#ExcerptWeek

#ExcerptWeek – Living in the Shadows by Judith Barrow

/ Marcia Meara / 50 Comments

51CLk1CvWvL._SX327_BO1,204,203,200_ (1)living in the shadows

Chapter 27: Victoria

Thursday 25th September

Victoria was lonely. It was a week since she’d arrived and she hadn’t made any friends yet. She sensed most of the women resented her. Probably because she was Seth’s favourite, she told herself, pushing away the memory of two days ago.

She hadn’t seen him to speak to since then.

She thought it would be so different being in a commune; that she’d belong; be accepted for herself. Not as Richard’s stroppy sister, or her parents’ difficult daughter, which she knew was how they thought of her, but as one of the community here; as Seth’s girlfriend. It wasn’t turning out like that; not yet anyway. Two of the girls in the dorm had already complained about the amount of time she spent on herself instead of her taking on a share of the work. Well, stuff them, they could get lost. She had no intention of looking as grungy as they did. Any more than she was going to learn how to do the stupid knitting Jasmine had insisted she tried. She reckoned if she kept on dropping stitches Jasmine would give up on her. As for using that makeshift cooking range… Victoria shut out the humiliating scene. That woman, Chrystal, hadn’t needed to be so nasty, how was she to know she was supposed to check there was enough wood to keep the fire going underneath? Wasn’t that a job for the men? The tears came easily.

She breathed on the window and rubbed a circle in the grime on the glass with her finger. Peering out, she shivered. She hated it here.

She hated the rusted fence, just yards from the building she was in, and beyond it the expanse of wasteland. Hated the ugly skeletons of old buildings, mapped out on the ground by foundation stones, covered in pink weeds and coarse grass. Hated the spindly-looking shrubs growing from the collapsed ruins of the old mill. She especially hated the large corroded metal sheets that had replaced a part of an old fence, blocking off any view of the road beyond. By twisting her head she could just about see the large gates, padlocked together and leaning lopsidedly against two brick pillars. Like a bloody prison, she thought.

The excitement she’d felt last Wednesday as they drove away from the boring little village in Wales had gone. She’d replaced one stifling place for another.

If only they hadn’t walked by the canal that day.

She flopped down on her mattress and looked down the long room that was allocated to the single women in the commune. There was no one else around but they’d left their smells behind. She crinkled her nose against the smell…no, the stench, she thought the stench of sweat, of unwashed hair. Body odours. She pulled at the thin, horrid sheet of material that divided her mattress from the next. It didn’t reach far enough for her; she’d have liked to shut everybody out completely. The ‘so called’ curtains separating the twelve narrow mattresses weren’t enough to give Victoria the privacy she’d been used to.  But they were enough to make her feel cut off from the other girls when they chatted at night.

That was how she knew that Seth held the daily meditations that she hadn’t been allowed to go yet. All he’d said on the second day she was in the commune was, ‘I’ll know when you’re ready to join in.’

She listened to their discussions, jealous of their time spent with him, envious whenever one of them had been singled out for group contemplation. Wanting to feel part of what they shared. To learn how to find that spiritual peace she’d been unable to find. That Seth had promised her that day, way back in the summer.

~~~

judith headshot

Although I was born and brought up in a small village on the edge of the Pennine moors in Yorkshire, for the last forty years, I’ve lived with my husband and family near the coast in Pembrokeshire, West Wales, UK, a gloriously beautiful place.
 
I’ve written all my life and have had short stories, poems, plays, reviews and articles published throughout the British Isles. But only started to seriously write novels after I’d had breast cancer twenty years ago.  Four novels safely stashed away, never to see the light of day again, I had the first of my trilogy, Pattern of Shadows, published in 2010, the sequel, Changing Patterns, in 2013 and the last, Living in the Shadows in 2015. I’m now writing the prequel. Hopefully then the  family in this series will leave me alone to explore something else!
I have an MA in Creative Writing, B.A. (Hons.) in Literature, and a Diploma in Drama and Script Writing.  I am also a Creative Writing tutor for Pembrokeshire County Council’s Lifelong Learning Programme and give talks and run workshops on all genres.
 
I also organise the Tenby Book Fair in September and, at the moment, am interviewing all the authors who will be appearing there on my website http://www.judithbarrow.co.uk.

When I’m not writing or teaching, I’m doing research for my writing, walking the Pembrokeshire countryside or reading and reviewing I review books for Rosie Amber’s Review Team #RBRT, along with some other brilliant authors and bloggers.

My Books:

Pattern of Shadows:
http://amzn.to/1onvi4R
http://amzn.to/1WBN3bP
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-ca/ebook/pattern-of-shadows
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1Riznh1 

Amazon.co.uk & Amazon.com

Changing Patterns:
http://amzn.to/21rNd6u
http://amzn.to/1U1TRSd
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-ca/ebook/changing-patterns
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1U1XmYD

Amazon.co.uk & Amazon.com 

 Living in the Shadows:
http://amzn.to/1PWBLiV
http://amzn.to/22grYXn
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-ca/ebook/living-in-the-shadows-1
Barnes &Noble: http://bit.ly/1pHmeIh

 

#ExcerptWeek – P. S. I Forgive You by D. G. Kaye

/ Marcia Meara / 37 Comments

DG quote PS I Forgive You (2)

Thank you, Marcia for inviting me over again to share an excerpt of my work in progress. I’m going to admit I am a bit gun-shy because I never usually share my unpolished work, and please keep in mind this is only a second draft.

This segment is from my upcoming book P.S. I Forgive You. This is the sequel to my memoir, my first book, Conflicted Hearts, which was written and published while my narcissistic mother was still alive. This new book is closure to the hurts from emotional abuse and neglect, with understanding, and ultimately the forgiveness I found for my mother.

Excerpt from WIP – P.S. I Forgive You

Karma

It was up to me to break the bad Karma, according to the psychic reader and seer of past lives I was highly recommended to visit, while I was in Sedona, Arizona, early September of 2014.

After she informed me about events that would occur in my life in the coming year, Rayne granted me three questions. Being the skeptic I am, I was careful not to reveal much when having the reading done, in order to gauge how much the reader could tell me without my volunteering information. I merely nodded my head in affirmation when she’d say something accurate. Then I proceeded to ask her my questions.

I asked a minimally phrased question to Rayne, not wanting to divulge anything about my mother. “What about my mother?”

“What about your mother?” Rayne replied. She stared deep into my eyes with an inquisitive raised eyebrow. She looked at me in question, perhaps waiting for more before she told me she didn’t feel the presence of my mother in my life. My eyes held her gaze for a moment, but I didn’t offer another word.

Rayne proceeded to take a large, ancient-looking deck of cards out of a black velvet bag. She informed me these were not regular tarot cards, but her personal cards, handed down to her from past generations from her home in Thailand.

Dominating thoughts of my mother plagued my head with the guilt once again in that moment while Rayne shuffled the cards. I couldn’t seem to stop dwelling on the last time I abandoned my mother seven years before, because I knew, she wouldn’t live out the current year. My torturing thoughts nagged within, battling my indecision about whether or not I had to go see her and say good-bye before she died. Even though I knew it would have been a fruitless exercise, and would have only subjected me to more abuse, I still couldn’t manage to shake the guilt I carried.

Rayne continued placing her cards in a pattern of some random magical order, and raised her eyes to meet mine. In a soothing voice, she confirmed the truth, “Your mother is not in your life.” And then she added, “No, you don’t have to go back, but you must pray for her.” A feeling of relief ran through me as though she had read my mind, confirming and consoling me, by telling me it was okay not to have to go back.

After Rayne made that statement, I became eager to share some thoughts with her. She’d pegged the question plaguing me as every day passed in the few months before mother died. I let Rayne know I had already been praying for my mother every day, for seven years, even though we weren’t speaking. Rayne once again confirmed that was all I needed to do.

In the next sentence, Rayne informed me that my mother and I were mortal enemies in a past life. Vague as that statement was, I could almost understand it. Rayne continued, “Your mother didn’t learn her life lessons in this or her past life, and your conflicts weren’t resolved in your present lives.” She also shared with me that I didn’t choose to be born to my family, I was sent there. Rayne didn’t elaborate on that sentence. The past life regression part she was touching on wasn’t part of the reading package I’d purchased. She told me she was sharing those facts because they were so prominent in the cards.

I wanted to know more, but neither time, nor money permitted as a past life reading involved an hour and a half long session, and several hundred dollars more. I didn’t want to abuse her power, or seem like I was trying to weasel out any extra information, but I was compelled to ask Rayne why I was sent to my family. She told me I was sent there to teach my mother life-lessons.

Rayne reminded me once again to keep praying for my mother. She explained to me that by praying for her soul while she was alive, it would break the bad Karma between us that carried over into this life. Rayne continued, letting me know I’d be set free by praying for my mother, and that she would finally learn her lessons after she left this world.

I took solace in Rayne’s words. My intuition has always led me to believe I have some sense of an inner knowing, and that knowing strangely reminds me of the invisible hold my mother has always had on me. Somehow, this tiny piece of understanding from Rayne made me realize that life is bigger than anything I could ever imagine.

 My body felt a calming from my agitated state of conflict. A weight lifted from my soul. I received the confirmation. It was okay for me not to go back.

Six weeks later, my mother died.
D.G. Kaye ©2016

D.G. Kaye Author

Author D. G. Kaye 

Please drop by my blog and visit at www.dgkayewriter.com  and visit my author page on Amazon  www.amazon.com/author/dgkaye7

My Books:

Conflicted Hearts           www.smarturl.it/bookconflictedhearts
Words We Carry             www.smarturl.it/bookwordswecarry
MenoWhat? A Memoir www.smarturl.it/bookMenowhatAMemoir
Have Bags, Will Travel   www.smarturl.it/bookHaveBags

 

 

 

#ExcerptWeek – PUCK’S CHOICE (Shifters & Mages, Book 1) by Skye Hegyes

/ S.D. Hegyes / 3 Comments

Puck's ChoicePuck’s Choice by Skye Hegyes

Puck Dupree moved in with her sister after spending over a year trapped in the form of a fox. She had hoped to move on with a normal teenage life; however, trouble seems to have followed her.

The Council wants her to partner with a mage or forfeit her life, a friend of hers has a stalker who may or may not be trying to destroy her, and a boy at school keeps watching her. If only she could decide if he wants to kiss her or kill her.

Hello there! I’m glad to be back for #ExcerptWeek! I’m once again posting an excerpt from Puck’s Choice. It’s the first novel in the Shifters & Mages series. Book two, Jenna’s Story comes out in December, and I’d like to have some more reviews on the Puck’s Choice before it comes out. It’s a NA paranormal romance, and if that’s something you’re interested in, feel free to let me know. I’m willing to give away free copies in exchange for an honest review. So, sit back and check out this excerpt from Puck’s Choice!

Excerpt

That was when she felt it. The anger. The hatred. The suspicion. Like a bite to the brain. She couldn’t feel it until the poison really sank in, but as soon as she did, she stiffened. Next to her, Jay glanced at her, his frown asking what was wrong.

It was something she couldn’t explain. She was being watched, and the eyes watching her were not friendly. Not in the least.

Her eyes wandered over the sea of tables, waves of faces both standing and sitting.

And there it stood. The source of her unease. The bitter anger she felt seeping through her; a projection of something she didn’t quite understand.

There he was dressed in jeans and a white undershirt, his skin tanned from working in the sun and dark hair shaved close to his head. He stood across the cafeteria, watching her with his arms crossed, his brown eyes dark with anger. She wasn’t sure, but there was only one time she’d felt anything like it. There are times when you know, without knowing exactly how you know, that someone hates you. This was one of those times.

She was reminded of Warren, her ex-boyfriend, and bit the inside of her cheek until it bled.

“Are you okay?” Jay asked.

“Huh?” she asked, her eyes shifting from the foreign figure in the distance back to the table.

“You look a little freaked,” Iris had been watching Puck too.

“Like you’ve seen a ghost, actually,” Daren chimed in through bites of his sub.

“No,” Puck lied, standing up. “I have to go. See you in English.” She threw her book bag over her shoulder. She’d lost her appetite. There was no way she could eat anything else on that tray. Not if someone forced it down her throat.

She could feel them watching her as she dumped her tray and moved across the cafeteria in a way that she wouldn’t come face-to-face with the guy watching her. She kept her eyes down, afraid to look up at him again. That hatred was so strong!

She bumped into someone.

“Oh,” she exclaimed as she looked up to see who she’d run into. Then she stared at him in a mixture of terror and amazement. It was the same guy who’d been watching across the cafeteria. His eyes, which she’d originally thought were brown, really weren’t. They were the color of molten gold. If she hadn’t known better, she would have said he had wolf eyes, but his eyes were too dark.

Still when she looked at him, how he had his feet slightly apart as if ready to take the brunt of an attack but still poised to throw one himself, how tense he was, she found his air predatory.

About the Author

Dragons, wolves, and sharp objects are commonplace in Skye Hegyes’ home in North Carolina. She spends most of her time between writing and working. When not doing either of these things, you may find her making crafts or adventuring with her family, which consists of her husband, two daughters, two birds, and three cats… and a partridge in a pear tree…

#ExcerptWeek – Swamp Ghosts by Marcia Meara

/ Marcia Meara / 17 Comments

swamp-ghosts

Since we got such a rush of excerpts at the end of last week, I extended it for another one, but now it’s gone quiet again. You know what THAT means, doncha? You’ll be getting more of MINE, again. 😀 Starting with this one from Swamp Ghosts, which hasn’t been feeling the love around around here, and demanded that I give it equal time. Maggie Devlin and Gunnar Wolfe have just met, when Gunn hired Maggie to canoe him into some remote waterways to photograph rare birds. Turns out, Gunn knows nothing about canoes or boats at all. Hence, the early morning lesson before their first foray into the black waters of the St. Johns. And did I mention, prickly Maggie doesn’t much care for the big guy. So far. 🙂 Enjoy!

~~~

SUNDAY MORNING ARRIVED looking like a picture out of a travel brochure. A buttery yellow sun beamed down from a cloudless swath of blue sky, and the trees along the river were that jewel-like shade of green you only see in early summer. I watched Gunn as he surveyed the boat launch. “You sure you don’t want to do a dry run on land first?”

“Maggie, I’d feel silly standing over there under a tree, getting in and out of the canoe, instead of just launching it here, like anyone else. I’m sure I can do this.”

“Okay, Thor. Your funeral,” I muttered.

Gunn’s eyes widened. “Excuse me? Thor? Did you just call me Thor?”

I looked up from the cooler I was arranging in the stern of the canoe in order to offset his weight in the front. “Oh, please don’t tell me I’m the only one to ever call you that.”

He was put out. More so than I expected, though to be honest, I had been trying to get a rise out of him. His perpetual good humor was getting on my nerves this early in the morning.

“Actually, you are.” Now he had a definite scowl on his face.

“You’re kidding, right? I mean, look at you.”

He was growing redder, and his smile was ancient history, now. Hmmm. This was a different, and unexpected, side to Gunnar Wolfe.

“I beg your pardon? Look at me? What are you talking about?”

“Gunn, for Pete’s sake. You look just like the guy. You know? The guy from the Avenger movies?”

His mouth dropped open in astonishment, as though such a thought had never crossed his mind. “I don’t look like that guy!”

“Yes, you do. Exactly.”

“I do not!”

“Do.”

“Oh my God, Maggie. Just because we are both blond . . .”

“And huge.”

“And … big … doesn’t mean we look alike!”

He stomped back to the truck to get our floating seat cushions and paddles, muttering to himself every step of the way. Damn. I may have been trying to needle him a bit, but I didn’t expect it to be quite so successful.

We carried the canoe down to the area designated for launching smaller craft, and I pushed it nose first into the water, leaving the stern on the sand. I could tell he was still annoyed with me, but I figured it would be best to just ignore it.

“Watch how I do this.” I stepped into the canoe. “You have to be sure your feet are in the dead center, one right behind the other. You want to bend at the waist and hold onto the gunwaling—this aluminum edge around the top of the canoe—with each hand. Then you carefully walk forward bent like this, but remember to keep holding on for balance. Step over each thwart—these braces here—then step over the bow seat, and sit down. Once you’re sitting, I’ll push the canoe out, and we’ll talk about paddling. Remember, don’t let go of the gunwaling while you’re walking. Oh, and be careful to keep your feet centered directly over the keel. That’s this indentation right here that runs down the middle of the canoe.”

I straightened up, turning to get out and realized Gunn had that look on his face. You know … the one guys get when they are staring at your butt and don’t think you will catch them? But then you do, and they get this stupid, wide-eyed look of fake innocence that makes you want to smack them with a two by four? Yeah. That look. Continue reading →

#ExcerptWeek – Another #Harbinger Excerpt on Carmen’s Blog

/ Marcia Meara / 17 Comments

e9b3da6713b2c2c542fa3df6db739ba8
One of my inspirations for the Birdwell drive.

Just wanted to share a brand new excerpt from Harbinger, for those who’d like to read a completely different type of scene. This one features Mac and his adopted son, Rabbit, hiking up a long, deserted mountain driveway to an abandoned cabin. I won’t go into the reasons they’re headed that way, because it would involve spoilers, but I think the scene might capture your imagination, anyway. Hope you’ll take a minute to check it out, and my heartfelt thanks to Carmen for having me as a guest on her blog. (I’m still trying to get my head around the idea that someone in Romania is posting a sample of my work. What a world we live in!)

Check out the Excerpt HERE.

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Available on Amazon in Print and Kindle Format

#ExcerptWeek – Pairs On Ice by Elizabeth Weiss Vollstadt

/ evollstadt / 10 Comments

Front Cover, small file

Pairs on Ice, a Novel for Tweens

Jamie, 12, is a competitive figure skater who dreams of the Olympics.  She won a medal at the U.S. National Championships and is getting ready for the next season.  At the rink one afternoon, her coach, Christa, tells her that some people are coming to watch her skate, but won’t say who or why.  Jamie’s best friend suggests that they could be millionaires who want to sponsor her skating.  Jamie laughs, but then wonders if maybe it could be true.  At the end of her lesson, she skates her freestyle program.

“Good job,” Christa said, “but not perfect.”

“And you gotta be perfect to win.”  Jamie said it before Christa could.

But Christa wasn’t listening.  She was scanning the bleachers again.  Jamie followed her eyes to three people—a man, a woman and a boy—sitting by themselves near the top.  How could she have missed them before?  The man looked like any parent, with dark hair, brown jacket, and a cup of coffee in his hand.  But the woman!  Her pouffed up bleached hair and white fur jacket wasn’t like any mom Jamie had ever seen.  Jamie studied the boy.  He was wearing all black and . . . her eyes froze.  He was the wild skater who almost ran her down!

“That’s the O’Connors,” Christa said, turning back to Jamie.  “I’ll introduce you to them, but first, we have to talk.  Let’s go to my office.”

Jamie watched them clump down the bleachers.  The woman led the way.  No one smiled.  Jamie knew one thing already–they didn’t want to sponsor her skating.  A knot formed in her stomach as she followed Christa to the edge of the rink.  She had a bad feeling about this.

They stepped off the ice, only to find their way blocked by the woman.  Christa took Jamie’s arm and tried to maneuver around her.  “Nice to see you, Violet.  Jamie and I will meet you in the snack bar in a few minutes.”

She might have been talking to the air.  The woman didn’t budge.  The stiletto heels on her black boots dug deep into the soft flooring surrounding the rink.

“I don’t know, Christa,” she said, waving long red nails at Jamie.  “She’s the right size, but how can you think her skating’s up to Matt’s?  I mean, she two-footed the landing of her one triple and . . .”

Jamie flinched as the woman attacked her skating.

“Violet, please,” Christa interrupted.  “Not now.  I told you I had to talk to Jamie.”

The woman kept talking.  “. . . her form in the double combination wasn’t all that good.”

The boy in black looked at Jamie as if she were a bug he wanted to squash.  “I have two triples down cold,” he said.  “I’m not going to skate with anyone who can’t even . . . Hey, I bet you’ve never even skated pairs, have you?”  He jabbed at her.  “Huh?”

Jamie stepped back.  Who WAS this kid?  And why was he talking about pairs?

Christa tried again.  “Please, all of you.  Get yourselves a snack and wait for us.”

The session ended and skaters poured off the ice.  Violet shook her head at the crowded counter.  “It’s too busy in there.  We should go to your office.”  She looked at Jamie again.  “Although I think we might be wasting our time.”

The man in brown smiled at Jamie.  He put a hand on his wife’s shoulder.  “Come on, Violet, let’s do what Christa says.  And if you want my opinion, I think the young lady skates beautifully.”

From the look Violet gave him, Jamie knew she didn’t want his opinion.

The Zamboni rumbled onto the ice to start its slow circles around the now-empty rink, leaving a layer of clean, smooth ice with each pass.

Jamie shivered at Matt and Violet’s icy glares.  “Could somebody maybe give me a clue about what’s going on?” she demanded.  “’Cause I have better things to do than stand here and freeze.”

Christa sighed.  She shot an angry look at Violet before turning to Jamie.  “Okay, I guess I didn’t handle this very well.”

Ya think? Jamie thought.

“I’m sorry,” Christa said.  “I wanted the O’Connors to see you skate . . . but I had planned that we’d talk . . . you see, you’re a talented skater, but you . . . so when Matt needed a partner . . .”  She took a deep breath.  “I thought you and Matt would make a good pairs team.”

Pairs?  With Matt?  Jamie’s eyes widened.  She wasn’t a pairs skater.  And even if she was, she’d rather eat worms than skate with someone as full of himself as Matt, whose crazy mother already hated her.  What was Christa thinking?

~~~

liz

ELIZABETH WEISS VOLLSTADT has many happy memories of skating on a nearby pond when she was growing up on Long Island, NY.  Like Jamie’s stepmother, she marveled at skaters who could jump, spin, and glide over the ice.  When her daughter became a skater, she enjoyed several years as a skating mom.

Elizabeth has also written Young Patriots: Inspiring Stories of the American Revolution.  She lives in Florida with her husband where she enjoys reading and boating on the St. Johns River.

~~~

AMAZON:
https://www.amazon.com/Pairs-Ice-Elizabeth-Vollstadt-ebook/dp/B00L1ISEQ2/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1467733206&sr=1-1&keywords=pairs+on+ice+by+elizabeth+weiss+vollstadt#nav-subnav

Find Elizabeth here:
http://www.amazon.com/author/elizabethvollstadt
www.elizabethvollstadt.blogspot.com

 

 

#ExcerptWeek – Shadows of the Past by Carmen Stefanescu

/ Marcia Meara / 9 Comments

   shadowsofthepastbk3      

Genre:  Paranormal/light romance/light historical/light mystery
                Mystery, Suspense, Reincarnation        

Blurb

Anne’s relationship with her boyfriend Neil has disintegrated. After a two-year separation, they pack for a week vacation in hopes of reconciling. But fate has other plans for them.

The discovery of a bejeweled cross and ancient human bones opens a door to a new and frightening world–one where the ghost of a medieval nun named Genevieve will not let Anne rest. This new world threatens not only to ruin Anne and Neil’s vacation but to end all hopes of reconciliation as Anne feels compelled to help free Genevieve’s soul from its torment.

Can Anne save her relationship and help Genevieve find her eternal rest?

A touching, compelling story of tragedy, loss and the power of endless love and good magic.

The twists and turns in this paranormal tale keep the reader guessing up to the end and weave themselves together into a quest to rekindle love.

Excerpt

The mountain shadows grew thicker and closer.

Genevieve moved her weight from one leg to the other. They ached from so much standing, but she lacked the strength to return to the gardener’s cottage and wait for Andrew’s arrival as planned. She closed her tired eyes. The image of old Ryan, slumped dead in his chair in his cubicle, caught life in her mind and made her whole body ripple with fear.

She’d rather wait for Andrew here, outside.

Had he forgotten his promise? What if something terrible befell him during the last three days, or he had changed his mind? Why should he risk all for an ordinary nun?

Had his folks talked him into giving her up, made him see reason? Helping her out of her predicament meant a huge risk for him –losing his family, his friends and his position among his peers. His words echoed in her mind. “I will risk everything for you, even life, if necessary.”

A gust of wind swirled the dust on the path and dried the beads of sweat covering her temple. She shivered and pressed her cool hands to her cheeks. Had she misunderstood Andrew? No. She remembered vividly what he’d told her when they talked in Ryan’s cottage. Three days. The evening of the third day, she should wait at Ryan’s.

Her gaze strayed again to the impassive building of the abbey, her home for such a long time. She blamed the increasing wind for the sudden trail of dampness on her face, for the unmistakable tears blurring her vision. She blinked several times to clear her view. This was no time for tears.

Genevieve’s brow wrinkled, and her breath caught in her throat. Sister Francesca and Sister Benedicta smiled and waved at her from the abbey’s entrance.            

She shook her head and closed her eyes. Impossible. Both were dead. Genevieve wiped her tears and gazed at the abbey again. The image of the two sisters, so dear to her, faded out.

Genevieve dared another peek along the path from the town.

Not a sound. Not a shadow.

Hopefully, Andrew hadn’t decided to follow the direct route through the forest. Danger lurked there. He should know all the dark legends people told about the cursed forest.

“Dear God, protect Andrew from the evil forest,” she prayed; Andrew’s face came to her as she’d last seen it three days before.

His kind loving eyes. His soft encouraging words. His tender touch.

 She recalled the turmoil of emotions she’d experienced when she first met Andrew. Everything made sense now, in the light of the latest events. The warm waves coming from him and engulfing her, searing her body and soul, and the anxiety following those waves. It had been love at first sight. A feeling neither of them wanted to admit to until recently.

           Love. Love and sin.

 CArmen8

 Author Bio

Carmen Stefanescu resides in Romania, the native country of the infamous vampire Count Dracula, but where, for about 50 years of communist dictatorship, just speaking about God, faith, reincarnation or paranormal phenomena could have led someone to great trouble – the psychiatric hospital if not to prison.

High school teacher of English and German in her native country, and mother of two daughters, Carmen Stefanescu survived the grim years of oppression, by escaping in a parallel world that of the books.

Several of her poems were successfully published in a collection of Contemporary English Poems, Muse Whispers vol.1 and Muse Whispers vol.2 by Midnight Edition Publication, in 2001 and 2002.

 Her first novel, Shadows of the Past, was released in 2012 by Wild Child Publishing, USA. On 9th June 2016 she had a new release, Till Life Do Us Part, with Solstice Publishing.

                   Carmen joined the volunteer staff at Marketing For Romance Writers Author blog and is the coordinator of #Thursday13 posts.

   * * * * * * * * * *

Buy links: Wild Child Publishing
http://www.wildchildpublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=84&products_id=410

Amazon
 http://www.amazon.com/Shadows-of-the-Past-ebook/dp/B00AK2D9I8/ref=sr_1_15?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1354874514&sr=1-15&keywords=shadows+of+the+past

All Romance
https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-shadowsofthepast-1013184-140.html

Buy Link: Barnes & Noble
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#ExcerptWeek Extended! It’s Not Too Late!

/ Marcia Meara / 4 Comments

still life in chiaroscuro: opened antique book, a swan feather and a red rose in a vase

Since shaking a stout stick at everyone seems to have inspired folks to share their writing with us, I decided to extend #ExcerptWeek. From now until Sunday, those who didn’t get a chance to participate may do so, and those who already shared with us may do so AGAIN. Yep. Feel free to share a second excerpt, maybe from another book, if you like, or a different scene in the same one. We’ll take it, either way.

And since there seems to have been some confusion as to how to do this, let me just say this. Some of you are already set up to post at will on this blog. Just go right ahead and post your excerpts. Those of you who are  not yet a designated author on The Write Stuff, PLEASE email me so I can explain how you, too, can take part. It’s easy. I’ll help! Here is my email: mmeara@cfl.rr.com  Please drop me a line, so that you, too, can share in the fun.

AND, most importantly, PLEASE remember to SHARE these excerpts on all  your social media sites. That’s what this is all about–helping each other get the word out! Thanks for making last week fun. Now, let’s do it all over again!

#ExcerptWeek – Harbinger by Marcia Meara

/ Marcia Meara / 31 Comments

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Thought I’d squeeze in an excerpt of my own, if you guys will indulge me. This is a scene from Chapter 3 of  Harbinger: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 3. Hope it gives you a shiver or two, and you get a small hint as to the kind of man Cadey Hagen is, along the way. Enjoy!

~~~

3:00 A.M. Sunday, March 2, 2014
Morganton, North Carolina

EYELASHES FROZEN, EACH gasping breath a snowy plume in the frigid night air, the boy ran for his life. Heart pounding, he scrambled up the wooded slope, terror driving him faster and faster.

There! Just ahead, a warm light glowed in a small window. Home. Safety. Only a few yards more.

He lurched forward, sure he was going to make it, now. His heart sang with joy, even as his foot slid on an icy patch of old snow, and he went down hard, knocking the wind right out of himself. The metallic taste of blood from his bitten tongue flooded his mouth, and for a moment, he couldn’t move. He was simply too tired to keep going.

No, no, no…get up. You got to get up. You’re almost there.

Desperation gave him a last burst of energy, and panting, he struggled to his knees. The woods loomed dark and silent around him, and he dared to hope he had outrun his pursuer. Then he heard it. A soft rumble at first, the sound built into a full-throated growl, coming from the last stretch of trees between him and his daddy’s tiny cabin. Somehow, it had gotten in front of him. He was cut off!

As he stared in horror, two glowing pinpoints of red appeared not ten feet away, growing steadily larger, as the beast stepped out of the bushes and into the moonlight. The dog was huge, and black as coal. And those fiery eyes stared unblinking, directly into his.

Whimpering, he felt a rush of warmth as he wet himself. He’d seen the Black Dog, and that meant it had come for him. He was going to die.

Somewhere in the dim recesses of his mind, he heard his aunt calling his name, but it was already too late. When Ol’ Shuck shows up to get you, it’s always too late. Still, she called, her voice coming from far away.

“Cadey? Cadey . . . ?”

He tried to answer, but could make no sound, and stood helpless, watching. Just before it leapt, the Black Dog’s lips peeled back, revealing long, gleaming teeth. Hot, foul breath washed over his face, as Ol’ Shuck opened its mouth impossibly wide, and Cadey tumbled forward into its reeking maw.

At last, he screamed.

“Cadey? Cadey? Wake up. You’re tearin’ all the blankets off the bed with your thrashin’ around. Come on. Wake up, honey.”

With a cry, Cadey Hagen bolted upright, head swiveling this way and that, as he recognized the familiar shadows of his darkened bedroom.

His wife of ten years was sitting up, as well, her face lined with concern. “Are you okay now? You were havin’ a bad dream, hon. Haven’t had one like that in a while, have you? You want to talk? Bet you won’t be goin’ back to sleep any time soon. I can make coffee, if you like. It won’t be any trouble, Cadey. How about I make some coffee for us, and you tell me about your dream? Would you like that?”

What he would like would be for his wife to shut the hell up and let him catch his breath. But of course, that wasn’t going to happen. The woman didn’t know how to close that mouth of hers, even when he asked her to.

“No, Vonda. No need to get up. I’ll be fine in a minute. Just go back to sleep, okay?” He swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Where are you goin’? I mean, I really can make some coffee, if you can’t go back to sleep. I’ll be happy to get up with you.”

“Vonda, for God’s sake. Can I just go pee by myself? I’ll be back as soon as I’m done in the bathroom. I don’t want to talk, and I don’t want to listen to you talk, either.”

He glanced at the clock. “It’s three in the morning. No one drinks coffee at three in the morning, even if they’ve had a bad dream. Now go to sleep, dammit!”

To give her credit, she did shut up then, lying back down, but her hurt silence made more noise than her rapid-fire chatter. He knew if he didn’t apologize, the rest of the night would be a lost cause.

He patted her arm. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It was just the dream still hanging on. Really, I’m fine now. Just go back to sleep, and I will, too, when I’m done. We can talk tomorrow, if you want.”

She gave him a tremulous smile, nodded, and turned over, always ready to do his bidding. It was one thing he really liked about her. Maybe the only thing.

In the privacy of the bathroom, he sat on the closed toilet seat, and buried his head in his hands. The dream had really shaken him up, even though he’d been having it every three or four months for twenty years. You’d think it would have disappeared by now, or at least changed in some way. Or maybe, he could just once be smart enough to realize it was the dream, as soon as it started.

But no. That never happened. And every single time, it all proceeded exactly the same way, except for one odd thing. It was always the same season in the dream world that it was in the real one.

Other than that, nothing ever changed. The dream would start with him running through the dark woods, heart pounding, and desperation building, as he tried to make it back to the safety of his home. Every painful gasp, every terrified cry, the same each time, until he pitched forward into the foul-smelling darkness of that hideous mouth.

When his shivers subsided, he washed the sweat from his face, got a drink of water, and headed back to bed, where Vonda already snored softly. Hoping he’d have no trouble falling to sleep, he crawled in beside her. Only a few hours until he had to be at church, to take care of several tasks before his Bible study class got underway. Plus, there were items to get ready before regular services started, too.

Being the deacon at the Light of Grace Baptist church carried important responsibilities, and he wanted to be sure people noticed how well he carried them out.

~~~

Harbinger: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 3 is available on Amazon here, in both print and Kindle format. (Do be aware that  while it can be read alone, there are some things that will make more sense if you’ve read the preceding two.)

#ExcerptWeek – MenoWhat? by D. G. Kaye

/ Marcia Meara / 44 Comments

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Excerpt –MenoWhat? A Memoir by D.G. Kaye
FROM HIP TO WAIST WE JOIN 

Until we actually live through something, it’s difficult to imagine what the experience is like. When I was young but nearing menopause, I became interested in how the physiques of menopausal women began to change. Women come in all shapes and sizes, but I noticed that even the waistlines of smaller women weren’t as proportionately small as their slight frames suggested. I was certain the dreaded middle-age spread would not apply to me, and I referred to it as circumference expansion.

As we approach the early stages of menopause, estrogen begins to cozy up to our midriffs. Then, when we reach menopause, our depleted estrogen is replaced by cortisol-induced fat cells. Cortisol compensates for estrogen loss and loves to store fat cells around the belly. Thanks again, estrogen, for abandoning us and leaving us with an unfair trade-off of fat as your substitute! This is certainly a cruel punishment for those of us who worked so diligently to stay on top of our weight issues.

As a woman who had spent most of her young life on diets and lived fearfully by the scale, I was sure this phase would spare me. I thought it was simple: If we let ourselves get out of control and eat too much, of course we’ll gain weight. I believed that if I was disciplined in my diet and exercise regime, I wouldn’t have a problem with my waistline expanding.

Wrong again.

My waist used to be my smallest feature, compared to my curvy hips. As a petite woman with a short waist-to-hip ratio, I was obsessed with keeping my weight down. Granted, as I approached my thirties and forties, my body weight began to shift. I had to accept that my twenty-six-inch waist had grown to twenty-nine inches all on its own. I did my best to maintain what I had left after I went through The Change. I noticed, without any change in my diet or exercise, that those little muffin tops or love handles, as they are so affectionately named, had somehow attached themselves to my body. Whoever had given them such sweet names was either deranged or male, I decided.

My body seemed to take on a new life. Don’t get me wrong, I can still fit into my pants, but somehow they don’t look quite as good with the outline of a muffin top through my shirt. Oddly enough, my hips and thighs have managed to remain the same size, albeit not as firm. But meno muffin had taken up residence in my midsection. My body had definitely been re-proportioned. Getting dressed became a completely new experience. Gone now were the wool sweaters and turtlenecks of the past, as were my nice fitted tops.

When I was younger, if I gained weight, it went directly to my hips and thighs. The new targets were my waist, arms, and back. No longer was I only plagued by my fear of an expanding waistline—I had discovered fatback. I’m sure many of you are well acquainted with this dragon. This is a fat attack on the upper body, love handles that stick out of the bra line when you wear a fitted top. I have yet to learn of any invention with the ability to camouflage this. Can we even liposuction this? I’ve gotten into the habit of buying my tops one size up to try to combat this occurrence. Hey, whatever works. It doesn’t eliminate the problem, but at least it doesn’t accentuate my overage.

Listen: We can exercise, starve, self-tan, buy bigger clothes, wear Spanx, or put on a happy shade of lipstick. Whatever it takes to make us feel better about ourselves, I say we should go for it. The bottom line is that we all reach a stage where we have to accept ourselves. We can highlight our best features, we can laugh and make light, and we should always just be grateful that we are still on the right side of the green.

D.G. Kaye Author
D. G. Kaye

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Words We Carry:      www.smarturl.it/bookwordswecarry