My musings on books, movies, and anything that comes to my mind late at night..
Title
Thursday, October 14, 2021
5 Things NOT to Do While Ghost Hunting
Wednesday, October 13, 2021
Urbantasm Book Three The Darkest Road by Connor
Excerpt Book 3:
The summer dusk gave way to interstitial twilight. There was no sense in riding an hour back home in the dark just to turn around and come back the next morning. Instead, my friends and I bummed our way back to Camp Jellystone, where we got to camp in tents on the gravel and weeds off of the RV lot for five dollars a night. We sat around a fire and drank pop while the older actors – our mentors – went through six-packs of beer and homilized on their atheist Bibles. They quoted SNL routines, Monty Python, GURPS, Cthulhu, and the Digital Underground until we were all too tired to see straight. We all said goodnight and made our way back to our tents. But my tent had flooded during the week, and inside I found dead earwigs floating in slow circles.I didn’t mind.I was glad that this had happened.I gathered up my sleeping bag, which Eddie had dropped off in the morning before heading back to Akawe, and stumbled back through the purple dark to Omara’s tent.“Knock knock,” I said.I heard her sigh. “You got your own tent, John.”“Not tonight,” I said. “It’s flooded. Will you let me stay here?”“Fine,” she said. “If this ever gets back to my dad, he’ll murder you.”“I don’t think he will. I don’t think he’d murder a fly.”She didn’t argue. She knew that I was right. She unzipped the tent and beckoned me inside.In more than a year of going out, Omara and I hadn’t had sex. We hadn’t even been naked together. The driving thirst and curiosity that I had felt in seventh grade had been quenched by my confusing tumbles with Crystal. By my guilty nescience with Lucy. Still, here I was, sleeping bag in hand, stooped under the slope of the tent roof, wearing soccer shorts and a too-small t-shirt, and Omara stood before me, more stooped because she was taller than I was, her white panties and tank top bright against her dark skin. We unzipped our sleeping bags, made a bed between them, and lay down. Omara turned away from me, and I pressed into her back. I put my arm around her waist with my palm against her bare stomach. I could feel her shapes against mine, though there was still cloth between us.“It was a long day today,” she said.“Uh-huh,” I said.“We’d better get some sleep. It’s gonna be a long weekend. We got two more days to go. Then school. You know I got that job at the Olan Farm? It’s gonna be almost like this. I mean, I guess I’ll dress up like a milkmaid, like The Little House on the Prairie or something. But it’ll be acting, you know?”I sighed.“I’m not tired,” I said.“Me neither,” she said. And then, in a burst: “I can’t stop thinking about that woman on your block. Who murdered her baby.”I pushed myself against her. I held my breath. I said, “I can’t think about that. I mean. There’s nothing I can do about that. It makes me sick, but what does that even accomplish?”“But doesn’t it just stick with you? The idea of it? How awful it –”“I don’t want it to, okay? Anyway, it’s far away. We’re here now. Let’s stay here.”“We can’t stay here.” I felt the tenseness in Omara’s back.“Yeah. But someday, we’ll leave Akawe for good. And anyway. We aren’t there now.”“Aren’t you afraid your dad’s gonna lose his job?”“My father? Yeah. He’s already driving two hours each day ever since they transferred him to Canton. Ever since that strike ended last year, it seems like X is closing everything fast as they can. You know? I mean, they closed the Benedict Main. Most of the Old Benedict. Probably RAN, too. ‘Course, my aunt says they were going to close them all anyway.”Omara laughed. A slight untensing. “Sounds like you have thought about it.”“I think about lots of things a lot. Some things I don’t want to think about and some things I do. I mean, I think about you a lot.”I was trying to move toward her. In, you know, ways. But she wasn’t taking the bait.“Aren’t you afraid they won’t be able to pay for college?”She’d finally succeeded. Omara’s fears had become my fears.“No,” I said. “I mean, my mother is working at that new job at XAI. And even if my father gets laid off, he’s got options. Right? Transfer to other plants. Stuff like that. What about you? Why are you worried? Didn’t your grandparents get you a savings bond or something?”“Yeah. But I keep thinking someone’s gonna open a trapdoor beneath me or something. I guess ... I guess I keep thinking I’ll believe in college when I get there. And not before. It just seems a bad idea to get my hopes up, you know?”“You don’t have to worry about it for a while. It’s still years off. I mean, we just have to keep working, don’t we? It’ll happen. We just need to be patient or some shit, you know?”The wind buffeted the tent over our heads. I could hear low talking outside. Low chuckles. Through the tent wall, I could see the embers of the fire flickering faintly. Some of the older actors would be slouching in their folding chairs until the sky started to gray with dawn. That was still several hours away. I listened to it for a long, slow minute.“I do worry,” I confided. “I worry that something will happen that I don’t expect, and I’ll get stuck. That I’ll fail a class, fail a test I need to pass ... and I won’t get into college in Chicago, or I won’t get into college anywhere. I worry that my parents are lying about everything, and they can’t pay for shit. I worry that I’m just being set up to fail. I even worry ...” I caught my breath. Saying this all out loud was hard. Trusting a human being was hard. But at least I wasn’t looking into her eyes. At least the darkness of a September tent wrapped us and kept our secrets from everyone else.“I worry,” I whispered, “that you’ll go away to college in Chicago, and I’ll be stuck in Akawe, and I’ll never get out.”I heard a deep breath from Omara. I felt her belly raise beneath my cupped palm. She had fallen asleep, and I was grateful.
Urbantasm: The Empty Room is the second book in the magical teen noir serial novel inspired by the author’s experiences growing up in and around Flint, Michigan.
John Bridge is only two months into junior high and his previously boring life has already been turned upside-down. His best friend has gone missing, his father has been laid-off from the factory, and John keeps looking over his shoulder for a mysterious adversary: a man with a knife and some perfect blue sunglasses.
As if all this wasn’t bad enough, John must now confront his complicated feelings for a classmate who has helped him out of one scrape after another, although he knows little about who she is and what she wants. What does it mean to want somebody? How can you want them if you don’t understand them? Does anybody understand anyone, ever? These are hard questions made harder in the struggling city of Akawe, where the factories are closing, the schools are closing, the schools are crumbling, and even the streetlights can’t be kept on all night.
John and his friends are only thirteen, but they are fighting for their lives and futures. Will they save Akawe, will they escape, or are they doomed? They might find their answers in an empty room… in a city with ten thousand abandoned houses, there will be plenty to choose from.
Cover Artist: Sam Perkins-Harbin,
John doesn’t understand why the sunglasses are such a big deal, but everything, it seems, is on the table. Perhaps he accidentally offended the Chalks, a white supremacist gang trying to expand across the city. Maybe the feud involves his friend Selby, whose father died under mysterious circumstances. It could even have something to do with O-Sugar, a homegrown drug with the seeming ability to distort space. On the night before school began, a group of teenagers took O-Sugar and leapt to their deaths from an abandoned hospital.
John struggles to untangle these mysteries while adjusting to his new school, even as his parents confront looming unemployment and as his city fractures and burns.
About the Author:
Connor Coyne is a writer living and working in Flint, Michigan.
His serial novel Urbantasm is winner of numerous awards. Hugo- and Nebula-nominee William Shunn has praised Urbantasm as “a novel of wonder and horror.”
Connor has also authored two other celebrated novels, Hungry Rats and Shattering Glass, as well as Atlas, a collection of short stories.
Connor’s essay “Bathtime” was included in the Picador anthology Voices from the Rust Belt. His work has been published by Vox.com, Belt Magazine, Santa Clara Review, and elsewhere.
Connor is Director of Gothic Funk Press. He has served on the planning committee for the Flint Festival of Writers and represented Flint’s 7th Ward as its artist-in-residence for the National Endowment for the Arts’ Our Town grant. In 2007, he earned his Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from the New School.
Connor lives in Flint, Michigan less than a mile from the house where he grew up.
Urbantasm: http://urbantasm.com
Author Website: http://connorcoyne.com
Newsletter Signup: http://eepurl.com/bzZvb5
Blog: http://connorcoyne.com/blog
Twitter: https://twitter.com/connorcoyne
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@blueskiesfalling
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/connorcoyne
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/connorryancoyne
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/user/connorcoyne
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4218298.Connor_Coyne
Need by Madison Wentworth
Excerpt:
How are you supposed to feel when you find out the man you’ve fallen in love with, who you’ve never even met in person, reveals that the two of you were once engaged, and that you were—inadvertently or not—the cause of his death?
I try to plan for every contingency, but even super-prepared Cher hadn’t seen that one coming.
“Does that mean the whole thing has to happen all over again the same way?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Does it mean we’ll get to meet, after all? Or do I meet another version of you instead?”
“I don’t know.”
This was exasperating. The odd thing was, I found it almost impossible to be mad at him. It wasn’t his fault, anyway. He had no idea how to get out of the place where he was, wherever or whenever that might be, or what would happen if he did. I had no idea how to get him out, either, but I did know I had to find a way—and without him getting run over by a car again. I’d strap him to the bed if I had to.
“If we were engaged before, does that mean we still are?” I asked.
“I think so, unless you want to break it off. Do you?”
“No, I like being your fiancée.”
“Good. Because I like it, too.”
I still didn’t feel comfortable telling anyone else about Evan, or telling Layla anything more about him, because now it was even weirder than before. So, the only person I was left with as counselor was my inner voice.
I need to get him back here again. I need to see him.
Need. It was a word I’d hardly ever used before, and certainly not in connection with myself. But I seemed to be using it more and more with Even.
How do you think you’re going to do that if he’s dead?
It was a good question.
I could call my ghost-hunter friends.
You don’t need to hunt him. You already know where he is: In that smartphone screen of yours! You drew him to you through the internet. Now you just need to bring him the rest of the way.
How?
By being yourself. He hungers for you and can’t resist you. He will come.
Could it possibly be as simple as that? It couldn’t be. I remembered the voice had asked me once before who I was, and I’d answered that I was just me. But I was only that person when I was alone. Otherwise, I was always pretending—except when I was with Evan. I could be myself with him, too. So maybe it really was as simple as that, after all. It had to be, because I couldn’t think of anything else. But how could I be my true self, my vampire self, when the world was watching?
You can’t. You need to go someplace.
It didn’t help that I was having this conversation with myself at work.
“Cher, can you come over here for a sec?” Joy motioned toward me. “This customer needs his frames adjusted.”
“Coming.”
Fortunately for the eye clinic, and for my own job security, I was great at multitasking. I was able to keep brainstorming about how to get some privacy even while I was adjusting Mr. Thompson’s new glasses to fit him perfectly without pinching the bridge of his nose or pulling down too much behind the ear.
“Thank you,” he said. “You’re very good at that.”
I laughed easily. “I should be. I’ve been doing this long enough. But you’re very good at being a patient patient, and that makes all the difference.”
He nodded slightly and... was he blushing? So often, I found that the smallest kind word or gesture was appreciated beyond what I’d expected. People didn’t treat each other with kindness enough anymore. It had become rare enough that, when it happened, it was unexpected.
And they were grateful. It was sad that common courtesy had fallen so far out of style.
But being nice to people was how I’d been raised; it was part of who I was.
Vampires are known for their courtesy. They only enter where they’re invited.
That was it!
I had to be myself—my vampire self—to draw Evan back to the land of the living, but I had to invite him, too. That was the one thing I’d been missing. He might be dead, but he was also a vampire, and if I invited him, he would have no choice but to accept.
Eliza: The Awakening by Eileen Sheehan Recipe for Severed Finger Sugar Cookies
Excerpt
It felt like someone was swinging a hammer against the inside of Eliza’s skull. The early morning dew caused a damp muskiness on the earth that blended with the mold and dust that burrowed beneath the thick layer of leaves where she lay her aching burden; assaulting her nose and adding to her misery. Her chocolate colored eyes felt pinned shut, but her hearing was abnormally acute. By the sounds around her, she sensed her surroundings were familiar ones. If she was correct, she was near the small cave that was nestled in a knoll that began the acres of woods at the far end of her family’s farm. It was a place that she’d discovered at a young age and had frequented whenever she required alone time. Her surroundings weren’t the greater mystery. How she got there was.
As her faculties returned to normal, she sat up and realized that how she got there wasn’t the biggest mystery after all. It was superseded by the fact that she hadn’t a stitch of clothing on.
None of this made sense. How did she get there and what happened to her clothes?
Straining her mind, she reached into the fog for a replay of the night before. She’d gone with her best friend, Reba, to a newly opened dance club. The place was packed, and dance partners were plentiful. The exertion from dancing combined with the excessive body heat made the air feel so stifling as to be practically unbearable. She remembered stepping outside for a bit of fresh air. Did Reba join her? She struggled to remember, but the visions in her head showed very little.
Squeezing her eyes shut almost to the point that it hurt, she forced her mind to function. She needed to remember the chain of events that led to her waking up naked in a field at the edge of the woods. Had she gone home from the club and sleepwalked? Or had something sinister occurred? She just didn’t know.
About the Author:
Eileen Sheehan primarily writes hot, steamy romances (mostly New Adult) with a
sexy male and strong female. A few are steamier than others (see their description).
The majority of her novels are paranormal, but some are just plain novels about
people in love (contemporary or historical with the author name of Ailene
Frances). ALL of her stories have a bit of naughtiness, some excitement, a few
thrills, and maybe a touch of mystery mixed in with sometimes naughty,
sometimes sweet lovin'. She strives to write a novel length that will allow the
busy woman to be able to sit down in an evening or two and be taken on a
romantic journey without having a week go by before she gets to the end of the
story.
An incurable romantic, she has a love affair with at least one of her
characters... one book at a time. She hopes the same thing happens to you.
www.sheehan-author.info
https://www.facebook.com/groups/162542557665509
Music Playlist for Witch of the Cards by Catherine Stine
Deep,
Wide Ocean
– The Jezabels
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbAyUjclZgc
I
Put a Spell on You –
Nina Simone
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDprYZ-tgiA
Alice
Underground–
Avril Lavigne
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JMeiP69HlCM
Pennies
from Heaven
– Bing Crosby
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IFgC7JhVrM
Season
of the Witch
– Donovan
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAzTnsSgs2s
Heartless – The Fray
version
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LBTdJHkAr5A
Black
Magic Woman
– Santana
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyQUCYl-ocs
Cuban
Love Song –
Ruth Etting
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuXl6Rh3zPk
Hunting
for Witches –
Bloc Party
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CmPNuruWMTA
Heavy
Like a Witch
– All Them Witches
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KhzvanE-O14
How
Deep is the Ocean?
– Brenda Lee
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R5Dpcm8_6Kw
Do
You Believe in Magic?
– Lovin’ Spoonful
Amazon Amazon UK Amazon CA Amazon AU
Excerpt:
If I only had a week in this glorious beach town, I wanted to catch up with sleep and plunge into as many escapades as possible—even bewildering, outlandish ones.
We walked in, to the jangle of Mr. Dune’s door chimes. I skated around, ogling the floor-to-ceiling shelves brimming with leather-bound books on cosmic mysteries, spiritualism, and witchcraft. Two immediate standouts were Ten Ways to Practice Mentalism and Dona Bella, Memoirs of a Southern Witch. These were my fare, similar to a favorite book at the public library—a tome on dark magic. The most stirring part was about each witch dynasty having its own grimoire, a sort of magical recipe book. I had no clue as to why dark tales tickled me so, and often wondered about my taste.
Still, I read everything I could get my hands on, even boring books that drifted me right off to the Land of Nod. At my nanny job, I was so desperate for stories I even read the tedious articles about cooking and how to throw a proper cocktail party in Mrs. Cuthbert’s Reader’s Digest and Home Arts magazines.
Mr. Dune strode toward us. His handsome aura and towering presence intimidated yet thrilled me. He was dressed in crisp, charcoal gray pants and a vest with a double-breasted pinstriped jacket. “Are you lovely ladies here for the séance?” He held out a long, elegant hand, studded with a silver ring. I barely collected my wits enough to shake it and nod. Dulcie’s hand whooshed out and hardly touched his before she clamped it protectively back to her side.
No doubt about it, he was the most striking man I’d ever seen. His thick mop of dark hair tapered into long sideburns, rendering his jawline a tad dangerous. I guessed he was in his mid-twenties. When his coffee-brown eyes gleamed at me, my breath caught, and a heat greater than any moonshine fired through me.
We paid the dime admission. He escorted us to a round, wooden table with lion-footed legs where we joined a heavyset older couple and a reedy gentleman with thin, blond hair. His lime-fizz eyes darted over to Dulcie, and then away. Two empty chairs still beckoned.
Dulcie looked terrified, so I smiled at her. She calmed enough to take a seat.
Mr. Dune strode to the window, loosened the crimson curtains, and lowered their heavy velvet over the windows, lending the already-pensive storefront a mystical aura.
About the Author:
Catherine Stine is a USA Today bestselling author of paranormal, urban and historical fantasy. Witch of the Wild Beasts won a second prize in the Romance Writers of America’s Sheila Contest. Other novels have earned Indie Notable awards and New York Public Library Best Books. She lives in New York State and grew up in Philadelphia. Before writing novels, she was a painter and fabric designer. She’s a visual author and sees writing as painting with words. Catherine loves spending time with her beagle Benny, writing about supernatural creatures, gardening and meeting readers at book fests.
Learn more at catherinestine.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/crossoverwriter
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/kitsy84557/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kitsy84557
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@catherinestine7
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorcatherinestine
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/catherine-stine
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1018139.Catherine_Stine
Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Catherine-Stine/e/B001H9TXJC
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCiYPFXTOO0EQ2XRW72PJiyw
Newsletter: https://catherinestine.com/wp/get-the-newsletter-contact-me/
War of the Sea - Kickstarter Olympian Wars Book One Dana Claire
War of the Sea - Kickstarter Olympian Wars Book One Dana Claire Genre: Fantasy Romance Publisher: Chamberlain Publishing House ISBN: 97989...
-
Beginning of Arrogance A Paladin’s Journey Book One Bryan Cole Genre: Fantasy Publisher: Fat Paladin Incorporated Date of Publication: Jun...
-
Damned When I Didn’t Cherie Colyer Genre: YA Paranormal Romance Publisher: The Wild Rose PRess Date of Publication: November 18, 2020 ISB...
-
Hunted – A Vampwitch Novel Book One Kathleen Harryman Genre: Paranormal Romance Date of Publication: February 2021 ISBN: 978-1637603239 AS...