Wednesday, May 30, 2018

Meet Linda Nightingale and Four by Moonlight

Linda Nightingale is a native-born South Carolinian who has lived in England and Canada, and now resides in Texas.  Before turning to writing, she bred, trained and showed Andalusian horses for thirteen years.
In 2012, her novel, Gemini Rising, was voted Best Mainstream Novel in the Preditors & Editors Readers Poll. Her vampire romance, Cardinal Desires won the Georgia Romance Writers Magnolia Award in 2013, and that was followed by her science fiction romance, Love for Sale, being awarded Best SF/Fantasy novel of 2015 by the Paranormal Romance Guild’s Reviewer’s Choice, and also voted one of the Top Ten Romance Novels of 2015 by the Preditors & Editors Readers Poll for that year.
Four by Moonlight is her first novel for Class Act Books.

Beverley: Which genre or genres do you write or prefer to write? And why?
Linda:I write what I enjoy reading, I suppose.  I write across the genres from dark fantasy to romantic suspense, paranormal or sci-fi romance.
Beverley: Who influenced you the most in deciding to become a writer?
Linda: My 9th grade English teacher, Mrs. Burriss, who’d allow me to write stories rather than book reports.  I remember one about someone with a pinkish silvery hair running through the streets of London!
Beverley: What gets your creative juices flowing?
Linda: A phrase or lyrics from a song, perhaps.  My Muse is generally the one to introduce me to one character who then tells me the story with other characters joining him or her on stage over the time.
Beverley: Do you have a favorite cartoon character?
Linda: Tweety Bird. Why?  I liked his silly wit.
Beverley: Who would you love most to meet 'in person' and why?
Linda: Charles II because he was rowdy and randy and reigned over a lavish court of rather loose morals.
Beverley: If you had an unexpected free day what would you do with it?
Linda: Stay home and write. Since my move, from Texas to South Carolina, I’ve had precious little time to do that.
Beverley: What are you working on now?
Linda: I’m working on 3 projects. One is an erotic romance which is a continuation of “Star Angel” in Four by Moonlight and will be published under my pen name Bianca Swan and will be called Legacy of the Stars; second is reworking a cowboy story; and third but first in my heart is reviewing the book of my heart to send to my editor. In 6 days, the rights from a previous publisher revert to me! The title is Sinners’ Opera.

An anthology of love in the moonlight…in the paranormal universe.

Gypsy Ribbons – A moonlight ride on the moors and meeting a notorious highwayman will forever change Lady Virginia Darby’s life.
Star Angel – Lucy was stuck in a rut and in an Idaho potato patch. She’d seen him in the corner of her eye—a fleeting glimpse of beauty—now he stood before her in the flesh.
The Night Before Doomsday – All his brothers had succumbed to lust, but Azazel resisted temptation until the wrong woman came along.
The Gate Keeper’s Cottage – Newlywed Meggie Richelieu’s mysterious, phantom lover may be more than anyone, except the plantation housekeeper, suspects.

Excerpt from “The Night Before Doomsday”:
Eyes lined with charcoal as I’d taught them, lips rouged by my own hand mocked me.  A bold hand slid beneath my robe, up my thigh, and gripped my shaft.  The hot vibration deep inside trembled along my organ, growing longer and stiff.
Like a spider's web touched by a candle's flame, memories of Home shriveled.
Gentle Magdalene smoothed the hair back from my face, staring at my shocked expression.  “Oh, Azazel.” A fingertip traced my cheek. “Did we hurt you?”
“No.” I clamored to my feet, bewildered by the feelings torturing me.
None would meet my gaze.  Lord of Hosts, if they were afraid of me, I was doubly afraid of them. I’d never felt desire or the effect passion had on the body.  If I had experienced sexual longings, I’d ignored them.  Now, I could no longer pretend.  My body yearned for something I’d believed to be the province of Man and the beasts. 
Ruth winked a painted eyelid.  In her dark eyes, amusement twinkled.
“Ungrateful rabble.”  I tossed my hair back and folded my wings around me, brushing the dust from my feathers.  “I make you alluring.  You repay me by rolling me in the dirt and trying to tickle me to death.”
“You’re an angel.”  Ruth undulated her shoulders.  The lush breasts pointed at me swayed. “You can’t die.”
Oh, but I was dying. More than they could possibly know.  Dying to touch them, dying for them to touch me, caress me there again.  Before my face revealed forbidden desire, I schooled my expression stern.
Ruth stared at me.
Red lips smiling...perfect white hair falling over her face....  
She flung herself into my arms, covered my startled gasp with a hungry mouth.  A warm tongue plunged into me.  I went rigid, considered shoving her away, but a sensation like pain tightened in me.  A need, that I’d never experienced, pulsed between my legs.  I surrendered totally to feeling.
“Ruth, get off him.”  Magdalene’s voice sliced through the haze of passion. “Why do you do these things?  Help me get her off him, Ana.  Azazel doesn’t ask for favors. Help me, Elwen.  It’s not funny anymore.”
Like a blanket, they plucked the heat of Ruth's body off mine. Ana’s gaze swept down me.  Her eyes widened.  Mortified, I gaped at the tent in my angelic robe.  I had an erection.  Men not angels got hard.  The girls stared at me.  No, they were staring at the long weapon I couldn’t control.
“So the chaste Azazel falls.” Ruth laughed and, thank God, my erection wilted.
Buy Links:
Publisher's website at 

You can find out more about Linda at:
Twitter: @LNightingale

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

Meet Michael D. Smith and CommWealth

Michael D. Smith was raised in the Northeast and the Chicago area, before moving to Texas to attend Rice University, where he began developing as a writer and visual artist.  In addition to exhibiting and selling paintings and drawings, he’s completed fifteen novels.
Smith’s writing in both mainstream and science fiction genres uses humor to investigate psychological themes.  On his blog, he explores art and writing processes, and his web site contains further examples of his writing and art. He is currently Technology Librarian for McKinney Public Library in McKinney, Texas.
CommWealth is his first novel published by Class Act Books.

Character Interview:

Beverley: What’s your name?
Allan: I’m Allan Larson, the leader of the Forensic Squad theatrical troupe in CommWealth. The other actors pretend I’m not really the leader and they say Steve Constantine, who owns the coffee shop where we put on our plays, is really the leader, but really, he’s just like a business manager, he knows zilch about the theater. I write the plays, I motivate the actors, everyone knows it’s me.
Beverley: Where did you grow up?
Allan: Right here in Linstar, this fictional town on the Texas coast south of Houston that our dear author has milked before in at least one other novel. That’s another reason I’m the leader, because I know this town and what makes it tick. When I was a kid this place had maybe 20,000 people, now it’s grown insanely to something like 180,000. I’ve seen this place grow up, like a teenager who has to get bigger and bigger shoes every couple weeks. It’s an off-balance, frantic, immature sort of town, and I’m right at home here.
Beverley: During what time period does your story take place?
Allan: We have it set as just contemporary America. Turns out that dear author used the 2017-2018 calendar just to keep his facts straight, like December 14 falls on a Thursday, you know, but all the characters made him not use any actual year dates, because we wanted to keep this thing timeless.
Beverley: What’s your story/back story? Why would someone come up with a story about you?
Allan: See, I starred in this long involved dream the author had a while back and I was such a fascinating character that he knew he had a novel practically already written from this dream. So I’m playing the part of anti-hero in this dream, but you know that even though the author claims that he was somehow observing the Allan dream character from afar, you know how the psychological Shadow works and so obviously when I’m playing the anti-hero in this novel there’s Shadow stuff of the author’s going on. Anyway, in the dream I play this supercilious guy who’s really adapted well to this new property-less society that’s just been set up, and I grab cars, computers, everything I can, and bring all my loot back to this cool mansion I’ve claimed. Meanwhile I’m writing all sorts of obscene poetry and betraying my girlfriend and all that sort of crap. Shadows have to do that sort of thing, you know. There were more parts to the dream, like I get ordered to work in Australia as a detective on a murder mystery case, and later I get sent back to the U.S. because I’m supposed to be emotionally shattered and all that, but those two parts weren’t used because the whole premise of the property-less society in part one was more than enough for a novel. There’s so much stuff about Shadow, paranoia, hoarding, human sexual manipulation, and raw survival, and it’s all centered on me. So dear author had no choice but to write my story.
Beverley: What’s your goal in this story?
Allan: Well, I’m a creative guy, and really, everything I do in this novel is in furtherance of my playwriting and acting career. Like, if I’m going to write a play about fast cars, I need a twelve-car garage full of ’em, you know, and so I need a really big mansion to store ’em in. So while everyone thinks I’m just a Hoarder, which is against the law and which I would never, never do even though the author thinks otherwise, really all I’m doing is trying to survive on a day to day basis. And of course I miss my fantastic relationship with Lisa Arlington and when she won’t get back together with me, really I have no choice but to invoke the laws of CommWealth and demand her to be my sex slave for the next thirty days. I mean, it’s a test case for CommWealth laws and really I don’t know why everyone’s so upset about it. In any case it didn’t work out and that was fine with me, because I never guessed Lisa was so psycho. That was definitely a major stressor for yours truly, by the way. She almost murdered me!
Beverley: What conflicts are you facing?
Allan: Well, for one thing, just to keep my life flowing right for my art, I need to stay a step ahead of this CommWealth inspector who’s investigating me for Hoarding. He has me pegged wrong but issues all these legalistic threats against me. And everyone comes unglued when I bust my chops to get Richard Stapke’s entire literary output published. Sure I didn’t get his permission beforehand but I think he was secretly pleased, and anyway the world needed his art whether he wanted it out there or not. And trying to get Forensic Squad to calm down and concentrate on getting my play Cabaret done is a major headache, because they keep resisting my leadership and meanwhile Richard and Jill are having this affair and Jill’s husband Steve finds out and I’ve got to keep everyone happy, you know, so we can get on with the play.
Beverley: Do you have a plan for resolving them?
Allan: All I can do is just keep exercising my leadership talents, directing the play and all. But then Steve goes off the deep end after learning about Jill and Richard, saying he wants to start this revolution against CommWealth, which anybody can see is flat-out suicide. So I have to exercise my leadership talents there as well, because the only reason I seem to go along with Steve--no matter that dear author supposes it’s just because I have no place to go after Lisa dumped me outside my own mansion at gunpoint, me with no clothes on the middle of a freaking thunderstorm--anyway, the only reason I go along with Steve’s crazy plan is to calm him down, stop this stupid revolution talk, and get everybody in Forensic Squad focused on the important thing, which is my play Cabaret. I still don’t know why people can’t just see that basic fact.
Beverley: Is there anything else you’d like us to know about you?
Allan: Yeah, people get the wrong idea about me. Okay, so I’m supposed to function as the anti-hero in this thing. I get that, but I do feel the author has constantly mispresented me as some snivelling coward manipulator, or that I have these head problems everyone has to tiptoe around. I admit our dear author quoted me correctly in the novel--my lawyers have advised me to say this--because after all anyone can order the book right off Amazon and read all my lines right there--but I still feel it’s all, like, out of context or something. Sure, when the cops opened fire on us when we were holed up in the farmhouse, that was stressful, but really, to make me out to be such a coward about it? C’mon, I have leadership talents, I wouldn’t really start freaking out like that, would I? So my lawyers are talking to the author right now. He’s resisting writing any sort of sequel to CommWealth, but we just might have to force him to do it to set my character straight.
Anyway, any jury would see the author’s bias against me. He painted the cover of the book and although I’m front and center, he made me look like I’m about to throw up. And in this illustration he did on his website he makes me look nasty and petty: Look, guys, I’m an actor, playing the part of an anti-hero, I’m really a talented playwright leader of a great theatrical troupe. Why can’t people see that?

Blurb for CommWealth:

The CommWealth system, has created a society in which there is no legal claim to any kind of private property. Any object from your house to the clothes you’re wearing can be demanded by anyone, to be enjoyed for thirty days before someone else can request it. As actors in the Forensic Squad theatrical troupe attempt to adapt to this chaos, their breaking of the Four Rules sustaining the system, as several members navigate betrayals, double agents, and murder to find themselves leading a suicidal revolution.

Excerpt for CommWealth:
Rule One - You are free to enjoy the chosen object for thirty days. During this period no other person may request it.
Rule Two - The requestor is untouchable for thirty days by the person asked. Attempts at retaliation, such as demanding unusually large quantities from the original requestor after the thirty-day period, carry stiff penalties.
Rule Three - Once you ask somebody for something, you can never ask him or her for anything else again.
Rule Four - You can never ask for the same thing back from the person who got it from you, not even after his or her thirty days of enjoyment.

Allan shivered at the reflection of his black overcoat and his striding legs on the wet sidewalk. Up ahead someone with a DreamPiston Electronics bag opened a shiny red Porsche glistening with thousands of water beads.
“Okay,” Allan said, “I’ll take your car here.”
The mustached little twerp looked up. “Ahhh, crap...”
“C’mon, don’t give me any trouble. Gimme the key.”
“Look, it’s raining. And I just got these MP3 players and the new Fappy tablet—”
“Not my problem. Fork the damn key over.”
“Look, my umbrella’s in the car—can I just get my umbrella so my stuff—”
“Forget it. The umbrella’s part of the car as far as I’m concerned. Anything in the car. Besides, I just lost my umbrella a couple blocks back. I’m soaked.”
“C’mon, I just got this car the other day!”
“Don’t hand me that. The sticker on the plate says you got it a month and a half ago. You’re overdue, buddy. Now hand me the key.”
“Dammit! Dammit!”
“Got trouble there?” A bright blue City of Linstar police car idled in the rain. “Got a Hoarder there?” a huge officer grinned.
“Uh, no... not at all...” said the twerp. “I just—I just can’t find the key—”
“Yeah, right—you just unlocked the damn car with it,” Allan said, turning to the policeman. “He is giving me a lot of crap about it.”
“C’mon, sir, you know better than that.” The officer’s name tag read BARCLAY.
“Dammit!” the twerp snarled. He separated the Porsche key off his key ring, thrust it at Allan, then spun around and fastened on a man coming down the sidewalk. “Give me that umbrella! Right now!”
“Goddammit...” the man grunted, surrendering his umbrella to the twerp, who grabbed it and hoisted it above his DreamPiston bag.
“We really got the Christmas spirit here, don’t we?” Barclay said.
“Really,” Allan said. “Some people...” He examined the Porsche key in the rain. “Thanks for your help, officer.”
“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t really necessary. People are basically good, you know. Give ’em time to adjust and all, that’s what I say.”
The twerp leapt into traffic with his new umbrella and his bag, waving his free arm. A little green car skidded to a halt. The twerp ran to the window and pounded on it. “Give me this car! Right now! Damn you!”
“Jesus...” Allan said. “What a bastard!”
Barclay was out of his patrol car in a second, hand on his hand on his holster. “Sir, that’s not the right way to go about it. We need to be respectful. That’s the CommWealth way.”

Buy Links for CommWealth:
Publisher’s website:
Barnes & Noble:
Also available from

You can find more about Michael at:
Blog: www.

Friday, May 18, 2018

Beginnings, Endings and Sagging Middles

It’s that time for another group blog. This month’s topic is ‘How do you ensure a story has a good beginning, a satisfying ending, and good continuity in between?”

It’s a great topic, but my first thought was, if I knew that I’d be a NY Times best seller. But it is something every writer faces. How do we tackle it and hopefully make it happen?

I’m more of a pantser. I get an idea. Then I start to develop my characters and I start writing to see where I go. I know I need a hook and a few first pages to pull in a reader. I look at what I’ve written, maybe a chapter or two and go back to the beginning. Hopefully by now I’m learning about my h/h. What’s the inciting incident? What causes an abrupt shift in the story? What starts my h/h on their journey? Once I figure out exactly what that is, I write enough information to get the readers interest, and hopefully keep them reading to find out more.

I don’t find the satisfying ending too difficult. I write romantic suspense, so it will be a happily ever after ending. During the journey through the story I’ve gotten to know my characters, their idiosyncrasies, their real goals and they’re challenges getting together. They’ve reached their goals, resolved their personal issues, admitted their love and will live happily ever after.

And the continuity, or sometimes know as the sagging middles, has always been the biggest challenge for me. Keeping the story moving toward the goals, having the h/h grow, address their personal issues and solve the challenges, whatever they may be depending on the genre, this is my challenge. I do draw a basic chart for each main character with their personal issues and conflicts with each other and tick them off as they’re resolved. If I I’m staring at the screen and can’t figure out what to do next I remember what someone once told me. There’s no such thing as writing block, it means you don’t know your story or your characters as well as you should, or maybe you’re trying to make your characters do something that’s against their nature. So I stop, go back and do more research for the story and I talk to my characters.
Hopefully when I start to write again the middle will meet all those issues and proceed smoothly to the HEA.

I look forward to seeing what the other others have to say. I hope you do too. Join me in checking them out.
Skye Taylor
Marci Baun
Judith Copek
Margaret Fieland
A.J. Maguire

Dr. Bob Rich
Anne de Gruchy
Rhobin L Courtright

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Meet Icy Snow Blackstone

Icy Snow Blackstone was born in 1802, in northern Georgia where her father, the Reverend John Blackstone, was prominent in local politics. She married a minister, raised at least seven children, one of whom also became a minister, and lived there all her life. There are no photographs of her available because cameras were not invented at that time.

Two hundred and five years later, her great-great-great-great-granddaughter began using her name as a pseudonym for her romance novels. Her novels have won awards:
Earthman's Bride was the recipient of the 2008 Maryland Romance Writers Reveal Your Inner Vixen Fiction Award for Speculative/Other Romance. Icy Snow's Vietnam-era romance, Jericho Road, placed 8th in the 1997 National Writers Association Novel-writing Contest for that year. The present Icy Snow Blackstone lives far from her Southern roots in Lancaster County, Nebraska, where she continues to write romances. The Novel Tuesday's Child was voted Best Contemporary Romance of 2014 by the Paranormal Romance Guild's Reviewers Choice.

Beverley: Which genre or genres do you write or prefer to write? And why?
Icy Snow: I write mostly Southern romances. I’m familiar with that region, having been born there.
Beverley: Who influenced you the most in deciding to become a writer?
Icy Snow: I had a seventh grade teacher who encouraged my class to write.  We’d work on short stories and read them to the class.
Beverley: What gets your creative juices flowing?
Icy Snow: Anything! A word, a phrase, the ending of a movie I didn’t like…I’ll rewrite it the way I think it should’ve happened.
Beverley: Do you have a favorite cartoon character? Why?
Icy Snow: The Shrek version of Puss in Boots. I think Antonio Banderas did a great job of making Puss into a suave rogue of a cat with a big heart and a mischievous streak.
Beverley: If you had an unexpected free day what would you do with it?
Icy Snow: Probably the same thing I do every other day.  Read a book, write a little, watch some TV.  I’m a creature of habit!
Beverley: What are you working on now?
Icy Snow: Currently, I’m finishing up my romance Runaway Brother. It was inspired by a movie about a millionaire who “takes to the road” to see how the other half lives during the depression and ends up falling in love.

Blurb for Runaway Brother:

At the age of twenty-two, newly-graduated Nicolo Liguori is forced by his three brothers to become care-giver for his father, who suffered multiple strokes.  For the next ten years, Nick gives up his own ambitions , working during the day in the family jewelry business in Vanderhoek, New York, and returning to the Liguori mansion every night, to be at his father’s beck-and-call. Then Papa dies and Nick is free…or is he?  Carlo, Marco, and Pietro expect him to continue life as usual, but Nick has other ideas.  Secretly buying a motorcycle, he starts to work one day and… disappears.

Nick gets as far as the southern coast of Georgia before an accident disables his bike.  Stranded, with no idea of the South except what he’s seen on TV, Nick isn’t certain what kind of reception he’s going to get.  Then, a pretty Southern miss and a white tank disguised as a temperamental horse named Shazam change his life as they and the citizens of Oceano teach a runaway Yankee about life and love in a small Georgia town.


The track was getting narrower, barely two ruts now with a width of slender, wiry grass separating them.  He slowed the bike.  Don’t want to get that stuff caught in the spokes and stall the engine.
         Nick raised his head, looking around, then gave a loud sigh of exasperation.  Okay!  So I’m lost!  He’d just follow the road to wherever it went, probably to some farmer’s front yard.  When he got there, he’d apologize, turn around and get himself back to the main drag.  If he could find it.
            A broken branch loomed ahead, and he turned his attention to it, guiding the bike around it.  
           A second branch and several twigs littered the roadway.  Nick was so concerned with maneuvering around them he didn’t see the horse sail over the fence, wasn’t even aware it was there until he looked up and found the white shape almost directly in front of him.
           He jerked the wheel to the right, forgetting to apply the rear brakes first.  The bike skidded, its back wheel rising off the ground as the front one stopped rolling.  He had a brief vision of the animal leaping forward, its rider clinging to its back, wide, frightened blue eyes, flying blonde hair...
        The motorcycle went off the road, sliding into the ditch and running up the other side, the front fender striking one of the fence posts.  It bounced and rebounded, and Nick went flying over the handlebars, flipping in mid-air and hitting the same post with his back. The bike wavered a moment, then toppled onto its side.  Nick slid down the post, landing upside down in the ditch, his shoulders crushing coffeeweed into an aromatic mass.
        The pounding hooves stopped.  He heard running footsteps, opened his eyes and saw someone running toward him.  He closed them again.
        “Are you hurt?”
        This time when he opened his eyes, he was staring at the upside-down face of a very pretty girl, at least she’d have been pretty if her face wasn’t screwed up into such a dismayed scowl.
        Am I hurt?”  He managed a growl as he slid further into the weeds and rolled over.  “I just hit a fence and got tossed into a ditch!  What do you think?”  Clambering to his knees, while she plucked ineffectually at one arm, he jerked out of her grasp.  “I can get up by my—  Ow!” 
        He’d gotten upright, took a step, and his leg buckled, turning at the ankle    “Here.”  She slid into the ditch, offering a hand.  Reluctantly he took it, being careful not to put too much weight behind it as he let her pull him to his feet.  He could see she was worried and he really wasn’t hurt all that bad, but he was angry because she’d been so reckless.
        “What the Hell’s the matter with you?  Jumping in front of me like that!  If I’d hit that horse—”
        “What are you doing riding this road?  This is private property.”
        She was too pretty for him to pretend to stay angry at, so he toned it down, answering her question. “I got lost.  I only wanted to find the end of the road and turn around.”
        “You have a way to go.  The house is about a quarter of a mile that way.”  She nodded toward a group of pines thrust into the road, hiding the rest of it from sight. Nick looked in that direction, then back at her.  She, in turn, looked at the motorcycle, still on its side in the weeds.  You seem okay.  Is that hurt?”
        Nick got down on one knee, feeling under the bike.  His hand came away wet.  He sniffed at his fingers. 
        Gasoline. He pulled off one glove, exploring gingerly.  Something had punched a hole in the gas tank and gasoline was pouring into the grass.  He had no idea how, but it didn’t matter.  What did was that he wasn’t going anywhere as long as that hole was there.
        “Well?”  She appeared to be awaiting his diagnosis.
        He wiped his fingers on the seat of his jeans.  “Gas tank’s got a hole in it, clutch cable’s severed. Is there a motorcycle shop around here anywhere?”
        “No, but Marshall’s in town can probably repair it.  He does everything from lawn mowers to farm machinery.”
        Oh Lord, deliver me from small town handymen!  He was about to tell her he didn’t want Marshall touching his bike when he realized, What else am I going to do?  Do you have a better idea, Mr. Runaway?
        “So which way is town?”  He straightened, looked around as if expecting to see the city limits a few feet away.
        “Too far for you to push that thing,” she answered, gesturing at the front wheel.  “Not with it twisted like that.”
        “What do I do then, Miss Not-So-Helpful?  Since this is your fault—”
        “My fault?”  Hands went to her hips.  And deliciously slim ones they were, too.  Nick had a moment to think she looked anything but angry, though it was apparent she thought she did.  Cute, maybe.  Hell, he might even say adorable with those blonde wisps floating around her face, but angry?  Nope!  “Who’s the trespasser?  Who had his head down, studying the ground when he should’ve been looking straight ahead?”
        “You weren’t ahead of me,” he countered.  “You and that white tank of yours jumped a fence and came in from the side.
        “Never mind.  Just let me get the bike upright and point me in the right direction, and—”      
        “I’ll do no such thing.”  That made him stare at her, wondering if she was going to walk away, mount her white steed, and leave him stranded knee-deep in Kudzu or whatever-the-Hell these weeds were.  “I’ll ride back to the house and get my grandpa’s truck.  We”ll put the motorcycle in it.”
        She clambered up the bank, running toward the horse now was grazing on the other side of the road.  Catching the reins and a handful of mane, she swung into the horse’s back—very gracefully, he noted—then turned the animal’s head and trotted it back to him.
        “You stay right there,” she told him.  “I’ll be back in a jif!”  She kicked the horse in the ribs and sent it galloping down the road.
        Nick turned his attention back to the V-Rod.  It hadn’t moved.  Did he expect it to get up and limp over to him like a dog with a hurt paw, whimpering for sympathy?  Shaking his head, he leaned against the edge of the ditch, back against a fencepost.
        Welcome South, Brother!     

Buy Links:
Paper back from the publisher’s website:
e-Books/Kindle from Amazon:

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

Meet Juanita Aydlette

Juanita Aydlette is from Shreveport, Louisiana, and now lives in Texas.  She’s the only girl in a family of four brothers. She love music, planting flowers and is a dog lover…that’s why she works at an animal clinic.
Beverley: Are you a pet person?
Juanita: Yes I am. As a matter of fact, I work for a Veterinarian.
Beverley: Do you think pets (dogs/cats/birds/ horses/ etc.) belong in books? Why?
Juanita: I think pets belong in books, because they will definitely draw the curiosity of the reader. Pet lovers—and there are millions, can relate to animals as family member. I think it's important to them to find an author that feels that way too.
Beverley: Should they be the main characters? Why?
Juanita: I think it depends on the plot. If it's a fantasy or science fiction story, then why not? In that case, the animal can be as intelligent as a human.
Beverley: Should animals in books talk?
Juanita: Sure. As I said, in cases of science fiction and fantasy, why not?
Beverley: Do you include pets in your books?
Juanita: My first novel was published last year by Class Act Books, a fantasy romance/suspense,  and there are animals—not pets, but animals just the same.
Beverley: Any other thoughts on pets, and pets in books?
Juanita: If my husband didn't protest, I would probably try to acquire as many pets as I could. I think animals enhance a story, because they tend to bring out the soft side of most people.
Beverley: Which genre or genres do you write or prefer to write?
Juanita: So far, I have no preference. If I happen upon a situation that I feel will make a good story, then I plan to write about it. However, I do tend to lean more towards fantasy.
Beverley: What prompted you to write in the genre/s you do?
Juanita: I had a vivid imagination as a child, but no one to share it with. I have a lot of catching up to do as far as writing about it now. It's a little harder now that I'm older.
Beverley: What genres do you enjoy reading?
Juanita: I like thrillers, suspense, mysteries and romance also.
Beverley: How long have you been writing?
Juanita: I've been a closet-writer since high school; poems and such. I was shy and always worried about what people thought of me. Now, I don't care.
Beverley: Who influenced you the most in deciding to become a writer?
Juanita: Stephenie Meyer. I waited so long to decide to make this a reality, and after she did it, I felt like I could too.
Beverley: What obstacles did you have to overcome to begin creating your work?
Juanita: First, I started to write without any research on the publishing industry, so I took my first five rejections pretty hard. I had to go back and find out what I was doing wrong. Second, I work ten hours a day, so I have to squeeze time in for writing. That part really depresses me.
Beverley: What gets your creative juices flowing?
Juanita: Anything. I have ideas to pop up all the time—mostly at work, and I have little pieces of paper with notes on them stuck in my pockets by the end of the day.
Beverley: What will stop your creative muse the quickest?
Juanita: Constant disturbances by my husband and my dogs and also the phone ringing will drive me nuts.
Beverley: What do you have for breakfast?
Juanita: I will eat just about anything for breakfast, but if I have the time, I will stop at McDonalds and get oatmeal and a biscuit with butter.
Beverley: What do you wear when you are writing?
Juanita: Usually I'm in a pair of shorts or my night clothes, because after working all day, I have to make time for an hour or so to write before I go to bed. Other than that, I spend an hour of my lunch break to write.
Beverley: Where do you do most of your writing?
I get most of my writing done at home on Saturdays.
Beverley: Do you have a favorite cartoon character? Why?
Juanita: I use to watch The fantastic Four cartoons when I was younger, because everyone had special powers.
Beverley: Who would you love most to meet 'in person' and why?
Juanita: I would like to meet actor Anthony Hopkins--just something about Hannibal Lector. I took him as a date to a Facebook party once.
Beverley: If you had an unexpected free day what would you do with it?
Juanita: I would either write or just relax and watch television.
Beverley: What are you working on now?
Juanita: I am working on part two of "It's in the Blood" entitled "Blood Ties." Hopefully it will be released early in 2018.

Blurb for It’s in the Blood:
Never stare at a green-eyed, shirtless hunk. Gabrielle Madsen is drawn in by such a pair of eyes that captures her soul and leaves her a prisoner of an addictive kind of love--not that she's complaining. But her educational trip turns out to be more than just a fun-filled summer escapade.
She’s faced with a life-changing decision that could affect the world around her. Her discovery of this ancient, legend-come-to-life proves to be deadly, but her heart can’t break away. She and Josh Van Ness fall in love and must battle the forces that want to keep them apart.

Excerpt for It’s in the Blood:
Away from the open menagerie was a path surrounded by dense trees. It was across a narrow decorative bridge built into the landscape. The thick greenery
provided a shady side to the open garden. A spotlight created by the sun beckoned to me from inside and I walked away from the others. My eyes were fixed on the pink and red groundcover that glimmered with a hypnotic seduction. I ventured toward the fragrant breeze, unaware of how far I had strayed.
After only a few yards inside the cover of the trees, my body was seized again by a rumble and a frightening snarl. A chill blanketed me and I couldn’t move. I didn’t dare look around, for the back of my blouse had already been saturated by the heated moisture from the breath of the beast. My first instinct was to scream, but fear had stolen my voice. So I took a deep breath and held it. The scent of horror filled my lungs. It was familiar. Was I being stalked by the animal that lurked outside my hotel grounds?
Help me please, rang inside my head. My eyes squeezed shut as its sharp fangs pinched my shoulder. Tears filled my eyes and my hands formed a fist. I waited to feel my bones snap when suddenly, it let go. The leaves crunched. The sound grew fainter by the second, then nothing. My eyes remained closed as I trembled and listened.
“Miss?” A woman’s voice severed my nightmare. “I saw you come out here. We’re getting ready to go to another area. You don’t want to be left behind.”

Without hesitation I ran past her, clutching my throat and sobbing. The other tourists were boarding the van and I made my way to the back. The woman I believed saved me from certain death, came and sat beside me.
“Hi. My name is Kara. Are you okay?” She placed her hand on my shoulder.
“Did you see anything?” I searched her eyes for a confirmation. “An animal? It was behind me.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything,” she said and smiled.
“Was it a spider?” the little lady with the blinding yellow blouse asked.
“No. Never mind, Kara. I guess I’m just tired. Thank you for checking on me.”
“You’re welcome, you take care.” She quickly returned to her seat.
My body trembled as the bus came to stop. I ran from the tourist center to the hotel. Once inside the bathroom, I stripped and examined my shoulder. A painful bruise was both in front and in back. I cried out loud, shook convulsively, and then laughed hysterically. Was I going mad?

Buy Links for It’s in the Blood:
Paperback exclusively at the Publisher’s website:

You can find Juanita at:
Twitter: @Juanita Aydlette