ll do what I do best and let my impulses win. Run until I get scared and retreat. Run until I realize it’s not the same as flying. Run.

AUTHOR BIO
Colleen June Glatzel is a writer from Waukesha, WI. She writes mostly fiction, but is interested in exploring other categories now that her first book, Hey, Joey Journal, is published. When Colleen isn’t writing, she deals antiques, acts, performs improv comedy, makes collages, paints and spends time with her family.

Monday, September 11, 2017

FEATURED BLOG POST: BLACKTOP

Atop a dark, desolate stretch of blood-spattered West Texas asphalt, 
the road to survival will require the ultimate sacrifice.

COMMENT FOR A CHANCE TO WIN!
The author will be giving away a digital copy of Blacktop 
to one randomly drawn commenter during this blog tour.

Blacktop is a terror-filled road-trip atop the dark, isolated back-roads of West Texas. Equal parts action/thriller and sci-fi/horror whodunit, it guides readers through a shock-filled maze, beginning with the hijacking of a commercial bus and concluding with a furious battle royale pitting the ultimate in extraterrestrial evil versus the few survivors of that initial abduction.

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AUTHOR BIO 
Born and raised in Northern Alabama, Terry Lloyd Vinson is an Air Force veteran and former corrections officer who is the author of over a dozen published novels. Having previously resided in five states and overseas, he currently homesteads in Nashville with his wife Liza and their canine pal, Dexter.

Twitter handle: @Tagsmaniac

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Monday, September 4, 2017

FEATURED BLOG TOUR: CHILD OF THE HEATHEN



Enter the world of the supernatural, witchcraft, demonology, Cree mythology, Immortality, and the Wendigo--a terrifying beast of Native American legend with an insatiable hunger to devour mankind...

BUY AT:


1968...

People are dying inexplicably in Maskek and the local police are divided as to the cause. It’s been happening for centuries.

For Deacon Pierce, who has grown up with the legends and mythology of the First Nations Cree, a visit to his teacher’s home unlocks the door to his father’s tortured past.

In 1750 Jonathan Sparkling Eyes Hare signed away his mortal soul and those of his
unborn children, for life eternal: a deal with a demon or a creature of ancient Cree legend?

When nightmares and darker visions begin to affect Deacon’s health and sanity, his white, adopted mother is forced to reveal the truth about his bloodline and the sinister events surrounding his father Jonathan and his lover Damien Drew.

Can past and present combine to prevent Deacon’s death?

COMMENT FOR A CHANCE TO WIN!
During this blog tour, the author will be giving away 
a FREE digital copy of CHILD OF THE HEATHEN. 
Just comment for a chance to win!

EXCERPT
Clattering unceremoniously along the driveway, Janine dragged her stole along the ground, snagging it every few yards on the briars protruding from the potted Alberta roses. To keep her balance, she anchored herself on the cedar wood fence running alongside the drive. Behind her the glaring lights faded into the mist-shrouded darkness arising from Loon Lake. It gave an eerie, almost surreal feel to the landscape and distorted the tall conifer trees into bizarre shapes that might have been animal or human. The solitude intensified the sounds of the night; the howl of a wolf, the snarling of a bobcat, the shuffling and snuffling of the smaller nocturnal creatures that owned the night.
Inebriated and angry and still blaming her husband for leaving her, Janine was barely aware of the noises around her until the piercing screech of a red-tailed hawk split the sky, penetrating her alcohol fuddled brain. She recoiled, startled, throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder, but she could see nothing beyond the cedar wood fence and the dim outline of the steel barrier surrounding the limits of the property. It was beginning to register that nobody had passed her since she’d left the house. Not a single car.
Something moved in front of her, stopped for a moment then vanished. Thinking her husband hadn’t really gone without her, she called to him. “Think you can play games with me, Randy, do you? Well I know you’re there. You wouldn’t have the guts to go without me. Come out, come out wherever you are.”
Swearing loudly as the fur caught on a sharp object that wouldn’t let go, she tugged and tugged until it came away, sending her sprawling across the ground. “That’s not funny, Randy. I don’t think much of your stupid jokes.” When she fell, she lost one of her high heeled shoes. She rose unsteadily to her feet, floundering in the dark for the lost shoe. “Where’s my shoe, goddamn it. I need my shoe.”
Chilled, she wrapped the fur stole tightly around her neck and shoulders. Relinquishing warmth for vanity, she had left her summer jacket at the motel and wore only the stole over her backless gold lame dress “Randy, where are you?” Wishing now that she had accepted the offer of a ride home her anger was rapidly dissolving.
The mist coming in from the lake was beginning to take on a reddened hue, slithering across the ground in long tentacles that reached upwards and outwards. As she stood there paralysed by what was taking place, a strong, sickly stench assailed her nostrils, making her feel nauseous. Then she was surrounded by a sense of dread that she was no longer alone. Something cold, almost metallic crawled across her back and parked up at the base of her spine. Nothing tangible, nothing she could see or touch, but it lingered like a festering toothache.
Randy. Where are you?
The night was turning colder, drawing the last vestige of warm intoxication from her stick thin body. She heard the crackle of breaking twigs, as if walked on by a heavy boot or a huge paw, and a sudden gush of icy wind whipped her hair around her face.
Somewhere out there was the placid lake, now obliterated by the expanding mist. She could hear water, loud, churning and angry as if lashed by a ferocious storm. What if she was heading for it and couldn’t see it?
Spurred on by fear, Janine tried to run but restricted by her body clinging full length gown and one high heeled shoe, she stumbled and fell over an object on the ground; the missing shoe. Shoving her foot quickly into the shoe, she was pushed from behind as she stooped to secure the ankle strap. She landed on her stomach with a force that knocked the breath from her body. Thrashing on the ground she tried to stand, catching her leg in the hem of the dress. Whimpering and breathless she struggled to free her legs, tearing the material. Wrapping her arms around the base of a spruce tree, Janine managed to pull herself to her feet. She saw a piece of her dress snagged on the tree. She must have caught her backside on an overhanging branch as she bent down and it had sprung back and hit her. In her unstable condition, she’d lost her balance.
Dissolving into near hysterical laughter, she tried to take stock of her predicament. How hard could it be? Her head was swimming, the ground spinning. It was as if she was walking on sponges. The goddamn mist was red.
She smelled it again, cloyingly close, the sickly stench of breath in her face from a mouth she could not see. Felt the warmth of the fetid breath settling on her cheeks. Now the snorting, snuffling creatures of the night gave way to the deepest and long buried nightmares from her childhood of being chased by something that wanted to cause her harm.
The sound of surging water was all round her, filling her head with the force of it. Where was it coming from? Emily told her it was a serene and gentle lake. It didn’t sound anything like a tranquil lake. Might have been a storm wrecked sea from the roaring it made, muffling any other noises she might have encountered.
In running away had she inadvertently turned in the wrong direction? There seemed to be no end to the emptiness. Where was the house? Where were the other guests? Surely, she should have passed or seen somebody by now.
The red mist began to phosphoresce, emitting a foul odour that smelled like putrefied death. In one gut wrenching moment and as impenetrable as a fortress the blackness descended upon her.

AUTHOR BIO
I was born in Leek, North Staffordshire U.K. Presently living in Derbyshire U.K. I lived and worked in Alberta and Saskatchewan, Canada for many years, from where I was able to continue my love of and interest in the Native American people and their culture. Child of the Heathen is my first novel to be published (by Rogue Phoenix Press). I have written a sequel; a third book is begun. Some of my other interests include the local theatre company of which I am a member, gothic weekends in Whitby, and all things supernatural.


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Monday, August 28, 2017

FEATURED BLOG TOUR: GIRLFRIENDING--A COLLECTION OF HUMOROUS, SAD, AND SOMETIMES BIZARRE SHORT STORIES

COMMENT FOR A CHANCE TO WIN!
During this blog tour, the author will be giving away a digital copy of GIRLFRIENDING.

BUY AT

~ A detective known for bold courage on the job 
deals with mental and physical abuse by his trophy wife. 
~ A woman strives to overcome the PTSD 
she brought from battlefields in Iraq 
so she can become a loving partner. 
~ In the title story, a socially dysfunctional man 
“girlfriends” women he “meets” in obituaries. 

From liaisons that are real, to those that are imaginary or somewhere between, Christopher T. Werkman skillfully creates characters beginning, ending, or finding a way through some type of romantic relationship. Girlfriending, Werkman’s collection of short stories, will fascinate, amuse, and astonish. Many of the stories are published in literary magazines and anthologies, but most appear only in this collection. 


Christopher T. Werkman's novel, Difficult Lies, was published in 2015.

Twitter: @Chwerks

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ABOUT THE COVER
"The cover looks terrific. You are amazing."  --Christopher T. Werkman

Though the author expressed these kind words about the cover design, I want to share kudos with him. In addition to being an author, Christopher T. Werkman's creative talents include art. The piece on the front cover of this book is done by him. Once again, great teamwork on the cover!