Monday, August 5, 2013

Author Lynn Lowther ~ from Book to Movie Deal!

I started writing only a few years back. I was at home not really sure what I wanted to do. My son came home one day and asked me why I did not work anymore. I was confused. I did not remember ever writing. He explained to me that when him and his brother were little kids I would always write them stories and how they loved them. I still did not remember. This was a memory that was taken from me from earlier years when I was sick and suffered amnesia. That night I kept thinking about what he said. Me write? Hum, could be interesting. The next day I picked up my laptop and started typing. I had never written (as far as I remember) but it came natural. I was instantly sucked in and found something that I loved to do. I could not stop. I wrote everyday, all day. When I was done I let my sons, daughter and husband read it. They loved it and encouraged me to send it out to some publishers. The question was "Where do I find them and once I do how do submit my work to them?"
Here is the story of how Wretched came about and the trials of getting to where I am now with the series:
The name of the book is Wretched by Lynn Lowther. The book was previously published under the name Lessons from an Evil Mind by Shawna Stewart. The name was changed because at one time the book was self published. Because of that and the fact that the book needed editing and got reviews stating that, we agreed that readers might have been still reading the old reviews instead of giving the new edited version a read.
This book has been through a lot. The first time it was published it was published by a not so reputable company that published the rough draft instead of the book. I had to fight for a year to get my rights back to the book. At that time I rewrote the book and the contents more than doubled. Because of the bad experience I had with that company I decided to self publish. I went through the net and found one of those companies that charges you thousands of dollars and decided to publish with them. That was another mistake. The book was not professionally edited like it should have been and they charged to much for the book, so the book sold very little copies. Once again I cancelled the contract. Time to try something different and keep control of what was happening. I then opened a small publishing company and put the book out myself. The book did okay in sales but still had editing issues, so I took it off the market and looked for another publisher that believed in the work as much as I did and who would want to take the time and help bring the book to its full potential. That is when I met Keith from Spore Press. I signed a contract with them and although I thought we should change the name, they decided to publish it as Lessons from an Evil Mind. The book did not stand a chance because of past reviews, so we finally agreed to change the name to Wretched.
Finding a producer that is interested in your book is a hard thing to do. There are not to many new authors who get a chance to attract the attention of a producer but it does happen. I use such websites as virtual pitch and Linkedin to talk with professionals and learn new ideas as to how to attract attention and how to approach a producer. At the end the way, I attracted the attention of a producer was to research some smaller companies on the web and send in information about my book to them. I must have sent in at least 30 inquiries before one producer (Christopher )asked to read the book. Within a week I heard back from him. He wanted to do the movie! I was so excited. I have signed a contract with Forbes films and anticipate that filming will start soon.
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Excerpt from Wretched:
My body and soul are weak, and I am tired. I close my eyes and lie back on my bed. I dream of the past. My thoughts bringing back memories of trees, flowers and my fiance. He is waiting for me at the alter. It is the day I will marry the love of my life. I turn to walk outside the house. My breath is captured by a strange smell. I try to fight it but the drug is to strong. Darkness overcomes my consciousness.

I leap from my bed, my heart pounding, as my sweet dream is stolen by reality. My feet embed into the rat dropping and mud that once was carpet. I glance around. The dungeon remains dark and dreary. I let out a loud sigh.

I try to convince myself that today will be the day I escape. The sound of foot steps overtake the silence of the room. My heart skips a beat. I run to the middle of the room and take my position. Sitting on my knees, my hands tucked beneath me. This is the way I am to meet my captor and if this is not done I know the consequences will be dire.
             ****

Thank you Lynn for this great interview and I know it will inspire other writers to never give up on their dreams. We will all look forward to the movie! 


Author Debra Jayne East

Paranormal Romance

~True Love never Dies~

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Meet Rising Star S.E. Campbell



What Working for Directors is Really Like

By S.E. Campbell

As an author, I always thought that getting books made into movies was almost unattainable. Sure, it is a possibility if you are Anne Rice or Stephen King (who I am a far cry from), but then I ended up getting lucky. A director, Damien Dante, mentioned in passing he was interested in new project ideas, so I pitched mine. “Not right now,” he said. “It's good, though.” I, as a writer, am pretty used to rejections. If you want to survive in this business, rejection letters are to me as trees are to forest dwelling animals. I've never managed the heart of steel persona when it comes to being rejected, but I try and love my writing too much to give up. And that's exactly why I stuck to the man like glue and he eventually said, “Now is the right time.” I was overjoyed. My trilogy was being made into movies! Struck by the energy one gets from having something good happen, I ended up approaching other directors. More rejections came. (I did warn you, didn't I?) Then I met Richard Turke who wrote Visible Scars.

 
He replied in a kind but professional manner. He didn't have enough funds to make a movie at that moment. But fate, and I do believe in that, decided it wasn't through with me yet. Richard and I were destined to work together. (I have never mentioned to him, but I believe that. Probably he would laugh if he heard.) After getting an email from me, Richard went in a meeting for Visible Scars where the PR person mentioned that he should have someone write a novel. That was the night he called me. A night I will never forget because I honestly believe it was the changing point of my career. He asked me to write Visible Scars together with him, and I, giddy with happiness, agreed. I imagined a man on a golden lawn chair sitting out by his pool drinking tequila. The fact I even got to work with such a person was astounding and I was quite frankly intimidated not just by Richard but by Damien as well. What right did I have to even speak to men like these? What right did I have to get to work with them?

But that frazzled feeling faded faster than I could have ever imagined when working side-by-side with Richard. It wasn't that he gave me a reason not to be in awe of him anymore. It was the fact he was so humble. He has connections with Channing Tatum and Morgan Freeman and I'm scared to know who else, but he works harder than anybody I have ever known and never looked down on me for even a second. I hope he won't mind me sharing this, but I learned that he doesn't really get paid for his movies. Instead he pays back the contributors first. He had a movie that took a huge amount of money to make and poured his heart into it, but he has yet to see a penny from it. He works a second job so he can do what he loves, and also expends massive amounts of time for the series books. That is what the director Richard Turke is really like. He has my utmost respect. I am happy to say that because of our book work together, we will be making Invisible Scars, the second book in the series, and it will likely be made into a movie. I will also be writing the novel for Speak to Me and will hopefully get to work on more movies with Richard in the future. It is an honor working with Richard—not because he sits upon a golden lawn chair at poolside, but because he deserves to but doesn't act like it.

I could say similar and wonderful things about Damien Dante. Damien learned of my work adapting films into books and asked me to turn his franchise, Jezebeth, into books as well, giving me creative freedom to do as I whilst. He and his partner, Jeffrey, at SGL Entertainment have worked tirelessly at promoting not only my work with Jezebeth but with Visible Scars as well. I think it takes a pretty selfless person to promote somebody else's movie. It's because of them that Visible Scars and Jezebeth have been on Fox News and CBS as well as various newspapers. Their hard work and love for their projects will make these novels a success.


 This is what working for directors is really like. At the end of the day, I am honored to be helping on these projects not because they were movies, but because I have gotten the opportunity to work with and befriend people like Richard Turke who gives one hundred percent of himself to his projects while asking nothing in return. Damien Dante and Richard Turke, you have truly taught me the meaning of the quote, “It's not the destination. It's the journey.” I have enjoyed journeying with you more than anything else I have done in my life. Thank you for believing in me. I will never forget it.

Author Bio:
 
S.E. Campbell is a bestselling novelist who published her first work at seventeen. Now, along with working with Director Richard Turke on the Visible Scars series and Speak to Me, she is writing the books for the feature film franchise, Jezebeth. Her novels Specimen X, Specimen Y, and Specimen Z are being turned into movies by SGL Entertainment. In addition, she is the published author of The Blood Stone Trilogy, Crossing Over, How to Get Dirt, and Tasting Silver.



Meet Boo her adorable bunny!




 Look for Visible Scars early July and Jezebeth (Book 1) mid-August through Keith Publications.



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Sunday, February 24, 2013

The Latest With Ashley Nemer


Through the sands of time…
My career as a writer has been short in the official capacity, less than two years. But my career as a creative individual who lives and breathes for expression, that’s been a life long journey. I’m approaching a milestone, one that’s usually pretty nerve wracking to most people. But I am excited and ready to take on the world.
The big Three Oh… it doesn’t scare me so much as excited. I feel like I am finally at a point in my life where I have accomplished something worth excitement and accolades and it was before the impending deadline of three zero. Now it’s all about what is next when I wake up on that fateful day.

This spring looks promising, I have three books in the works to come out, I have my poetry book that I am very excited about, I co-authored it with my best friend Stacy Moran and Torie N. James. A unique fact about Torie, I owe my career to her, she is the one that gave me that push and encouragement so without her well I would not be here today doing what I am doing. I have Soul Mates that is a short story duet that I am publishing with L.S. Broomfield. This is special to me because it contains Wolf Pack, the very first work of fiction that I was able to complete, idea to finished product. Its only six thousand words long, the short story not the book. But it still was my very first. It’s gone through FOUR, yes FOUR re-writes, three rejections and just a lot of heart ache and tears. However the work of art it is today is much better than it was the day I finished it and I am utterly excited to have it teamed up with Lisa’s Soul Caught Fire. But lastly, I have Blood Yellow, my baby numerous dos. It is the sequel to Blood Purple and I am so pleased with it. There is so much I want to say about Blood Yellow but I’m not even sure where or how to begin. I remember when I was finished I looked at the manuscript and thought, “Oh my god, this is it, this is really one damn good story.”

So you see, I’m not even the big three oh yet and already my spring is filling up fast. This impending milestone that should be wigging me out and making me act all sorts of crazy is really making me smile because I know….this is my year. The year that it all comes together. My biggest worry for 2013 however is the voices….they just won’t shut off…and they become more powerful with each book and creation that I make. My husband says I’m nuts and maybe he’s right. But I have to think if this is my biggest problem rolling into my thirtieth year then I have to be doing something right.

I urge you to come check out my website; I’ve done a lot of work and revamped it over the last few weeks. You can subscribe to my site. I send a newsletter out once every two months with updates as to what’s going on in the world of Ashley. I’ve also included my current releases and their blurbs. I very much encourage you to go out and look at BLOOD PURPLE. This is a world like you have never scene and won’t see again.  As my husband said, Blood Purple, ‘Cause Red’s so Twilight!
Find Ashley Here:  Website   Twitter   Facebook   Email



 Current Publications for Ashley Nemer


In a world we think we know, live other races entirely hidden from the mortal perspective. Creatures of legend, of fable and myth, their very history and nature have allowed them to walk side by side with humans since time immemorial. They are warriors, they are hunters, and they are Algula. Vampire. And in their own midst, a battle is brewing for supremacy, for dominance, that can and will affect all around them. Old hatred never dies and vengeance is a fiery sword that cuts a bloody swath.










If a dream is a wish your heart makes, can it hear those things we want even if we don’t what they are? When sorrow brings young Lucy home to a land full of mystery, steeped in tradition and coloured with unspoken magic, she finds herself re-evaluating her life and her own place in it. Things are never what they seem and people are seldom what you THINK them to be if all you base it on is what your eyes see and not what your soul knows.There’s a fine line between destiny and duty, but when both are blended with love, who knows what miracles can occur at Christmas.












Upcoming New Releases with XoXo Publishing
The lines are drawn, and Zayn and Nikole must face each other in a battle of forgiveness and power. Each attempting to right their wrongs, each battling their own inner demons.

Haydar and Leigh prepare for war, rounding their men and setting into motion courses that cannot be undone.

The tales will fall in line as the four of them come face to face with each other, and they will watch loved ones perish.

When the dust settles and dawn breaks, who's going to be left standing and who will be missing? Will Nikole forgive Zayn for his betrayal? Will Leigh and Haydar overcome their differences? Will Adara say yes?
Blood Yellow...Because the stories only just begun....




XoXo Publishing in 2013 presents a poetry book that will knock your socks off. This book will take you through emotions built so deep with in you won't even see it coming.


Ashley, Stacy and Torie come together for an amazing journey and will leave you wanting more.









A duet with L.S. Broomfield bringing Wolf Pack and Souls Caught Fire to the page. These two stories about wolves and their soul mates will leave you reeling and wondering when will their next journeys come out?





Monday, January 14, 2013

Crimson Snow

       

 Chapter One~
Amera Roberts pulled the covers closer as the frigid air assaulted her lithe body. Her arms and head lay exposed by pitifully thin covers, but she had nothing better to use. Her caretakers had left her nine days ago on her eighteenth birthday and they had taken everything except her bed and dresser. She woke up for breakfast as usual and to her surprise, she opened the door to the empty room and scribbled note. She turned the cryptic message over in her mind with anger. Time to worry about the meaning later, but now, she must try to survive with very little wood and an ever dwindling supply of food. It was winter in the glen and the temperatures were freezing.
In the dim light of morning, her mind foggy from hunger, she procrastinated whether she should get up to check the fire. In her heart, she feared it must be out already, but she knew her life depended on getting some warmth in the frigid temperatures of early dawn. As her bare feet met the cold stone floor, she cringed at the frigid contact before she found her slippers. Her breath painfully expelled little white puffs of air as she dressed herself.
Throwing the blanket over her shoulders, she ran the few steps to the hearth and grabbed the fire poker to scrape around in the ashes to find embers. Her heart began to sink. She had only one more match and wanted to save it for an emergency. Panic filled the empty space in her stomach and just as she dreaded the worst, a tiny, glowing, ruby ember sparked warmly and she let out an audible sigh. Frantic, she quickly gathered her basket of pinecones and threw a few on the embers to keep it burning.
Moments later, she laid the oak logs carefully and was rewarded with the crackle of burning wood. If her fire had burned out she would have no way to cook her meager allotment of food. If she was really stingy with her rations she could hold out for three more days. It was difficult when she had not been full for almost a week. A few potatoes, one cup of meal and a small loaf of bread could only go so far. One day she had given into weakness and consumed an extra cup of tea to stave off her hunger. Today, she was sorry for that extravagance, because now her little tea box was empty and she would miss her morning cup.
Amera measured her small amount of meal carefully for porridge and added it to the bowl of hot water from the kettle. Sweetened with the last spoon of honey, she ate her breakfast in silence and waited for the light of dawn to warm up the room.
She finished the last bite, and then dared to look out the front door in case her beloved Jaygo had returned from a hunt with a tasty rabbit or other small game to eat. He had disappeared the next day after Fran and Gregory Winton had vanished and she wondered if he went to look for them. Fran did not have much use for the strange, little black-faced dog but Gregory adored him. He took him hunting on his trips to the glen and saved small tidbits from his meal for him. Could he really be gone? The snowstorm had prevented her from looking more for her precious dog that night and now tears stung her eyes as she wondered his fate.
It was over five minutes until she pried the door open partially, while the snow trickled in its opening. No sign of her small trusted friend. Already there must be nearly a foot of snow on the ground and the air seemed heavy with more. She would never see Jaygo’s tracks now if it snowed again. He may be dead if he didn’t find a barn or cave to go in. She would die also if she could not get out to gather wood and search for food.
Disheartened, she closed the door and went over by the fire to soak in its warmth and read the message for the tenth time. Carefully, she unfolded the scrap piece of parchment and read the few lines that made her temper boil.
“This, your eighteenth birthday, our agreement is up. You are a burden to us no more. Amara, you must face your destiny. Shortly, your husband to be will come for you. Do not run from him because he will find you and you will be sorry you tried to escape from him.”
Thoughtfully, she stared at the last sentence that was smudged and all she could make out was crimson snow.  What in the world did that mean? The only way snow could be crimson was blood. The thought made shivers run up her spine.
Quickly, she folded the note in her pocket and ran to the closet… husband to be? They had pledged her hand in marriage without even telling her and that he would kill her if she ran?  What did they mean by arrangement anyway? All these years she stayed here dreaming of a life outside this glen. She had rarely strayed outside the gates of Marneth. Her guardians made sure she never ventured too far.       
The only person who ever came was the old bard, Nathaniel, who brought them supplies. For the past year, even he stopped coming by and Gregory had to make the trip himself until he became too sick. They had told her absolutely nothing of getting married! She had stayed here to please them only to face this calamity? I think not, she pondered angrily!
Through clenched teeth she pulled on old boots that Gregory left behind and wrapped as warmly as possible. She had no time to worry about some senile old groom who might come for her. She must go to find wood and food, or perish here, but it would not be without trying.
Bravely, she tramped through the hard crust of white snow straight up the hill to the gate.  She headed for a clump of trees with some saplings and felt in her pocket for the small hatchet she always carried with her when she went out alone. These woods always seemed ominous on the other side of the hill. Gregory had often read to her of castles and dragons and other imaginary stuff when she was a wee child. Not that she was afraid now, but she never liked to be alone. She felt safe with her dog Jaygo around, who barked at anything that moved, but now she was by herself and greeted with silence.

It took an hour to cross the meadow towards the small forest of trees laden with fresh snow. She was exhausted by the time she got there and felt the cold creeping into her feet. Anxiously, she looked at the low-lying branches that were too thick for her to cut with so small a hatchet. Down through the trees she saw another clearing with several small cedars. She was sure she could make out a few broken limbs.
        Painstakingly, she trudged the path and was only a few feet from the trees when she heard the crunch of something crashing through the woods behind her. Panic engulfed her as she glanced around to see the culprit of the disturbance. In the distance, she saw an ominous rider on a black horse bursting through the trees. Overhead, she saw a black winged creature slicing through the air towards her.
Amera’s raven tresses fell partially down from her wool cap as she headed for the cedars to escape the rider. The raven flew in front of her and circled back behind her as if in slow motion. It dawned on her that the horseman might be her mysterious husband to be. That panicked her even more. As she stumbled in the snow, she suddenly remembered the warning Fran had scribbled in her message. “Don’t try to run, because he will find you.”
The thought fueled her energy and she glanced behind to see he was less than a hundred yards behind. His face was hidden within the hood of his cape. She sucked in large breaths of cold air and struggled to reach a small knoll covered with snowdrifts and rocks. All the while, the fear of not knowing his identity was like a bullet in her chest. Damn them for doing this to her!
As she neared the rocky hill, she stumbled and fell to one knee. Before she could pick herself up to run, a luminous weapon flew overhead and landed in the snow ahead of her. Frozen in shock, she suddenly knew who her suitor was!
Merlin!
The sword was one of legend with its blue steel blade and the jewel-crusted markings. Merlin’s crest was on the hilt. Wizards had their own clan within their ranks, or at least that’s what Gregory had told her, but in reality she thought it was all just make believe.
Amera resigned herself to pushing her body upright to a standing position, despite the slick glaze that was glistening over the crust of snow. Briefly, her eyes darted overhead again to the circling raven before turning to face her captor.
Amera’s voice froze in her throat as she realized her captor was closer than she expected. The magnificent black stallion slowed and trotted the last few feet to stop before her, his hooves making sharp crunching sounds as she looked up at the dark rider.
Without looking up, skyward he lifted up a gloved hand and the raven swooped down in a flurry of wings and landed perfectly on his outstretched hand. One, single, black feather, fell spiraling towards the white ground and landed directly in front of her feet.
“I…I thought you were a legend,” Amera spoke in a startled whisper.
“Have you lost your mind, woman? You don’t need to be scouting about. There is a storm on the horizon,” he grumbled with annoyance.
His voice rattled her. She still could not see his face clearly for the hood was drawn around closely to his head.
“There is no time for petty conversation. We must leave immediately!” he spoke sternly.
        Slowly, she casually reached into her pocket and felt her fingers curl around the cold steel of her hatchet.
Moments passed in silence as they both stared at the other, neither budging to move.
“Are you…Merlin?” she said taking two steps backwards.
The rider dismounted as the raven flew down and perched on the saddle of his stallion. His impending height was intimidating as he walked quickly through the snow to retain his sword. Quickly, he sheathed it in his scabbard as he turned to face Amera.
“My name is Draedon St.Anthony…lets leave it at that.”
 Amera stared at him cautiously.
“That tells me nothing sir! I saw Merlin’s symbol on the sword you hurled at me. So, why do you carry something with his symbol if you are not Merlin?” Amera spoke all in a rush.
Gregory had shown her pictures of the sword when she was younger. She was positive it was one and the same as she glanced at it in the snow.
Dreydon took three steps closer until he was inches away from her. The maiden was visibly shaking, but whether from the blush of cold on her face, or the fire in her veins, he could not tell. Might as well get everything out in the open and be done with it.
Amera willed herself to not move as he approached her and began to take off his glove. Quickly, he reached for the hat she wore and removed it. The rest of her hair tumbled around her shoulders and she grabbed her hat back as her face suffused with heat.
“Well, well, Dreydon chortled with pleasure. I understand your name is… Amera.”
 She gave him a piercing stare. He could tell she was startled that he knew her name. Years ago, he had seen her when she was little more than a child. Indeed her eyes were crystal blue as he remembered from long ago. In fact, he had never seen such color in his lifetime.  In honesty, she took his breath away and suddenly he did not hate his years of solitude and bachelorhood so badly.
        “Rest in peace mi lady, for I am not that ancient devil, but his spawn instead,” he laughed with glittering eyes.
        Amera looked at him in skeptically. “Where…is he? I never heard anyone say that he had…a son.”
“He is dead, that scoundrel. I am the last of his legacy. I am left to undo his handiwork. I curse the day I was born his son,” he spoke with bitterness.
Dreydon reached out a finger and deftly stoked her cold cheek. Maybe, some of it will not be so bad. At least you do not look like the twits at Birmington,” he scowled.
“What does it matter to you what I look like,” she said pushing his hand away abruptly.
“It matters to me quite a bit. I am your husband to be. Mockingly, he bowed from his waist. Take a look at your bridegroom, mi lady.” Slowly, he stood up pushing his hood back from his face. Black hair tumbled in curls onto his shoulders. He saw her flinch as she viewed his scar that ran from brow to jaw.  Dreydon was use to that look all too well.
        Amera was only mildly surprised at his appearance, but there was an air about him that alarmed her. She noticed the handsome face, the generous mouth and dark stormy eyes. Eyes that bore anger, passion and hurt all at once it seemed. His scar was faded, so it must have happened a long time ago. Amera stood uncomfortably silent.
Dreydon smirked at her. “Do I repulse you? Rest assured you will be free soon after the marriage is performed. But now, we have to make haste. Once you are with child you will have done your part.”
Not waiting for her response, he quickly hoisted her on the saddle nearly knocking the breath from her.
        Amera huffed indignantly. He would be the one that was surprised, she thought angrily, because she would not marry any stranger, let alone Merlin’s son! Gaining her composure, she fumed in silence as she realized he was riding also.
He mounted quickly and sat behind her, taking the reins and guiding them cautiously back towards the cottage. Amera flinched from the close contact and frantically tried to plot out a scheme in her head to save herself from this torture of being a stranger’s wife!
Trouble was, no one could escape in a storm like this. Especially, since she had no food or firewood.
She would have to bide her time until an opportunity came to escape. Her best bet, she decided, was too act like she went along with this charade of a marriage, so he would let his guard down and she could escape.
At the cottage, he dismounted and lowered her down to the ground slowly. She glanced up to see his dark brown eyes piercing her own. Uncomfortably, Amera turned away and hurried for the cottage door. Her heart was racing a hundred miles an hour and her cheeks suffused with heat.
       Dreydon was right behind her, and she saw from the corner of her eye, that the raven landed on the fence post under the pines.
Behind her, Dreydon gave the signal for Bren to return home. No use for the poor bird to freeze to death. He had been a gift from Eamen, his scribe.
        Oddly enough, Bren could communicate to him with signals that only he understood. Flying in circles meant the bird had found his target, and a series of calls meant possible danger. Without Bren, he would have never found this place. It was far away from the nearest town. In fact, it was almost completely isolated, except for a few cottages on the outskirts of Marneth.
As he watched her walk up the path before him, he could hear the voice of his father, Merlin, on the night he got wounded. That night had led him to this one…a day he surely dreaded now that it was upon him.
“Never use the sword for what you can accomplish with words and good sense Dreydon. There is more power in the tongue than steel. Excalibre must only be used for battles of integrity and honor. To do otherwise, you will experience consequences with a steep price.”
Regretfully, that very eve he had taken the sword from his father’s bedside to show off his skills to Lorcan, a wizard of devious means who challenged his father’s honor.
Although Dreydon’s fencing skills were adequate, he was no match for a much older wizard with his own magic on his side.  A wizard, who had his hopes on taking over Merlin’s reign of power.
Dreydon reached up and touched the line of his scar that went from brow bone to jaw. It never healed properly as it should. Little did he know, the sword carried a curse to disfigure and destroy all that it touched.
His father had turned ashen when he saw him, dripping blood and holding Lorcan by the neck against the wall.
Rarely, had he seen his father enraged enough to cast a spell within his ear but he did. He destroyed Lorcan’s sword and uttered words that still chilled him.

“On the night of blue moon my seed shall destroy you! The raven and a pure dove shall wed on crimson snow.” Lorcan would have wounded him again, if not for his father’s intervention.
Amera nearly stumbled into the cottage in Gregory’s boots but thankfully she caught herself before falling into the snow again.
Inside they both went towards the fire to get warm as Dreydon eyed the sparse surroundings
“Have you been left with nothing here?” he asked gruffly. Amera stayed silent, watching him quietly.
He walked over to the almost empty cubbards. The woman had no kitchen table or chairs, no food, hardly any wood for the fire. Damn! This was not acceptable! The snow would get worse through the night and they would be trapped here for weeks.
“We must leave immediately!” he said glaring at her.
“But...I” she stammered.
“Now!” He demanded gruffly.
Amera blinked hard at him and wondered if she should trust him. Not, that she had any choice. She would go with him to save her life from this barren place. Now, her stomach growled so loud, she knew he must of heard it. Embarassed, she headed for her bedroom.
Quickly, she ran to her closet and grabbed her woolen cape which was a hand me down from Fran. It was the best she had and it would help keep her from freezing to death. Although it was too large and didn’t fit properly it was warm. She reached into her dresser and grabbed the only piece of jewelry she owned. Gregory had sneaked it to her on her birthday last week. Tears filled his eyes as he placed it in her hand.
“Don’t loose this Amera. It has always belonged to you, although Fran wore it a time or too. Don’t let her know you have it. It’s well…it belonged to your mother.”
Fran came in and he quickly turned away. He had never said anything about her parents other than when her mother died; her father was so heartbroken he dissappeared after asking Gregory and Fran to care for her. She had never asked again. His eyes held so much pain she couldn’t bring herself to ask anymore.
Clutching the necklace and then putting it in a small drawstring bag, she put it inside her bodice and started back towards the kitchen.
Dreydon turned around from the fireplace and crossed his arms defensively.
“Come here, Amera!” he said in his stern baritone voice.
Without even pausing, she walked directly towards him and placed herself four steps away from him. She drew in a sigh and said in her most menacing tone.
“You sir, will quit commanding me around like I am your servant! I am a free woman and I will do of my own choice!” she said defiantly.
Her blue eyes glittered with fire and her lips trembled slightly. Dreydon stared down at her, quite captivated at her audacity and spunk. Of all things, that was the least he expected from a woman of her nature to say to him. Her quiet lifestyle certainly hadn’t made her totally docile it seemed.
Instead of laughing, he impulsively flung his long arm around her and crushed Amera against his chest. She struggled to push herself backwards from his grasp, but he held her all the tighter. He leaned down to smell the scent of her, which proved to be an intoxicating mix of some kind of wildflowers he was unfamiliar with. Enraged, Amera looked up at him unflinching.       
If looks could kill… dear God, her eyes were burning through him in pure anger. He would quell that quickly enough. Whether he repulsed her or not, he would kiss that beckoning mouth!
His hand tilted her chin as he turned her face towards him and swiftly captured her tempting lips. He felt the strength go out of her as he kissed her deeply and her resolve faded. Mere seconds later, he experienced a sharp kick to his shin that took him by surprise. He abruptly let go and she was nimble enough to steady herself from falling backwards. She glanced towards him for reprisal, but instead of anger, he was amused and started to grin. He finally burst out laughing which angered her but he laughed anyway. His life had been boring for quite some time. Undoubtedly, it was all about to change now.

Crimson Snow~ Coming soon by Debra Jayne East
                                   XOXO Link:

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Hot Winter Night Giveaway Hop!


My First Experience Being Blindfolded

It was quite a surprise when my blind friend David asked me to do something that I’d never done before. I was really stressed out that day and he had drawn me a hot relaxing bubble bath scented with an intoxicating aroma.He had been trying to tell me something but I don't know what. I had survived a horrific car accident and I was having trouble knowing what was real or fantasy. I just knew his hands were wonderful in bringing life back into my dormant body.When he touched me I was alive. I soon found out he wanted so much more….

My clothes slid from my body onto the floor. David walked over to his bed. “I’m going to leave the door open and that way we can talk.”
David sits down and glances in my direction. I watched him as I stand naked. He seems nervous, although I am not for a change.
The heady smell of the bath oil relaxes me as I get in the steamy tub. I see him blush--probably because he heard my clothes fall to the floor. He’s not a man of steel after all, I see. Faintly, David plays his guitar. Moment’s later he walks towards the door to where I am and pauses. “May I come in? I have something for you.”
“Yeah, but I’m naked in the tub again, so hide your eyes,” I tease.
He sit’s down on the far corner of the tub with his guitar. He pulled out a black scarf from his pocket and paused. “You ask me quite a bit about how I know things, and how I can do this and that. I thought it would be interesting for you to see what it would be like. Would you mind for the rest of the evening being in the dark?”
I wondered nervously, if this is some kind of kinky blindfold game, or if he’s sincere. 
“Sure…I’ll give it a try, but don’t laugh.” I reasoned it couldn’t hurt anything.
I watch him fold the scarf a few times and I sit still as he ties it around my head, covering my eyes.
“Can you see anything?” he asked.
I adjusted one corner slightly. “I believe that’s got it.”
“Good. I have a song I have been working on, if you would like to hear it, I’ll play it for you now.”
I listened as he strummed softly and after a couple of minutes went into the melody. The ballad he sang stirred my soul. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more beautiful human voice than his.
“I have no words to describe how amazing your music is.”
Awkwardly, I heard him laugh. “I’m inspired.”
“I believe I’m ready to get out now.”
“Here’s a towel, Marena.”
 He must have stood up because his voice answered from above me.
I reached out my hand to take the towel, but I grabbed his thigh instead. “OOPS, sorry,” I said, jerking my hand back.
I’m sure he must have smiled, but he said nothing. Feeling with my hands, I got out slowly and dried myself off. I dressed quickly and stepped outside the bathroom door with my scarf still intact.
“Where are you David?”
“I’m here on my bed.”
I make my way over to the bed, and I actually could sense where he’s at, so I sit down beside him. I hear him lay down his guitar. My heart is pounding and I remember.
“David, I must ask you something else about that night,” I blurted out. In a split second it had all came back to me.
“You know… that I know the answer already.”
“Say it,” I demanded.
He reaches over and takes my hand. He places it on his chest, which heaved greatly as he spoke those words that only I knew.
See my heart.”
 Tears fall on my hands. What had I done now? I’ve gone and made an angel cry. ~ Marena Jacobs from Radiance: Love after Death by Debra Jayne East




Bio: Debra Jayne East was born the oldest of six girls, in Martinsville, Virginia. For as long as she could remember, she loved to keep journals, write poetry and short stories.
She researched her family tree and suddenly she understood why. Her distant relative, Violet Florence Martin was an Irish author, born in 1862, who co-wrote a series of novels with cousin Edith Somerville under the pen name of Martin Ross in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
After she encountered a near-death experience during a routine surgery, she realized her time had come to follow her heart and realize her calling to be a writer.
Her first novel, Radiance: Love after XOXO Publishing released Death in June of last year. Debra lives in North Carolina close to the Blue Ridge Parkway and enjoys photography, volunteering and spending time with her family. Her next book, Crimson Snow, her new paranormal romance, will be released later this year.
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Thursday, October 11, 2012

A Haunting We Will Go


Welcome Paranormal Investigator and Author Stephanie Cambell

When the talented Stephanie Cambell is not writing books, she’s doing something I have always wanted to do myself. She is a paranormal investigator! In our second week here on our Halloween blast I asked Stephanie to share one of her current investigations~

Debra: Stephanie we’re all ears!
Stephanie: 
The Ben Lomond Cemetery was established in 1851, and it is one of the oldest in all of Utah. This cemetery holds the graves of many pioneers who built the area. Today, it is the home to 15,000 burial slots and is over 14 acres.
But this place is more than just a historic site for me. In this cemetery, I encountered my first experience with orbs, and I have visited this cemetery over ten times for investigations with mixed, though still interesting, results.
A partner and I drive to the cemetery and park in one of the empty spaces. We struggle out of the car and begin to walk between the rows of the plots. Both of us are quiet and respectful. As I walk, I begin to notice something odd about what I was capturing on my camera.
"Come over here a moment, please," I say to my partner, looking at the screen.
"What is it?" she says, hustling over.
Both of us look over my shoulder and gasp.



The orbs appeared out of nowhere. Just seconds ago, I had taken this picture, marking the fact that my camera was clear:


I am shocked by the difference, especially since this is my second investigation here. Before this, I hadn't captured much of anything. Just some dust, the reflection of a stop sign, and a few other pointless things caused by natural phenomenon. The two of us exchange glances, move forward, and later pack up and leave for the night. This picture later got uploaded to the Weber District Paranormal Society's website, and I decided I would visit again the next week.
When I returned to the Ben Lomond Graveyard for investigation, I was brimming with excitement. It was a great hotspot for me, more so than what I expected after the research that I had done.
I walked along, alone again, with my camcorder out as well as my camera. The night is clear and is wind free. As I snap pictures, something strange begins to happen. Here is what I caught on my camera.



If you notice, the third picture and the fourth picture are both taken of the same street. That fact is shown by the small cylinder light in the left-hand corner of my pictures. The one thing that's different is the large orb that darts across the screen of my camera. I found this both startling and chilling. There truly was something there. This was not the moon or a stoplight. This is proven by the same picture being taken seconds afterward without anything on it. To this day, I truly believe that a ghost skirted across my camera screen.
Debra: Wow, that was pretty interesting! Thanks for making cold chills go up my spine! I will always remember to look behind me in graveyards from now on! Would you mind telling me about yourself and your books now?
My bio:
Stephanie Campbell is the author of The Willow Does Not Weep, Racing Death, Case Closed, Mirror of Darkness, Hot Wheels, Dragon Night, Poachers, Dragon Night, Tasting Silver, Late but not Never, Specimen X, Tales of Draga, E is for Eternity, and P.S. I Killed My Mother. When she isn't working, she enjoys watching documentaries, running, dancing, and playing with her rabbits. 



Book Blurb:
 

Willow the tree has been watching her family for the past eight years.  During that time, they have endured a terrible trauma, but there is nothing Willow can do.  She is merely a tree.  All of that changes when Malan, the eldest brother of the family, returns home from college and Willow realizes that she would do anything to speak with him, and the feelings she has for him she cannot explain.  She believes there is no hope. There is no way to change from one life form to another. When a white dove tells Willow that she can trade her thirty remaining years of life as a tree for one year as a human, she quickly agrees.  But in making that choice, she realizes that she may have signed on for more than she bargained for. After all, a year is hardly enough time to heal a human heart.

  
Buy links: http://www.beautobeau.com/Willow.html
 
Stephanie's latest projects and available rights can be found here:
http://www.redwritinghoodink.net/

Stephanie's Facebook can be found here:
https://www.facebook.com/stephanie.e.campbell.9
 
Stephanie's Twitter can be found here:
https://twitter.com/StephanieECamp

Stephanie's LinkedIn can be found here:
http://www.linkedin.com/profile/edit?trk=hb_tab_pro_top