Lady Brenda and Devlin’s Curse

Her biography is amazing; her accomplishments, rich and varied; and, she’s a great lady! Please welcome to the blog, multi-talented author, radio personality, medium and screen writer Lady Brenda McKoy.

 

crystal ball me2Lady Brenda aka Brenda McKoy was born in Southern California and raised in east Africa. Writing vampire fantasy and non-fiction in the metaphysical genre, she most recently published Devlin’s Curse through Solstice Publishing (2016). Non-fiction works include Tarot Secrets and Reiki for Witches, also from Solstice Sisters Publishing (2015), and The Wings of Isis from O-Books (2010). As a screenwriter, she has two optioned screenplays to her credit Red Bluff and the Heart of Anubis.

An internationally acclaimed professional psychic for over 25 years she is known for her straightforward, on target predictions. Presently, Lady Brenda hosts of Psychic Viewpoint on Psychic Access Talk Radio as well as her own radio program The Destiny Show on KTMQ and Lady Brenda’s Psychic Hour on KSHJ. She has made guest appearances on radio nationally and internationally on The Jamie and Danny Show with Danny Bonaduce, and as the in house psychic for the annual KROQ Halloween Party. Lady Brenda has been a guest on such television shows as The Daily Show, Woman to Woman News on CBS, Men are from Mars Woman are from Venus on NBC with Cybill Shepard, Jay Leno and The Learning Channel.

As a medium, Lady Brenda specializes in spirit contact and has performed séances, ghostbusting, exorcisms and table tipping throughout the United States, UK, Mexico and in Egypt.

tarot secretsLady Brenda has a PhD in Religious Philosophy, is an ordained minister and Reiki Master woi book coverTeacher. She is the founder and High Priestess of The Grove of the Green Cobra, School of Ancient Mysteries and The DejaVu School of Healing provides classes in various metaphysical and healing subjects.

As a spiritual tour guide, Brenda has led tours to Egypt to facilitate meditations and rituals in Pyramids and the ancient temples.

Other interests: A professional belly dancer since 1990, Lady Brenda performs and promotes events at restaurants and other venues all over southern California and Nevada.

Lady Brenda resides primarily on her small ranch in Southern California with her husband, two dogs and four horses. She travels once a month to her haunted Victorian home in the living Ghost Town of Virginia City, Nevada, the backdrop for her upcoming novel, Devlin’s Curse.

 

NEW FROM LADY BRENDA: DEVLIN’S CURSE

Devlin's Curse (1)A wicked tale of love and immortality, set against the backdrop of the Old West…

Esmeralda Jones, exorcist and healer, travels to the notorious gold town of Virginia City where a demonic presence lurks deep in the Gilded Bird mine. A woman with a mysterious past she sets herself up in a fine salon where she can fulfill her calling to purge innocent souls from unspeakable evil. An unexpected encounter with Devlin Winter, gambler, gunfighter and sinfully handsome vampire puts her soul and carefully guarded heart in peril.

Driven by a passion of many lifetimes and the thirst for revenge, Devlin doesn’t count on Esmeralda becoming the bait that draws him into the demon’s lair, deep inside the Gilded Bird mine. During his quest he confronts Virginia City’s most prominent mine owner, a rabid pack of hired guns and a Babylonian demon. Devlin and Esmeralda face a fierce battle that even his immortal strength and her magical abilities may not be enough to win against. A battle in which Esmeralda herself may have to choose between a half-life and immortality to survive.

 

What was your inspiration for Devlin’s Curse?

Devlin’s Curse  was inspired by my love of Old West lore, magic, vampires  and the living ghost town of  Virginia City Nevada. The characters for the story were first originally created in a previous screenplay I wrote entitled Red Bluff then spun off to the novel Devlin’s Curse. The book tells the tale of Devlin Winter, gambler, gunfighter and vampire that comes to Virginia City to kill a demon that lives deep in a gold mine. His plans are shot to hell when the woman he loves Esmeralda Jones arrives in Virginia City and becomes the bait that draws him into a battle between a corrupt mine owner, a pack of desperate gunslingers and a Babylonia demon.

 

Why did you choose the town of Virginia City as the location of your story?

The first time I laid eyes on Virginia City Nevada, I could feel the spirits all around me. The history and the rich tapestry of notorious characters from the gold rush days led my husband and I to buy a historic house on the hill. It was built by one of the original founders of the town and owner of a famous gold mine, the Belcher mine.  Many of the historic saloons, opera house and landmarks of Virginia City are mentioned in Devlin’s Curse. The battle between good and evil and the underlying love story is woven into the history and legends of some of the town’s most prominent characters and locations.

 

Why do you write?

The voices in my head tell me to write! Characters and stories come to me late at night and even in my dreams. I always keep a notebook beside my bed in case I need to scribble a plot or dialog down in the wee hours of the morning.

 

Who are some of your favorite authors?

Bram Stoker, Ann Rice, Alexander Dumas, Max Brand, Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Eloisa James and Jane Feather.

Publication1dev3

Thank you so much Lady Brenda for stopping by and sharing your latest success with us. Good luck with the book and everything you do.

ABF

LINKS

www.ladybbooks.com

www.ladybrendapsychic.com

Twitter: @ladybrendamckoy

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/brenda.mckoy.9

https://www.facebook.com/Lady-Brenda-159720594098554/?fref=ts

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15050449.Lady_Brenda?ref=ru_lihp_up_rs_0_mclk-up2980336249

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scooter Nation by A. B. Funkhauser

The Writer's Inkwell

scooternationbannerScooter NationAging managing director Charlie Forsythe begins his work day with a phone call to Jocasta Binns, the unacknowledged illegitimate daughter of Weibigand Funeral Home founder Karl Heinz Sr. Alma Wurtz, a scooter bound sextenarian, community activist, and neighborhood pain in the ass is emptying her urine into the flower beds, killing the petunias. Jocasta cuts him off, reminding him that a staff meeting has been called. Charlie, silenced, is taken aback: he has had no prior input into the meeting and that, on its own, makes it sinister.

The second novel in the UNAPOLOGETIC LIVES series, SCOOTER NATION takes place two years after HEUER LOST AND FOUND. This time, funeral directors Scooter Creighton and Carla Moretto Salinger Blue take centre stage as they battle conflicting values, draconian city by-laws, a mendacious neighborhood gang bent on havoc, and a self absorbed fitness guru whose presence shines an unwanted light on their…

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SEARCHING THE PAST, AUTHOR FRANCENE STANLEY

Francene - blackParanormal storyteller Francene Stanley has added another volume to her Moonstone series, and it’s her last. Has she turned her attention to things non-writerly? Not a chance. This prolific author is taking a different tack, moving into non fiction as she works on her memoir. Congratulations Francene on your new release and best of luck with the next project!

ABF

What is your latest book called?

Karm Currents. It’s the fourth in the Moonstone series about a woman whose spirit is drawn to unknown people at unexpected times. Aside from her visionary experiences, she’s an ordinary woman with all the problems and relationships of modern life.

 

Who are your main characters?

The novel centers around Liliha. In this stand-alone story, her daughter Alissa arrives to stay with her.  Two other characters share the story: heart-sick Harry, and devious Delphi.

 

Tell me about the title. Are there any hidden subtexts we should know about?

The title points to the karmic link between the characters, and how the currents work below the surface of their lives.

 

How many books do you have planned?

When Karm Currents is released on March 16th, I will have published nine novels. At the moment, I’m working on the first part of my memoirs, beginning in the 40s and progressing to the 70s.

 

Tell me about your home base. Country or city?

I live in the best of both worlds; close to the town of Borehamwood, Hertfordshire, UK, but living in a little village to one side surrounded by fields and trees.

 

All writing and no play makes the writer suffer. What do you do in your spare time (other than work the day job)?

One could say I’m lucky to have reached the age of retirement. But as one ages, aches and pains deter a person from joyous relaxation. You could say, writing lifts me out of suffering.

 

What are you doing right now this minute?

I’m sitting in my warm study answering your questions. Outside the window, fields stretch into the distance, rising to meet the tree-covered horizon. I won’t fall for the sun’s cheerful promise and venture outside. With age comes wisdom.

 

Thank you Francene. Let’s take a look at KARM CURRENTS:

 

 

Karm CurrentsKarm Currents is the fourth and final book in the paranormal Moonstone series set in the little village of St. Ives, Cornwall, England.

Apart from her telepathic sojourns of whispering advice to strangers, Liliha is an ordinary woman, separated from her teenage daughters in Australia. Her youngest daughter, Alissa, arrives to live with her, and brings her grandmother. As if that interference isn’t enough, Liliha’s ex turns up to take their daughter home.

Lovesick Harry steps in to help, bringing with him an ancient Egyptian necklace in the hope of compensating for the bracelet he lost. When more jewelry turns up, all seemingly connected, regressions reveal a previous relationship between Alissa, Harry, and Liliha.

 

****E x c e r p t****

 

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I think you should have a good sleep. You’ve flown half way over the world in the last twenty-four hours. I know how exhausting that can be.” Once, she’d loved and believed in him. But he’d ruined that. Why did she go on placating him? Why not throw him out right now?

Before she could stand, Gareth staggered over to sit beside her on the sofa. Ears alert for Harry’s knock, Liliha wished her ordeal would finish. When he held her hands and looked deep into her eyes, she recognized the pain inside his.

He mumbled, “Nobody understan’s me like you do. Let’s get together again.”

“No, Gareth. You left me for someone else, remember?” She managed to slip one hand out of his clutching fingers, but he held the other with a desperate grip.

“I’m sure she’s going to leave me. Jillian. They all do. Why did we part? You were always kind. Come back to me … please.”

“I’ve made a new life here.” She tried to extract her remaining hand.

He growled, “I did e’rything for you. All you had to do was run the house and take care of my daughters. Was tha’ so hard?”

“No, Gareth,” She pushed his shoulder. “But I didn’t like being betrayed.”

He clasped her extended hand. “You could never get enough o’ me.”

The lie offended her. “Gareth, will you please let go?”

“Sho polite.” His expression showed determination. “I need you.” He twisted her hand behind her waist.

What! A hard, demanding kiss caught her by surprise—lips like sandpaper, chaffing hers while she struggled and broke free.

“I miss your fire,” he whispered.

She went rigid. How could he mistake her resistance for passion? His hot lips scalded her neck. “Gareth, no!”

He released her left hand, but before she could move he grabbed her breast—moved his lips with care. “I know how to make you my wife again.”

With growing panic, she focused on his throat. She’d read that if she squeezed the carotid artery he’d lose consciousness. Instead of throttling him, she muttered. “I’m not your wife.”

Gareth studied her face with a cold, clinical look. “I don’ know who you are then.”

The anger she’d held in check for so long flared. “Gareth. You’re a guest in this house because you’re here for Alissa’s birthday.” She wrenched her other arm out from behind her and strengthened her voice. “I don’t want to be with you, ever again. Got it?” She struggled to her feet.

A knock sounded. Quivering, she fled to the door into the hall. “Harry! Come in.”

 

****L i n k s****

Moonstone series: (These novels are set in the present in Cornwall, UK)

  1. Still Rock Water: http://bookgoodies.com/a/B009KNQ4RG
  2. Tidal Surge: http://bookgoodies.com/a/B00DX5YLXQ
  3. Shattered Shells: http://bookgoodies.com/a/B00O94OHIY
  4. Karm Currents: http://bookgoodies.com/a/B01D0AW

 

For her other books, see Francene’s author page at Amazon.  http://amzn.to/1ljAdMf

 

Still Rock Water trailer: A person whisperer in a battle over good and evil. http://youtu.be/qFY97XzSQW8

Tidal Surge trailer: What if an ancient jewel trapped you into committing evil? http://youtu.be/qFY97XzSQW8

 

Karm Currents Universal link: http://bookgoodies.com/a/B01D0AW 784

Amazon author page: http://amzn.to/1ljAdMf

 

#AuThorsday with A.B. Funkhauser

Sunshine Somerville

IMG_20160108_214128_0Today I’d like to welcome “brilliant and wacky writer” A.B. Funkhauser, author of Heuer Lost and Found.

Can you give us your quickest description of your book? 

I write gonzo mortuary revenge fiction with a hint of pas de deux.

That’s one I’ve never heard before!  What is involved in this genre/kind of writing?

Gonzo journalism was pioneered and advanced by the late great Hunter S. Thompson of Rolling Stone Magazine fame.  The basic tenet of gonzo is to shine a light on something that is held near and dear and make it more accessible through HUMOR.  These can be cherished moments, sacred cows, or pet peeves, which means the gonzo is free to wander through both positive and negative territory.  Because subtext is as important as story in gonzo, something greater than the action is featured.  More often the hero must win, or the joy is lost; hence, the…

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THREE GENERATIONS IN SEARCH OF PEACE

 

Multi-disciplined resident of planet Earth author Sandra sandraPerez Gluschankoff can rightly claim expertise in the fields of psychoanalysis, anthropology, Judaic studies and Hebrew language. And, man, can she write! Today on Blog Funkhauser, the celebration of the publishing journey continues with an amazing shining light. Welcome Sandra!

 

 

1)   Tell us about your book?

 

Franzisca’s Box is a story that spans seven decades and delves into the irreversible damage war causes in the lives of three women, in this particular case. The novel is set against the backdrop of World War II in Romania, the immigration of Nazi criminals into South America, and present day California. It’s a heart-beating journey through mystery, murder, betrayal and passionate love.

 

2)   What made you decide to write it?

I don’t have specific reasons why I write a story. The ideas strike me like lightning, well, it’s not that dramatic… I get to walk away with my life, though. Anyway, back to the question, when a story strikes me, comes to me, I know I have to write it. It is then, during the writing process, when I start identifying stored memories, personal experiences, which make for key parts of the story. Very Freudian, if you ask me.

 

3)   How long did it take you to complete?

I started and abandoned the story a few times, life and other things got in the way, but all in all, less than a year.

 

4)   Do you have more planned?

Of course. I’m in the midst of another historical/women’s fiction novel. It’ll be my third.

 

5)   What’s your guilty pleasure?

Cheesy, romantic holiday movies.

 

6)   All writing and no play makes the writer suffer. What do you do in your spare time (other than work the day job)?

I exercise regularly, love hot yoga, spin, I run sometimes and when I get the chance I ride horses. I also get together with friends and we gossip till no end. Shopping is always on my to-do list, I may own more shoes than Imelda Marcos at this point. Also, I live a block from the beach, so I do take advantage of it and walk along it for miles.

 

7)   What’s the thing you love most about this thing we do called writing?

The stories, the characters, the deep emotion I feel when everything comes to life before my eyes as I pour it into words. But I guess, one of my favorite parts of being a writer is that no matter how uphill I feel the path sometimes is, I still sit down and write with a smile on my face.

 

Thanks, Sandra. Her new book, FRANZISCA’S BOX is available now. Read on 

 

Cover FranziscaMystery, betrayal, murder, and passionate love were things Sofia Lazar only experienced as a movie producer. All of that changed after her grandmother’s sudden death when she comes face to face with an unwanted revelation contained in a tattered box. The meager contents take her back to her childhood and the fantastic bedtime stories that Abuela, her grandmother, used to tell her of a heroic warrior girl named Franzisca. Now, two decades later, fragments of Franzisca’s stories creep back into Sofia’s life, tying Franzisca and her grandmother to an unknown past. With the memories of her childhood bedtime stories to guide her, Sofia sets out to piece together her grandmother’s mysterious history leading her to discover the truth behind her life.

Set against the backdrop of World War II Romania, the immigration of Nazi criminals into South America, the later years of the Military Regime in Argentina during the 1980s, and present-day California, Franzisca’s Box is a story of war that ultimately affects three generations of women who will never find peace until they call for a ceasefire in their own wars and surrender to forgiveness and love.

 

Excerpt 1

“Sofia, are you happy?” she asked.

No one had ever asked me that question before, especially not her. Before answering, I looked around the set, felt a pull in my lower back that had nagged me for the past two weeks and visualized my unshaven legs.

“Yes, I am.”

After a prolonged silence, she came back on the line sounding a bit hoarse as though she had been crying. “I love you, Sofia.”

Her urgent declaration had come as a shock. For Abuela the word love was not spoken freely. Her conception of love was a raw, unrestrained surrender of oneself to another, a responsibility, a lifetime commitment. I knew she loved me, but why had she the need to assert it now?

“Abuela, are you all right?” I asked. My chest had tightened with concern.

“Never better,” she said, regaining her steady commanding voice.

The conversation continued without any mention of the sudden pronouncement of her feelings and with my assurance that I would be back home in time for our rescheduled breakfast the following Sunday, even if I was dead on my feet.

Standing alone in her study, the irony of the metaphor undid me. One of us was indeed 115dead. My eyes slid over the darkened order of the room then went back to the box staring insolently back at me from the center of the desk. It wasn’t an ordinary box. Its battered state spoke of safely kept secrets, hardship, and survival. There was only one character in my life that had tempered all of those experiences and more. With that in mind, the events of the last twenty-four-hours were gradually falling into place. I thought back on the last conversation I had with Abuela. The way in which she had pronounced the words I Love You, brought back long buried childhood memories. Her words hinted to a time when we had shared a love for stories, fantasy, adventure. To Franzisca, the make-believe heroine she had introduced me to during my early childhood years. The fearless adventurer who could do it all, the fictional character I had secretly admired all of my life. The brave woman I’ve always aspired to be.

I remembered looking around the disheveled state of my rented apartment in Sienna, wondering if I had become who I had dreamt of being. Wondering if I was really happy. I shrugged. Was there a real answer to such an existentialist question? I saw my life as sliced in two. One part was infused with unlimited possibilities alongside Franzisca and her adventures. The other was limited by my fears, my skeptical thoughts on happy endings and my repudiation of everything Franzisca stood for.

Perhaps it had been the piled-up exhaustion throughout the production of The Italian Nightmare that had me fervently wishing that I could be embraced again by those stories that used to bring me so much warmth and comfort. Stories I ejected from my life because regardless of how much Abuela loved me, I had learned the hard way that fairytales only belonged in books. The most important question that nagged me with a big question mark was, why now? Why did I want to claim Franzisca back? The answer was simple. I missed Abuela terribly; moreover, I missed the connection we shared when we were both immersed in the land of Franzisca.

 

Excerpt 2

A wave of conflicting memories invaded Margaret as soon as her eyelashes rested atop her cheekbones. But this time, unlike the weeks preceding this trip, she did not pursue the safety of the light, and kept her eyes shut. It was time she revisited the event that had triggered her becoming Margaret.

Her silence had been sworn more than sixty years before when she was only a little girl. But her tender age had nothing to do with the years her soul had accumulated during her short life. Perhaps it had to do with the distress all survivors of war suffer. She had been amongst a group of thirty-five fortunate children who have fallen under the protection of an anonymous philanthropist.

It had happened during the second year of War World II when Margaret was a girl of six. Streets, sewage tunnels and abandoned buildings had become her temporary housing during the war-years. Margaret learned survival skills and to hide like a rodent during the daylight. She was not certain of the reasons that drove her to live in hiding, but the memory of her parents’ glazed eyes, as they lay dead after being shot in the head, caused her to avoid being seen by anybody in uniform.

Since the death of her parents, the butchery on the streets had diminished significantly. The soldiers sporting the interlaced crosses on their jackets became a common sight in her town, especially around the oil refineries. On many nights, when she was scared and hungry she had made her way back to where she thought her home was. But when she approached the main gate of the property, visions of guns and death pushed her back into the darkness, back to the safety and the anonymity of homelessness.

However terrifying the Nazi occupation had been in her town, Margaret had found a certain balance to her survival. The intense questioning the citizens of Ploesti had been subjected to during the first year of the war had ceased soon after her parents were murdered. She noticed that most men, the ones she knew as neighbors or local business owners, were no longer in the vicinity and she wondered if they, just like her parents, had breathed their last breath down the cold barrel of a pistol.

The lack of adults made for a large amount of unattended children, which at one time or another moved together as a swarm of bees only to shoot in different directions at the slightest sign of danger.

When caught, children were forced to work in the oil refineries managed by the Nazi soldiers. The activities inside the refineries were a mystery to her. Yet, the results of being swallowed by those grim buildings stayed branded on the faces of their young prisoners. Some of the kids, who only days before had been on the run with her, were now gradually turning grey behind the barbwires surrounding the forced labor camp. Margaret was too young to understand the concepts of freedom and oppression, but she was old enough to notice the path of death, a one-way road, the imprisoned kids were set upon.

The refineries had become a target for continuous bombings. It was said that the Germans milked the depths of Ploesti to help finance their dream of worldwide domination. With each blast, the interest the Nazis had in the town waned. The cash cow Ploesti represented during the first years of the war became a trap where high ranking Nazi officials lost their lives; burning in the fires of the hell they created. As the production of the rigs stopped, the number of people imprisoned diminished. Soot-faced zombies in striped pajamas became the latest sight along the deserted streets of Ploesti. The Nazis did not waste bullets on the escapees; the smoke and tar inhalation took care of their dirty work for them. After a few steps into a desperate freedom, the former prisoners met their untimely death by natural asphyxiation.

Although tender in age and ignorant to the mechanics of war, Margaret noticed that the appearance of the enemy had changed over the years. No longer were the neatly dressed soldiers wandering the streets of Ploesti. Instead a new breed of bearded savages roamed the shell-shocked industrial town. Much like the Germans, the newest invaders, the Bolsheviks, were bent on mayhem. Both spawns of similar evil, sought out murder as a way to leave their imprint and manifest their domination. However, there was a noticeable difference between the two. While the Nazis conducted their operations in a cold and organized manner, turning their massacres into business transactions, the Russians behaved like butchers. Their trail was bloody and dirty.

The day she was discovered, she was huddled, with two other children, in the bowels of an abandoned aqueduct in the outskirts of Ploesti, Romania.

There were three things about herself that Margaret did not remember. One was her name. She had no recollection of her given name. She remembered her mother’s panic-stricken face and her last attempt to call for her. However, every time Margaret tried to put a sound to the last word formed on her mother’s lips, all she heard was the deafening explosion of the gunshot that silenced her. The next thing she did not remember was how to talk. Since the day she became an orphan, nobody ever addressed her directly again. She understood the tongue of the local people, the foul sound of the iron invaders; however, she could not articulate a single word.

The third thing she did not know was what she looked like.

Not until the day before she was found did she discover her face for the first time. Right before the earth swallowed the ball of fire that illuminated the city, the children made their way to the Teleajen River to try their chances at catching anything edible from the riverbank. It was customary for fishermen to take pity on the little souls that roamed the docks as if sleepwalking, and before retiring for the evening they would toss them a few scraps of fish.

A storm had hit the vast river the previous week, and after succumbing to its natural course, the waters became once again a silver mirror. Margaret was among a group of children who inched hopefully toward the docks scouting for food. The sight of a lone fisherman cleaning his dinghy sent the group of starving children running his way. Margaret was ahead of the pack when she hit a rock with her naked toes. The impact sent her flying a hairsbreadth from plunging in the river. Suddenly her face was confronted by a pair of hollow dark circles that fixed her with shock. She blinked a few times, fighting tears ready to slide down her face. The pain shooting through her toes was unbearable, but the curiosity at the image that floated on the face of the river was enough to make her forget about it. The vision staring back at her from the water remained still while she did her best not to breathe. Then, she wrinkled her nose and arched her eyebrows. The silver image mimicked her actions without skipping a beat. Margaret suddenly forgot about the nagging hunger clawing at the inside of her stomach. Instead, she smiled at a reflection that accepted her with the same smile. Move by move, she discovered the contours of her face, the mechanics of her facial joints and the many funny things she could do with them. For a brief moment, her mind was free of war, and in the watery mirror, she relived her short life before everything was lost. Filled with memories of happier times, that evening, Margaret snuggled next to her wretched companions and fell into a deep slumber.

When they heard heavy footsteps approaching the large sewer pipe where they had decided to spend the night, two of the children took off running. She and a few others were too tired to flee and slept beyond the allowed depth for survival. There was a soft knock on the outer wall of the tunnel. Resigned, Margaret and the other children crawled out. She was worn out, and if surrendering meant going back to the warm embrace of her parents that had kept her safe during one the best dreams she had in years, so be it.

What she encountered outside out of the pipe was far from fear. A soft hand reached out and took hold of hers and from that day forward, Margaret was never alone again.

 

How to contact Sandra:

Email: Sandra@palabrasandstories.com

Social Media

Website: www.palabrasandstories.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Sandra-Perez-Gluschankoff-1960339320857070/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel

Twitter:  @SandraGluschank

 

Buy Links:

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6451518.Sandra_Perez_Gluschankoff

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Franziscas-Box-Sandra-Perez-Gluschankoff-ebook/dp/B01BX2M7A4

Amazon USA: http://www.amazon.com/Franziscas-Box-Sandra-Perez-Gluschankoff-ebook/dp/B01BX2M7A4

 

 

 

THE CLOSED WORLD OF THE FUNERAL DIRECTOR

The closed world of a funeral director is rarely glimpsed owing to the strictures of confidentiality scrupulously maintained by industry professionals. In SCOOTER NATION, the second novel in A.B. Funkhauser’s Unapologetic Lives Series, confidentiality, or more keenly the silence naturalized by a desire to protect the privacy of others, leads to inflated misunderstandings underpinned by a culture of myth and lore. What follows are a chain of events both comic and chilling.

 

E   X   C   E   R   P   T

Krause looked like she was going to cry: “Don’t you knobs get it? We’ve been sold to the Flexor Group. I just know it.”

Carla stiffened. “What did you see? Who did you see?”

The death business was a small, closed community with few strangers. Everybody knew everyone else and their business too.

“I only saw their feet,” Enid replied. “Black shoes. Square toes.” Her face whitened. “Loafers!”

Scooter Creighton dropped his lighter. “Are you sure? No mistake?”

Eyes 1“No mistake. I was wearing my bifocals. There can only be one person behind this.”

The ancient intercom on the garage wall crackled to life. Jocasta Binns had found them: “Put the damned cigarettes out. Meeting starts NOW.

Scooter Creighton nodded meaningfully at his companions. The rude bitch was clearly on a roll. Like most funeral homes that hadn’t caught up to the twenty-first century, Weibigand’s had a front door equipped with a tinny doorbell that sounded whenever the door swung open. More modern establishments employed greeters or hostesses that manned large semi-circular hotel-lobby like desks for a more personal touch. But Weibigand’s, experiencing a steady decline in business year over year, lacked funds to pay for such a person. So the bell, on duty since the 1930s, was the only way to know that someone had come in. It had not sounded.

“Jocasta turned the bell off!” Enid shouted. “Why the hell would she turn the bell off?”

There were only two possible explanations: Either some non-staffer had been assigned to inside doorstand watch at the door and had shut the bell off, or the doors were being locked and the bell wasn’t needed.

“My god,” Carla gasped, thinking of the square-toed, black leather shoes that, beyond any doubt, now stalked the hall above. Though there were many, only a single pair held any relevance.

Every profession had its own share of false gods and banal superstitions. Those, carried forth on a wave of feverish gossip backed by assertions that everything said was ‘true’, gave rise to fantastic mythologies that made a chosen few more significant than they actually were. Graeham Grissom of B.H. Hoage, for example, was the undisputed embalming god of their age while “Count Floyd” Aiken could ‘will’ new business into being with a stroke of a pen. That old age, arthritis, early-onset dementia and the public’s annoying preference for cremation over medieval embalming procedures decreased the field of competitors, and so guaranteed Graeham’s mantle in the first instance, had nothing to do with the stories spread: he made esoteric concoctions in the old Hoage basement that rendered his people ‘pliable’ ‘natural-like’ ‘soft to the touch’ and even ‘warmer’ without the slightest sign of decay, even after a fifty-four day hold. The same held for Count Floyd. No one could turn a prearranged funeral into an ‘at need’ simply by sending a get better card, yet Floyd’s people did die suddenly whenever he did, whether sick or not. That the deceased had crossed the century mark in every case had little to do with a great tale.

But there were other stories out there: stories not so benign and infinitely more sinister. eyesSome, it was said, enriched themselves through the weak willed. These were the mendacious pocket-liners who evaded the law and curried favor with popular opinion regardless of talk.

These were the ones to watch…

And fear.

The little group assembled in the Weibigand garage knew that fear and felt it now because it was right on top of their heads. Scooter Creighton, jaws clenched, ground the words out first, like a metal vise in need of oil: “It’s Clayton. He is in the building.”

 

SCOOTER NATION

OFFICIAL SCOOTER COVER

ON SALE NOW

Geo Buy Link: http://myBook.to/ScooterNation

Solstice Publishing & Amazon

Look Who Dropped By Today: A.B. Funhhauser

Four days to go before SCOOTER NATION drops. In anticipation, I take a few questions from friend and fellow author Susanne Matthews.

susanne matthews

Good morning,. My guest on Living The Dream today is fellow Canadian and Solstice author, A.B.Funkhauser, here to tell you about her latest reliease Scooter Nation.

  1. IMG_20160108_214128_0What’s new, A.B.?

Everything! I just finished the trailer for the new book and I have to say that a lot of the plotting came from my new membership in the Sisters in Crime-Toronto Chapter organization. I met some of the members at a book convention last November and we just hit it off. They invited me in to join their organization  even though I’m a mixed genre writer, which was kind of gratifying in that I was the kid who never got picked for the team back in grade school. *laughs* This caused me take a second look at SCOOTER NATION. In the end, I could see subtexts that weren’t consciously present before! I’ve been asked to speak to the group this summer…

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SUPER DUPER GLORIA WEBER

 

Just knowing author Gloria Weber has brought an added dose of whimsy to THIS writer’s life. Not only does she write spec fiction, but she’s also an out there advocate of all things SUPERHERO. She makes loving comics and reading manga COOL! Thank you for that, darlin’!

Gloria joins the blog today to unveil her latest UNMASKING LEMON’S THESIS.  Read on and enjoy!

ABF

LemonsThesis-CoverWelcome to Trowbridge City. It’s home to superheroes, maniacal villains, and everyday citizens. The stories here aren’t about good versus evil, but about hard choices, prejudices, and experiences complicated by superpowers.

Lemon “Em” Law is a super genius and she’s also the daughter of Trowbridge’s most infamous super villain, Yellow Fellow. After being fired, bullied by her professor, and dumped all in the same day there’s only one thing she can do! And that’s work on her thesis. Truth is, the last thing Em wants to be is evil. Unfortunately that thesis of hers is so revolutionary it could be dangerous. Is she ready to learn the secrets behind the masks?

 

Product Link:

http://amzn.com/B01BP8YT5W

Ebook: $2.99

Print: $9.99

 

Book Trailer:

https://youtu.be/-C5AfyaVovY

 

Excerpt:

“Now, take a guess. What has a national average of 52 percent, but in Trowbridge is an extremely high rate of 98 percent?” He asked while looking at Em.

He was baiting her. Still, she raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Law,” he said her last name with as much sarcasm as he could muster. He always did.

Em was so over him and his childish antics that she didn’t bother rolling her eyes; she just answered. “That refers to the amount of children of super villains that turn to crime themselves.”

“Correct, as always.” He took a moment to sneer and give her a look of displeasure before continuing. “There are studies going on at the moment and the most promising of those attributes the cause to high concentration of villain groupies in Trowbridge. Of course, everyone here knows of Miss Nelly Law, right?”

The low blow made Em shut her eyes and take a deep breath in. Yeah, everyone knew about her mom. Her mom had earned her fame for two reasons. Number one was surviving being pushed off a roof by Yellow Fellow, Trowbridge’s most infamous super villain, and, number two, giving birth to Lemon, Yellow Fellow’s daughter.

Em opened her eyes in time to see Professor King point at someone behind her.

“Isn’t she in a wheelchair now? Wasn’t it a murder attempt?” The female student’s voice seemed uncomfortable and a little sympathetic.

“Correct your classmate, Miss Law.” He smiled now with joy and malice as he came to a stop before Lemon.

“My mother is indeed in a wheelchair,” Em said as her fingers curled around her pen, knuckles turning just as white as her ex-boss’s had been earlier today.

“Not that part,” he goaded.

Em took another deep breath while closing her eyes. She knew he would make her say the answer so it was better to get it over with.

“It wasn’t attempted murder. It was attempted abortion of me,” she said as loud as she could muster.

 

Author Bio:

Gloria Weber lives in Ohio with her husband, son, daughter, and many pets. She has been writing for publication since March 2006. Over a dozen of her short stories have been published in ‘zines and anthologies. During the not-writing-times, she can be found doing not-fun-at-all-adult/mom/wife stuff, yoga, running very slowly (because that’s as fast as she can go), or cooking/baking. No matter what she is doing, she is a geek. There’s no turning that off.

 

Author Website:

https://gloriaweber.wordpress.com/

 

 

 

 

A TRUE DRAGON HEART

 

I welcome to the blog Army Veteran, Florida State University grad and former police officer Arthur Butt. A native Long Islander now living in Florida with his spouse, two puppies and one adored SnoopyCat, this confirmed coffee drinker devotes his artistic energies to conjuring fantasy fiction.

 

You have a wide and varied resume. What prompted you to write?

Reading. If you read enough you want to write also.

 

Tell us about the genre you work in. What draws you to fantasy?


414c59728b2e7b4f3a01342a87e600c2f89a12d5-thumbI don’t work in just fantasy, but whatever genre I write in I like to use a blend of science, history and romance in a realistic way.

I have to ask: did you read/watch Game of Thrones? If ‘yes’ care to weigh in on the dragon sub plot?

Don’t watch a lot of TV. Mostly history channel.

As a veteran what in your opinion stands out most in modern portrayals of warfare/policing in literature and visual mediums?

Most of what you see on the television or read is for the masses, more action/adventure than real life.

 

Tell me about your book(s). Your protagonists are brave, self-assured females. Are they based on anyone you know?

goblin warNo one I know, however in a male dominated world, brave, self-assured females (and none of us are self-assured, right?) are often overlooked. GAIL IS GAEA is based on the legend of Nyabinghi, Mother, warrior-goddess of Africa. In ROD OF REALITY and GOBLIN WAR, the MC’s are male and female, neither one self-assured, but knowing they have a problem to solve and trying their best to solve it. Nevertheless, if you look for brave, iron-willed woman you can find them from Boudicca to Margaret Thatcher.

 

You have dogs and a cat. Was this a compromise to please the house? Are you a cat person?

Cat person, have had cats (Siamese) for 30 years. Wife and I got dogs for the grandchildren.

 

I’ve spent some time down in Florida and I love it more every time I visit. How does it compare to Long Island?

I’m in the panhandle of Florida, totally different from the Florida you think of (like Disneyworld). Country life, have to drive a half an hour to go to the store. On Long Island, you’re still rural, but you have the convenience of nearby shopping areas, NYC if you prefer, or wooded areas.

 

What’s next?

Next? Working on MS “CAITLYN” Not a nice story, based on a murder mystery that happened in the 70’s and discovered in the 90’s. Basically, it goes – Boy meets girl, boy kills girl, boy marries her sister, boy turns into alcoholic, wife wonders why her marriage is falling apart, boy is arrested for murder. Not a nice story.

 

 

Some of Arthur Butt’s published works include:

B.E.V. – Clean Reads Pub.

Valley of Shadows – Clean Reads Pub.

The Rod of Reality (Book 1 of Fairyland series) Clean Reads Pub.

The Goblin War (Book 2 Fairyland series) Clean Reads Pub.

(in edits now – World’s End (Book 3 Fairyland series) Clean Reads Pub.

Dragonkiller – Solstice Pub.

The Girl Who Rode Dragons – Solstice Pub.

Gail is Gaea – Solstice Pub.

 

A short excerpt from GAIL IS GAEA:

 

GAEAPontus, Typhon, and Chron crowded around her. “I thought you did not want to be called the spirit goddess?” Pontus said, a puzzled look on his face. “Now you are calling yourself that.”

Gail shrugged and looked grim. “They’re already doing it, so I might as well use the fact.” She gave each a stern look in turn. “But if I hear it out of any of you three, I’ll take this sword and paddle you good, understand me?” She touched her short sword for emphasis.  “That goes for our men too, I don’t care what they think, but they’d better not call me spirit goddess where I can hear it.”

Pontus grinned and said, “Yes, Gaela, as you will.”

“It’s getting dark.” Gail said. Her legs felt weak, sweat and dirt covered every inch of her body. I would love a hot bath, she thought with a sigh, but I can’t put this off any longer. I have to do this so the men can see me – know I’m not afraid.

“I’m going to walk in the battlefield,” she said, tugging on Amber’s leash, “and see if there is anyone I can help that we missed.” The tribesmen parted as she and the oslo left.

In the building darkness, crows and vultures flapped into the sky, disturbed by the passing of Amber and Gail as they strolled among the dead. A few warriors were still busy stripping the bodies of weapons, a low rumble of distant thunder echoed behind her from their voices.  As Gail wandered across the battlefield, she heard the hunters whisper, “Spirit Goddess.”

She said nothing.

 

The Girl Who Rode Dragons

girldragonAll Jackie wanted was equal treatment and a chance to ride a dragon. When her cruel brother-in-law takes over as head of the household and makes her quit school, she is forced to do all the chores and collect wood in the forest. Jackie finds a dragon’s egg, and although law forbids girls to ride dragons, she secretly hatches the egg, and dons boy’s clothes. After she brings the gift of fire to the dragonriders, she becomes an accepted member of their band.

Civil wars break out, dragonrider against dragonrider. Jackie leads the loyalist faction against the rebels. The stakes – the fate of the kingdom and the life of her and the man she has grown to love.

 

 

Links: Twitter – https://twitter.com/?refsrc=email  Facebook / Author Page – https://www.facebook.com/pages/Arthur-Butt-The-Fantasy-SyFi-Author/1528729850734703

Amazon link:

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=Books+by+arthur+butt

Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&query=Arthur+Butt

Instagram Link:

https://www.instagram.com/artyny59/