Mystery Novel Month: Cop with a Wand by Jim Hartley

Daisy Hudson is a newly reinstated plainclothes cop, but more importantly, she has just come to the realization that she’s a witch. Not just any witch, but a very powerful witch.

After reuniting with her partner Inspector Herb Farrell who eventually catches on to Daisy’s powers—as well as falls for her charms—together they conclude that the ordinary crimes of their city have become overshadowed by the evil conspiracy of a sinister group of gray men.

From petty crimes to those committed at the highest level of government, it becomes apparent that these tall, ugly, gray-skinned men known as the Warlocks harbor a far-reaching, ominous plot...an alien takeover of the Earth.

Even with the aid of the forceful local coven, will Daisy and Herb have the fire power to prevent the Warlocks’ impending overthrow of the government?

Read an excerpt!

Then there was the big fire at an apartment building. According to all the reports, there had been an explosion, and shortly after, the place was engulfed in flames. When we arrived, there were several fire trucks, and firemen were going in with Scott Packs to try to rescue people. Others were on ladders, trying to get people out through windows.

Herb asked me, "Daisy, have you ever trained on Scott Packs or other similar breathing apparatus?"
"No, I haven't."

"Well, I have. I did a stint with a fire company a couple years back. I'm going to go ask if I can suit up and help with the rescues. You stay far enough back, do whatever you can to help."

He turned and walked over to one of the fire trucks. Apparently, they agreed with him. I saw him struggling into one of those yellow suits, and a minute later, he had the Scott Pack on and was walking toward the door of the building. I wasn't sure how I could assist, but I suspected that a little magic would help more than anything else I could do. I found a place where I wouldn't be seen easily, and then got out my wand and held it at the ready.

Several of the firemen had now gotten people out through windows and were bringing them down the ladders. Suddenly, as a fireman and the person he had rescued were opposite a window on the sixth floor, something inside exploded.

A cloud of smoke and flames shattered the window and burst out, hitting the fireman and knocking him and the victim he was carrying off the ladder. The six-story fall would probably be fatal to both of them.

I pointed my wand and cast a quick levitation spell. The only such spell I knew was designed to work on a single person and would not support two, but it slowed their fall quite a bit. Someone had been trying to get a net under them, but there would not really have been time. Now, with their fall slowed, the net was in place in time, and both fireman and victim were saved. I could see people talking, pointing up, waving their arms to mimic the fall. I couldn't hear them, but I could tell they didn't really believe what had happened.

All the activity, clustered around the falling bodies, was in front of the building, and none of the firefighters there could see around the side. But I could, and I suddenly saw a bunch of people pressing up against a third-floor window. There was a stairwell near them, but it was engulfed in flames; they would never make it out that way. I wasn't even sure if the men with Scott Packs could make it through there, and the area below the window was jammed with dumpsters—getting a ladder in would be damned near impossible.

Show time for Daisy. I waved my wand and was instantly encased in a shimmering shield. Scott Packs, ha! I headed in the door to the stairs. I could hear the roar of the flames, but I was cool, and I could breathe without any trouble. I swung my wand back and forth in front of me, and the flames flickered and vanished. Up two flights and down the hall until I reached the apartment where I had seen the people. I opened the door and called to them, "Follow me. I've got a safe way out for you."
They hesitated and then moved toward the door. I led them down the hall, knocking out the flames that were beginning to spring up again. I took them down the stairs and out into the parking lot where they would be safe.

As soon as I saw they were all clear, I ducked out of sight, dropped the shield, and tucked my wand away. Then I walked out and asked them, "You people okay? If you need help, all the EMTs are around front."

Most of them started in that direction, but one man turned to me. "Who, what, was that that led us out? I've never seen anything like it."

"Experimental," I answered. "But the guy wearing it had to get back to the truck and turn it off; he was starting to lose his air. The thing still needs work."

"Guy? Sounded like a woman's voice."

This guy was getting to be a pain. "Yeah, the field distorts sound. Like I say, it still needs work."
I guess I finally satisfied him, because he turned and followed the others I had rescued. I waited a moment and then went over to where all the activity was.

Herb was just peeling out of his yellow coveralls. "Hi, Daisy. Ran out of air and had to get out, but I think we have everyone. There was a report of people on the third floor, but when we got there, they were gone. The flames there had died down for some reason, gave them a chance to escape."

"Good," I said. "Glad you got everyone. Do we need to stick around here, or does the fire department have everything under control?"

"Somebody needs to get statements, but it's all routine. The uniforms can handle it. Let's head back and write up our reports."
When we got back to the squad room, my report was simple. I wasn't trained for firefighting and hadn't done much, so I finished quickly and sat back to wait for Herb.

PURCHASE FROM MUSEITUP PUBLISHING OR AMAZON!

James Hartley is a former computer programmer. Originally from northern New Jersey, he now lives in sunny central Florida. He has published two fantasy novels, The Ghost of Grover's Ridge and Teen Angel, and has a third, Magic Is Faster Than Light, due out soon. He has had stories published in the Desolate Places, Strange Mysteries, Book of Exodi, Christmas in Outer Space, Aurora in the Dawn, Free Range Fairy Tales, and Uncanny Allegories anthologies, and in various e-zines and print magazines. His website is http://teenangel.netfirms.com.

Mystery Novel Month: The Carousel Ghost by Andrea Pelleschi

Fourteen-year-old Kate's traditional first day at Wildwood Lake Park couldn't get any worse. Besides problems with her best friend and the obnoxious, but cute, boy from school named Tommy, there's the new haunted carousel ride. When Kate goes for a spin, she finds herself transported back in time and into the body of a ghost named Isabelle, circa 1928. Isabelle's husband carved the horse, and the rumor is that he also murdered Isabelle.

Back in the present, Kate teams up with Tommy to solve the mystery of how Isabelle died, even if it means more terrifying rides on the carousel. As the investigation goes on, Kate finds herself growing closer to Isabelle than she is with Meghan. So when the carousel is slated to be dismantled for the park museum, Kate hurries to solve the mystery before Isabelle is doomed to wander the park--and Kate's dreams--forever.

The Story Behind The Carousel Ghost by Andrea Pelleschi

The Carousel Ghost is based on a real ghost story from Cedar Point Amusement Park in Sandusky, Ohio. Many years ago, I went up to Cedar Point and rode a lovely old-fashioned carousel, the kind with the carved wooden horses covered in ornate decorations. Afterward, I toured a small museum in Frontiersland, which had a beautiful black warhorse on display.

The tour guide told us an intriguing story about a ghost that inhabited the horse. Supposedly the carousel carver, a famous carver named Mueller, had murdered his wife because she'd been cheating on him. Then he'd cut up her body and placed it inside the horse. At least this is the story as I remember hearing it.

Over the years, people said they heard the horse gallop down the midway after the park closed or saw carousel lights come on all by themselves in the middle of the night. Ride operators even claimed the carousel was never in the same position in the morning as they’d left it in the night before.

This story sparked my imagination. What if it really were haunted? And what would happen to someone who was sensitive to ghosts when she rode the horse?

After doing some research, I learned that carousel horse carvers came to America in the late 1800s and worked on the east coast, primarily, for companies like the Philadelphia Toboggan Company. There was usually a head carver and others who worked for him. Many of the carvers were German. From this, I decided to make the carver German and have the ghost, his wife, be from the late 1920s.

I also learned that horses were made from solid blocks of wood, so it would be impossible for a body to be stashed inside one! This was not a problem. A solid horse can still be haunted!

If you want to learn more about the inspiration horse, this website has some information: http://www.ghostsofohio.org/lore/ohio_lore_18.html

PURCHASE AT:

AMAZON

MUSEITUP PUBLISHING

Andrea Pelleschi has been editing and writing children’s books for over 12 years. As an editor, she's worked on everything from coloring and novelty books to picture books and textbooks. As a freelance writer, she’s written primarily nonfiction, but her passion is scifi, fantasy, and paranormal. She has an MFA in creative writing, and The Carousel Ghost is her first novel. Currently Andrea lives in Ohio with her cat Ella, who, unlike her namesake Cinderella, never does any housework.

Visit Andrea online at:

www.andreapelleschi.com
www.twitter.com/andreapelleschi  

Mystery Novel Month: Live and Let Fly: The Case Files of DragonEye, PI

For a dragon detective with a magic-slinging nun as a partner, saving the worlds gets routine. So, when the U.S. government hires Vern and Sister Grace to recover stolen secrets for creating a new Interdimensional Gap—secrets the U.S. would like to keep, thank you—Vern sees a chance to play Dragon-Oh-Seven.

No human spy, however, ever went up against a Norse goddess determined to rescue her husband. Sigyn will move heaven and earth to get Loki—and use the best and worst of our world against anyone who tries to stop her.

It's super-spy spoofing at its best with exotic locations (Idaho--exotic? Well, Idaho’s exotic to them), maniacal middle-managers, secret agent men, teen rock stars in trouble, man-eating animatronics, evil overlords, and more!

Read an excerpt!

Charlie started to close the door behind us, his other hand gripping the handle of his dagger so tightly I could hear the leather wrap on the handle strain, as we listened to the footsteps coming our way, slow, bored. My predator's instincts rose; then I had a great idea. I shook my head at Charlie and winked, and he shuffled out of my way, leaving the door ajar. I settled myself with my back to the door, just inside the shadows and let the script play itself out:

CLUELESS MINION enters Stage Left. He pauses, hearing a noise, but does not report it. Instead, he fondles the stars on his nametag and moves toward the empty hallway, his mind on adding another. (Probably saying, "I was proactive today!")

CLUELESS pauses at door, hesitating. He stands and, back to the door, reaches for his walkie-talkie.
Suddenly, a well-muscled and gorgeously scaled tail whips out from the crack in the door and wraps itself around his neck. He only has time to grab ineffectively at the tail before he's drawn into the darkness. The door shuts behind him.

Pan shot of the empty hallway.

FADE TO BLACK

I slammed my victim on the floor and pinned him with my forelegs, then I leaned my face in nice and slow, making sure he got a good look at my fangs before he saw my eyes. "Where's the girl?" I growled low and menacingly.

"Wh-What g-g-girl?"

Charlie crouched down by Stutterboy and glanced at his nametag. "Look, Philip, we're in a bit of a hurry. We know Rhoda Dakota's being held captive somewhere nearby. Now you can be a good survivor and tell us where…or you can be dinner."

"I-I don't—"

"Phil A. Minion." I mused and drooled a bit for effect. I live for these moments, I really do. I licked his cheek and asked Charlie, "Can I have fries with that?"

"Why not? This is Idaho."

I haven't read this book yet, but I read the first book in this series and thought it was a blast. You can read my review of it here.

PURCHASE AT MUSEITUP PUBLISHING OR AMAZON!

Mystery Novel Month: Review of Winter's Soul by Patricia Harrington

This short Gothic mystery by Patricia Harrington is not my usual fare, but I enjoy spreading my wings when it comes to reading.

Elizabeth Sidham dreams of marrying into one of Britain's elite families. When George Arburthnot invites Elizabeth to a dinner dance, she is certain her dreams have come true.

George is tortured by his domineering mother, Catherine. Eager for an heir, she insists her son woo Elizabeth. She cares not that George's best friend and secret lover, William, is still in the picture. After George and Elizabeth are married, Catherine soon pushes for that desired heir; and when a son is born, she begins arranging the child's life. The couple are at wit's end. How long must they suffer under Catherine's control?


Winter's Soul by Patricia Harrington proves a short story can pack a huge wallop. Told from all four characters' points of view, this is a foreboding, mysterious tale. By allowing each character a chance to tell a portion of the story, the reader enjoys the emotions within: George's confusion, William's devotion, Elizabeth's anxiety and pain, Catherine's disappointment and anger. While I had figured out how it would end, I wasn't sure of all the details. 


With an eloquent style, Harrington draws the reader into the lives of the people residing at Havenwood Manor. Definitely a story that will capture your attention.

• Print Length: 32 pages
• Simultaneous Device Usage: Unlimited
• Publisher: MuseItUp Publishing (January 1, 2011)
• ISBN: 978-1-926931-05-0
• SRP: $2.50

I received an electronic copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinions. I received no monetary compensation of any kind for this review.

Mystery Novel Month: Missing, Assumed Dead by Marva Dasef

Prejudice, murder, insanity, suicide: Every small town has its secrets.

When Kameron McBride receives notice she's the only living relative of a missing man she's never even heard of, the last thing she wants to do is head to some half-baked Oregon town to settle his affairs. Her suspicions rise when the probate Judge isn't really a judge and tries too hard to buy the dead man's worthless property. Kam probes deeper into the town's secrets and finds almost no one she can trust. She must find out what really happened to her dead relative before someone in this backward little town sends her to join him.

And she thought Oregon was going to be boring.

Buy Links:

MuseItUp Publishing: http://tinyurl.com/Missing-Dasef

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B005EN73FI/

Whose Point of View Is It Anyway?

by Marva Dasef

When writing in third person, an author has the option of sticking closely to a single character or to allow several characters to share in the story telling. I like third person because it gives me the flexibility of showing actions which didn't happen when the main character is present. I could have another character traipse over to the MC and tell her about what happened OR I can change point of view to the other character in the past or current timeline to show the event.

Many writers present their story from multiple points of view. If they've learned their craft, they've carefully not mixed up POVs in the same paragraph or within a single scene. To change point of view, a scene or chapter break makes clear just which character's head we're in.

One multiple POV method is called the Rashomon effect (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rashomon_effect). The Wiki article lists several more examples of the technique used in popular culture.

In my mystery, Missing, Assumed Dead, (July 29, MIU), several characters need to tell the main character, Kam McBride, what had happened in the past (a flashback). To avoid simple telling, I switched to the other character's POV. I delineated these flashbacks into scenes, and even made them italic to set them off from the narrative.

The fun part is that the characters are sometimes relating the same incident to Kam, but each one has a slightly different view of the events, usually making themselves a bit more heroic than the other people in the same scene. This allows the reader to be suspect of the truthfulness of the characters.

Confused? Don't be. Read my book and you'll see the technique allows the author to show rather than tell. It's not my original idea. That's why it already has a name, Rashomon Effect, in honor of the great Samurai movie of the 50s.

In the film, an incident occurs, and the film maker presents it four times, each from a different character's POV. Needless to say, the versions of the events vary, sometimes wildly, from each other. By the end of the story, you still don't know exactly what happened since none of the characters can be fully believed.

In addition to the contradictory retelling of the events by the different characters in Missing, Assumed Dead, there are two additional flashbacks. By the time they appear in the book, I hope the reader will be looking at everyone with suspicion.

The Rashomon effect illustrates the subjectivity of perception on recollection, by which observers of an event are able to produce substantially different but equally plausible accounts of it. As any detective will tell you, the eyewitness is the worst witness of all. If you have more than one eyewitness to a crime, then the confusion is worsened. Or it can be. Sometimes one of the witnesses will actually be telling the unvarnished truth, but will we ever know for sure? Maybe these days camera phones will be the best possible witnesses.

The following two excerpts show the same scene but from the point of view of each character.

EXCERPT 1 - POV Ray

At three o’clock, Ray flipped the sign to ‘Closed’ and locked the Jack and Jill’s door behind him. He walked the block to the two-story brick building that housed the police station and courthouse. George liked to wear the badge on his khaki shirt and strap his pistol belt around his paunch. Ray shrugged. He didn’t care if George wanted to pretend to be the law as long as he took on the duties as best he could.

Ray went up the three steps into the Courthouse and turned left into George’s office. The self-appointed police chief sat behind his desk with his boots propped up on it. He raised his eyes from the Zane Grey novel he’d been reading.

“Hey there, Ray. What can I do you out of?” The fat man’s belly jiggled when he laughed at his own stale joke.

“I come about Salvadore.”

“Vasco?”

Ray shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced at the chair on his side of the desk. His legs ached, but he didn’t want to settle in for a long chat. George tended to run on some. “Only Salvadore in these parts far as I know. Anyways, has a habit of comin’ to town once a week, but he didn’t come last week nor this ’un.”

“So, what do you want me to do about it? Man’s gotta right to come to town or not.”

“True thing, but you know us old fellas like to stick to a schedule. It ain’t like him to not come in. I think someone oughta go up there and check on him.”

George glanced at the copy of Riders of the Purple Sage on his desk. “Why don’t you go, Ray? You’re his friend.”

“Yep, but he’d think I was buttin’ into his bizness if he’s okay. If you go, you can say sumthin’ about looking for someone else or what not.”

“So, I should lie to him but really just be checkin’ on his welfare, eh?”

“Yep. That’s what I’m thinkin’.”

George swung his legs off his desk and thumped his boots on the floor. “Well, I s’pose this

fits under the category of law enforcement.”

Ray suppressed a smirk. “That’s what I thought. Somebody official should do the checkin’, and that’d be you.”

“I’d be happy to do my duty, Ray. I’ll head out that way tomorrow morning. He prob’ly just got tired of your burnt burgers.” George leaned back in his chair and put his feet back up on the desk “When I get back with the good news he just didn’t want to come to town, I’ll sure as hell let you know.”

Ray nodded. He left George’s office and headed back to the café and his living quarters in the back.

EXCERPT - POV George

George sat in his office reading the latest statewide all-points bulletins for wanted criminals and stolen vehicles. Old man Ray from the Jack and Jill’s came in looking worried.

“Chief, I ain’t see Salvadore in a couple a weeks. I thought I’d better tell ya, since you’re the police and all.”

“Now, don’t get yourself all worked up, Ray. Old Salvadore prob’ly just don’t want to eat no more of your burnt burgers.”

Ray shook his head. “I don’t know what to do, George. Can you go check up on him?”

“Why sure, Ray. I’ll head up tomorrow morning for a welfare check.” George stood and walked around his desk. He patted Ray’s shoulder to comfort him. “You go on home and don’t fret. George is on the job.” 

Marva was born in Eugene, Oregon. She graduated from the University of Oregon with a degree in Technical Communications. She spent the next umpteen years working as a technical writer and programmer/analyst. In 2005, she gave up all that glamour for the solitary life of a fiction writer. She has a dear husband, Jack, who supports her attempt at this new career. Two sons have wandered off to other parts of the country; one in Seattle and the other in Florida. Fortunately, neither one shows any sign of boomeranging back home again (yet). She has dabbled in a variety of genres looking for the best fit. Since she has published fantasy, science fiction, romance, literary, children's, and historical, she’ll keep dabbling.

Find Marva at:

https://sites.google.com/site/mdasefauthor/home

http://mgddasef.blogspot.com/

Twitter @Gurina

Mystery Novel Month: Death Runs in the Family by Heather Haven

Lee Alvarez’ ex-husband, Nick—a man she divorced with joy in her heart and a gun in her hand—sprints back in her life only to disappear again. She’d love to leave it at that, but could he be responsible for the recent death of her cousin, who keeled over at the finish line of a half-marathon in front of hundreds of spectators? As PI for the family-run business, Discretionary Inquiries, Lee follows the clues to Vegas, where she joins forces with Shoshone PI, Flint Tall Trees. Together they uncover a multi-million dollar betting syndicate, a tacky lounge lizard act, and a list of past but very dead runners, plus future ones to be offed. At the top of the ‘future’ list is the love of her life, Gurn Hanson. Hoping to force the culprits out in the open, Gurn and Lee’s brother, Richard, plan to run San Francisco’s famous Palace to Palace 12K in only a few days. Lee aims to keep the two men she loves from hitting the finish line the way her cousin did—not in a dead heat, but just plain dead! With more at stake than she ever dreamed possible, Lee is in a battle against time to stop the Alvarez Family’s race with death.

Read an excerpt!

Chapter One

Another Mrs. Papadopoulos?

I threw back the covers and staggered to my front door, commanded there by the insistent ringing of the doorbell. Ordinarily, after the night I’d had and it being eight o’clock in the morning on a Sunday no less, I would have just let it ring, hoping whoever it was would go away or fall into a sinkhole. But this ringer wouldn’t stop and the bell sounded more and more like an air raid siren to my hung-over eardrums.

My name is Liana Alvarez. Everyone calls me Lee except my mother and the less said about that the better. My email reads Lee.Alvarez.PI@DI.com, but I don’t always respond in a timely fashion, especially when I’m in the middle of a case. DI stands for Discretionary Inquiries, the family-owned investigative service, and everybody knows what a PI is. I’m thirty four-years old, five-foot eight, 135 pounds on a good day, with thick, brown/black hair. The love of my life, the gorgeous Gurn Hanson, says my eyes are the color of twilight. At the moment, however, they mostly resembled a beady-eyed hippo’s.

The previous night, Lila Hamilton Alvarez, mother and CEO, fobbed off a last-minute job on me, one not so good for my California lifestyle. Due to our close relationship, my designer-clad mom knows she can do this. So, instead of being at home playing with my cat and sucking down a Jamba Juice, I was imbibing huge amounts of alcohol in an effort to get the tipsy girlfriend of a software thief to reveal where he’d got to. Said girlfriend dished, but my liver will never be the same.

Me being about as hardboiled as a two-minute egg, the following morning found me sleep deprived, alcohol poisoned, and feeling enormously sorry for myself. But I still remembered to look out the peephole instead of throwing open the door because L.H. Alvarez did not raise a stupid child. Not seeing anyone, I leaned against the framework in a hangover-induced quandary. Was someone there or not?

But the ringing continued, so shrill and loud that it had to be an affirmative unless my front door’s electrical system had gone wiggy. I squinted into the little round circle of glass again, strained my eyeball downward, and spied what looked like the back of a curly, platinum blonde, female head. I left the chain on when I opened the door, because my mother did not raise…never mind.

Facing away from me, the blonde female continued to lean into my doorbell for all she was worth, oblivious to my presence. A serious shrimp, she wore a pair of fire engine red spike heels and still didn’t clear much over five foot two. Looking pretty harmless unless she came at me with one of those six-inch spikes, I undid the chain and opened the door.

“All right, all right. I’m here. Get off the bell.”

Startled, red stilettos wheeled around and faced me. “Hi,” she said in a voice with no bottom to it, reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe, but not nearly as sexy. “I was beginning to think you weren’t here.”

For as self-confident as her body language had been earlier, she seemed to become unsure of herself, shy almost. Although how anyone could pull off shyness in that getup I’ll never know. The killer heels were a perfect complement to the red satin miniskirt, scanter than a Dallas cheerleader’s costume, and the plunging neckline of the yellow and green floral blouse emphasized cleavage aplenty. A thin, black polyester sweater, way too small, was buttoned haphazardly below her breasts. Clanking gewgaws hung from her ears, neck, wrists and fingers. In fact, she looked like a walking display case of gaudy jewelry. Before me stood a young lady who could send any self-respecting fashionista screaming into the night.

“You’re Lee, right?” she said in a barely audible voice.

“That’s me,” I croaked, and I tried to clear my throat, which didn’t do much good. “And you are?”

“Why, I’m Kelli, with an ‘i.’” The name was pronounced as if it should mean something to me.

She waited a beat, expectantly.

I was clueless.

“Kelli with an i?” Although in my condition, it came out more like ‘Kawawaya?’

“Yes, Kelli. With an ‘i.’”

There was the damn pause again. She stared at me, as if me not knowing whom she was made me too stupid to live. I stared back in complete agreement. I think I hiccupped.

“Nick’s wife,” she said, in a manner reserved for the slow of mind.

“Nick’s wife?” I stuttered. I only knew one Nick and that was a Nick I’d divorced four years prior with joy in my heart and a gun in my hand. “When you say, ‘Nick’s wife,’ you don’t you mean, Nick Papadopoulos, as in my Nick or rather my ex-Nick, by way of being my ex-husband, Nick? You’re talking about someone else, right? Another Nick I can’t quite place…” My voice trailed off because she was nodding in the affirmative every time I said his name.

“You’re Nick’s wife?”

She nodded again just as Tugger, my adolescent orange and white cat, came out of the bedroom and trotted down the hallway followed by my boyfriend’s grey and white Persian mix, Baba Ganoush, named for the eggplant dish. My boyfriend, Gurn, was in Washington D.C. and I was catsitting this darling, little green-eyed girl until his return.

Baba entered quietly but Tugger caterwauled the entire time, obviously complaining about being awoken at such an ungodly hour of the morning. He sauntered over, sat down in front of me, stared up at this Kewpie doll of an intruder, and gave a long, wide mouthed yawn. My sentiments exactly.

COMING SOON FROM MUSEITUP PUBLISHING! 

Books 1 and 2 in The Alvarez Family Mystery Series now available.

Heather Haven has been putting pen to paper all her life, with novels, television treatments, plays, ad copy, short stories, comedy acts, blogs, even ghost-writing a book. She is the proud author of the successful and humorous Alvarez Family Murder Mystery Series, Murder is a Family Business, A Wedding to Die For and the soon to be released, Death Runs in the Family. Living in the foothills of San Jose, California, Heather is married to a wonderful guy, a musician when he’s not teaching, and has two very intelligent, obedient cats…well, maybe not so obedient.


Visit Heather online at http://www.heatherhavenstories.com/ and http://heatherhavensays.blogspot.com/

Mystery Novel Month: Gravedigger's Open House by Frank Scully

All Mike Johnson wants is a little time to think, but he is about to find out that life is what happens while you’re making other plans. It delivers what is available. What you do with it depends on your character and attitude. Fortunately for Mike, attitude comes naturally.

It’s a rule of nature that trouble gravitates toward the person with the time and ability to handle it. Mike does not want any more trouble in his life but won’t shrink from it when it comes. And it does – from two directions. Real Estate agents are being killed, and his next door neighbor, who also happens to be a real estate agent, is entangled in a major league real estate scam. While looking into the murders, he discovers the dead agents and the scam are tied together in a twisted scheme of lethal revenge that almost ensnares Mike and his son and daughter in a web of big money and dead bodies as he follows the clues from Southern California to Phoenix and Las Vegas. Slick con artists, racist killers, beautiful strippers and a nutty neighbor keep Mike occupied as he wrestles with the question of what to do with the rest of his life. As the chase progresses, he discovers as much about himself as he does about the cons, the crooks and the crimes that have always been so much a part of his life.

Along the way he collects more bruises and broken bones than he does answers, but it isn’t his nature to quit no matter what the obstacle or the risk. Soon he is in so deep, he becomes a suspect in several murders with his picture on the front page and both the police and the killers hot on his trail. His only hope of salvation is to get the evidence that will prove his innocence.

Inspiration behind Gravedigger's Open House by Frank Scully

I knew after writing Dead Man's Gambit that I wanted to use Mike Johnson in another book. And I wanted it to be in a story where he could really let loose. I wish I could say that I knew exactly what story I was going to tell when I sat down to start Gravedigger’s Open House, but I didn’t even know the title of the book at the time. All I had was a general idea. It is often as much of a mystery to me what is going to happen as I hope it is to the readers.

What I did know is that Mike had moved from River County to the Sacramento area and was at loose ends not knowing exactly what he wanted to do with the rest of his life after the events in Dead Man’s Gambit knocked him out of his comfortable rut. In my mind I ran through a number of scenarios to construct around him. Nothing fit until I hit on the little old lady aspect of the neighbor. Once I had her and her son, Buster, in place along with a few of the other characters, the story began to develop on its own.

Some of the story and bits and pieces of the characters came from my own experience in real estate while most came from my imagination. Murder, blackmail, and revenge beget revenge, murder and blackmail in a big money scam. It was easy enough to get Mike entangled in it and the story wrote itself after that.

I don’t write from an outline. I do establish the primary characters early on and have a general idea of the plot and setting but after that it is all “seat of the pants” writing. The characters acting in the events dictate where the story goes. Often it takes off in directions I never anticipated. That can be quite an “aha” moment that leads to more revisions that improve the storyline in order to keep the characters true to themselves and to the plot. In order to do this I have to be able to bury myself in my characters and the story. It has to be real to me in my mind.

I enjoy getting into Mike Johnson’s character and I hope readers enjoy him as much as I do.

PURCHASE GRAVEDIGGER'S OPEN HOUSE AT: 

MuseItUp Publishing

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Frank Scully was born and raised in a small town in North Dakota and received a Bachelor’s degree in History with Phi Beta Kappa Honors and a Juris Doctor degree in Law from the University of North Dakota. He then served more than five years as a Judge Advocate General Corps Officer in the U.S. Army in the U.S., Vietnam, and Thailand. After that he attended the prestigious Thunderbird School and received a Masters in Business Administration with honors. In his professional career he has worked as an executive with large aerospace and defense manufacturers and also owned his own small business.


Depending on the vagaries of the universe he has been well off at times and broke, but never broken at other times. Blessed with an understanding wife who gave him twin sons, he has remained through it all a dreamer whose passion is writing stories that will entertain readers.


Visit Frank online at www.frankjscully.com. 

Mystery Novel Month: Mind Over Matter by S. J. Clarke

Rebecca McKenney grieved the loss of her daughter for three years. Now, a vision showing Sabrina three years older, suggests her baby is still alive, and the FBI agent who gave up the search is the only one who can help find her.

Special Agent Dan Cooper is haunted by a tragic mistake made early in the investigation of Sabrina's disappearance. Now to ease his conscience he agrees to help Rebecca search.

Together they fight inner demons, all to real bad guys, and an attraction neither wants to admit to. Each step closer to finding Sabrina is a step deeper into deception and evil.

Can Rebecca and Dan save Sabrina before it's too late?

Mind Over Matter released November 2011through MuseItUp Publishing and has been well received. It earned a coveted Top Pick reviewers award and was nominated for Best Romantic Suspense of 2011 at The Romance Reviews, and finaled for Best Romantic Suspense of 2011 in the RWA - Colorado Romance Writer's Award of Excellence contest.

Read an excerpt!


Rebecca knew from experience she didn't have much time left. A vision came at her, hard and strong...

The child’s face from the milk carton, about six or seven years old, hovered before her, similar yet different. Shivers wracked her body as she huddled in a corner, her long brown curls limp and dull. Smudges on her face spread when she used a dirty forearm to swipe away tears, and a cut bled through the tear in her dress. A flickering light illuminated the dark room, hinting at secrets in the shadows. The sound of water dripping, slow and steady like a leaky faucet, met Rebecca’s ears and her nose crinkled at the stench of urine and human waste. The child looked up. All trace of color drained from her face when a deep voice crept out of the darkness.

“It’s time.” “Rebecca, did you hear me?” Ruby’s voice penetrated the fog surrounding Rebecca’s mind.

“W-What?” She lifted her head, taking in the dining room around her. The tourist family still sat waiting for their breakfast. “I’m sorry Ruby, what did you say?”

“You okay, hon? You were in another world there for a minute.”

“I’m fine. Really,” she added at Ruby’s doubtful expression. “Didn’t sleep well again last night, I guess.” She forced a grin. “Good thing you caught me before I nodded off and started drooling in my coffee.” The mention of coffee drew Rebecca’s gaze to the carton of milk again. The girl’s innocent face stared back. Something seemed wrong. Rebecca leaned in, reading the caption under the photo. Nicole Wilson; missing for six years, before Bree even.

“I hope you don’t mind that I helped myself to the milk,” Rebecca said, and explained what happened.

“Didn’t want to be a bother.”

“Honey, it’s no problem at all, but you didn't have to do that.” “Not to worry, it’s over and done now.”

Rebecca looked down at the pancakes and fruit before her and knew little would make it past her lips “Breakfast looks delicious, as usual,” she lied. Ruby looked over at the children’s order of pancakes in front of the empty seat across from Rebecca. She moved her gaze back to Rebecca for a moment longer, before nodding as if confirming something in her head. “Okay then. Enjoy.”

Ruby picked up the milk carton as a bell dinged from the kitchen area. “Let me know if you need a refill on your coffee.” Smiling, Ruby went off to deliver the next order.

Rebecca’s stomach roiled at the thought of eating. Nausea and a headache overwhelmed her. She needed to get home where she could decipher what this vision meant. With Ruby monitoring her every move, coming up with a way out of the diner proved difficult.

Forcing another smile, Rebecca picked up her fork and knife and waved them in the air for Ruby to see. At Ruby’s disappointed frown, Rebecca cut the pancakes, and placed a small piece between her lips. Once Ruby smiled and turned away, Rebecca spit the bite out into a napkin. She spent another few minutes cutting and moving food around, hiding small bits under the second pancake. Pulling some money out of her wallet, she kept an eye out. As soon as Ruby went back to the kitchen for the next order pick-up, Rebecca threw the bills down on the table and made her escape.

Rebecca’s first deep breath came when she sat safe inside her car at the other end of Main Street. Home. She had to hold it together until then. Shoving the key into the ignition, she crossed her fingers, and then groaned at the dull grind that met her ears.

“Crap. Not today!” Rebecca cursed for putting off taking the car in to Joshua. Hands shaking, she tried again, holding her grimace until the engine caught. The edge of another vision crept in while she pulled into the driveway. “Shit. One more minute, come on, one more minute.”

She fumbled at the keyhole, hands shaking too hard to fit the key in the lock. Rebecca crossed the threshold and fell to her knees as the pain sliced in again, worse this time. Never before had two visions come so close together. What the hell? Rebecca’s world faded and in its place…

Sabrina appeared. Her baby. Sitting on the floor in a room of shadows, chin resting on drawn up knees. “Where are you Mommy? Why haven’t you come?” The shadows opened up, pushing forward to swallow both the light and Bree.

“Nooooooooo.” Rebecca came back tears streaming down her face and fell to the floor. Limp, she laid there, an arm thrown across her eyes. “So close.”

Rebecca rolled as her stomach revolted, giving up its meager contents. Pushing herself to her knees with the last heave, she drew the back of a hand across her mouth.

The memory of losing Sabrina burned in her mind forever, but these fresh images; God, they made it so much worse. Rebecca crawled the few feet to the still open door, shoved it closed and leaned against it, shaking with sobs.

The late morning sun shone through the windows when she refocused. Struggling to her feet, she took in the scene around her.

Clean this mess up, and then shower. You can deal with the rest later.

Rebecca tossed the soiled clothes in the washing machine on the way to the bathroom. Revived by the hot shower, Rebecca poured a glass of iced tea. She curled up in the big chair in the living room, rested her chin on her knees, and tried to make sense of the morning’s events. Break it down. Concentrate on one thing at a time. Tackle the vision at Ruby’s first.

Who are you, Nicole Wilson, and why are you in my head?


Read the reviews!

"Overall, the story line was interesting and filled with twists and turns. If you enjoy a romantic suspense with light paranormal aspects, then you may enjoy Mind Over Matter."
--Long and Short Reviews


"For something a bit different and daring that includes a protective, strong, hunky hero and an amazing heroine when it comes to won't-back-down in her convictions, this is the perfect read."
--Kay Dee Royal, author of Big Girls Don't Cry Wolf

PURCHASE AT MUSEITUP PUBLISHING OR AMAZON!

S. J. Clarke has published over fifty articles as a columnist and regular contributor for a variety of lifestyle and human interest websites. She is a grateful member of the Writers’ Community of Durham Region, and proud to sit on the Board of Directors for The Ontario Writer’s Conference. Sandra also co-authored Touretties, a touching tribute featuring testimonials from patients and their loved ones living with Tourette’s, released in 2011 by Sakura Publishing.

Mind Over Matter, her first novel in the Anderson Security series, released in November 2011 through MuseItUp Publishing. She is currently working on Forecasting Raine, book two of the Anderson Security series, and The Missing Time, a stand alone novel. 

Mystery Novel Month: The Journey of The Map Quilt by Lisa Lickel

Just how high a price does a family secret command?

Death in rural Wisconsin is only the beginning to new chaos in Robertsville. What do a stolen piece of revolutionary agricultural equipment, a long-buried skeleton in the yard, and an old quilt with secrets have in common? Hart and Judy Wingate, who met in The Gold Standard, are back to solve the mystery of The Map Quilt. Hart’s new battery design could forever change the farm implement industry. But after the death of Hart’s most confrontational colleague in a fire that destroys Hart’s workshop, the battery is missing.

Throw in a guest speaker invited to Judy’s elementary classroom who insists she owns the land under Hart’s chief competitor’s corporate headquarters, and a police chief who’s making eyes at Hart’s widowed mother, it’s no wonder Hart is under a ton of pressure to make sure his adventurous pregnant wife stays safe.

The Journey of The Map Quilt  by Lisa Lickel

The journey of The Map Quilt started when I was in fifth grade, learning about the Underground Railroad, watching my grandmother sew quilts, and discovering the astonishing fact that not all black people in the United States came here on slave ships. That was long before I was silly enough, about the age of forty, to start taking writing classes. I had edited a local history book for our local historical society and learned a little about press releases and follow-up articles—the extent of my writing.

I grew up on the east side of Wisconsin, but as I gradually learned more about the side closer to the Mississippi River, the rich culture wove its way into my psyche. To the north of our farm a colony of free black farmers settled in the community, where a few of the round barns created by a master carpenter, Alga Shivers, still stand. To the west of our farm a few farmers still grow tobacco and dry the leaves in long sheds.

Back on the eastern side of the state, while on a ramble one nice day, a historian of my town points out a dilapidated tavern and kitty-corner, a blank-eyed house on a rural crossroad. “They say there’s a tunnel under the road,” he says. “For the underground railroad.” It no longer exists, perhaps filled in, bordered up, or only a fanciful notion.

But that’s where fiction comes from – a veritable “what if” of fanciful notions. The whisper of a rumor, the wish of being part of history, the wonder of why we are the people we’ve come to be.

Quilting remains a popular pastime in the Midwest. We even paint quilt blocks on our barns. I once served as president of our elementary school parent-teacher program. I helped book many programs, including people who impersonated famous people to bring history to life for the children. I worked freelance for our community newspapers for a few years and even got to know the police chief of a nearby small town who is gracious enough to help me with facts.

I put all these strange events together and discover that story grows anywhere there’s fertile imagination. The Map Quilt is the continuation of a cozy mystery series about a free black woman and her son forced to flee terrible injustice on the Underground Railroad. The Robertsville, Wisconsin ladies quilting society makes lovely quilts to guide them to the next station, but tragedy strikes. In the present day, the local newspaper contains a mysterious code, while the main character, Hart’s widowed mother, has quite the interlude with the local bachelor police chief. Driving Hart crazier is a woman playing Harriet Tubman in Judy’s class, but who may have ulterior motives for visiting. Stories come from everywhere and anywhere. Stay alert. Use all of your experiences and blend different ones in wonderful, new combinations to create your own unique story. Lisa Lickel is a Wisconsin writer who lives in a hundred and sixty-year-old house built by a Great Lakes ship captain.

Ebook now available; print version coming soon.

To purchase the book, visit the publisher’s book store- http://bit.ly/JE7kti
or Amazon- http://amzn.to/KFRxrk

A multi-published novelist, she also writes short stories and radio theater, is an avid book reviewer, blogger, a freelance editor, and magazine editor. Find her at LisaLickel.com.

Romance Novel Month: Sloane Wolf by Margay Leah Justice

For more than a hundred and fifty years, the gray wolf has failed to roam the hills of Massachusetts, leading to the belief that they are extinct. But with a spattering of sightings across the Berkshires, the legend of the gray wolf comes to fruition. The product of that legend, Micah Sloane will go to great lengths to protect his kind from the threat of outsiders, who seek to exploit the legend for their own interests. One thing he didn’t count on, however, was finding his soul mate in the company of such men.

From the first time she predicted a stranger’s imminent death when she was little more than a child, Shiloh Beck knew she was different. Wishing to cultivate her gift, her parents made the fateful decision to enroll her in a private school for paranormally gifted children. Unbeknownst to them, the school was just a front for a research facility simply called the Institute, whose secret board members weaned gifted children from their families to exploit their gifts. Shiloh has spent the better part of her life trying to escape the Institute and reunite with the family she was told had abandoned her.

From their first meeting, Micah and Shiloh share a connection that goes beyond the normal to bond them in a way that love alone cannot. But before they can build a life together, they must deal with the fall-out when the legend of the wolves collides with the men behind the Institute.

Excerpt!

"No hiking trails where you live?"


Another odd expression crossed her face then, and once again, quickly masked. She favored him with an ironic little smile that zinged straight to his heart like Cupid's proverbial arrow. Damn, he was treading on dangerous ground here. If he were smart, he'd put an end to this nonsense and some distance between them. If he were smart.

"No," she murmured, looking ahead once more, "no trails where I live."

"City?"

"Not exactly."

Not exactly? How could you "not exactly" live in the city? Micah shook the question away as he directed his attention, and the conversation, toward her friend, several feet in front of them now. "You know, I've got to wonder why you needed us," he said. "Your friend seems to know where he's going."

"I don't see how," she disagreed, her breath coming in little pants as she negotiated the rugged terrain that steadily rose into the azure sky. "I've never known him to go for the hiking thing, either. This is a first for us both."

"And how long have you known him?"

A telling pause, then, "Most of my life."

"Family friend?"

The question brought her up short. Literally. Stopping in the middle of their makeshift path, she turned to face him, a defiant expression on her face. Fascinating, he thought as he mimicked her actions. His brothers, he absently noted, didn't miss a beat as they strode along in a semi-circle behind Jon, their attention focused upon him and nothing else. And then it was just him—and her, standing beneath the hickories and oaks.

* * * *

Shiloh waited for the others to put some distance between them, watching as they did so, before she turned her attention back to Micah. She was nearly undone by the headiness of standing so close to him. Did the man have any idea of his potency or was she the only one he affected this way?

"Okay, you want to tell me what this is all about?" she demanded, wrapping her arms about her waist in a defensive gesture and to control her wayward longings, a vain attempt.

"What?"

"This." She waved a hand between them in indication of the topic. "The interrogation."

"It wasn't exactly an interrogation," he tried to deny.

The nerve of him!

"Oh?" she challenged. "

Reviews:

"Excellent action scenes, deep points of view from Shiloh (heroine) and Micah (hero), along with subtly sensual tension. Satisfying ending with a number of golden threads to carry us (readers) into the next book of the series.

Definitely entertaining."

--Kay Dee Royal, author of Big Girls Don't Cry Wolf

PURCHASE FROM MUSEITUP PUBLISHING OR AMAZON!

Descended from the same bloodline that spawned the likes of James Russell, Amy and Robert Lowell, Margay Leah Justice was fated to be a writer herself from a young age. But even before she knew that there was a name for what she was doing, she knew one thing: She had a deep and unconditional love for the written word. A love that would challenge her in times of need, abandon her in times of distress, and rediscover her in times of hope. Through her writing, Margay has learned to cope with every curve ball life has thrown her, including the challenges of single parenting, the harsh realities of living in a shelter, coping with the diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis, and the roller coaster ride of dealing with a child who suffers from bipolar disorder. But along the way she has rediscovered the amazing power of words.



Margay currently lives in Massachusetts with her two daughters, two cats, and a myriad of characters who vie for her attention and demand that their own stories be told.

Visit the author online at:

The Jane Austen Society Pages: http://textnovel.com/stories_list_detail.php?story_id=1347


http://margayleahjustice.blogspot.com/


http://moonlightlacemayhem.blogspot.com/


http://www.myspace.com/margay1122


http://twitter.com/Margay
http://www.facebook.com/MargayLeahJustice


http://myworld.ebay.com/margay1122

Romance Novel Month: Stand & Deliver Your Heart by Killarney Sheffield

Mistress Sarah was once a woman of promise, until a greedy relative left her to fend for herself on the cold, hard streets of London. Now she does the only thing she can to survive and care for those she has sworn to protect.

Lord Byron Cobbett has given up on life after the death of his beloved fiancee. On a trip to London to clear his family's name he is involved in a carriage accident.

Sarah gets more than she bargains for when she unwittingly rescues Byron. She must find a way to convince him to keep her secret. Can she allow her self to love him and still keep her promise? Will Byron stand and deliver his heart to the auburn haired bandit and risk his own freedom?


Excerpt:

Another fork of lightning lit up the sky, and she wondered if the weather was an omen of terrible things to come. She tried to keep from stiffening in the cold, flexing her limbs slowly so as not to spook their nervous mounts. Her horse shifted its weight, lowering its head away from the pelting rain.

Sarah listened for any sound indicating an approaching carriage. Where is it? Has the driver turned around and headed back to London because of the storm? Maybe we are wasting our time sitting out here in the rain. Perhaps the lady in question is not coming.

Just when she was about to give up, the mare lifted her head, ears pricked forward.

Sarah listened closely. After a few tense moments the sound of jingling harnesses and the rattle of an approaching coach made itself heard over the wind and rain.

“All right men, here she comes,” she whispered over her shoulder. “Get ready.”

Reviews:

"Killarney Sheffield delivers an entertaining and memorable romance when she throws her characters Mistress Sarah and Lord Byron Cobbett together. She introduces us to London’s squalor, the highwayman’s desperate plight, the thrill of a midnight ride, storms, passion, betrayal, violent death, trust, the King’s business, embezzled monies, prison, corporeal punishment, family intrigue and betrayal… and weaves them into a fast paced journey. Oh, and her heroine is as feisty as she is determined to succeed, and her hero must decide if there is something to live for in life other than his grief. The twists to this plot provide more than just the expected romance traits, giving a deeper level of complexity and drama to a risky relationship. Killarney tells a gripping tale. Mistress Sarah and Lord Byron Cobbett make great characters to bring to life the gritty reality of life on the streets of Regency London and the tightrope tension of living under the scrutiny of the King."

--Dragonmuse

Purchase from MuseItUp Publishing!

 

Killarney Sheffield is the mother of five, married 15 yrs to a retired dairy farmer and currently resides in Alberta on a beef farm. When she's not writing she likes showing her thoroughbred stallion (nicknamed Love Monkey), gardening, camping, listening to her iPod and even playing a little Guitar Hero with her kids.

Visit her online at http://author-killarney-sheffield.spruz.com/  and http://www.museituppublishing.com.


Enter for a chance to win an eCopy of Stand & Deliver Your Heart by Killarney Sheffield by filling out the Rafflecopter form below.




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Book Spotlight: The Premier by Janie Franz

Susan Davyss faces Hollywood temptation when filmstar David Salizon threatens to become more than a dream hero in her novel.

Read an excerpt!

The door opened. A tanned, dark-haired man, slight of build, entered.

Susan recalled the lines from her book. “…the stranger’s black hair that was beginning to gray at his temples caught her eye. It was an odd quality in someone his age with his obvious Spanish lineage and apparent refinement. She scanned his features, taking in his sensitive mouth and a nose hinting at an Aztec-like hawkishness…. His dark eyes concentrated intently for a few seconds on her and then retreated into his thoughts as if he could only focus on the world around him in brief glimpses…”

My God! Susan thought. If he looks at me like that, I’ll…I’ll… She took a deep breath. I’ll smile and shake his hand, she bolstered herself.

He was more than a handsome man and successful film star, more than a romantic leading man. He emanated an aura of confidence and aloofness, both irresistible qualities. Though he wore a casual tan bush shirt and snug European fit slacks, he still looked elegant, crisp, and neat as if he could repair his car and not smell of gasoline.

PURCHASE THE PREMIER FROM MUSEITUP PUBLISHING!

Janie Franz comes from a long line of liars and storytellers with roots deep in east Tennessee. Honed by the frigid Northern Plains and a degree in anthropology, her writing skill and curiosity have generated thousands of feature and cover articles over a vast range of topics for more than a hundred regional, national, and international publications for over a decade.

She has co-written two books with Texas wedding DJ, Bill Cox (The Ultimate Wedding Ceremony Book and The Ultimate Wedding Reception Book), and has self-published a writing manual, Freelance Writing: It’s a Business, Stupid!

She runs her own online music publication, Refrain Magazine (http://www.refrainmagazine.com/), is a book and music reviewer, and was a radio announcer, a booking agent/publicist for a groove/funk band, and a yoga/relaxation instructor.

The Premier is her seventh work of published fiction. Visit her online at http://janiefranz.fourfour.com/home

Book Spotlight: Sugar Magnolia by Janie Franz

Music journalist/artist Shivaun Corbin, on assignment at charismatic rocker Daniel Madux’s Sugar Magnolia, discovers dark secrets and hidden passion.

Read an excerpt!

Taking up her camera, Shivaun removed the lens cap, stuffing it into her jeans pocket, and turned the camera on. “Could you do some cuts from your new album so I can get a feel for the cover? Music Gumbo didn’t send me any samples.”

“That’s my fault,” he said.

Shivaun moved to take a shot of Mad Man adjusting his nearest set of Ziljan cymbals while banging his foot on the bass drum pedal. He looked like a gnome behind a bunch of mushrooms. Shivaun smiled.
“I control what goes out of the studio,” Daniel said, raising his voice and drawing her attention back to him.
She focused her camera lens on Daniel as he spoke, twisting the lens to a close up of his eyes. They were gray and obscure and could have been those of any vacant, older man of any era. Panning out to capture his signature hair and mustache, he became the Daniel Madux of myth.

“No one hears anything before it’s on the market except me. I have a lot of people to protect,” he added.

Daddy—her mind labeled his control. “I’m sure you do,” she said politely.

PURCHASE SUGAR MAGNOLIA AT MUSEITHOT PUBLISHING AND AMAZON!

Janie Franz comes from a long line of liars and storytellers with roots deep in east Tennessee. Honed by the frigid Northern Plains and a degree in anthropology, her writing skill and curiosity have generated thousands of feature and cover articles over a vast range of topics for more than a hundred regional, national, and international publications for over a decade.


She has co-written two books with Texas wedding DJ, Bill Cox (The Ultimate Wedding Ceremony Book and The Ultimate Wedding Reception Book), and has self-published a writing manual, Freelance Writing: It’s a Business, Stupid!


She runs her own online music publication, Refrain Magazine (http://www.refrainmagazine.com/), is a book and music reviewer, and was a radio announcer, a booking agent/publicist for a groove/funk band, and a yoga/relaxation instructor


Drawing from years of experience in music journalism, “Sugar Magnolia” became her fifth published work of fiction.


Visit Janie online at http://janiefranz.fourfour.com/home and her Facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Janie-Franz-Author/115142155208007.

Book Spotlight: Dax Rigby, War Correspondent by John Rosenman

As WWIII rages on Earth, War Correspondent Dax Rigby travels to the savage planet Arcadia to investigate and report on the Western Alliance’s mission there. Soon, he fights not only to save two intelligent alien species from extinction, but also to rescue a dying human outpost threatened by a mysterious disease.

Facing assassination attempts, seduction from a passionate pilot, and his own mysterious powers of resurrection, Dax struggles to maintain his loyalties and complete his mission. The fate of two worlds hangs in the balance. Will he find a way to redefine both his identity and his destiny in time?

Read an excerpt!

Chapter One


Welcome To Paradise

Dax left the ship and stepped into madness.

First there were the cheers and then the blinding tropical sun as he moved out onto the ramp. Fumbling in his pocket, he hurriedly donned his sunglasses and looked out at Base Camp, humanity’s only foothold on the planet Arcadia. In front of him, other passengers froze in their descent, stunned by the heat and their reception.

At least two dozen in the camp had turned out to welcome them, shielding themselves with umbrellas against the sun. Dax saw men and women in ragged shirts and shorts shouting up at them. They all looked shrunken and withered, yet riveted by the ship’s arrival.

Why were they out in this terrible heat? Dax figured they must be damn happy to see their replacements. The ship’s arrival was proof they were finally going home. Otherwise, why risk death by heatstroke?

Feeling someone press against him from behind, he moved forward with his gear and descended the stairs. When he reached the ground, he adjusted his hat and scanned the area.

Base Camp consisted of thirty sorry units. According to accounts, they’d been here only three years. They looked faded and worn, bludgeoned by the planet’s heat. In just minutes, Dax was drenched with sweat and a bit woozy, too. He took a step and swayed on his feet.

“Easy, son, this heat’ll do it to you.”

He turned. Merriwether, the vice-captain of their ship. The man’s ancient eyes widened, as if to impart some secret.

Dax blinked, realizing the cheers had died. “We just got here, and you go back tomorrow?”

“Yes, and most of them do, too. Including the toughest ones who signed up for three years instead of one or two.” Merriwether rubbed his gray beard and gazed at the camp’s population, who mingled enthusiastically with the passengers. Dax heard laughter, and someone brayed, “Man, are we all glad to see you!”

“I hope you’re successful investigating the Hopper and Flyer war,” Merriwether said. “Even if you find out why they hate each other so much, how can it possibly help us beat the Eastern Alliance?”

Good question. He reached for his handkerchief and mopped his face. “I don’t know.” He didn’t say his major task was to discover why the WA—the Western Alliance—was so interested in the creatures in the first place. “By the way, I’m supposed to report to Major Campbell. Do you know where her quarters are?”

“I’m afraid not,” Merriwether said. “You might ask one of the camp members.”

After Merriwether left, Dax approached an emaciated, unshaven man with a parasol and asked him.

The other pointed theatrically. “Behold.”

Dax turned, seeing a faded plastic silver shack fifteen meters away. While the archaic word implied a stately sight, this battered prefab with its droopy awning looked indistinguishable from its fellows. Dax swung back to see if the man referred to another structure. The stranger, though, still pointed at the silver shack to emphasize his pronouncement.
“The major awaits your pleasure,” his informant said and limped away.

Left behind, Dax felt lost and abandoned. He’d studied Arcadia’s harsh conditions in advance, but it hadn’t fully prepared him for being here. Dax was convinced he’d been picked up and dropped in the most godforsaken backwater of the universe. This feeling intensified as the meeting of the incoming and outgoing crews rapidly became a boisterous party totally oblivious to him. Unless he was mistaken, it would soon disintegrate into an orgy.

Dax heard coarse laughter and witnessed the pouring of libations. And those funny-looking sticks going around—he’d smoked a few of them himself. A man and woman embraced, the woman a scrawny, beef-jerky greeter of her plump guest. She clutched the pudgy man, seeming to drain the life from his body. Glancing around, Dax realized most of the outgoing crew looked more than exhausted and physically depleted. Judging from their expressions, they were desperate as well.

What could have done this to them? And perhaps equally important, why didn’t any of the reports he’d read mention this?

Though only twenty-three, Dax knew how to size up places quickly. Water, food, and the climate were reportedly safe on Arcadia. However, something seemed wrong. He was tough, having brought himself up by sheer guts and determination after his mother, his only parent, had died when he was ten. But he already felt—or imagined he felt—this world creeping into his bones, draining his spirit.

He raised his eyes and gazed out past the camp. Though the land had been cleared for a dozen meters beyond, the rain forest crouched on all sides, waiting to pounce. The lush fertility, the towering green trees, and glorious, multicolored flowers seemed ominously excessive. Dax wondered if they drew their vitality from the withered souls they surrounded.
The thought was a little dramatic for him. Yet he shivered in the heat and wondered about the fatality rate.

Shouts. He turned to see a bottle being passed around. Why didn’t Major Campbell stop this behavior, or at least control it? The question made him remember his mission here, and he lowered his bag to the ground. Reaching in, past the plastic holo of his girlfriend, Lexis, he took out one of his minicams and thumbed a button.

“This is Dax Rigby reporting for TransWorld,” he said, sighting around at the camp. “Today, July Nine Standard, we landed at Base Camp on Arcadia after a journey of thirty-one days. My initial impressions of the place are—”

An especially loud outburst of laughter made him press the Stop button. He watched as several groups dispersed for the privacy of shacks. When things settled down, he pressed the Record button and opened his mouth.

No words came out.

He knew he should discuss Arcadia’s oppressively hot beauty and the unusual reception they’d received. He should speculate as to why the Flyers and Hoppers fought, and even more, why it mattered. Why, in short, had the WA bankrolled an extended mission to this remote sweltering outpost, and what in hell did they hope to accomplish here? For some reason, though, Dax didn’t say anything. Instead he squirmed, pulling at his clothes. His shirt stuck to his skin with sweat, and his underwear had wedged up tight in the crack of his buttocks.
He remembered how Jarret, his bureau chief, teased him concerning this assignment. “Sorry there’s no high tech there. Boy, I know you love your comforts. Take my advice and look on it as a challenge.”

Dax stopped adjusting his clothes. There were no vids and foam mattresses here, and worse, perhaps no AC either. Jarret was right. Dax did enjoy his comforts. Still, he could take it, heat and sweat and all. He could take anything this place threw at him because it represented his golden opportunity.

Golden opportunity? Those had been Jarret’s words. Sweating in the sun, Dax realized how his employer had manipulated him, playing on his poverty and curiosity, his hunger to succeed. “Son, be our War Correspondent on Arcadia. If you can find out why we’re there, it’ll make your fortune. You can write your own ticket!”
And the reward included marrying his daughter Lexis, whom Jarret, a snob, did not want Dax to marry. Oh yes, Dax saw now how skillfully Jarret had pushed his buttons, waving the banner of fame and fortune. Young and hungry, confident in his abilities, and fascinated by the opportunity to further his study of this mysterious planet, Dax had been unable to resist the challenge and had let Jarret send him nine hundred light-years from Earth.
A bittersweet memory struck: Lexis with her beautiful, almond-colored face, begging him not to go, flashing eyes fixed on him, and her slender, voluptuous form tense with fear. “It’s my father’s way of getting rid of you.” She’d sobbed. “You’ll never come back, and I’ll never see you again!”
“I have to go, Lexis,” he’d said. “It’s for our future. I have no choice!”

“I don’t need you to be rich, Dax. I need you!”

He’d shaken his head. “I’ve been poor all my life, Lexis. Believe me, it’s worth anything to have money. Besides, I feel I’ll be successful.”

“And I feel you’ll die on Arcadia, Dax. Please—stay on Earth!”

Glancing at the hot, miserable camp, Dax felt his illusion crumble. This place didn’t belong on the beautiful green and blue globe he’d seen on the ship’s display screen. God in Space, why had he come here?
A full month already gone… By now, Lexis could have found someone else. Men were attracted to her as ants to sugar. Even if he survived Arcadia, his assignment here lasted for a full year. And even with hyper-jumps, by the time he returned, at least fourteen months would have passed.
Don’t think of home. Dax swatted away one of the pesky drill flies and pocketed his cam. There’d be time later to record his first impressions of this place. He’d better wait until after he reported to the CO.

Wiping his face with his handkerchief, he picked up his bag and headed toward Major Campbell’s office.
Suddenly he heard an unearthly roar, a weird, piercing bellow. He whirled, searching without success for the source. Those who were still in the open froze in horror. The sound must have been a Hopper. He recognized its distinctive sound from a vid he’d seen.

The roar came again. This time it was louder, filling the sky and the world. Dax, with his reporter’s instincts, yanked out his cam and held it up to capture the sound.

The roar rose and fell, reminding him of…a crazed hippo. The roar’s dark modulations, the way it ululated and made the air vibrate…
In the camp, most ran for cover. A lone pair of new arrivals clutched each other. Dax watched them break for the nearest hut.
Where was Major Campbell? Why didn’t she get off her ass and do something?

Before Dax headed for cover himself, the roar faded and died. Trembling, he put the cam back in his bag. What luck! Ten minutes after he got here, he’d already recorded one of the warring monsters. For some reason, though, he didn’t feel much elation. The creature had sounded so creepy, so bone-chillingly eerie. Its cry continued to resonate inside him.
Dax shook it off. Come on, get a grip. More important, get a story.

Inhaling the hot air, he headed toward Major Campbell’s shack. He stopped at the door, reading the two signs on it.

The first was a steel plate. It read: Major Shade Campbell, Base Commander.

Below it, the other sign made him blink. It was done in what appeared to be red paint. The block letters were uneven and had dripped down the door, the color of fresh blood.
Welcome To Paradise.

Dax swallowed, raised his hand, and knocked.

“Come in.”

The voice sounded muffled. Dax wiped his face and lifted the latch.

Read the reviews!

“Dax is new on Arcadia. His job, report the facts for TransWorld. But from the moment he set foot on this world, everything seemed wrong. Major Campbell, the woman in charge, is high as a kite in her office, all the residents seem a little unhinged, and within an hour of his arrival, Dax has adopted a baby Flyer- a strange, bird-like creature that lives on Arcadia and is one of the reasons the Western Alliance has come to Arcadia.

His second day finds him lost on the wild planet after an attempt on his life, fighting giant alien insects and protecting his guide, Casey, whose advances become more and more difficult to resist. And it doesn’t stop when fate finally brings them back to their base camp. What more does this mysterious planet have in store for Dax and the rest of the humans stationed at the base? And what’s more terrifying–an unknown, alien threat or the threat that comes from within?

Electrifying. Absolutely enthralling. I’ve never really gotten into Sci-Fi stories like this one, set in our own distant future on a planet far, far away, where giant monsters threaten our very existence, but Dax Rigby: War Correspondent wasn’t that kind of story. There’s enough action to keep the plot moving, enough intrigue to keep your mind racing, and just enough romance to keep you searching for more. It draws on the world of chaos and violence that exists behind our network-news-filtered view of humanity and projects what the break-down of our society might look like if we keep down this path to self-destruction. It really gets you thinking–would I really push as hard as Dax to get the truth, braving warring aliens and multiple attempts on my life by those I thought were my friends? And if I found half of what Dax discovered on Arcadia, would I even be able to wrap my mind around it, or would I just curl up and wish it all away? All of this is only made better by the author’s eloquence, and the fluidity of his style makes the story just wash over the reader. You start reading and suddenly you’re fifty pages in and you know you just aren’t going to be able to stop reading. I will definitely be looking for more books by Mr. Rosenman!”

MR Review
Rating: 5 stars
Reviewer: Stacey

"I enjoyed the intrigue and how the story drew you further in as well as the comedic aspect that Dax shared via his thoughts to the situations surrounding him. I found the descriptions of the people and the scenes to be climatic in their approach, you couldn't help but wonder what was causing such mishaps and depravity to grow."

--Mad Moose Mama

PURCHASE A COPY OF DAX RIGBY, WAR CORRESPONDENT FROM MUSEITUP PUBLISHING OR AMAZON!

John recently retired as an English professor at Norfolk State University where he designed and taught a course in how to write Science fiction and Fantasy. He is a former Chairman of the Board of the Horror Writers Association and has published approximately 350 stories in places such as Weird Tales, Whitley Strieber’s Aliens, Fangoria, Galaxy, The Age of Wonders, and the Hot Blood anthology series. John has published twenty books, including SF action/romantic adventure novels such as Beyond Those Distant Stars and Speaker of the Shakk (Mundania Press), A Senseless Act of Beauty (Crossroad Press), and Alien Dreams (Drollerie Press and Crossroad Press). Shorter books include A Mingling of Souls and Music Man (XoXo Publishing), Here Be Dragons (Eternal Press), The Voice of Many Waters (Blue Leaf Publications), Green in Our Souls (Damnation Books), and Bagonoun’s Wonderful Songbird and Childhood’s Day (Gypsy Shadow Publishing). Recent developments: MuseItUp Publishing published two novels, Dark Wizard and Dax Rigby, War Correspondent. Another SF novel, Inspector of the Cross, will appear in February. MuseItUp Publishing also published More Stately Mansions and The Blue of Her Hair, the Gold of Her Eyes, and it will release Steam Heat, a tale of erotic horror in December.

Readers can visit John at his website, www.johnrosenman.com, and other sites:

http://www.myspace.com/291520102\

https://twitter.com/#!/Writerman1,

https://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=1164323809 and . . .

http://s631.photobucket.com/albums/uu31/jrosenman/.

Giveaways, Contests and Prizes!

In celebration of John Rosenman’s release of Dax Rigby, War Correspondent, he will be appearing at Pump Up Your Book’s 1st Annual Holiday Extravaganza Facebook Party on December 16. More than 50 books, gifts and cash awards will be given away including an ebook that is available at his website (unavailable: The Best Laugh Last, Introduction to Literature, and More Stately Mansions collection of stories) and a second winner residing in the U.S. will receive a printed copy of Beyond Those Distant Stars ! Visit the official party page here!