Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Guest Blogger: Penny Estelle

Hi Everyone, 
Please welcome my guest today author Penny Estelle.

What is new with you Penny?
First let me say thanks for having me today. It was an interesting morning. I found an odd  review this morning.  
Really? What did it say?

That's the thing. I wonder should I be down in the dumps over this?  Here's the review:
3 out of 5 stars:
Not bad, not great, pretty much average. Very short. The author was able to make you feel her pain. I wanted to kick her daughter in the butt (although that wouldn't have made her come to her senses).
me - OMG, this is not a nice review
my hubby - well, she didn't say it sucked!

I see what you mean Penny. That is an odd one, but I have to say that I agree with hubby LOL She didn't say it sucked LOL. OH BTW. I love the cover and can't wait to read the book.

Katherine Gardner is awakened at 6:30 in the morning with a call from a strange woman who claims  to have her granddaughter, Rio. This woman is calling the police if Katherine doesn’t make arrangements for somebody to pick this little girl up.

Katherine is fifty-six years old woman and all alone, since her husband died over three years ago. Her life takes a dramatic turn when six-year old Rio comes to stay with her. Rio is a scared little girl whose life is filled with uncertainty and fear.

In her grandmother, Rio finds a safe haven and an unconditional love that she has never known in her six short years and Katherine has found a love to fill the void that has been absent for way too long.

Unfortunately Katherine’s daughter, who deserted Rio, has other ideas.

Available at:


Friday, October 19, 2012

Guest Blogger: Maralee Lowder - Christmas At Alpine Village

Some people will go to almost any lengths to win fame and public admiration. Christmas at Alpine Village tells the story of just such a person. As each year passes without her winning the coveted Best Business Christmas Decoration prize in the small town of Newkirk, CA, more lights are added, and more ribbons and evergreens are hung, all to no avail. But, while the prize continues to elude her, other events are occurring that are ultimately of far more value to those who live at the Village—both human and canine.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Guest Blogger: E.B. Sullivan

Summer Solstice New Release:
Christmas Guardian Angel
Author: E.B. Sullivan
Genre: Holiday Romance
Price $0.99

In their first encounter, Isabella becomes infatuated with Marc a handsome young man who makes fantastic potato chips. Fifteen years later while Isabella purchases a picturesque Victorian house she discovers Marc is the seller. His magnetism stirs her emotions and pulls her into his troubled world.

Soon Isabella realizes her new house, nestled deep in the woods, is haunted. By communicating with the house’s spirit, she hopes to learn secrets, which can help Marc resolve his conflicted past and move him into the future. During the process, her love for him intensifies. As Christmas approaches, Isabella longs for Marc to return her affection.

Avialable in Pdf

Available in nook and kindle

Coming soon to Amazon!

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Check out the new cover for "Hike Up Devil's Mountain"

Enjoy Chapter One: FREE!!!!

Please excuse any formatting issues this  blog has caused to chapter one.

Chapter  1

Andy  Thompson’s hand was shaking as he reached for the dirty, tarnished doorknob. He  stopped, took a step back, and glanced around for the hundredth time. His heart  was pounding so hard, he was sure his chest was actually moving with each  thud.

 In all his ten years, Andy had never disobeyed  his parents. Until today. On a scale of one to ten, this was an easy nine. He  could still hear his mother last night at dinner: “Nobody has been in that house  for three years. No telling what kind of shape it’s in. The walls are probably  termite ridden and ready to crumble, if they haven’t already. It’s dangerous and  you have no business being there. You could get seriously hurt. I, for one,  think it’s about time they tear that eyesore down. You stay clear of that  place!” Blah . . . blah . . .blah . . . blah . . . blah.
The company that was to tear down the old  abandoned house the very next morning had placed a ten-foot high chain link  fence around the house. It didn’t take him very long at all to get inside that.

He now stood in front of the slanted, cellar doors, which were rough wood,
weathered, and ridden with bugs. remembered a time when they were white as snow,  but now they had only traces of paint here and there. He wondered if, with a
little pressure, the doors might just splinter with a good kick.
Taking a deep breath, Andy grabbed the  doorknob, placed his foot on the other door and pulled with all his might. He  gave a surprised yelp when the rotted wood surrounding the knob gave way, and he  tumbled and fell flat on his back. He regained his feet, massaged his sore  pelvis and saw one door now hung on a single hinge.
He was breathing hard when he finished  muscling the broken door open.
All he had to do now was dig up some courage  to take those rickety steps down to that dark, spooky basement. On one side of  the steps was a cement wall that disappeared into darkness. On the other side  was gray nothing. There wasn’t even a railing to hold on to.
The urge to run for his bike and get home was  strong, but a nagging voice told him that he’d never get this chance again. He  bad that, after tomorrow, this house would be history.
Since  the weather outside was perfect for bike riding, he’d put on a striped,
cereal-stained, short-sleeved T-shirt, and a pair of well worn Levi’s, with his
knees trying to peek through a few threadbare spots. But dressed as he was, he
now felt a chill, and goose bumps covered his body as he crossed the wooden
steps. He found a light switch to the left. Even as Andy tried it, he knew
there’d be no lights coming on. He tried it anyway, several times. Up, down, up,
down, up, down. After all, you just never know, and he wanted to be sure!
The  eerie creak that accompanied each step was like a thunderclap in Andy’s ears. He  reached the cement floor. He stood still, listening, but for what?
Silence was all he heard.
Rays of light filtered in through four small,  dirty basement windows. Dust particles made the air hazy, like smoke floating up  by the ceiling. Thanks to that small amount of light, Andy could see most of the  large room, though the corners were still shrouded in darkness.
Swallowing hard, Andy ventured farther into  the room. He tripped over a small broken cement step that had been part of a  shower stall at one time. He saw the big, black furnace against the far wall.  had forgotten about that awful furnace. Its door lay on the floor, leaving a  gaping black hole. It looked like a monster, ready to suck up anything that came  close. Andy shivered. He didn’t feel the need to explore over by that particular  wall.
Old wooden cabinets lined another wall. Doors  were open, revealing glass jars, some broken, and lots of candles of different  shapes and colors, some partially burned. all those candles made him smile. Now  he could almost smell the vanilla or cinnamon in the air.Next to the cabinets,  he saw several stacks of boxes, but a few were turned upside down and tossed  here and there. One box must have held nothing but magazines, because ripped  pages covered the gray cement floor; while another was overturned, and old  Christmas decorations were lying about. Had somebody been in here and dumped  them? Maybe an animal had gotten inside? Andy didn’t like either of those  possibilities, as he glanced into the still dark corners, staring again at the  open furnace.
He ventured over to the steps that led up deep  inside the house and wondered if that door might be unlocked. “No way,” he  muttered, but moved to check it out. He was halfway up when a mouse ran over the  toe of his blue tennis shoe.
Andy  never knew he could scream so loud.
In his  hurry to get off the steps, he tripped over his own feet and fell down the last
two steps.
Bringing  his hands up to break his fall, he landed on the scattered magazines, and slid  into the box full of old Christmas stuff. Andy found himself covered in
Christmas lights, old tinsel, and broken ornaments.
Something caught his eye as he struggled to  untangle himself. He scrambled to his feet and hurried over to peek under a  cabinet where a piece of molding had come loose. Something shiny was in there.

Andy  slowly reached in and pulled a long skinny box from its hiding place. It was
gold and looked brand new. “Wow,” he whispered, staring. There was no latch on
this box. No matter which way he turned it or how he shook it, the box wouldn’t
open. “Open, you dumb box,” Andy shouted.  The box  became almost transparent and whatever was inside glowed a brilliant red.

As if  burned, Andy dropped the box.
When the  box hit the floor, it fell open. Inside, lying on a bed of red velvet, was a
stick of some kind. It was that glowed like fire. Andy gave the box a tiny nudge
with his toe. Nothing happened.
The  stick just kept glowing.
He knelt  down to examine it a little closer. He took a magazine, rolled it up, and
touched it. After all, if it was hot, he didn’t want to get burned.

Again,  nothing happened.
Andy  touched it. There was no pain—no smell of burning skin.
Removing  the stick, Andy he got to his feet. Now what?
“Well,  if it isn’t Andy Pandy.”

Monday, September 10, 2012

Billy Cooper's Awesome Nightmare

Short Middle Grade Time Travel Adventure Story

Billy Cooper's seventh grade class has been given a last minute, weekend assignment. They must draw a piece of paper out of a box and prepare an oral book report on the person or event they select. Billy draws the name, William Tell, whoever that is. He has a full weekend planned, but figures he'll do a ten minute search and then be able to skate right through the assignment, having plenty of time for his busy weekend.

His outlook changes when he finds himself in the fourteenth century, standing in front of William Tell's house. Billy's modern day style and lingo has William Tell thinking the lad is a bit unbalanced, but asks if he would like to go along with him and his son to the town of Altdorf. It is here Billy learns just who William Tell is and why he is a legend.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Guest Blogger Jeanne Bannon

Only 99 Cents!
Lola’s not pretty. Lola’s not popular. Lola wishes she could disappear …
and then one day she does just that...

For seventeen-year-old
Lola Savullo, life is a struggle. Born to funky parents who are more in than
she could ever be, Lola’s dream of becoming a writer makes her an outsider even
in her own home. Bullied and despised, Lola still has the support of her best
pal Charlie and Grandma Rose.

Not only is she freakishly tall,
Lola’s a big girl and when forced to wear a bathing suit at her summer job as a
camp counselor, Lola’s only escape from deep embarrassment seems to be to
literally vanish. Soon after, she discovers the roots of her new

Slowly, with Charlie’s help, Lola learns to control
the new super power. The possibilities are endless. Yet power can be abused,

Then, when tragedy strikes, Lola must summon her inner
strength, both at home and at school. She has to stand up for herself, despite
the temptations and possibilities of her newfound super power.

A coming-of-age story that will warm the heart.

Free Excerpt: ( Please excuse any formatting issues that my blog has caused to this excerpt)

Chapter One

“Lola, get your suit on and help supervise the pool,” Justine, the athletic, sun-kissed, twenty-one-year-old camp director orders once we get off the bus.“The more eyes the better.”

Immediately my heart takes off in a sprint.
“What? Why?” I try to hide the wobble in my voice.

Curious, expectant gazes turn to me as my fellow counsellors wait with evil half-smiles for my reaction. Although I haven’t told a soul, except my best friend Charlie, how I feel about wearing a bathing suit, they know my private horror. It’s the horror of every fat girl.

Justine flips through the sheets on her clipboard. She runs a finger down the column of names. “No campers will be sitting out today.”

The impossible has just happened. Not one kid was sick, or had left their bathing suit at home. In my three summers as a counsellor, not once has this happened.

For a long, awkward moment, I stand frozen in place wondering how to get out of this. A sudden migraine? My period? My mouth opens, but no words come.

Justine leaves and with her, my chance for escape. I’m left teary-eyed, searching through my bag for my black one piece.

Stuffing away the panic, I march past the onlookers, who I have never considered my friends despite working with them the entire summer. In the change room, I find an empty stall and with great reluctance, pull on my suit.

It’s my last day of work as a camp counsellor at Inglewood Day Camp. My group of kids consists of eight six-year olds — four boys and four girls. On Thursdays we take the campers to the local outdoor swimming pool. It’s a short ride, only five minutes on the creaky old school bus and my job is to watch the kids who won’t be swimming; either because they don’t feel well, or they’ve forgotten their swimsuits. Believe me, this job suits me just fine. As a matter of fact, I volunteered for it.

Not only am I fat, I’m freakishly tall. God only knows why, since Mom is petite and Dad is on the short side. My older sister Eva is the spitting image of Mom, fair and fine boned. I take after Dad’s side, bulky, dark and thick. Dad says I must have gotten some of Uncle Sammy’s genes, the giant of the Savullo family, who tops out at 6ft 4 inches. Anyway, I’m sure you’re getting a good mental picture right about now.

My insides drop as if I placed a foot on a step that wasn’t there when I peer down at the coarse dark hair creeping from my calves to just past my knees, where it gradually peters out. Then I run a hand across the tops of my thighs. The triple bulge of my belly prevents me from a good look at my sorely neglected bikini area. Even in the blazing August sun, I wear baggy cotton Capri pants, never exposing more than an ankle. There’s never
been a reason to shave. My eyes mist with tears, but I pinch them away. It’ll be hard enough to go out in public like this, but I won’t give them the
satisfaction of seeing me cry. I lift my chin in resolve and open the door.

The whistle blows, signalling the beginning of the session. Screams of delight fill the air, as the kids jump into the pool to find relief from the 90-degree heat.

I fasten a towel around my waist as best I can. Towels never seem large enough to wrap completely and comfortably around the bulge of my stomach. To the pool I go, treading silently so as not to draw attention.

“Where’s Lola?” Sonia, a fellow counsellor, asks.

At first I think she’s joking because I’m right in front of her. I toss her an annoyed look and don’t bother to answer as I trudge past to the edge of the pool, where I pull off my towel and slip into the water.

“She’s probably taken off,” Jerod replies.
He’s a year younger than I am, but looks older with his muscular build and
chiselled jaw line. The girls love him. “I hope she doesn’t show,” he continues.
“Who wants to see a hippo in a bathing suit anyway?”

Sonia laughs, a little too hard and places a
hand on Jerod’s shoulder.

Puzzlement and anger compete on my face. I’m standing no more than three feet away from them. I’m used to rude comments and I know what everyone thinks of me, but this is way beyond mean. The tears in my eyes spill down my cheeks and I slip under the water, hoping to wash away the evidence of my pain. Not that anyone would care, but crying could give them more
ammunition; just another reason to taunt me.

Kids bounce around me, laughing and playing.
Justine stands like a sentinel, looking like a Bay Watch babe in her red suit,
one hand gripping an emergency flotation device. Her steel blue eyes are focused on the activity in the pool.

Jerod jumps in, nearly landing on my back. I barely have time to leap out of the way. My anger boils; blood rushes to my temples and pounds there, giving me an instant headache. I hurl myself at him, pushing with all my might, elbows aimed at his chest. I hit nothing but air and fly into the rough concrete wall of the pool, scraping a hole in my one piece and rubbing raw a patch of skin. Small blood pinpricks rise to the surface.

“Hey!” I scream, bewildered. How’d he manoeuver out of the way so fast?

Jerod slips under the water and emerges at the other end of the pool in one long, slick glide.

The steel in me comes up, anger replacing humiliation. I pull my bulk out of the water and march over to Justine.

“Did you see what that asshole just did?” I bellow.

Justine brings the whistle that hangs from her neck to her lips and blows two sharp blasts, making my ears ring. “Stop horsing around,” she calls to a group of boys, who offer sheepish grins and stop instantly.

I step forward so she can see me. “Justine?”
I reach to touch her shoulder but, impossibly, my hand falls through her.

“Justine?”I call again, louder, my voice panic-laced. With both hands, I grab her, or tryto. Again, it’s as if she’s not there.

My mind is swept along in a current of anxiety. What’s happening?

Then it hits me... it’s me who’s not there.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Guest Blogger: Penny Estelle

Thanks for having me here today. I am on a blog tour right now giving helpful tips on how  to promote your ebook for free. I will be stopping off at several blogs leaving one tip on each blog that I stop at. I hope to see you at all my stops.

One tip I would offfer would be:
Set up a facebook page, friend everyone, and tell everyone about your page. Use your page to promote your book. Don't simply open the page but actually go there and post on it daily. When you post about your book be sure to include what the book is about and how you can buy the book. Make it easy for your customer to find the book.

Only 99 Cents!!!

Friday, August 24, 2012

Authors, Why Death Scenes Often Suck!

Welcome Guest blogger Daniel C Chamberlain today!

Available at Amazon!

Authors, Why Death Scenes Often Suck!


I’m no longer a cop. I’ve retired.  Instead of rushing to a death scene and investigating it, now as a nurse with a close association with Hospice, I often watch people die, literally before my eyes.  I suppose it’s a curse that now, when I watch television or read a novel, I’m highly critical about how death is portrayed in those media.  It’s so seldom based on reality, that I fear even our most popular writers and directors have a fairy-tale romance with the fantasy of death.

Let’s talk about violent death first.  With the exception of perpetrators who are shot by police (a stunningly rare occurrence), seldom do police officers actually witness the death of a person from violence; only the aftermath. Most victims of violent crime have expired long before the police arrive, or they manage to survive until placed in an ambulance or taken to a medical facility. However, in several cases where I was present when people who were fatally injured just happened to expire, I was struck by how slow the process actually was in relation to how it’s often artistically portrayed.  

The human organism goes through various stages between being conscious and talking, to being unconscious and “circling the drain.”  One thing is nearly universal, short of being blown into tiny pieces; the process of death is seldom instantaneous and hardly ever simply “momentary”.  Be it gunshot to the head, heart, or lungs, or blunt trauma, knives drowning or flame-thrower, the dying more often than not take their own sweet time exanguinating!  That time can seem like interminable minutes to literally hours as in the case of our own President Abraham Lincoln.

Since many of our literary protagonists are also killers, either by profession or incidentally, we have to wonder how it is, each and every one of their victims manage to dutifully expire on cue since it is not the spirit that lingers on, but rather the organism that is determined to survive at all costs!

I once watched a film from WWII about Marines defeating Japanese machine gun emplacements.  They were using flame-throwers to roast the defenders alive.  Let me recreate the scene.

After the concrete bunker was inundated with a flaming jellied gasoline mixture the defenders exited one by one, only to be shot down each in turn.  One; however, was not shot, exiting looking much like a grilled hot dog, no longer clothed, skin blackened, grossly split and peeling.  His lungs, internally roasted from breathing super-heated air within the bunker were no longer exchanging carbon dioxide for oxygen in amounts necessary for survival.  

At first, he stood there trembling amongst the Marines, but slowly, inexorably, strength left his limbs and he was forced to sit, quivering uncontrollably.  As the Marines gathered around smoking and talking, his eyes went from man to man, I suppose hoping for assistance or perhaps in simple resignation, until – due to oxygen deprivation – his eyes began to lose focus and mercifully, consciousness began to ebb.

Toward the end, his body began to list like a stricken ship, with only his left elbow supporting his flame-ruined torso. His head, too heavy to be supported any longer by his oxygen-starved muscles, searched for a place to rest.  

The man’s dying took nearly ten “agonized” minutes.  In the end, agonal breathing hinted that his moment had arrived. Still, the organism struggled to live.

I’ve seen similar things up close where major trauma or catastrophic illness has made further life-saving efforts moot.  The dying, whether or not they are ready to go, can’t stop the organism from clinging to life, often long minutes after the last breath is drawn.  People do not simply sigh, close their eyes and die.  Occasions where last words are uttered, whether intelligible or not are so rare as to be nearly statistically irrelevant. 

So, if you’re going to write it, understand that if it’s not realistic, it will always be total “fiction!”
More About "The Long Shooters"
In the grinding death mill of the trenches of Petersburg, Virginia, in the closing days of the Civil War, a Union sharpshooter – a “long-shooter” named Ballou – emerges as the best sniper in a war where wholesale slaughter became the norm. Ballou perfected the art of the judicious killer. His ability with his cherished Stephens target rifle is legendary, making a nearly miraculous shot that no one else – North or South – could accomplish. After the war, he disappears…

Samuel Roark is a small-time rancher and part-time lawyer. One personal tragedy after another leaves Samuel gripped by periodic bouts of depression. When a hidden marksman of uncommon skill murders his son, the death leaves Samuel on the brink of total madness.
Roark’s wife Sarah, a woman of strength, grace and startling beauty is now both emotionally and physically exhausted by the tragic circumstances that have beset her family. After discovering her husband’s quest for revenge, she does everything in her power to prevent what she fears will ultimately destroy him.

Matthew Shaw is a known manhunter and soldier of fortune that people call on when they’re willing to pay someone else to deal with obstacles in their lives. When required, Shaw reluctantly uses his considerable marksmanship to achieve those ends. Now Shaw finds himself caught between a job he truly believes in, and a very good reason to walk away when he realizes he’s falling in love with Sarah, the wife of the man who hired him.

Friday, August 10, 2012

Guest Blogger: Angela Renee

Five Things You Don’t Know About Angela Renee

·         I’m a huge introvert so was an extremely late comer to social media. I’m a web developer so know how to make my way around the Internet, but just chose not to. Social media has been a good thing for us introverts. We can come out of our little hole and be social without coming out of our little hole. Many people mistake my being an introvert with being shy, but I just prefer to do things alone or with immediate family.

·         I wrote my current title You Are Mine, in the 90s and two agents wanted to represent me, but I said no thanks and decided not to go into the publishing industry at that time. My children were still children and I wanted to focus on my family, but looking back, I wonder if my being an introvert had anything to do with my decision to hold off on publishing. Back then authors needed more of a real presence than virtual world presence. Yeah, now that I think back, I think my being an introvert also kept me from pursuing publishing earlier.

·         I live in the desert and LOVE it. When it’s 105° F, I like to sit in the shade and soak in the heat. I literally get upset when it gets down to 60° F. My threshold for the heat is 112° F. My family thinks I’m crazy, but… well, maybe they are correct and the heat has fried my brain.

·         I am a sci-fi geek. I literally have everything Isaac Asimov has ever written, even his non sci-fi works. He was the greatest! At least I think I have everything. Let’s say I have everything I could find.

·         I’m worried about the release of You Are Mine. I’m a debut author and know people are leery of new authors. I’ve studied the industry and know that the more high quality novels you put out the larger your fan base will grow and they will go back and purchase your earlier titles. This is a long endurance race, not a sprint, but my ego wants You Are Mine, to take off. Don’t worry, even if it takes a while, I’m in this for the long haul.

Here’s a little about my debut Sci-Fi Romance novel, You Are Mine. Enjoy

In the hundreds of special assignments Erica Morgan has worked, there was nothing that prepared her for waking one morning on an alien spaceship. More surprisingly, her captor and adversary, the leader of this mission, is the one man who could make her want to leave her home planet and embrace a different life.

D’Jarus Commodore doesn’t want a wife, but his planet is slowly dying, and their salvation lies in the people of Earth. As leader of Darien, he chooses to make a sacrifice and be the first to marry a terran. His captive bride, Erica, is like no other being he has ever met. At first sight he knows he must have her, but for obvious reasons—he did kidnap her after all—she resists him every step of the way.

Buy links: Purchase the Print Version ($9.99) or the electronic version Nook, Kindle ($3.99)

Lizzy, thank you for having me on your blog today. I appreciate it and you.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Once Upon A Time Marketing

Hi Everyone,

I had to share with you this new company.

Once Upon A Time Marketing

They are new but they are really affordable. If you need some help promoting your books check out there site. You can add your book reviews to their site, links, free reads.

They will set up blog tours for  you and get book reviews.

The site is full of all kinds of things that you can do there.

Friday, July 27, 2012


Goldie Cook’s legacy was three illegal whiskey stills in rural Oklahoma and a business deal with a member of the Chicago Mafia. As the country struggled with Prohibition and the Great Depression, she fought to keep her family together after the death of her mother and the cold blooded murder of her father.


Chapter One

 “Goldie ...Goldie!”

A young blonde girl shaded her eyes against the afternoon sun and glanced toward the old jail. Deep shadows hid the man inside but she knew the voice of her father and his arm waving frantically between the bars. She started to wave back and thought better of it as she heard a group of her schoolmates approach. Ducking her head, she quickened her pace hoping to outdistance them before her father’s shouts attracted their attention.

Her best friend, Ellen, ran to catch up with her. “Hold up, Goldie.”

“Have to hurry home,” she called over her shoulder. “See ya tomorrow.”

Her father’s call came again, louder this time.

Looking back toward the jail, she got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. The snickering came from behind her and the ridicule followed.  “Goldie . . . Goldie,” mimicked the preacher’s eldest son.

Tearing her gaze away from her father, she turned her attention to her tormentor. “Shut up, Charlie!”

 Junior, Charlie’s younger brother, took a stance beside his brother. “What’s a matter, Goldie, is your old man in jail again?”

Charlie cupped his hands around his mouth.  “Willie Cook’s in jail again, Willie Cook’s in jail again.” Both boys laughed and began to act out their own version of a drunk. Charlie staggered and fell down on the dirt road while Junior hiccupped, crossed his eyes, and whirled around in circles. Giggling came from the side of the road where Ellen and three other girls watched the show.

Filled with rage and indignation, Goldie’s petite frame seemed to grow in magnitude as she pushed past the girls and advanced on the boys with her fists clenched. “Stop it, Charlie Wicklow.” she screamed. “And you too, Junior. Stop it right now!”

“Got any moonshine in your lunch bucket, Goldie?” Junior asked.

Charlie giggled and slapped his brother on the back. “Yeah, Goldie, you got any hooch?”

Stooping to pick up a handful of dirt and gravel, she continued toward them. “Damn you two, I said stop it!”

Charlie stuck his tongue out at her and she rewarded him with a face full of dirt.

“White trash!” Junior yelled, pulling his older brother away from her. “You alright, Charlie?”

“I’m okay,” he said, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “And you’re right, Junior, she’s no-account . . . just like her ole man.”

Goldie stepped toward them. They laughed, backed away, then turned and ran down the road toward the Baptist church.  Remembering the girls, she turned her attention to them. “Anybody else have anything to say?”

Ellen was the only one not smiling and the smirks of the other girls disappeared under Goldie’s fierce gaze. No one answered; instead, they busied themselves brushing away the dust that filtered back on them during her attack on the Charlie.  She turned her back on them, squared her shoulders and sniffed back angry tears. “I’m sorry, Goldie,” Ellen said, squeezing her shoulder as she and the others walked around her.

“Goldie, girl!” her father’s urgent call came again.

Taking a deep breath, she cut across Jefferson Street and ran down the path behind the courthouse to the fieldstone jail that dated back to when Oklahoma was still Indian Territory.  The smell of sour whiskey, stale tobacco, unwashed bodies, and urine reeked through the barred window making her nauseous. She held her nose and stood on her tiptoes. “I’m here, Papa.”

Willie squeezed his face between the iron bars. “Goldie, run home and get some money to get me outta here. Bring whatever Mama’s got put back. Hurry now.”

She nodded her head. “Be right back, Papa.”  Dashing around the courthouse, she ran across the road and down the wooden sidewalk on Main Street. Her flight was interrupted when the screen door of the General Store opened and her mother’s sister stepped out. Skidding to a stop did not prevent her from bumping into the package-laden woman.  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Aunt Lou.”

Lucille Brown shifted her bundles and glared at her niece. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” she asked looking at a large clock mounted on a pole outside the store.

Goldie edged around her. “Oh, that old clock’s always wrong. School’s out and I’m on my way home.”  

When she saw Lucille narrow her eyes in the direction of the courthouse, she knew her aunt was aware of her father’s incarceration. Smiling at the sour-faced woman, she bolted like a young colt. “Gotta go, bye Aunt Lou.”

Lucille shook her head. “Just like her father,” she said under her breath.

As she ran down the dirt road toward home, Goldie remembered how upset her mother had been the night before when her father hadn’t come home for supper. How against her protests, Annabelle had gotten out of bed and waited on the dark porch for any sign of his return. She felt ashamed when she remembered she’d fallen asleep sometime before dawn and left her mother alone in her fruitless vigil.

Then she thought of the mockery she’d just endured. It shouldn’t hurt so much after all this time, but it did. She doubted she’d ever get used to being looked down on because of her father’s profession. She smiled. Profession wasn’t a term usually associated with bootleggers. Businessmen owned companies or shops and were respected members of society.

Some men were fortunate enough to have an education or family money. Willie Cook had neither. He only went to grade school long enough to satisfy the state truant officer, then quit to help his father make and deliver moonshine whiskey to the locals.

Times were hard, very hard and men did what they knew how to do to feed their families. At the very least, they had to give him that much. Willie loved his family and took care of them to the best of his ability.


Out of breath and with a painful stitch in her side, Goldie slowed to a walk as she approached the path that led to her home. The four-room house, covered with a roof so rusted it looked like dull copper, except for the newer tin patches that gleamed in the late afternoon sun, sat off the road  among ancient oak trees. The drab, gray boards of the front porch boasted a colorful rag rug and two old rocking chairs that stirred in the afternoon breeze.

A German Shepard waylaid her as she approached the house. “Jack, stop it,” she cried, and attempted to ward off his slobbery kisses. “Be a good boy and you can go back to town with me, but first I have to go in and see Mama. Now stay here and wait.”

Opening the front door, she stepped inside as Jack took a seat on the top step. “Mama?” she called into the bedroom where her mother should have been resting. The room was empty. She frowned and walked into the aroma-filled kitchen. “Mama, where are you?” she called again. A column of steam blew past the window. She pulled back the thin curtains and saw the tiny frame of her mother all but hidden by plumes of vaporizing water coming from a kettle filled with the family’s laundry.

 In her sweat-stained dress, Annabelle looked like a fragile child. Strands of her light brown hair had escaped the bun at the nape of her neck and were stuck to the sides of her flushed face.

Goldie ran out the back door. “Oh, Mama, no!” she screamed and grabbed a wooden paddle from her hands. “Mama, you know Doc Bailey told you to stay in bed and not wear yourself out doing chores.”

Annabelle wiped at the sweat on her forehead. “I know, Goldie, but I just couldn’t sit still. I’m so worried about your Papa. He’s never been gone so long with no word.” She paused to catch her breath and looked toward the house.  “Where are the other girls?”

In her haste to get home, Goldie had completely forgotten about her sisters. “They’ll be along.  I ran ahead to tell you I found Papa, he’s in jail.”

Annabelle’s body stiffened. “Is he alright?”

“Yes, I think so. I talked to him and he told me to run home and get some money to get him out.”

“The money’s in the hidy-hole. Go get it and bring him home. Hurry, Goldie, I need to see him . . .to see he’s alright. . .. ” She slumped toward her daughter.

Goldie grabbed her and eased her to the ground. “Mama, Mama, are you alright?”

Annabelle opened her eyes. “Yes sweetie, I just got a little dizzy.”

Goldie helped her to her feet and was horrified to feel her ribs through the damp dress.  “Let’s get you to bed. You don’t need to be out in this hot sun.”

In the darkened bedroom, Annabelle began to shiver uncontrollably as Goldie stripped off her damp dress and replaced it with a clean nightgown. “Mama, are you sure you’re gonna be alright? Maybe I should go get Doc Bailey.”

“No, I’m fine,” Annabelle said, patting her daughter’s arm. Lying down on the bed, she pulled a quilt up to her chin and gave her daughter a weak smile. “I’m fine, really. I just got too hot, that’s all. Now go get your Papa.”

“Don’t you think you should have some of your medicine before I go?”

Annabelle nodded her head. “Yes dear, I suppose I’d better have some of the nasty stuff.”

Goldie pulled the stopper from the bottle and poured out a spoonful. 

Annabelle swallowed the morphine and flinched at its vile taste. She knew she needed it for the pain, but she hated taking it because it robbed her of what precious little time she had left with her family. 

Goldie pulled another quilt from under the bed and spread it over her mother. “Mama. . .”

“Goldie, you go bring Papa home. I hate the thought of him being in that filthy place.” She closed her eyes. “I’ll just rest until you get back.”

Walking to the door, Goldie looked back at her and silently asked God to watch over her.


Soon Annabelle’s mind was flooded with drug-induced memories, memories so hurtful even the morphine didn’t  dull the pain they brought her. She heard her mother’s voice.  “White trash, he’s nothing but white trash! Annabelle Brown, how dare you disgrace this family with that low life! Willie Cook will never, never be welcome in my house and if you leave with him today, neither will you.”

“Mama, I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“Thank God your grandmother did not live to see the day her flesh and blood would marry a bootlegger’s son.”

Annabelle’s father, Edward, glanced at her briefly when she walked downstairs and opened the door to leave. Her older sister, Lucille, sat on a piano bench, crying softly. “Goodbye. I’m going to miss you both,” Annabelle whispered. Neither one replied. Her father glanced at her and opened his mouth but closed it again without a word.

Lucille glared at her with red, swollen eyes.

 “I love you,” Annabelle whispered to them through her own tears.

“Love? You don’t know the meaning of the word love, or respect either for that matter. Go on, get out of my house,” Grace screamed from the top of the stairs.

Annabelle looked over her shoulder at her mother. “Goodbye, Mama,” she said and walked out the door.

Grace followed her outside. “And don’t you come crawling back to me when you get tired of being poor and unhappy. A curse on you both!”

Struggling to sit up in bed, Annabelle found her vision blurred and the sudden movement made her sick to her stomach. Lying back again, she tried to clear her mind, but the powerful drug held her captive.

When the pains started, she dismissed it as nothing more serious than a stomachache, but when it worsened and her monthly curse became a never-ending flow of blood, she decided to go see Doc Bailey.

On that dreadful day, she undressed and slipped into a white cotton gown. The nurse told her to take a seat on Doc Bailey’s examination table. She even remembered how cold the table was.

The room was spotless. Colored charts of the human anatomy covered one wall. Annabelle tried not to look at them. She hated seeing the mysterious innards of the human body. Two metal cabinets, one on each side of the room, held shiny, wicked-looking instruments behind glass doors. She tried not to look at them either.

There was a light knock on the door.  “Annabelle, may I come in now?” Doc Bailey called to her.

“Yes Doc, I’m ready.”

He smiled, nodded his head in her direction and leaned against one of the metal cabinets. “Well, what can I help you with today?” 

Annabelle blushed. “Well, Doc, I... at first, I thought I just had a stomachache, but then the pain got worse and my monthly curse hasn’t stopped for nearly a month. So I thought I’d better come see you about it.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said, and covered her with a sheet. “We need to see what’s going on with you. Now just lay back on the table.”

When the painful examination was over, he asked her to get dressed and come into his office.

She tossed and turned on the bed. “No more. I don’t want to remember anymore,” she whispered to the empty room, but the hurtful memories continued.

Doc Bailey sat behind his desk, looking at her over his glasses. He cleared his throat. “Annabelle, I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you. I felt a mass in your uterus.” She frowned at the unfamiliar words.  “Your uterus, your female parts. The lump is most likely cancerous. I suspected it when you told me about your symptoms.”


“It’s hard to explain, Annabelle. It’s been around since the beginning of recorded history. Even the Egyptians had it.”

“And I have it, Doc?”

“I’m afraid so. This is never an easy thing to tell someone, but as difficult as it is, I mean to be totally honest with you. To date there is no cure. This type of cancer grows rapidly and will spread to other parts of your body and eventually. . .” he said, spreading his fingers. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Annabelle stared at the man she had known most of her life as if he were a stranger. Opening her purse, she took out a handkerchief and began to twist it in her hands. “You saying...I’m gonna die?”


She looked at him with tear-filled eyes. “Are you sure, Doc?”

“Yes, I’m sure. From its size, I suspect it’s already in an advanced stage. The signs are very distinct, even to a country doctor like me.”

He walked around his desk to comfort the shaken woman. Annabelle grabbed his hand. “There’s nothing you can do?”

“I’m afraid not. I wish there was.”

“There must be something.”

He patted her shoulder. “There are some doctors in Dallas working on a cure.  A breakthrough may come at any time, but for now all they’ve come up with is a few experimental drugs and roentgen therapy.”

 “Roentgen therapy?”

“Yes, it’s done with x-ray machines, but you’d have to go to Dallas for the treatments and it’s pretty expensive.”

“Oh... but you said there are medicines?”

“Yes, a few. They wouldn’t cost you anything because they’re experimental, but I must warn you, they might have some nasty side effects. The worst being....”

“I don’t care. I have to try them. I don’t want to die!”

He took a bottle from a shelf behind his desk. “I know you don’t, Annabelle. I’m so sorry. I’ll do everything I can to help you.  I’ll call Dallas today and get them to send one of those drugs but for now I want you to take this for the pain you’re having.” He handed her the large brown bottle. “It’s a strong drug called morphine. You can use it every six hours.” Annabelle wrapped her crumpled handkerchief around the bottle and put it in her purse.

“The morphine will make you sleepy, but take it just the same. The rest will be good for you. And Annabelle, I don’t want you tiring yourself out doing chores either. Let the girls do the housework from now on.”

He returned to his desk, sat down and waited for her to compose herself. “I’ll be around to check on you from time to time, but if you run out of that,” he said pointing to her purse, “send someone to my office to get some more.”

She nodded her head and patted her purse.

“Do you want me to speak to Willie for you?”

“No, I’ll tell him myself,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’d best be going, he’s waiting.” She shook hands with the doctor and walked out of his office closing the door behind her. Leaning against a wall in the hallway, she thought about her mother. “Damn you, Mother! Damn you to hell for putting this curse on me and my family!” Her insides quivered as if the cancer within her, having now been identified, was taunting her.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Ten Tips For Marketing Your Ebook

Only 99 Cents!!!!

Disclaimer: This handbook is aimed towards new authors who need a little guidance. If you have several books published and are already established this book most likely won’t help you. This is for those authors who have their book published and now don’t know what to do.

Ten Tips For Marketing You Ebook is exactly what it says. It is ten things that I have done or currently do that has helped me become an Amazon and Fictionwise Best Seller. I will walk you through different social media sites to join and tips on how to use them properly.

Plus I have included some bonus tips at the end of the book.

Friday, July 6, 2012

Free today only "Blackbeard's Treasure"

Hi Everyone,

Free today only!!! "Blackbeard's Treasure" Get it at smashwords using this code BU39F If you like the book please take a minute to post a review on it. Thanks!!!!

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Guest Blogger: Michelle L. Crocker

In the blink of an eye life as Cassie knew it was over. At a young age she never expected to bury a husband who had given his life serving his country. But here she was. What was she going to do? How would she survive with Justin, after all he was the love of her life?

At the service she meets Manny, who had served with Justin and had promised to take care of her if anything ever happened to him. Over time the two fall in love and both get on with their lives. Marriage, a family and great happiness. Who would have thought a phone call would change everything they came to know. Justin is still ALIVE after more than 20 years. Where will Cassie’s heart lead her?

Sometimes in life it takes losing someone or the thought of losing them to realize where your heart belongs.

Available at amazon!!!

Friday, June 15, 2012

My Ordeal with the bank

Hi Everyone, I had to share my wonderful experience with my bank today. Ok not so much wonderful LOL

So it all starts this morning when I just randomly decide to check my online banking. I notice that my deposit that I dropped in the night box Monday night was not showing up.I thought that was odd with this being Friday.

I call up the bank and ask them. They say nothing is showing and I love this part LOL Are you sure you came here and made the deposit.

Oh of course that must be the problem. Instead I must have went to wal-mart or Burger King and gave them my deposit LOL So I very nicely say yes I went there and drove up in front and told them what I drove and where I parked the car.

The lady asks me "Are you sure you didn't leave it in your purse?"

HMMM yes that's what I did. I drove all the way to the bank. 10 minutes from my house. Pulled up in front of the bank and then decided oh you know what I'll just leave the deposit in my purse and go on back home. Yes that must be what happened. LOL

So She tells me that she will review the bank video camera and call me back.

 I said great. Ok so you will see me on the camera that I was yes in fact there. Then what? Do I get my deposit counted then?

She says well no. That will just prove you were here. I guarantee that the deposit is not in our bank. We have no record of it anywhere.

So now I am really getting angry but again and only answering my answers nice and calmly since they are the ones that have control of my lost money LOL. I tell the lady ok just give my husband a call back at his number with what you find out because by now I've had it up to my neck with dealing with this lady.

So a couple of hours go by and the bank manager calls my husband up and says "I'm very sorry about this mix up. We looked at the video and your wife drove the car that she said, parked where she said, and we watched her drop the envelope in the box. We went back trhough our envelopes for that day and found hers stuck to the back of another deposit envelope." They plan to make my deposit today.

So they flat out called me crazy. I didn't actually make a deposit and I must have just left it in my purse or dropped it. Also told me that they were 100% sure it was no where in the bank. Then call me back and tell me all is right in the world. They found it. Oh and that they are sorry.

So topic question: Would you stay with this bank over one mistak in the 5 years I've banked with them or would you run as fast and as far as you can away from them and bank somewhere else?

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Get "Hooked" By Jim Baugh

Hi Everyone,
Welcome my guest today author Jim Baugh. He is here today promoting his super funny book "Hooked" I read this one a few months back. It will have you rolling on the floor laughing. I don't want to give too much away but let me just ask you this: Have you ever went to the wrong funeral? LOL If you don't read any other book this summer you should give this one a try. We all need a good laugh from time to time.

Amazon Best Seller!!!
Available at Amazon

“HOOKED” is based on the true-life story of Virginia outdoor television producer Jim Baugh. Jim Baugh Outdoors TV is one of Americas most diverse and entertaining outdoor programs and has been in syndication since 1989.

“HOOKED” is a hilarious look behind the scene stories of filming a southern outdoor TV show. From the Chesapeake Bay to Key West these on location excursions will make your sides hurt with laughter. A cast of sea faring characters full of color and humor. From the docks in Gloucester Virginia to the Atlantic Ocean and a boat load of jolly swashbuckling Pirates. The stories and characters in “HOOKED” are timeless and span a period of over forty years.

In contrast, “HOOKED” also explores the solemn drama of dealing with divorce, death, and mental illness.

The story also delves into the totally crazy insane world of mid-life on-line computer dating. This is a hilarious look at dating in the computer world after 25 years of solid marriage. These “Dating” stories are contemporary, racy, scary, cheerful, timeless, and based on true events. Anyone who is old enough to date will soon relate to “HOOKED” as the comical reference for dating in the new millennium.

This adult romantic comedy story also relates to the power and testament of faith.

50 Years of an exciting action packed extremely charismatic colorfull life and career, packed into 28 chapters . It is a fast ride for sure.

Bio: Jim Baugh has been producing National and Regional television shows for 25 years. Programs include: Jim Baugh Outdoors TV (220 episodes), Ski East, Classic Fishing. Fishing Virginia and, RV Times.

Jim Baugh has written over 300 columns for numerous magazines during the last 20 years including: Motor boating Magazine, Fishing Smart, The Chesapeake Angler, The Sportsman Magazine and Travel Virginia Magazine.