Thursday, May 30, 2019

The Rings of Faolan-Rubies by Kristal Dawn Harris - Book Blast and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn commenter. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

From the first, Michael Faolan and Natalie Terrence knew they were destined to be Lycan mates, but constant danger in Michael's life keeps them separated. They are stalked by the hunters, a group of men who plan to eradicate all Lycan as vermin. Natalie refuses to acknowledge the bond that she has with Michael until hunters burn down his barn and he is gravely injured. She cannot resist his call, even with the threat hanging over his head. Michael Faolan has secrets of his own, but he is happy to accept Natalie's ministrations. Their attraction ignites into flames of passion as they continue to fight the hunters. Could his secrets dampen the hunger Natalie feels for her mate, or can they use that desire to build a family and forge a love so strong no man, woman, or beast can tear them apart?





Read an Excerpt:

Pale moonlight descended over Heather Ridge, adding a menacing air to its aged appearance. Her eyes slowly lifted to the second-floor windows as she thought of Michael. He dominated her every moment and had secretly become her own private obsession. She felt his eyes. She sensed his presence. Silver orbs gazed back from the dingy, dark windows. Her hand involuntarily came up to rub the base of her throat. She couldn’t look away, spellbound in the moment. Her feet refused to move. It felt like forever passed when the outline of his body finally turned away from the window.

Natalie’s nervous laugh broke the eerie silence of the twilight. The porch light turned on at that exact moment, and she jumped. Her breath caught in her lungs and she doubled over gasping for air. She chided herself for being afraid and shook her head. She was Lycan, a predator, and she belonged in the night, but the wind refused to support her confidence as it moaned through the forest.

Natalie shivered and rubbed her arms as gray fog leaked from the forest. It swirled around the corners of the house just as her feet climbed to the top of the limestone steps. She stopped only for a moment and watched with wide eyes as it creeped slowly up the steps behind her. With her back against the front door, she turned the door knob. The front door creaked as she pushed it open then slammed shut with a loud bang.

About the Author:

Kristal Dawn Harris is an American author, born in Middletown, Ohio, on August 16, 1970. She currently resides in Ohio with her husband. Kristal has been married for 27 years and has two children. She graduated from Carlisle High School in 1988, then furthered her education at Miami University. She has a business degree in Accounting Technology. Kristal spent twenty years working as an Office Coordinator in the hospital until she released her debut novel, “The Rings of Faolan-Emeralds,” through The Wild Rose Press.

In 1999, Kristal suffered a debilitating disease called “Guillain-Barre Syndrome.” This rare disease damaged the nerves in her body requiring the use of drop-foot braces in order to walk. Kristal considers herself a survivor and encourages anyone with a disability to follow their dreams.

Kristal has one more book contracted with The Wild Rose Press which will release in 2019. She is considered a hybrid author since she published “Hand-Carved Wolf” on her own. Kristal is an avid reader who enjoys romance from all genres, but paranormal is her favorite.




CURRENT BOOKS BY KRISTAL DAWN HARRIS

The Rings of Faolan-Emeralds
Hand-Carved Wolf
The Rings of Faolan-Rubies
The Burn
The Red Heart

UPCOMING RELEASES

Red Snowflakes



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Wednesday, May 29, 2019

Til Death Do Us Part by K.S. David - Book Tour and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. K.S. David will award a $20 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn commenter. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.


Quinn McGuire is settling into her new life just fine. She's moving beyond the trauma of her past. She's fallen in love with her best friend, Jack Lassiter, and slowly rebuilding the career she'd once abandoned. Then her old nemesis is arrested for murdering her husband. To the surprise of everyone, Glenda Penderherst wants Quinn to represent her as legal counsel. Quinn doesn't do criminal defense anymore. Nope, she's focusing on areas a little more refined - less drama.

Naomi Banker, the resident vibrational therapist, asks Quinn to look into an intellectual property rights claim. The request seems innocent enough - but boring. Things soon spice up when Quinn discovers that Naomi was romantically linked to Glenda's murdered husband. Soon, more bodies start to surface and like it or not, Quinn finds herself caught in a whirlwind of broken hearts and private alliances, all while trying to manage a few special secrets of her own. She’s convinced of Naomi's innocence and starts to dig for answers. But if she's not careful, she'll end up being added to the body count.

Read an Excerpt:

The day before, I’d told Jack about my disappointment in meeting Naomi. I wanted no part of her case. He didn’t push me to explain. I sensed that he wasn’t surprised.

“She said something about hearing noises and seeing strange lights behind her home.”

Jack straightened. “What kind of noises? What kind of lights?”

“She doesn’t describe it well. She just says that she sees eerie lights come from the trees behind her house and sometimes she hears voices. So, I thought if I went back there I could find a practical explanation. There’s a footpath just beyond the edge of her property. You won’t believe what I found. And, you won’t believe whose house sits on the opposite end of those woods.”

Jack’s brow narrowed. He’d reached in his pocket and withdrew a red and white peppermint, popped it into his mouth and stared off into the distance, thoughtful. He’d grown up in the Hills and knew every street.

“I’ll be damned,” he huffed. “It has to be the Penderherst home.” I nodded when he looked at me for confirmation.

“Exactly. There’s more, Jack. You have to see the place for yourself.” I could tell him about the tents. I could tell him about the heaps of trash and the footsteps that danced way too close to Naomi’s house but there was no substitute for a first-hand experience.

Instead of driving straight to Naomi’s house, Jack parked in front of the Penderherst home. Yellow and black police tape still covered the drive and stretched over the doorway. Jack and I followed the stone path around the house. The Penderhersts’ lawn needed to be cut. The edges were overgrown, and the grass could use a good dosing of fertilizer. Brown spots were peaking up through the weeds. Jack and I walked up on the patio. The wooden slats were warped. A few looked gnawed away by wear and age. After a moment, we descended the steps and headed into the woods. We’d barely walked a hundred yards when Jack turned and looked back at the house.

“They sure didn’t overspend on curtains,” he noted as we peered through the crossed arms of branches. “Someone standing here can see straight through the entire house at nightfall,” he said.

I tugged at Jack’s hand. “Come on, you have to see the rest.”

There was no way I ever would have gone back alone. My skin started to prickle just thinking about the sense of foreboding that had washed over me earlier.

We had started moving deeper into the woods again when Jack asked, “Did you seriously come back here alone?” The foliage was growing dense and the unruly branches darkened the space around us.

“Yes.” I sighed, knowing the complaint that was going to follow once Jack saw what waited inside the clearing.

A low growl escaped him.

About the Author: K. S. David lives in the Mid-Atlantic with her husband, their three children and a menagerie of pets. New storylines are constantly running through her head. She keeps notebooks tucked in pockets of the car, the nightstand and makes voice recordings just about all day long. She's addicted to true life mysteries and crime shows, both of which marry well with a great romance. Some of her favorite things are long walks, reading in bed, baking and of course, writing her next novel.


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Monday, May 27, 2019

Astraeus by Haley Cavanagh - Book Blast and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions to celebrate the release of the audio version of ASTRAEUS. Haley Cavanagh will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.


One pre-apocalyptic Earth. One desperate space mission to find a solution. One unexpected alien.

When Dr. Sakota Thorell signed onto the mission to scout out a new, habitable planet, she knew discovering extraterrestrial life was always a possibility. But she never expected to find an alien adrift in space, nor for that alien to be so intriguing. Sakota feels an instant and undeniable attraction to Astraeus, but he represents a million possibilities, and just as many threats.

There are others hunting Astraeus, and his rescue may cost Earth its last hope.





Read an excerpt:

She moved to pull away, but the man’s fingers closed over her wrist.

“Let me go.” She jerked her arm, but he wouldn’t release his grip. She gave him a cautionary look, and he loosened his fingers, though he still held her. Warning bells went off. What if he’s not here in peace? But his eyes sparkled impishly. He seemed to enjoy her skin pressed against his. Maybe he hadn’t been touched in a while. Or maybe he had a crush. Who knew.

Before she could extricate herself, the intercom chimed. “Sakota, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. He’s just being friendly—”

The man’s forefinger trailed along her arm again. She sucked in a breath and shut her eyes as a series of images flashed through her mind. A high wall made of stacked stones. A hand spread out to touch the tips of tall, golden wheat of a field. Multihued buildings in the distance under a purple sky. Children’s laughter and then screams. She jerked when the images changed. Strange rain, like metal. Black ships attacking from the sky, horrible screams which rent the air, death. A gentle brush against her hand again. She inhaled and opened her eyes. The man searched her, calm and patient. She struggled to see straight, but her mind spun.

“W-was that your—”

The isolation walls shot up. Rutledge burst into the room and advanced like an angry bear, brutish, immaculate, and combat ready in his black Oceanstone fatigues. “Let her go,” he snarled.

Rutledge yanked the man’s hand off her and pushed her aside. She fell to the floor on her back in a dizzy haze, reeling from the vision. She turned her head. The man bellowed and tore loose from his restraints. His and Rutledge’s images faded into one as they collided and fought. Rutledge’s weapon whirred as he strained to activate it. The rifle propelled over her head and hit the wall.

“Stop.” Her pleas fell on deaf ears. She closed her eyes.

The men barged into the room with heavy footfalls and angry shouts. She opened her eyes, but her vision swirled. The blurred image of the alien lifted Rutledge’s lieutenant like a kitchen chair and catapulted him in the same direction as the weapon. “Stop,” she hollered to the men. “Don’t shoot him. He wasn’t attacking me.”

Another soldier fell to the floor with a sick thud, holding his stomach. “Yeah? Well, he’s attacking me.”

The alien pounced over her, crouching low. He caged her with his body and made a guttural rumble in his throat, a warning to the men. She turned her head to the marines, who zeroed their weapons in on them.

About the Author:

Haley Cavanagh is a military veteran, wife, and mother. She is an alumna of Columbia College, a musical theater nut, and she loves to dive into any book that crosses her path. Haley resides with her family in the United States and enjoys spending time with her husband and children when she’s not writing. She loves to hear from her readers, and encourages you to contact her via her website and social media.














BUY LINKS:


The audio book for Astraeus is live!


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Wednesday, May 15, 2019

Gone by Karyn Good - Book Tour and Giveaway



Ever since a devastating family tragedy seventeen years ago, Grace Bighill has struggled to keep her remaining family from falling apart. Then the discovery of her mother's body in the woods unearths a connection to a decades old murder case, and Grace is dragged into a politician's bitter bid for revenge.

Constable Mike Davenport's days in Aspen Lake are numbered. He's ready to take his next step up the career ladder somewhere a lot more cosmopolitan. He's avoided any emotional attachments, despite having fallen hard for a certain stubborn local. But when a body turns up, Mike's careful intentions collapse in the face of Grace's grief and her exhaustive efforts to care for her family.

A search for answers leads Grace and Mike down a twisted path proving no one can escape their roots. But someone might die trying.



Excerpt

Mike cast a wary look back as Grace hobbled up the worn porch steps and passed the ancient wicker rockers. She spared Mike a spot of sympathy. The unfortunate man was about to get glimpse of Bighill drama. 

Her sister spread her arms open and offered a nervous smile. "Surprise."

Hope might look like a blonde, blue-eyed angel, but she possessed a wild, restless heart. They were nothing alike in looks or temperament, but she loved her sister. When she didn’t want to throttle her. 

Grace didn’t smile back. "Gee, Hope. Long time no see. Missed you at Christmas. And Easter. And all the other holidays.” 

Hope dropped her arms, eyes widening. "What happened to your face? Oh, my God, your knee?"

“Bar fight.” Grace waved off her sister’s concern. “What are you doing here?"

Hope’s expressive eyes widened even further, and she risked a furtive peek at Mike, who was very obviously in uniform and on duty. “You didn’t start it, did you?”

“No, I did not.” Grace resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “And quit stalling.”

Mike moved in next to Grace, his warm hand coming to rest against her lower back. His fingers flexed, and she wanted his arm to slip around her. She wanted to lean into him. To tap into his quiet strength so she wouldn’t be quite so tempted to open her mouth and scream. She wasn’t a fan of either screaming or leaning.

Instead, she stepped away from his comfort. "Thanks for the ride."

Mike glanced at Hope. "Can I have a minute with Grace?"

Before she could explain how very unnecessary his continued presence was, Hope slunk back into the house and closed the door. The traitor. 

 Mike hovered at her side. "Are you sure you want me to leave?"

Just doing his job. That’s all his concern meant. "My sister's not going to hurt me."

"Not what I asked. And for the record, not what I was thinking."

"Well, excuse me for not being psychic.” God, she should stop talking. 

“I was thinking you might need a friend.”

If he said the friend word one more time tonight she was going to lose her mind.

About the Author
Karyn Good grew up on the Canadian prairies and she's still there loving every minute. She writes romantic suspense featuring strong heroines and the men who love them. In the pages of her books you'll find danger, passion, and a winding path of twists and turns that lead to forever.







Social Media Links


Amazon.com:  https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07Q3NHL5R

Giveaway
Karyn Good will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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Wednesday, May 8, 2019

A Curse of the Lucky by Nathan Wrann - Book Blast and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Nathan Wrann will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.



Two things that Jack Smith has always had: bad legs and bad luck. With a violent attack at the Tarrytown Independence Day Carnival, that bad luck has caught up to him with deadly consequences. Going on the run with Jaelle–the mysterious girl of his dreams–he descends into a world of curses, blessings, and fortunetelling Gypsies. The deeper he gets, the more he realizes she might just be the one to save his life... or end it.

The Mr. Lucky Trilogy begins with A Curse of the Lucky.








Read an Excerpt

Jaelle’s brow furrowed, her eyes darkened, lost in the shadow cast by the bulb overhead. Her jaw clenched and her mouth closed tight. I could see her swallow. The fun game of ‘I Know Something You Don’t Know’ came to an abrupt end. She took a few steps back, toward an inky corner of the tent. I could hardly see her as she turned to face me.

“Bad.”

“What? I’m bad?”

“It’s bad.”

A boisterous laugh erupted, cutting through the monotony of the workers outside the tent.

Jaelle burst from the shadows and grabbed my arm. “My uncle! You must go.” She yanked me to my feet. I stumbled to the door flap as I attempted to get a grip on my crutches.

The laugh erupted again and turned into a drunken howl of a line from a song. It came from right outside the door.

Jaelle shoved me across the tent into the shadowed corner next to the antique armoire. She pushed me behind it and opened one of the doors to hide me. Yanking a long dress out of the armoire, she draped it over the door so that it hung down, obscuring the lower half of my body. She leapt back to the cot and sat down.

The Big Man in Black surged into the tent, flinging the door flap up and over his shoulder. The flap hooked onto the corner of a stowed “Fortunes $20” sign, leaving the doorway wide open. From my position, hidden behind the armoire, I could see that the Meat-On-A-Stick trailer—that had been next door—was gone. An empty lot left in its place.

A fermented cloud of alcohol followed her uncle in, and filled the tent. The slow patter of heavy raindrops tapped on the canvas roof.

As he crossed the tent, the Big Man in Black slurred something to Jaelle. Even if he had said it in English, I doubt I would have understood.

She responded with a downcast tone in the same language. I assumed it was some form of Gypsy language.

He dropped down on the cot next to her. Jaelle immediately stood. She crossed the tent to the armoire and looked me dead in the eye as she pulled a lock box out of the cabinet. Strange to realize at the time, but the sweet woody vanilla smell was coming from her, not the tent.

She carried the box back to her uncle and held it out for him. He took the metal box in one hand and grabbed her wrist with the other. Pulling her down hard, she landed on the cot beside him. Rain pounded on the canvas overhead.

Jaelle’s uncle dug into his pocket and produced a wad of cash. He flipped open the box, grabbed another stack of money, and combined the two piles. He swayed back and forth softly mumble-singing as he thumbed the edge of each bill.

Jaelle said something and inched away from him. She didn’t get far, as he grabbed her upper arm and glared at her. He glanced back at the hefty stack of cash in his hand, sighed, and started thumbing through it again. I could see his lips moving as he counted each bill.

As he got to the end of the stack Jaelle edged away from him a little more. Her eyes flicked my direction and I could see the muscles in her jaw clench.

After counting the last bill, his attention shot to her and he slurred a spittle-filled rant at her.

“No, Uncle. I didn’t. I promise,” Jaelle responded. Fear replaced the defiant tone of her voice.

He grabbed her by the back of the neck and yanked her right beside him on the cot.

He slammed the lock box down on her lap with the lid open, and ripped a bill from the top of the stack. He dropped the bill in the box and said “One.” Then another bill and counted it off. Then another. Dropping each in the box.

“Uncle, I didn’t—”

The Big Man in Black threw the stack of cash in the lock box and grabbed her by the throat. She reacted instantly, instinctively. Both hands shot up, slapping away his attempted choke.

The violence knocked the lock box and launched it off of her lap. The cash bloomed in the air like an errant firework, and rained down around them.

The Big Man in Black’s face stiffened and distorted with rage. His glazed eyes awakened. His flesh turned maroon. He threw Jaelle to the wood-plank floor and dropped to his knees, straddling her. She struggled but was no match for his strength or size. He raised his hand and brought the back of it down across her cheek.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” I burst from behind the armoire.

He hesitated. His jaw dropped open and his eyes went wide. I had held the element of surprise but could do nothing with it. He was on his feet and charging faster than I could believe. He had already been prepared for a fight, his drunkenness drowned out in adrenaline. I planted my crutches and hurtled toward him. My feet hit the ground. The leg braces held steady, and I pushed off. Pain exploded through my knees and hips, but it didn’t matter. My shoulder slammed into his midsection…

About the Author:

Nathan Wrann was born in Florida and moved around a lot as a child, growing up in New York, New Hampshire, Connecticut, California and finally back to Florida. No matter where he lived you would likely find Marvel Comics or a book in his hand with genres ranging from fantasy (The Black Cauldron), to SE Hinton's teen dramas (The Outsiders), to Stephen King's entire catalogue from Carrie through Tommyknockers. At the age of seventeen he joined the U.S. Army as a Military Policeman, and following that, graduated from Southern Connecticut State University with a degree in video production and theater.

Currently Mr. Wrann is a writer, publisher and (formerly) independent filmmaker living in West Haven, Connecticut with his rescued Chihuahuas Napoleon and Gatsby, pain-in-the-butt cat Konstantine, and wife Kimberly. Nowadays, in between books, you'll find him enjoying horror films, YA Paranormal TV series (Vampire Diaries, Sabrina, etc), and the Marvel and Star Wars Cinematic Universes.





Author’s Note RE: the Mr. Lucky Trilogy & Dark Matter Heart: The Mr. Lucky Trilogy is a Dark Matter Heart World Expander. The events in this series take place in the same world, with the same paranormal concepts and rules as Dark Matter Heart, but with all new characters and adventures. Opportunity abounds for crossover stories bringing all the characters together.

It is not necessary to read Dark Matter Heart to enjoy the Mr. Lucky Trilogy, but I think you’ll like it.

Get Book One: Dark Matter Heart here: http://amzn.to/DMHKindle
Get Book Two: From Out of Chaos FREE here: https://mailchi.mp/f5ce21a5921c/freedmh2

Thank you Dear Reader, we have much fun ahead of us.

-Nathan Wrann

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Tuesday, May 7, 2019

The Hierophant's Daughter (Disgraced Martyr Trilogy #1) by M. F. Sullivan - Book Tour and Giveaway



By 4042 CE, the Hierophant and his Church have risen to political dominance with his cannibalistic army of genetically modified humans: martyrs. In an era when mankind's intergenerational cold wars against their long-lived predators seem close to running hot, the Holy Family is poised on the verge of complete planetary control. It will take a miracle to save humanity from extinction.

It will also take a miracle to resurrect the wife of 331-year-old General Dominia di Mephitoli, who defects during martyr year 1997 AL in search of Lazarus, the one man rumored to bring life to the dead. With the Hierophant's Project Black Sun looming over her head, she has little choice but to believe this Lazarus is really all her new friends say he is--assuming he exists at all--and that these companions of hers are really able to help her. From the foulmouthed Japanese prostitute with a few secrets of her own to the outright sapient dog who seems to judge every move, they don't inspire a lot of confidence, but the General has to take the help she can get.

After all, Dominia is no ordinary martyr. She is THE HIEROPHANT'S DAUGHTER, and her Father won't let her switch sides without a fight. Not when she still has so much to learn.

The dystopic first entry of an epic cyberpunk trilogy, THE HIEROPHANT’S DAUGHTER is a horror/sci-fi adventure sure to delight and inspire adult readers of all stripes.



Excerpt

VII

The Light Rail

Cassandra’s absence was not her first discovery. That was her (officially) broken watch, whose blank face reflected her own bleary one. Then came the porter’s uniform, folded beside her unconscious body with such tight creases it looked as if it had been ironed: it smelled like the lavender of the woman who had pinned her against the cool metal of the train car to multiply the current’s kick. That, plus the ache in her stiff muscles, meant the woman was no hallucination. Dominia had escaped Japan, and now had a whole new level of problems. Who was she? Miki Soto. A card sat atop the uniform, its front embossed with a black-petaled, red-outlined lotus. Familiar symbol, but one she couldn’t place in her post-electric haze. She sat up to rub her head and neck with a pained sigh that turned into suffocation as her hand found the necklace gone from her throat.

Her palms were wet with sweat beneath her gloves. She stripped them off to feel around on her chest, then cried out to confirm Cassandra gone. Up the General sprang, then back down on hands and knees in search of her beloved’s remains. No trace.

Dominia knew where she was: with that same woman who had left the uniform. A disguise for the train, in exchange for her wife’s body. Cassandra! Oh, poor Cassandra, forever dying in Dominia’s mind, much as she forever stood in her flowing black dress, whose lace she smoothed while they waited outside the throne room of the Hierophant. Telling her, “You look beautiful, don’t worry; you’re so smart and funny, everyone will love you.”

Interview

Do you have any tattoos?  Where? When did you get it/them? Where are they on your body?

You know it! I have three tattoos, all literary quotes. I’d like to be covered in them, but they’re pretty expensive, so I’m waiting for The Disgraced Martyr Trilogy to come out to get the next! One, a quote from Ginseberg’s poem “America”, is on the front of my shoulder; the other two are Charles Bukowski poems: one on my forearm and one on my left bicep. The Ginsberg one has been with me since I was in Ohio, when I was nineteen; one of the Bukowskis (“the price of creation is never too high”, from the poem “final story”) was actually a gift from a friend about two years after. About two years after that I got the Bukowski poem “art” tattooed in its entirety, since it’s so short. Both Bukowskis were done in Tucson, at two different parlors—the second one on my lunch break from managing the office of the window and door company I worked for!

Is your life anything like it was two years ago?

Not really…three years ago would be the even better question! Back then I was living in a one-bedroom apartment in Tucson with my ex-boyfriend in a really crumby situation. Struggling to balance working and writing…every writer knows how it is. I’m doing much better now, my life has completely turned around. The magic of literature, I think. It brought me a very fine, different boyfriend, a very fine home, a very fine cat…I’ve even gone to the gym and quit smoking cigarettes in the past three years! 

How long have you been writing?

Since I could hold a pen! I wrote my first coherent short story in third grade but in second grade, every Wednesday was writing day, where we had to sit at our desks and make little picture books…I was by far the most prolific in the class. Doomed from the start! Then, in middle school, I tried (and failed) to write my first novel, but at the age of fifteen, I discovered NaNoWriMo, and that was it. I was stealing time in my high school’s computer lab to write, writing on days off, writing while home sick (sometimes “sick”), writing in class, writing in bed. I’ve written…I don’t know, fifteen or sixteen novels including my short and undesirable ghostwriting career, twenty if you include the failed drafts of Delilah, My Woman written from scratch each time. This book, The Hierophant’s Daughter, is coming out on my 28th birthday, which means I’ve been writing novels for close to half my life by now. I’m positive I’ve written 1,000,000 words by this point, and as for hours spent, if it’s not already 10,000, it’s very close. 
Some might say I’m mentally ill, but I prefer ‘dedicated’.

What advice would you give a new writer just starting out?

Make it part of your routine, no matter what—and don’t ever let anybody convince you to settle, either for being less than the writer you want to be, or for producing a work that’s beneath you.

Tell us something about your newest release that is NOT in the blurb.

A secret cabal of prostitutes called the Red Market starts to play a pretty significant role in this book, but doesn’t reveal its true importance until BOOK II, THE GENERAL’S BRIDE. Oh—and keep an eye on that dentist! 

About the Author

 M.F. Sullivan is the author of Delilah, My Woman, The Lightning Stenography Device, and a slew of plays in addition to the Trilogy. She lives in Ashland, Oregon with her boyfriend and her cat, where she attends the local Shakespeare Festival and experiments with the occult. Find more information about her work (and plenty of free essays) at https://www.paintedblindpublishing.com!

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