Are You A Rose . . . Or a Dandelion?
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Are You A Rose . . . Or a Dandelion?
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The Black Dog
I was invited to do a guest post at Misterio Press today, talking a bit about legends of the Appalachian Mountains, one of my favorite topics. It was a lot of fun to share with the good folks there, and I hope you’ll check it out, and share with your friends, as well.
A quick, fun little survey. Let them know what you think, and then reblog and share far and wide. It’s a nice way to help others.
If you haven’t answered the Survey Questions yet, we still need more responses. It doesn’t take long.
Here we are on LitWorldInterviews with our first of many Genre oriented surveys. The success of our previous survey “Why do people stop reading a book?” and the response in the comments prompted a more detailed evaluation of the topic.
Please reblog and sharethis with as many people as you can so we have a lot of responses to make the data we share as accurate as can be expected.
This month’s survey is the genre of Mystery.
Thank you to the following 19 bloggers for making our previous survey such a success by reblogging the survey:
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Missed last week, due to all the lovely excerpts,
so you get two this week!



Just wanted to start this week with a big THANK YOU (See, all caps. Big.) to everyone who participated in our extended #ExcerptWeek. This was the most successful one, ever, I think, and it’s all because you guys got brave enough to share your work (published or not) with us, AND you shared everyone’s posts with your online groups. Which brings me to the second part of this post.
The Write Stuff was always meant to be a place for writers to share WITH each other (resources, questions, tips) and ABOUT each other. Please remember to Tweet, Reblog, and post on Facebook or your other social media sites. Sharing what others have posted here is how we promote each other, and grow this blog. AND, you can always share any post on the blog at any time. If you forgot to pass something along during #ExerptWeek, for instance, it’s still here. You can still share it.
So, recapping here, thanks to each of you wonderful writers, readers, and bloggers, AND above all, please continue to share! We’ll do the same for you.
Now. As you were, folks. Have a wonderful week!
Following a fabulous Excerpt Week (thanks Marcia), I have my urban fantasy DESPRITE MEASURES on sale for one week at $0.99/£0.99 (US & UK only, sorry folks) starting NOW, in case anyone would care to dip their toe into my fantastical world of elementals and magical happenings.
You can read the excerpt I shared here and you can find the book on Amazon here
Please share!

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.
~~~

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

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.
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

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
Puck’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!
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.
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…
‘Dead End’ is the thirteenth novel in the Carson Reno Mystery Series. All books in the series are ‘stand-alone’ novels, rated PG or PG 13 and may be read in any order without confusion. The setting for the series is the early 1960’s and Carson Reno is a Private Detective who works from an office in the Memphis Peabody Hotel.
This excerpt from ‘Dead End’ is the opening for the book. Carson finds himself in a muddy ditch as the result of an automobile accident while running from someone who is trying to kill him and his friend. A flashback follows this excerpt which takes the story up to present time and his dangerous situation.

A filthy mixture of snow, ice, Arkansas mud and blood filled my mouth – the gritty mess was making it almost impossible to breathe. Eyes still closed, and trying not to choke, I rolled my head to the left and spit the nauseating mixture onto the bright snow. Apparently my nose was broken, because after relieving my mouth of the irritation, it quickly filled with the warm and sweet taste of blood – my blood. Oddly, despite the trauma of the last few minutes, my thoughts and head were remarkably clear – making me wonder if I might be in the early stages of shock. I’d never been there before.
Silence was everywhere, only disturbed by the sound of light snow falling, and thankfully covering my dry lips. I licked at the welcome moisture and slowly opened my eyes, not knowing what I might see.
A fuzzy gray sky, white falling snow and fading daylight stared back at me – looking down at where I lay – in a dirty, wet ditch, somewhere in Arkansas.
The human body is a smart and complex machine. When any of the five senses aren’t working properly, it directs another to pick up the slack. Without sound or vision, my suffering nose was receiving input about my current situation and relaying that information to the brain, it didn’t like what it was hearing! The smells of burning rubber, radiator fluid, raw gasoline and the heat associated with a crashed car engine were reminding me of why I was in this ditch and why my mouth was full of blood. The real world was coming back and it wasn’t pretty.
Our getaway was cut short by the wrong turn down a dead end road, but pursuers had left us no choice. The dark, snowy, lonely roads of rural Arkansas weren’t familiar to the driver, and what seemed like the perfect opportunity for escape, quickly turned into disaster.
Straining to add vision to the messages from my nose, I looked to my right and confirmed what I already knew. The car was resting front down in the ditch and only a few feet from where I lay. Steam rose from a broken radiator, and its warm fluids dripped onto the snow; then the melted mess found its way to the bottom of the filthy trench I was in.
The engine stopped running with impact, but somehow bent and crushed headlights remained on – dimly shining against the ditch bank and tall grass. Light reflecting back on the destroyed car, painted a surreal and bizarre picture for my weak eyes.
An open passenger door was the reason I was in this ditch, and my ejection spared me most of the shock from the crash. I knew my nose was broken, and I certainly had other injured parts not discovered; but I was alive – for now. Somehow I’d managed to avoid the bullets, and only escaped the violent collision by choosing the peril of jumping from a moving vehicle. Unfortunately the driver wasn’t that lucky.
The head and face made a perfect imprint in the smashed windshield – open and lifeless eyes staring at me through the bloody glass and asking for help. I had none to offer. Impact from the sudden stop against the ditch bank was enormous – however, I don’t suspect the body felt a thing. Moments before running out of road, a bullet crashed through the driver’s side window; taking most of their head with it, before slamming into the dashboard.
Even knowing it was useless, instinct told me to get up…get up and go check on my friend, the one I had promised to protect. Whoever fired the bullet that removed most of my friend’s head was probably only a few yards away and already rushing over to finish their work.
Unfortunately, my .38 wasn’t in its holster where it belonged – I knew that. During the short and speedy chase I had managed to fire two rounds at our pursuer, neither one having much effect on their aggressiveness. The gun was in my hand when I left the vehicle, but it wasn’t there now – apparently separating itself from me somewhere in the process.
Weapon or no weapon, I needed to get out of this ditch and on my feet – stand up to run or stand up to fight. Either way, I needed to stand up!
Putting my right arm against the soft ground, I rose slightly before moving my left – the pain was deafening. I slumped back into the mud, cursing myself for letting this happen. My left arm was useless, either broken when I left the vehicle or from another bullet that I never felt.
Looking away from the carnage I closed my eyes to help tolerate the pain and tried to recall recent events. Events that led me to a ‘one horse’ town in Arkansas, events that had killed my friend and events that put me in this dirty snow filled ditch without the ability to get out.
It started only a few days ago, which now seemed like forever. A client I was hired to protect – a simple task – had gone badly. Now, I have a dead friend, a dead client and a task not so simple.

‘Dead End’ on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00U51N920
‘Dead End’ on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/deadendbycarsonreno/
‘Dead End’ website http://carsonreno.wix.com/deadend
Find all Carson Reno Mysteries http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004C18S0C
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/CarsonRenosMysterySeries/
Twitter https://twitter.com/darnellgerald
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