#ExcerptWeek – Michaela’s Justice by Brenda Scruggs

On Sale Now MJ - Copy.jpg

Find out what happens when two strong-headed people are thrown together. One a detective, the other a US Marshal, both determined in finding the prisoner.
But, for one it was more than just capturing him, she needed answers.
Detective Michaela Kendall’s abduction at the age of fourteen left her with a burden of becoming a self-appointed protector. The brutalization of her capture left her without any memory of the horrible ordeal except for terrifying dreams of Atelic Horton, her captor. When he escapes from prison, she knows it’s her duty to capture him. Circumstances throw her together with Marshal Ray Steele, an encounter she wanted to forget but it seems he didn’t take too kindly to a gun being pointed in his face. His rough and tuff cowboy ways are known for upholding the law to any measure within the bounds of Justice.
When Michaela and Ray set out to find the prisoner they soon find out they need each other but the journey is full of twists and danger. Ray proves to be her protector on more than one occasion. Somewhere along the way Michaela sees him in a different light, that not all men were the same.
But, lurking in the shadows, Atelic watches from a distance ready to make his move.
By the look, she was giving him, Ray felt she wasn’t too fond of seeing him, “Seems you had me at a disadvantage last night since I didn’t know you were on the case.”
She huffed and pulled her gaze to his. “Now, I guess I’m at a disadvantage, since I don’t know your name.”
“Why Miss Kendall that hurts,” he said in his country drawl putting his hand to his chest as if she wounded him. “I went to great lengths finding out who you were and yet you didn’t do me the same courtesy.”
“You weren’t important. The prisoner was,” she smirked.
“I wasn’t important when you put a gun in my face.” He leaned forward slightly alerting his disapproval. “I don’t take too kindly to that,” he gritted.
She swallowed hard. “For that I’m sorry, I just thought you were the prisoner.” She paused at the man in front of her sizing him up. He was a Marshal and she would have to be careful since she wasn’t on the case. His take-charge air last night told her to tread cautiously. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr…”
“Ray Steele, US Marshal on the case,” he said with a firm look.
She looked down releasing a breath, really wishing this conversation was over, “Well, Mr. Steele, what can I help you with?”
“Why were you in the alley last night?” His eyes demanded an answer.
“Mr. Steele, I’ve been reprimanded,” she stated nonchalantly.
“And that’s it,” she said.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say after pointing a gun in my face,” he stammered.
Michaela’s jaw fixed. “Yes.”
“Why were you there?” He asked again firmly wanting an answer. But only silence met him as her hazel eyes peered deep into his not wavering an answer. Ray released a held breath.
“So, Miss Kendall, since you were reprimanded that means I won’t see you again on this case.”
She didn’t answer. No way could she make that promise.
“Well, or do I need a moment with your boss.”
She shot a hateful glare at him. “However, you want to play it,” she said holding his glare as she stormed out of the room.
Ray stood in silence. What was it about this woman that made him curious about her?

I need five reviews. If interested, I can send over a PDF file for an honest review.

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/brendascruggs-author
Website: brendascruggs.wordpress.com
Amazon Author page: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B06Y22VDYT
Instagram: @brendascruggs
BUY LINK; https://www.amazon.com/Michaelas-Justice-Brenda-Scruggs/dp/1544134495/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1501503756&sr=8-1&keywords=michaela%27s+justice+by+brenda+scruggs


#ExcerptWeek – Free, a Novella by Felicia Denise

Our next guest on #ExcerptWeek is Felicia Denise, who has asked me to share this excerpt with you. Welcome, Felicia, and thanks for taking part. I know everyone will enjoy reading this, and then sharing t far and wide!



Lenore “Lennie” Porter’s life had not gone as she planned.
The marriage she put her heart and soul into failed.
The man she sacrificed so much for abandoned her.

But Lennie refused to be broken. She pushed on, running a successful business and raising her three sons alone.

Through health scares and severe family dysfunction and trauma which forever changed their lives, the Porter family clung to each other to keep from sinking into the darkness.

With her marriage over long ago and her adult sons living their own lives, Lenore Porter decides to sell the cold fortress she worked so hard to make a warm, loving home.

A short, final inspection of her former home turns into a confrontation with ghosts from the past, and decisions and events Lennie felt she’d dealt with and moved on from.

Free, a Novella is a short, clean read recounting one woman’s determination to not be broken by life or lose her identity.


Anyone who knew Burt and Linda Kelimore knew they were devoted to each other. More than half a century had passed since the day they each ran into a mechanic’s shop in need of quick repairs. Though they were both on their way to meet other people, a thirty-minute conversation changed their plans for the evening and the rest of their lives.

With their time together dwindling away, the couple did what they had always done… shared each other’s company.

Linda set Burt’s plate aside, and Lennie gathered up the dishes and excused herself.

While putting the food away and loading the dishwasher, Lennie was surprised to see her mother enter the kitchen.

“Everything okay, mo-”

“Yes, yes, sweetie. Leave all this. I’ll get to it later. You can head on home now.”

“Mom, no way do I leave a mess for you to clean up.”

Lennie reached for another dish but Linda caught her hand and held on.

“It’s okay, Lenore. You can go now.”


Linda pulled her daughter into a tight embrace, speaking into her ear barely above a whisper.

“I know. His hospice nurse was here earlier and is returning soon. I talked to your sisters before you got here… and they each spoke to your father.” She pulled back, a pleading look in her eyes.

“I’ve never asked you for anything, honey and I know this is no small thing I’m asking of you now. But… I need this time with him alone. Right now, I’m no one’s mother or grandmother. Lennie, right now, I’m just a wife who has to say goodbye to her husband. Please don’t be angry with me or hate me, but I need to do it alone.”

Hugging her mother close, Lenore allowed the weight of her words to sink in. She did not want to leave. Her father was dying, how could she walk away?

Seeing the pain in Linda’s eyes, Lenore knew she would deny her nothing.

With a simple nod, Lennie returned to the den to say goodbye to her father… just as she did every night.

After a quick kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of his hand, Lennie told Burt she’d see him tomorrow, and turned to leave before she broke down. But her father held on to her hand with a strength Lennie didn’t think he still possessed. Lennie looked from their joined hands to her father’s face when he spoke.

“Very proud… of you, Lenore. Always… have… been. You help everyone… always.”

The weakness of his voice and the shortness of his breath caused Lennie to cringe. She wanted her father to stop talking, to save his strength. But, her own voice was lost to her, blocked by a lump in her throat which refused to move.

“I love you… baby girl.” He kissed her hand and slumped back in his chair, his energy depleted.

“I love you too, daddy.”

Lennie squeezed his hand one last time and rested it across his lap. With one simple nod to her mother, Lennie left the room, her calm belying the anguish ripping her apart inside. She wanted to scream, cry… stop the clock… make him stay.

With her bags in hand, Lenore Porter stood at the front door. Dizziness and nausea rejoined the inner turmoil threatening to break her. She had to leave… knowing she would never see her father alive again.

Instead of reaching for the door knob, Lennie took several steps backward until she could see inside the den.

Linda Kelimore had reclined her husband’s chair and climbed in next to him, cuddled into his side with her hand resting on his chest.

This is what her parents wanted… what they had planned. To spend their remaining time together… together as the couple they had been for fifty years.

With more determination than she felt, Lennie left the house, closing the door quietly behind her.

Author Felicia Denise

A wife, mother, daughter, sister, blogger… and self-published author, Felicia loves all things book-related and coffee-related. A southern girl by birth, the fifty-something, voracious reader now resides in Arizona (via Michigan and California) with her husband of thirty-three years. Their three adult children also reside in Arizona—with their dogs. Felicia frequently reminds them she is the only one of her parents’ nine children who isn’t a grandparent.

Writing has been a hobby of Felicia’s since grade school, but other than serving as editor and writing for her high school newspaper, she never publicly shared anything until the early 2000s when she began writing fan fiction. At the urging of a good friend, Felicia took on the challenge of NaNoWriMo in 2015, writing what would become her first published book, In the Best Interest of the Child. It was released in the fall of 2016.

In her free time, Felicia sews, creates new recipes, reads, and of course, writes. She’s also an avid history buff and loves exploring museums and libraries.

Currently working on several projects, Felicia plans to release book 2 of In the Best Interest of the Child – Family Matters, in summer 2017.

Buy Free, a Novella Here:

Amazon US 
Amazon UK 
Amazon CA 
Amazon AU 

Reach Felicia Here:

Author Website
Blog (Nesie’s Place)
Amazon Author Page
Facebook Author Page
Bookbub Author Page
Monthly Newsletter

#ExcerptWeek – THE PRINCE’S SON by Deborah Jay

Marcia, your wish is my command…..

Here is another excerpt from the book I am currently editing – THE PRINCE’S SON, sequel to THE PRINCE’S MAN.

* * * * * *

Bay Iberian

When Rustam gave a small whistle, the bay stallion ghosted out of the early morning shadows.

Rustam ran a hand along the stallion’s muscular crest, his fingers sliding through the cascade of black mane to the warm sleekness of the silky hair beneath. “I really hate to do this, boy, but you’ll have to stay behind this time.”

A pair of huge, dark eyes regarded Rustam with reproach before Fleetfoot shook his head vigorously, long strands of mane whipping from side to side to slap Rustam sharply across the face. “Ouch! I’m sorry, really I am, but even you can’t climb a goat trail; I need you here, to keep the others safe. They can’t look after themselves the way you can.”

Fleetfoot heaved a large sigh and rubbed his forehead against Rustam’s shoulder. Leaning into the equine embrace, Rustam caught sight of one of the grooms rolling his eyes to the sky. Crazy, that’s what they thought he was. He smiled privately and kept his silence. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t see the tiny bit of magic flowing between him and the magnificent animal. When the lads talked to their charges they communicated with tone of voice and a few easy words, achieving a level of trust and affection any human might gain with a horse. But for Rustam’s entire life it had been so much more than that. The ease with which, even as a child, he’d been able to catch the naughtiest ponies; the calmness he’d instilled in the wild black mare no one else could handle, and the way that over the years of their service together Nightstalker had always sensed where he was, and when she was needed.

It wasn’t until they journeyed into Shiva that Rustam understood it to be an attribute of his elven blood; he was a Horsemaster in more than mere words. Now, with a Shivan bred steed, that link was even closer.

“You know they think I’m soft in the head for talking to you, don’t you?” Fleetfoot snorted; horsey laughter if ever Rustam had heard it. He slapped the hard-muscled red shoulder. “It’s not funny!” He shook his head, drawing the dark thread of his thoughts back together. “No, nothing about this is funny.”

He stared into the liquid depths of eyes turned wary. “I need you to keep this lot safe, hear me? I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, or if you’ll be secure here. Watch over them, for me, yes?”

Fleetfoot snorted again, head nodding up and down. Rustam draped an arm over the stallion’s withers and bent forward to bury his face in the abundant mane. With his eyes shut, he inhaled the glorious scent of horse, and felt his muscles relax. He was leaving the caravan with the best possible guard he could arrange, in the absence of a small army.

* * * * * *

For those of you who have read THE PRINCE’S MANrsz_pm-ebook_flat_2 never fear, Nightstalker is only absent on maternity leave 😉

CIMG2427And here I am with another hobbit hole 😉

Deborah Jay writes fast-paced fantasy adventures featuring quirky characters and multi-layered plots – just what she likes to read.

Living mostly on the UK South coast, she has already invested in her ultimate retirement plan – a farmhouse in the majestic, mystery-filled Scottish Highlands where she retreats to write when she can find time. Her taste for the good things in life is kept in check by the expense of keeping too many dressage horses, and her complete inability to cook.

Jay’s debut novel, epic fantasy THE PRINCE’S MAN, won a UK Arts Board award, and was an Amazon Hot 100 New Release. Second in the series, THE PRINCE’S SON is due out this summer.

Her Urban fantasy, DESPRITE MEASURES, is the opening novel of the projected five book CALEDONIAN SPRITE SERIES, and the stand alone short story SPRITE NIGHT is also now available.

In 2014 she published the multi-author SFF anthology, THE WORLD AND THE STARS, which features her SF short story PERFECT FIT.

She is also the author of several non-fiction equestrian titles published in her professional name of Debby Lush.

Find out more about Deborah at http://deborahjayauthor.com/ or follow Deborah on twitter, facebook, Pinterest  and Goodreads.

#ExcerptWeek Extended! It’s Not Too Late!

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!

#Excerpt Week – No More Mulberries by Mary Smith


Iqbal was being ridiculous but if she was going to persuade him to change his mind, she must stay calm. She really didn’t want it to turn into a major row. She took a deep breath, which ended on a yawn. Too tired for one thing.

Maybe she should agree to Iqbal’s suggestion and employ a girl from the village to help with the housework? She’d always refused, telling him she’d feel uncomfortable having someone working in the house. She didn’t admit to him she hated the idea of people thinking the foreign wife needed help to run her home, couldn’t cope with hard work. Bad enough they knew she couldn’t spin wool – or milk a goat.

That bloody-minded animal, feeling her first tentative touch, had looked knowingly over its shoulder at her with its nasty, wrong-way-round eyes and walked away. Tightening her grip only made the goat go faster, forcing her into an idiotic crouching run, while her friend Usma, in between shouts of laughter yelled at her to let go. When she did, falling over in a heap on the stony ground, the pain of her scraped knees had been nothing compared to the hurt to her dignity and pride. For weeks after everyone asked her if she’d milked any more goats. The day she could join in the laughter at the episode had not yet arrived.

She sighed and looked upwards. Familiarity with Afghanistan’s night skies never lessened her sense of awe. On moonless nights the Milky Way was a magical white path through stars that didn’t twinkle – they blazed. Constellations her father had taught her to recognise when she was a child – Orion, the Plough, the Seven Sisters – demonstrated proudly that here, they possessed far more jewel-bright stars than she had ever seen in Scotland. Tonight, though, the moon, almost full, had risen, dimming the stars’ brightness, silvering the jagged peaks of the mountains that kept the valley safe.

‘Our moon,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Jawad, what have I done?’

‘Miriam?’ She jumped at the sound of Iqbal’s voice close behind her. Had he heard her whisper?

She turned to face him relieved to see he was smiling. ‘Children ready for bed?’ she asked. ‘I’ll go say goodnight to them.’

He shook his head, coming to stand next to her, saying softly, ‘Ruckshana’s already asleep. Farid is learning his spelling words for tomorrow.’ He reached for her hand. ‘Miriam, look, I suppose I should have mentioned it to you – cancelling the boys’ lessons.’

‘Mentioned it?’ She snatched her hand away, the need for calm forgotten. Tilting her head to look up at him, she asked, ‘What about discussing it with me?’

Mary Smith - web ready
Author Mary Smith

Mary Smith is a writer, freelance journalist and poet based in beautiful south west Scotland.

She worked in Pakistan, where she set up a health education department in the national leprosy centre, and in Afghanistan for ten years, where she established a low-key mother and child care programme providing skills and knowledge to women health volunteers. Those experiences inform much of her writing. Her debut novel, No More Mulberries is set in Afghanistan and she has also written a memoir, Drunk Chickens and Burnt Macaroni: Real Stories of Afghan Women, about her time in that country. It allows readers to meet and get to know Afghan women and their families and provides an authentic insight into daily life in Afghanistan.

Mary’s poems have been widely published in poetry magazines and anthologies and her first full length poetry collection, Thousands Pass Here Every Day, was published by Indigo Dreams. Dumfries Through Time is a local history in a ‘then and now’ format on which Mary collaborated with photographer Allan Devlin. They are now working on another ‘through time’ book to be published in 2017.

She is currently working on turning her blog about caring for her dad with dementia, My Dad’s a Goldfish into a book and hopes one day to write a sequel to No More Mulberries. 

No More Mulberries


My Dad’s a Goldfish: https://marysmith57.wordpress.com

Take Five Authors: a blog shared with four other writers. https://takefiveauthors.wordpress.com

Website: www.marysmith.co.uk 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/marysmithwriter

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000934032543




Missing on Maui #ExcerptWeek

by Kassandra Lamb

Missing on Maui FINAL

A row of palm trees and tropical underbrush–with foliage Kate recognized from houseplants in Maryland–greeted her at the edge of the beach. She was about to step out onto the sand when she noticed a young man loading a canoe off to her right.

The predawn light made his movements seem furtive. He hefted a large gray sack and slid it into the boat.

Kate’s fertile imagination wondered if there was a body in that sack.

Stop that!

She’d had more than her share of adventures with corpses and wouldn’t mind if she never encountered one again, thank you very much!

The young man, a blond wearing a tropical shirt and swim trunks, leaned down to shove the canoe into the froth at the edge of the ocean. Then he climbed in and lifted a paddle to steer the boat further out into the surf. Once clear of the breaking waves, he let the boat drift. It shifted around, and Kate could now see that it was an outrigger–from one side, a float extended on two curved supports to keep the vessel more stable. The increasing daylight revealed a mast. A white sail unfurled in the early morning breeze.

Ah, that’s what was in the sack–the sail.

The man looked back to shore, his head turning slowly as if scanning the beach.

Kate instinctively moved back into the shadow of the palm trees, then wondered why she’d done that. She was considering stepping out into the open and waving, when the man turned his head toward the open sea and pulled in the sail to make it taut. The boat skimmed off across the water.

Kate soon forgot the young man as she walked along the deserted beach. Beams of sunlight streamed across the water, sparkling like bracelets on a young girl’s arm. But the puffy white clouds in the sky were only slightly tinged with pink. Disappointed in the poor showing the sunrise was making, Kate turned her head toward land.

There, above the mountain, the sky was streaked in pale yellow and pink.

Duh, this is the western side of the island. The sun would set over the ocean this evening.

Kate yawned, unsure if her jet-lagged body would be able to stay awake until sunset.

She strolled on the beach, one eye on the rolling surf and one on her footing. The sand was deep, making it hard to walk. Ahead of her, the shoreline curved outward a bit into the sea, giving her a view of sand and water juxtaposed against red and black lava cliffs. She sucked in air at the beauty of the sight. The green hillside sloped upward to the top of the dormant volcano that had formed this section of the island of Maui.

Kate set a goal of rounding that point. Then she would rest. She slogged forward through the thick sand. The sun was now peeking above the top of the mountain, and the sea sparkled in various shades of blue, from turquoise to indigo and everything in between.

By the time she reached the point, her legs were wobbly from the strain of walking in the deep sand. She gingerly lowered herself to sit on the beach. Leaning back on her elbows, she raised her face to the morning light.

She hadn’t realized she’d drifted off until one elbow gave out, dumping her sideways into the sand.

The sound of a throat clearing. She startled and jerked her head up.

A massive shadow blocked the sun.

Missing On Maui, A Kate on Vacation Mystery

It’s an awkward situation at best, and a deadly one at worst.

Days before Kate Huntington is scheduled to leave for her niece’s wedding on Maui, she receives a frantic call from said niece. Amy’s mother–Kate’s rather difficult sister-in-law–is at it again, alienating the groom’s family and even the wedding planner. Can Aunt Kate come early and run interference?

Soon after her arrival, Kate discovers that young women are going missing on the island, and Amy’s maid of honor is hanging out with a notorious local player. Is he involved in the disappearances?

Hawaii is supposed to be a relaxing paradise, but Aunt Kate is kept busy locating a new wedding planner (the delightful Pali Moon), refereeing between Amy and her mother and chasing down errant wedding party members… Oh, and facing off with a psychopath.


rr Dinner cruise 5e sunset

Sunset on Maui

#ExcerptWeek Reminder!


Hey, Guys!  The rest of the week is going to be filled with a lot of excerpts from MY books, if you’re not careful. Somebody’s gotta play! *wink*

Seriously, it’s Day 4 of Excerpt Week, and no takers? Hard to imagine. This isn’t the largest blog in the world, I know, but still . . . 2,400 folks could see a sample of your writing, accompanied by your Buy Links &  Author Bio, if you could find a few minutes to Cut and Paste an excerpt for us. And that doesn’t count all the friends and followers those 2,400 people could share your post with.

If you don’t know how to share your work, just email me at mmeara@cfl.rr.com, and I’ll help, honest! Hope to see a few excerpts posted when I return from my day’s errands. If not, brace yourself for more of the happenings on Wake-Robin Ridge and in Riverbend. And maybe another poem or two. Fair warning. 😀

#InspirationBoardSunday #SundayBlogShare – And Now for Something Completely Different!


Instead of a set of inspirational photos today, what do you say we find our inspiration in each other? I know seeing a bit of what each of you have done, or checking out your latest WIP, is always inspirational to me, so . . . given the power vested in me by, ahem, myself . . . I hereby declare today the start of a new #ExcerptWeek!  Yippee!!

Starting today, you are invited to share an excerpt from one of your books or stories, published, unpublished, or a work in progress, and we, in turn, will send it out into the world to be shared among our various social media groups. Here’s how you do it:

  1. If you are already set up to post on TWS, go right ahead and post your excerpt(s) throughout the week, whenever you like.
  2. If you aren’t set up to do so, email me at: mmeara@cfl. rr.com, and I’ll tell you how to proceed, or will post your excerpt for you.
  3. Be sure to include your Buy Links, Cover Photos, Author Photo, and  Author Bio at the end of your excerpt.
  4. Please, no politics, religion, or blatant erotica. (And yes, I’ll be the judge of what constitutes blatant. Sexy is fine. Very sexy is probably fine, too. Graphic descriptions should be saved for those who decide to read your book.)  *wink-wink, nudge-nudge*

And that’s pretty much it. I can help you post, if you need it. Again, just email me with questions. But most of all, SHARE! This is a great way for you to let others see a sample of your work, and learn how and where to buy your books.  (Even if you’ve never posted here before. We’d love to meet you, and help you share your work.)

So, come on! Show us what ya got!