Search This Blog

Wednesday, March 11, 2020

New Release — A Moment in Time by B. J. Betts

Jake Houser’s relief at returning home to Chicago after a business trip to Japan is short-lived when he’s involved in a horrific accident that kills his taxi driver and leaves him in a coma. As Jake’s life hangs in the balance, a beautiful young woman, Ava Andersen, comes to him and asks for his help. She must keep a promise made to loved ones, and Jake feels he must try to do what he can.

Through his meetings with Ava, he gleans bits and pieces of information…but in his temporary station between life and death, it seems there’s nothing he can do to help Ava with her quest to let her parents know what happened to her.

With the care of a young private nurse, Sara Clemmons, Jake slowly begins to recover. Will Sara help him fulfill the promise he’s made to help Ava—or will she believe he’s lost his sanity? Even Jake wonders how a ghost can communicate between two worlds…but he’s lived it, and he knows it’s real.

With Sara at his side, Jake sets out to find the people Ava held dear—and give them the message she’s asked him to deliver. For Jake, this is A MOMENT IN TIME provided by Fate…

EXCERPT


     The drizzle was quickly turning to ice. Soon the parking meters, sidewalks, and streets were covered in an icy glaze. Jake leaned closer to the front seat. They were just blocks away from his home.
     “Think we’ll make it?” he asked the cabbie.
     “Sure, bud. As long as everyone slows down. No problem. It’s those A-holes that think they gotta fly that cause problems.”
     The words were no sooner out of the man’s mouth when a black SUV came barreling through a red light. The cabbie wrenched the wheel, trying to get out of the SUV’s way, but to no avail.
     Jake looked through the passenger window and watched as the vehicle came right at them. The cabbie’s screams mixed with his as the car made impact, T-boning the driver’s side. The sound of screeching tires, busting glass, and twisting metal filled the night air.
     Jake felt the cab go airborne as they flew through the air and crashed into a brick retaining wall…

Tuesday, March 10, 2020

AN INTRODUCTION By Sarah J. McNeal

Author Sarah J. McNeal



Since this is my first post on the Fire Star Press blog, I would like to introduce myself to you. Some of you may already know me from my monthly posts on the Prairie Rose Publications blog or from comments on blogs here from time to time. Because I have so many books published under the Fire Star Press imprint, I am going to be posting on the second Tuesday every other month here alternating with posts on the 2nd Tuesday every other month at the Prairie Rose blog.

I retired from critical care nursing in 2009 and have devoted my time to writing ever since I retired. I started writing and submitting fiction way back when I was 13. I've had many rejections from those earlier years before I was finally published. Like most of you I have worked to improve my craft and have experienced some other publishing companies along the way. I had some low times and high times, but I never quit. Probably any successful writer has had to stay the course over the years to get where they are today. I  was lucky enough to publish with Rebecca Vickery's publishing company and, when she had to close her company due to her health, I found a home at Prairie Rose Publishing when Cheryl Pierson and Livia Reasoner opened their doors. I feel pretty dang lucky to be a part of this company.

I am contracted with Fire Star Press for the last 2 books in the Legends of Winatuke series. The first 3 books of this fantasy/medieval series have already been published: The Witch-Queen, Cursed, and Quest for the Light of Valmora.

I look forward to getting to know all of you much better. I've read most of the posts here so I have a bit of knowledge about each of you already. I think I'm going to truly enjoy my time here.






The Witch-Queen

Legends of Winatuke, book1

Sarah J. McNeal

Fire Star Press

Buy Links: Paperback   Kindle


The legend begins when love and evil collide.


Excerpt: (Isadore and Prince Gabriel)

Isadore reached the bottom of the stair and made her way with tentative care down the narrow passage to the prisoner's cell. She had never ventured this far before. The dungeon was an awful place. It smelled of damp stone, urine, and fear.

In the shadows of the cell, she made out the Nimway's form as he stood facing the wall beyond the iron bars with his back to her. He stood tall with a broad back that tapered to a narrow waist and hips. From his back sprang two large, yellow wings etched in black. They reminded her of the stained glass windows now falling from their frames in the abandoned chapel of the north wing. The glow from a burning torch shone through his hair and, in spite of its unkempt length and its need of washing, it gleamed like a golden halo in the flickering torchlight. There he stood, magnificent and beautiful, the Heir Apparent to the throne of Valmora, Prince Gabriel of Fionn.

He must have sensed her presence because he started to turn toward her. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She could not catch her breath. Inside her mind her thoughts ran in excited disarray. But a smart rap on her shoulder gained her immediate attention. A gasp escaped her when she turned to find her mother standing close behind her. Mahara had found her out. "What do you think you are doing, Isadore?" Her black eyes darkened and narrowed with suspicion. Without waiting for an answer she grabbed Isadore’s hand in a painful grasp and jerked her around. "Come with me NOW," Mahara commanded.

Excerpt: (Prince Raphael and Rose)

He gazed into her frightened eyes. "You must never take my world, the Nimway or the Black Blood Clan so lightly. There are battles being fought between good and evil every day of which you know nothing." He clasped her arms tightly in his hands. "So know this: Mahara wants one thing more than any other—your father. She has the blood lust. She will use any means that will get her what she wants.. Raven managed to slip through her hands and, worse, he took his true love with him. If you think, she has forgotten this affront you are very much mistaken. She never forgets. Even now, she is thinking of a way to take revenge, and when she figures out how to carry out her diabolical plan, God save us all."

He loosened his grip on her arms and noticed with dismay the red marks his hands had made. Raphael bent down and kissed the marks on her arms. She sighed then leaned her head back with her eyes closed. He could not help himself as he embraced her in his arms. She dropped her head on his chest and wove her arms around his waist. His heart hammered in his chest. "I am sorry." He spoke softly in her ear. His breath caught as he removed the yellow, plastic clip from her hair and released its dazzling brilliance that fell to her waist in flowing locks of fiery copper.

It was almost painful being in her embrace. She held on to him because she was afraid. He knew that. But the nearness of her made him drunk with joy all the same. He tangled his hand in her hair and slowly lowered his mouth to hers. She responded to his kiss and Raphael burned with desire somewhere between heaven and hell. Oh God, how I want her, how I love her. If only there was some way—



CURSED 

Legends of Winatuke, book 2

By Sarah J. McNeal

Fire Star Press

Buy Links:



The Legend continues with A Curse…A Quest…and Undying Love.

 Excerpt:


Emma held her breath. Something is wrong. Her heart began to pound against the confines of her ribs. Is someone in the apartment? She didn't have a gun or mace, or even a sharp object like a pencil nearby to protect herself. Maybe if she could quietly move across the kitchen she could grab a butcher knife from the drawer beside the sink. Every nerve in her body became electrified. Her muscles tensed with dread.

Out of the darkness, a big hand grabbed her by the shoulder. She took in a ragged breath. Her heart pounded in her ears. What to do now? Her vocal cords froze in her throat as the intruder turned her around to face him. She heard herself whimper and hated her weakness.

"Please don't hurt me," she whispered in a shaky voice.

She heard gruff laughter. "Why would I want to hurt you, Emma?" A light switched on and there, in the glow of a forty-watt incandescent bulb, stood the tall figure of Hawk McKnight. He appeared wild and dangerous, as if he'd walked out of a medieval movie scene. Dressed in a loose, white shirt open halfway down his broad chest and a short leather jacket with sleeves attached by strips of rawhide graced with buttons carved from what looked like horn or bone down the front he grinned at her. Around his slim waist was a wide, leather belt with a dagger tucked in it and a leather bag hanging from his left hip. In a scabbard across his back rested a heavy broadsword which looked as perilous as the man. Emma knew by his attire he must have recently come from that other place where his family and friends originated…Winatuke.



Quest For The Light Of Valmora 

Legends of Winatuke, Book 3

By Sarah J. McNeal

Fire Star Press

BUY: Kindle   Paperback



A quest for a magical light...A Gypsy’s love…And a warrior’s sacrifice



Without further comment, he scooped her up in his arms and waltzed with her to the place directly in front of the musicians. Falcon caught Peregrine's eyes and saw in them indifference. Anger swelled inside him. Peregrine could be such an ass. Didn't he care that Falcon danced with Izabelle much too close? What did Izabelle see in his apathetic brother who displayed nothing of the concern or interest he should in this astonishing woman?

Well, things are about to change.

Falcon dipped Izabelle low with only his arm to keep her from falling. He leaned over her body draped across his arm and inhaled her sweet essence floating on the night air. Her breath hitched and her eyes glittered in the dim light as she peered at him, those eyes wide and bright with surprise.

He lowered his mouth and touched his lips to hers.


Diverse stories filled with heart











Friday, March 6, 2020

Finding the Joy


I am not an artist. When I was young, I had a set of acrylic paints and brushes. I remember sitting outside and painting nature scenes. Was I any good? Not really. Could I have been? I don't know. My parents insisted I take an art class. I begged them not to make me go. I was painfully shy and the very idea struck terror into my heart. However, I went and it was even worse than I imagined. There were several of the "mean girls" from my grade in the class and the instructor's teaching style was not one that meshed with the way I learn. Taking the paint brush away from me and doing something for me taught me nothing except that I wasn't good enough. Being so shy and insecure, I already knew that. In my mother's later years she said that forcing me to go to that class was one of her biggest regrets because I never painted again and she was correct. I didn't. However, not painting wasn't a conscious choice I made in order to be vindictive for being forced to attend class against my will. It was simply a case of the experience destroyed any joy I found in painting.

It has only been within the last five years or so that I have once again found happiness in painting. There are a number of art studios that have sprung up across the country offering instructor led classes to the masses. (Many of these classes also allow the imbibing of alcoholic beverages during class.) The purpose of these studios is not to teach students how to be the next Picasso but instead to let them see that, with a just a little instruction, we can each be more creative than we may think possible. "Oh, I could never do that" becomes "Look what I did!"

My daughter-in-law is blessed with artistic talent. Somehow, I let her talk me into taking a "fundamentals of painting" class with her. Much to my surprise I enjoyed it. I also appreciated the fact that the instructor never took my brush away from me to "fix" my work or told me that I was doing thing "wrong." He simply made suggestions as to how to improve next time. True, several of the paintings I completed in that class will never see the light of day (especially the first one) but there are a couple I am extremely proud of, such as this one:


Some of my favorite classes are those offered by Truth Be Told Art. Most Truth Be Told paintings begin with a stencil to outline the image being painted and the font used for the text. But the actual color choices and painting, shading, etc. are up to the participant. I usually attend these classes with friends and it's always fun to see how different our paintings are from everyone else's. This is the Truth Be Told painting that hangs in my dining area:


So, what is the purpose of this post? It's to encourage you to not worry so much about trying to be perfect; after all, perfection is a myth. It's okay to just create and find joy in the process. So, go out and do something that makes you happy and don't worry about what anyone else thinks!

Sign up for my newsletter here:  http://madmimi.com/signups/112968/join

Wednesday, March 4, 2020

New Release — A PATRIOT'S LOVE (Men of Maine Book 7) by Diana Tobin

Danielle Reigh has her future planned. She is about to begin her dream career as a physical therapist.  When she discovers an old trunk in the attic of the building that’s being renovated for her clinic, she finds a ring. Though she only means to try it on, she gets more than she bargained for when she is suddenly transported to 1775 America.
Joseph Webster never believed the tales his great-grandfather told of those who could travel through time, but the proof seems to have landed at his feet. Not knowing Dani’s purpose in coming at a time of war, he hides the ring until he can decide what to do with his unexpected apprentice. Before long, he finds himself in love with Dani, and faces the decision of whether to tell her he has the ring, or let her go on believing it to be lost.
As Dani learns to adjust to the 18th century, she and Joseph plan a future together. But these are dangerous times…fraught with uncertainty. When the two lovers are caught in the midst of a Revolutionary War battle, Joseph must take the chance of sending her back through time—to modern-day Maine.
In a bittersweet reunion with her family, Dani refuses to say where she’s been. Who would believe her? She tries to move on with her life, even as she mourns the loss of her one true love. Can she recapture the excitement she once felt for the career she cherished? Will she ever be able to find happiness and love in her own time? She has to face the fact that it may never happen for her, now that she’s had A PATRIOT’S LOVE…

EXCERPT

     Danielle tried, unsuccessfully, to suck in a breath as pain radiated from head to toe. Had she died? Should being dead hurt this much?
     A not-so-gentle nudge to her ribs had her pulling in that desperately needed breath.
     Had Bethanell come back and hit her? “Get out,” she mumbled.
     “Ye lazy lout! I’ve no time for you to be napping. There’s work to be done.” A sharper nudge followed the words.
     “Ow! Please…stop.” She raised a hand to her aching and confused head only to find the hat had fallen over her face. No wonder the world turned black. She pushed the hat off and blinked her eyes, trying to focus on the face above hers. “Wh-who are you?”
     “Your master.”
     “My what?” she shrieked and sat up, then grabbed her head as the room spun again.

    

Monday, March 2, 2020

Creativity by Michael E. Gonzales


I attended a very interesting lecture this evening, the topic was “Where” is creativity, now what is creativity?
The lecturer began by pointing to a painting and asking, “How many of you have looked at a work of art and said, “How creative.”

He then pointed out the obvious flaw in that statement, the inanimate object (be it a painting, a bronze or a book) cannot be creative, it is the artist who is creative.

This struck me because I had several of my friends say to me, “Your book is do creative!” And the little voice inside my head cried out, “I created the story, the story did not create me!” (Fodder for a whole new blog!)

He went on to discuss how all creativity starts in the mind.
He defined creativity thusly: the ability to transcend traditional ideas, rules, patterns, relationships, or the like, and to create meaningful new ideas.

I keyed in on the term, “new ideas.”


The first ax ever invented, basically a sharpened stone, some millions of years ago, was a new idea, but what about the second? When someone came up with the idea of attaching the stone to a wooden handle, was that a new idea or a logical extension to a new idea?

Books are not new by any means, but if a story is published that has not been told before, is that a new idea?

The idea of the stone ax, millions of years ago was the creation of an idea, formed in the mind and translated into an actual tool. 

The invention of something that had never existed into a real implement.

What about the first cave painting? The difference here is that the animals painted already existed. So, nothing new there, what was new was the ability of that early artist to render what he saw into art.

A great deal of work and invention was invested just to decorate the inside of a dark cave. They had to invent paint, a method to apply that paint. They had to illuminate the cave in a way that would not darken the ceiling, which they also painted, with soot. They invented scaffolding to reach those high ceilings. These he termed technology.

But is not technology an act of the creative mind?


Einstein’s many discoveries, particularly relativity, was a scientific first. He “Discovered” this through the use of mental images, then to support his conclusions he learned to be a mathematician. His discovery, I contend, was thus an act of creativity, and not relativity itself for it already existed, he just brought it to the world’s attention.  

The science already existed when Steve Jobs made his breakthroughs, would anyone not call him creative?

I believe that all living human beings are capable of creative thought. A great many who are not actually creative only lack the skill sets. 

Perhaps there is another Einstein out there, who, through his weak math and science knowledge is to timid to step forward.

Another Ayn Rand may be living next door to you, but because she lacks education in proper writing, the correct use of the English language and has not been motivated her talents, her stories, her voice go unheard.

Creativity has been the one thing that has allowed our species to survive.

As the lecturer pointed out we had three things going against us prehistoric times; we’re fragile, we’re weak, and we’re tasty.

My sites: 


Fire Star Press Blogspot - http://firestarpress.blogspot.com/

Thursday, February 27, 2020

Painting Museum-Quality Art with Words by Jodi Lea Stewart




Why is the journey through a historical novel so different from regular reading?
Because for that brief time, YOU ARE THERE!

In the 1950s and 1960s, CBS featured Walter Cronkite narrating a history series that teachers especially fell in love with. Dramatic presentations of historical events put the listener or viewer into the scene as it happened. Before becoming a television series, the programs were heard on the radio.

What made the series brilliant and endlessly interesting was how Cronkite gave a short introduction, an announcer gave the date and the event, and then that loud proclamation, “You are there!” was heard by the audience.

Wow!

Historical events such as signing the Constitution, Joan of Arc’s dilemma, the Spanish conquest of the Aztec Empire, the death of Cleopatra, famous fights, and legendary tragedies were dramatically reenacted.

Cronkite noted the type of day it was when the incident occurred, what else was going on in and around the famous happening, even what the weather was like. Thusly, he immersed the viewer in the tone and feeling of that particular time and event. He orally painted the picture for the audience.

Historical fiction writers paint more than pictures with their words


All writers must paint pictures with words, but historical writers have to paint museum-quality art with their words. They must depict the look, feel, smell, and concurrent events of the time era around their amazing plot. The more skillful the writer is in employing the five senses without bogging down the reader, the more successful he is at kidnapping the reader for an unforgettable journey into the past.

How do you do it? Make readers smell that apple pie cooling on a window ledge. Make them feel the rain spattering on the protagonist’s silk drop-shoulder hoop dress as she runs for shelter. Let them see the brilliant sunset beginning to bleed behind your main character as he tells his finance he is going off to war. Make readers hear that lonesome train's whistle as clouds of steam permeate the still, frosty night.


A fine line


There are joys and pitfalls to writing historical fiction. It's gloriously fun to delve into other time periods and share your findings along with your plot and characters. It can be so much fun, there is a tendency to overdo. Think about the stomachache you got from eating too much candy when you were a kid. Yikes! Too much of a good thing!

It's the same with overdoing historical facts and trivia as you write your story. It's a fine line. With so much relevant and irrelevant research the author uncovers while delving into a particular historical time and subject, he or she must not forget that the reader does not care about every detail of every piece of furniture, of every room, of every old car, of every battle, and so on. 

Don’t kill on-fire interest with trivia that pulls the reader off the main road and onto a hundred divergent trails. Use what you have garnered in research to flavor your story. Learn to “paint” a setting in a few words. Find clever ways to insert facts or feelings that work toward ushering readers into the world you are painting.

If the writer stays in the moment, so will the reader. Don’t go too crazy with details, keep the facts pure *or you’ll be found out*, and love every moment of creating something that will take readers to places they never dreamed they could go.

Then, YOU will be the one declaring, “You are there!”

***





Jodi Lea Stewart was born in Texas to an "Okie" mom and a Texan dad. Her younger years were spent in Texas and Oklahoma; hence, she knows all about biscuits and gravy, blackberry picking, chiggers, and snipe hunting. At the age of eight, she moved to a vast cattle ranch in the White Mountains of Arizona. As a teen, she left her studies at the University of Arizona in Tucson to move to San Francisco, where she learned about peace, love, and exactly what she DIDN'T want to do with her life. Since then, Jodi graduated summa cum laude with a BS in Business Management, raised three children, worked as an electro-mechanical drafter, penned humor columns for a college periodical, wrote regional western articles, and served as managing editor of a Fortune 500 corporate newsletter. 

She is the author of a contemporary trilogy set in the Navajo Nation featuring a Navajo protagonist, as well as two historical novels. Her most recent novels are Blackberry Road and The Accidental Road. She currently resides in Arizona with her husband, her delightful 90+-year-old mother, a crazy Standard poodle named Jazz, two rescue cats, and numerous gigantic, bossy houseplants.


1956 . . .

THE ACCIDENTAL ROAD
– Historical Fiction
It’s 1956, and teenager Kat and her mother escape an abusive situation only to stumble into the epicenter of crime peddlers invading Arizona and Nevada in the 1950s. Kat is a serious girl who buries herself in novels and movies and tries to be as inconspicuous as possible. Fading into the background is impossible, however, with a beautiful social butterfly of a mother who just happens to resemble Marilyn Monroe. It’s embarrassing, and the unwanted attention her mother garners could be the downfall of their plan to take Route 66 to the freedom of a new life.

Print and eBook available on Amazon.

1934 . . . 

BLACKBERRY ROAD
– Historical Fiction
Trouble sneaks in one Oklahoma afternoon in 1934 like an oily twister. A beloved neighbor is murdered, and a single piece of evidence sends the sheriff to arrest a black man that a sharecropper’s daughter knows is innocent. Hauntingly terrifying sounds seeping from the woods lead Biddy into even deeper mysteries and despair and finally into the shocking truths of that fateful summer.

Audible, Print, and eBook available on Amazon, etc.