Now THAT’S More Like It!

June 29, 2016 / Marcia Meara / 17 Comments

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I can see I need to threaten you guys more often. Even the very thought of a deluge of my poetry scared several of you into action. Hahaha. I’m going to work on my STERN face! When I finally got home today, I had emails from folks offering excerpts, and then I see that Kass jumped right in and posted one. Way to go, Kass! I’m heading there next to enjoy it, and then I’ll be helping these other folks get theirs up over the next couple of days.

So, tada! #ExcerptWeek rocks on! Don’t be left out!

Going off now to practice looking severe and threatening. Now where’s my stout stick? 😀

#ExcerptWeek – #SummerMagic – “Bruises” by Marcia Meara

June 27, 2016June 27, 2016 / Marcia Meara / 7 Comments

I guess I’ll start off #ExcerptWeek by sharing a poem from my eBook, Summer Magic. I’m in the process of formatting it for print, as a small chapbook, so it seems a good time to give you a taste of what will be within the covers. The first half of the book is called “Mac At Ten,” and features poetry about MacKenzie Cole (the hero from my Wake-Robin Ridge series) as he spent his summers camping on the ridge with his dad. Hope you enjoy this one. (Tomorrow, I’ll share an excerpt from Harbinger.)

Bruises

Pale blue eyes,
Fringed in black,
Look out at the world
With the wild, free spirit
Only a ten-year-old boy
Knows how to nurture.

A shock of black hair falls over his brow
As he frowns thoughtfully,
Examining a scab on one knobby knee.
A souvenir from yesterday’s hike,
Acquired while showing off for Dad.
Again.

Long and thin, his scraped-up legs
Have become maps of small hurts,
Tracing each day of his summer.
A scratch here, from picking
Wild blackberries,
And a bruise there, from
Swinging on a low limb.
Those and so many more,
Injuries acquired while calling,
Watch, Dad, watch!
See what I can do!

Badges.
Attesting to his bravery,
Marking his adventures,
And confirming in his mind
His place among Immortals.

His dad sighs, all too aware
More bumps and scrapes
Lie ahead.
No way to guard him
Against the future bruises
Life will bring.
His boy will be marked,
Abraded by time and
The world around him,
Though some scars will be
Much less obvious than others.
And someday, scabby knees
Will be counted as nothing,
When weighed against
Those invisible wounds.

Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love: http://bit.ly/SummerMagicPoems

#ExcerptWeek & Blurb – THE PRINCE’S SON by Deborah Jay

March 31, 2016April 1, 2016 / Deborah Jay / Debby Lush / 9 Comments

Those of you who follow my blog have already seen this blurb, but for those who haven’t, this is the back cover copy for my soon-to-be released sequel to THE PRINCE’S MAN (epic fantasy).

THE PRINCE’S SON

Nessa Haddo has been raised to pursue what every young noblewoman needs: a suitable husband. Unfortunately for her, as a younger twin, her prospects are limited. Things start to look up when she lays eyes on the handsome foreign envoy sent to escort her sister to an arranged marriage, but her romantic fantasies quickly entangle her in events beyond her darkest nightmares.

Compared to his last mission, ex-spy Rustam Chalice’s new assignment sounds simple: wrangle an unwieldy bridal caravan across a mountain range populated by bandits, trolls, werecats and worse, try to cajole a traumatized princess out of her self-imposed isolation, and arrive on time for the politically sensitive wedding. What could possibly go wrong?

Meanwhile, Lady Risada—the woman who haunts Rustam’s dreams—is struggling to adjust to a normal life. All her carefully honed assassin’s instincts scream warnings of foul play, yet she can find nothing obviously amiss.

And deep in the halls of a mountain clan, an old enemy plucks his victim’s strings with expert malice.

Excerpt

Something moved beyond the picket line.

Nessa froze. Her heart stopped beating, and then thudded so loudly she was certain whoever was there must hear it. Surely it had to be one of their party slipping away to relieve themselves? It could not be either Rustam or Sala unless they had circled around beyond the horses, and why would they?

She stumbled an involuntary step back, gave a little cry as metal dug into her back, then realised she was pressed up against one of the ribs of the wagon.

The shadowy figure stopped, appeared to be sniffing the air.

That made up her mind. No human scented like that. She did not know what it was, but it wasn’t one of them. Continue reading →

#ExcerptWeek – A Time for Silence by Thorne Moore #TuesdayBookBlog

March 29, 2016April 1, 2016 / Marcia Meara / 8 Comments

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A Time For Silence: Sarah Peterson has discovered the Welsh cottage where her grandparents Gwen and John Owen once lived. She fantasies about how idyllic their life must have been. In reality, back in 1933, when her grandparents married…

~~~

‘The trap is waiting,’ says John. His hand is firm on Gwen’s elbow. No time for dawdling.

‘Wait,’ she pleads.

He relinquishes her reluctantly as she hurries across to receive one last kiss from her father.

‘You be good now, girl.’ Henry Lewis laughs. As if there could be the need to say that to his Gwen! He is pushing her away, reassuring her that all is well, that she is doing right in leaving him. Not for the world would he stand between his beloved daughter and the sanctified joy of marriage. A marriage that will free her from their cramped and sorry life in Penbryn.

She kisses his hand. She must not linger. Her husband is waiting.

The monstrous Mrs. George is guarding the gate. ‘Well, John. Mrs. Owen. You know where we are if you need anything. Mind you take care of him, girl.’

‘Indeed yes,’ the Reverend Harries booms. ‘We must keep our finest baritone in full working order.’

Gwen smiles her compliance.

Outside in the road, the pony and trap are waiting. Someone has threaded poppies and blue ribbons into the harness. It is an unexpectedly frivolous touch and no one owns up to it, a gesture not altogether appropriate for this very quiet affair. There is no cake and tea. It would not be seemly, with her father being so infirm, John having so many responsibilities and money being so tight. It is more fitting that they just drive away, newlyweds, to Cwmderwen.

John helps her into the trap, strong hands lifting her slight frame. Children in their Sunday best run around, being called to order by disapproving parents. The little girl who had found courage to smile at Gwen comes forward boldly, thrusting a handful of daisies up at her.

Gwen extends her hand to accept the miniscule gift. ‘It’s very pretty. Thank you.’

But John’s hand reaches across to hers, pulling it back. The child looks into his face, her new-found courage drained, lip quivering. John’s grip tightens on Gwen’s arm, reminding her that all her care lies now with him. Obediently, she sinks back into her seat, heart pattering, eyes forward. The child runs back to her mother.

Panic. Sudden and overwhelming panic. It surges through Gwen. This is all too soon, everything has swept along too fast, she is not ready for this. Continue reading →

#ExcerptWeek Preview: #Harbinger

March 25, 2016March 25, 2016 / Marcia Meara / 28 Comments

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The Black Dog – A Harbinger of Death

Starting Monday, we will be having another week of Excerpts, here on The Write Stuff. I’ll post separately on that shortly. Since I have no #FabulousFridayGuestBlogger this week, I’ve decided start early, by sharing an excerpt from my current WIP, Harbinger: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 3. This is from the rough draft, so be kind. 🙂

To set this up, we met Rabbit in Book 2, A Boy Named Rabbit. He and his adoptive father, MacKenzie Cole, have been asked by the sheriff to help with a 20-year old cold case file. Mac is a master of gathering intel of various sorts through his computer research firm, and Rabbit has skills far and above the average 11-year-old. Or anyone else, for that matter. His gift of The Sight, as they call it in the mountains, has come on strong, developing into a prodigious talent far surpassing that of his gran, who was also gifted.

Sheriff Raleigh Wardell, his grandson, Finn, Mac, and Rabbit have gone to visit the burned out cabin where the Birdwell family lived for years, until the disappearance of 8-year-old Sissy Birdwell tore their lives apart. It’s a place of sadness and pain that Rabbit can clearly feel, even before setting foot on the property. And on this occasion, in addition to the things he feels, he’s had a vision, as well. Enjoy!

~~~

Saturday Afternoon, March 8, 2014
North Carolina Mountains

MAC’S BREATH CAUGHT in his throat. “You saw her? You saw Sissy Birdwell?”

Rabbit nodded. “She were a sweet lookin’ little girl, Daddy.”

Raleigh pulled a small, spiral notepad and pen from his pocket, and stepped closer, his excitement giving off an almost physical thrum of energy. He’d launched into full Sheriff Mode, ready for all the details. “Well now, Rabbit. That’s something pretty special. Can you tell us what she looked like?”

The boy turned brimming eyes toward the sheriff. “Pretty,” he said, swallowing tears. “A real pretty little girl, with long black hair in them ropes down her back.” He looked at Mac. “What’s it called when hair’s like that, Daddy . . . pig’s tails?”

“Close enough,” Mac murmured, rubbing the goosebumps on his arms, as he watched Raleigh.

The sheriff stood frozen, pen poised above his notepad, and eyes wide. His mouth had dropped open in surprise. He closed it with a snap, cleared his throat, and nodded briskly. “Ah, yes . . . pigtails. Um . . . what else can you see?”

Rabbit was quiet another minute or two, gaze gone vacant, and his brow furrowed in concentration. When he looked up again, he shook his head. “She ain’t here, now,” he said.

The sheriff was busy scribbling notes on his pad, but he glanced up at that, crestfallen. “She’s gone? Where’d she go? Can you get her back?”

“Wish I could, but it ain’t ‘zactly like callin’ her up on Skype, an’ I ain’t figured out yet if there’s some way to make it work when I want it to. I’m real sorry, Sheriff Wardell, but I only saw her for a minute. Felt her longer than I saw her, though. Her thoughts was all kinda zippin’ this way an’ that, happy ‘bout some new puppies, an’ then sad, ‘cause there was some goodbyes comin’ up, somewhere. I seen some bits of colored ribbon tied around the end of them pig’s tails . . . I mean, pigtails . . . an’ then, she wasn’t here no more.”

Raleigh looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Rabbit. I understand you can’t turn this on and off when you want. I just got excited to know Sissy left traces behind you can feel and see. It’s amazing, really, and you did great.”

“I ‘member one more thing, Sheriff. She were wearin’ a silver band on one of her arms . . . an’ it had these little, bluish sorta stones in it. Don’t reckon that helps much, but—“

Raleigh made a choked sound. If he’d been surprised before, he looked completely stunned now. He stared first at Rabbit, and then at Mac. His mouth opened and closed twice, before he managed actual words. “My God, Mac. He really did see her.”

Mac raised an eyebrow. “Well, yes. I thought we’d established that from the pretty accurate description he gave us.”

Raleigh was almost stammering in excitement. “I hoped he had, of course, but . . . well . . . it was just possible . . . I mean, he might have been picking up that description from you or me. We’ve both seen her picture, after all.” He gave Rabbit an apologetic look. “Not that you would do that on purpose, Rabbit, but I just wasn’t sure at first where the image you saw was coming from. But now I know.”

“How?” Mac asked.

“The bracelet was a brand new birthday present, and she lost it the day before she disappeared. When I interviewed Sissy’s mother the first time, she was real upset that she’d scolded Sissy so harshly for losing it. She was just starting to realize that a lost bracelet was nothing, compared to a lost little girl.”

Mac’s brow furrowed in confusion. “And?”

Raleigh shook his head, eyes glowing in wonder. “And that bracelet was never mentioned in any of the reports of her disappearance. It was already gone, so it wasn’t a factor when describing the clothes she was wearing that day. Hell, I’d forgotten about it myself. There’s no way Rabbit could have picked that detail up from you or I.”

He turned his eyes back to Rabbit. “Oh, yeah,” he breathed. “Rabbit’s the Real Deal, all right. And I’m absolutely sure he’s made contact with Sissy Birdwell.”

~~~

Buy Books 1 and 2 of my Wake-Robin Ridge series here:

Wake-Robin Ridge

A Boy Named Rabbit

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#New at #TheWriteStuff

January 11, 2016 / Marcia Meara / 19 Comments

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I promised you guys some new ideas would becoming this month, and I’m finally ready to roll out a couple of them. Hope you’ll find them fun, and will participate wherever you can, especially by sharing with the Immediate World. 🙂

First, I’d like to bring back our #TWSWritingPrompt. I will try to post a prompt on the first (or very close to it) of each month, and you have the entire month to contribute something fun. It can be interpreted in any way you like, in any genre you enjoy. The point is just to have a fun writing exercise each month, with no restrictions on length or subject matter (other than the ones that always apply on this site–no religion or politics). As soon as I finish with this post, I’m going to put up the prompt for January, even though we’ve lost the first 11 days. I think most of you can still write a paragraph or two, if you’d like to participate, and I hope you will.

Secondly, it’s time to get going again with our #FabulousFridayGuestBlogger feature, so you folks who would like to be spotlighted this week, email me please at mmeara@cfl.rr.com and let me know. I’ll fill you in on the details. If this week’s spot is taken by the time I hear from you, we’ll pick another Friday. So give a holler! We’ll ask everyone to share your guest post, including your Buy Links, Bio, and Cover photos.

Third, I’m planning to start a new feature next week called #MondayMeme. Just what it sounds like. Memes, humorous or not, but mostly book, writing, or reading related. Just to get your week off to a good start.

#WodinsDaySmile is moving to Thor’s Day. Why? Because I like Thor better than Wodin. 😀 So starting in two days, keep an eye out for #ThorsDaySmile. This doesn’t mean you can’t share jokes, cartoons, memes or other fun things on other days. Just that I’ll be sharing one for sure on Thor’s Day.

On the other hand, Wednesday will now become My #MidWeekPOV. This is something I’ve wanted to do for a while, and it will be my chance to chat about things on my mind. Most will be book or reading related, though I can’t guarantee that all will. Hope you’ll enjoy my ramblings and will share them, as well.

I haven’t made up my mind about the remaining days of the week, yet. I thought maybe I’d try these things out, and see if I had the energy to throw in any more or not. 😉 And of course, we will continue to schedule regular #ExcerptWeek events, and anything else fun that comes to my mind.

Recapping:

(Weekly)
Monday: #MondayMeme
Wednesday: My #MidWeekPOV
Thursday: #ThorsDaySmile
Friday: #FabulousFridayGuestBlogger

(Monthly)
#TWSWritingPrompt

(Whenever)
#ExcerptWeek

So there you have at least the start of some new things. I hope you’ll enjoy taking part when you can, and sharing with others. Now stay tuned for this month’s writing prompt. And happy Moon’s Day night. Hope all is well in your part of the world.

#ExcerptWeek – #FindingHunter No. 1

January 7, 2016January 9, 2016 / Marcia Meara / 9 Comments

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You guys with books to promote should really take advantage of #ExcerptWeek, you know. But as long as it’s this slow, I’m going to fill in with excerpts of my own, so be forewarned. This is the first scene of Chapter 2 in my latest book, Finding Hunter, which is Book 2 of the Riverbend series. Hunter Painter is a quirky, shy man, who carries a lot of secrets close to his heart. Some of them are tragic, and some pertain to how he feels about Willow Greene. Namely, that he’s loved her since high school, and never had the nerve to tell her, or anyone else, before confessing to his best friend. He has just hung up the phone and realizes he’s agreed to lunch at her house. Blind panic is all he feels. (And in this book, there is a poem at the start of each chapter that relates to the prologue, and hints at a mystery to come.) Enjoy!
*********

Before, I never thought about taking a life. Not once.
Now, the thought fills my mind day and night, and
I wonder how I’ll hide that terrible need,
As an old car swings to the shoulder,
And stops.
~ Traveling Man ~

~~~
Doomed
~~~

8:15PM Friday, December 28, 2012

“OH, MY GOD, Biscuit. What have I done?” Hunter Painter flung himself backward on his bed, and stared at the ceiling in shock. His dog immediately took this dramatic event as an excuse to leap onto the bed and begin administering first aid. This mostly consisted of lots of very warm, very wet licks to Hunter’s face.

“Stop, Bisk! If you’re staying up here, lie down and be still.”

The smooth-haired collie lowered himself, head on paws, concerned eyes watching every move Hunter made, in case more attention was needed. But it seemed the drama was over, except for some muttering and grumbling.

Hunter scratched his tan and white companion behind the ears as he replayed the phone conversation in his mind. He had only intended to test the waters, just wanting to see if he could handle a one-on-one conversation with Willow and not turn into a gibbering idiot. Like a moon-drunk fool, he had confessed to Gunnar Wolfe that he had been in love with Willow since the eleventh grade, and Gunn had urged him to call her. After a week of long, hard thought—and fortified by three cold beers—he had decided he would.

Of course, he had only meant to thank her for inviting him and his brothers to Gunn’s wedding. Just that. “Hi, great party, thanks, goodbye.”

He figured that would be enough for a start. When had he lost control?

“Soon as she said hello, that’s when,” he muttered. “Never, ever thought she’d ask me over. How in God’s name will I handle that? Can’t be in the same room with her, even in a crowd, without breaking out in a cold sweat. Don’t know if I can do this, Biscuit. Can’t just waltz into her home, tour her garden, and have lunch with her, like we’ve been hanging out together for years. She screws up my brain, you know. Years and years gone by, and still—one smile from her and everything in my head short-circuits.” Continue reading →

#ExcerptWeek – Imprisoning a Dual Discord by Louise Findlay

January 6, 2016January 6, 2016 / Marcia Meara / 8 Comments

Book Cover

Imprisoning a Dual Discord
Description

The world is in musical order. To maintain balance, a team of Government Agents, named Harmony, track down, experiment on and sometimes kill those who express the music of dissonance. Those like Psycha, a duel Discord of Vyla and Sios; a prime lab rat to Harmony. Being able to disrupt harmony by voice and hands alone makes Psycha far more dangerous than the usual Discord. Will she run into trouble trying to protect her boyfriend, Caleb? Will her desire to destroy Harmony prove fatal for her? What will be left of her if she ever gets captured?

Excerpt
Psycha

What had Caleb gotten himself into this time? We were discords for music’s sake. We couldn’t strike back against Harmony if we ran, and be damned if he got caught. He was a Tara Discord not a Vyla like me. He was more vulnerable and I knew for a fact he left his Tara back at camp. Careless. That was so unlike him. He was usually methodical and paranoid. He couldn’t afford to throw his life away on a whim. I was the reckless one.

I hummed a tune to try and find his wavelength. Discords stuck out like a sore thumb, and he was a Tara. He was invisible without it, but I knew his musical signature like the back of my hand. I was almost certain I could pick something up, and I did. The three note discordant hum that was uniquely Caleb was faintly ringing in the air. I rushed to try and catch up to him. There was no way he would get captured on my watch. Cinder would kill me. Continue reading →

#ExcerptWeek – #WakeRobinRidge No 2

January 5, 2016January 5, 2016 / Marcia Meara / 2 Comments

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I promised a couple more today, and I always try to keep my promises. 🙂 This is a continuation of the scene I posted earlier, another page or so along. Ruth worked up all her courage, and crept downstairs, shotgun in hand, hoping she can defend herself against her ex by finding him before he finds her. Enjoy. Or not. 😉

****
Stepping down onto the living room floor, Ruth scanned the room. She was alone, unless he was hiding in the pantry. Possible, but it didn’t feel right. She was sure she would have heard him moving around inside, opening or closing the pantry door. As she stood peering into every corner, a faint noise wormed its way into her awareness—a soft thumping near her kitchen window.

Whirling to her left, she aimed her shotgun at the window, then froze, her brain slow to comprehend what she was seeing. A shape hanging outside the window jerked feebly in the moonlight. A cat? No, a rabbit. A rabbit spun slowly on a length of twine, hind feet scratching faintly against the glass, leaving black, clotted smears sliding down the pane.

Nausea rolled through her as the full horror of what she was looking at registered. The bastard had slit its belly open and hung it up to bleed out against her window. In a silent agony of black and gray, the rabbit swung back and forth under the silver moon. Her breath caught on a sob, and all hope fled. She knew without a doubt—could see in her mind’s eye—that Lloyd was going to gut her just like that rabbit.

This is it. He’s gonna to kill me tonight. Oh, God, he’s gonna to cut me open and kill me.

*****
Wake-Robin Ridge