Posts Tagged With: virtual author tour

Rebuilding Civilization on the Bible Book Blitz – Win a $25 Amazon Gift Card

Rebuilding Civilization on the Bible coverTitle:  Rebuilding Civilization on the Bible: Proclaiming the Truth on 24 Controversial Issues
Author: Jay Grimstead
Genre: Religion/Theology/Instruction
Publisher: Nordskog Publishing, Inc.
ISBN:  978-0-9882976-5-4

Purchase at: http://www.nordskogpublishing.com/book-rebuilding-civilization.shtml

About the book:

False teachings threatening to corrupt the Church forced the leaders to join in councils, where they codified the orthodox teaching of the Bible into creeds received by the Church as faithful distillations of Scriptural truth and as a bulwark against future corruption. Error, heresy, and outright paganism are today common in churches that were once sound. Even many “better” churches have little depth to their teaching and are silent on critical issues of the day, and even in some paganism masquerades as Christianity.

This book is the fruit of the work of hundreds of theologians and Christian leaders working throughout a 37-year period to define and defend the key Biblical points on 24 controversial issues — which would not even be controversial if all believed like Jesus and Paul in the inerrancy of the Bible.

This book states the Bible’s position on 24 controversial issues and explains why each document needed to be written. It offers the global Body of Christ tools for reforming the Church and motivating Christians to live in obedience to Christ and to all commands in the Bible intended for us.

Excerpt:

“We heartily invite all Christians on this planet who desire to live in obedience to the Bible in all areas of life at all times, to form themselves and their local churches into “United Spiritual Armies” at the city and county levels, and to establish a network with other such churches and “spiritual armies” at their state and national levels with the goal of making Christ King of their cities and nation. We invite you to join with us in applying these 24 DOCUMENTS to the life of the Church and in making 2 Cor. 10:5 a reality. By that we mean that together we are called by God to destroy “speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God, and we are taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ.”

Grimstead photo color

About the author:

Dr. Jay Grimstead was born in Bismarck, ND. He received his Bachelor of Science degree in Biology in 1957 from Sterling College in Sterling, KS. He graduated from Fuller Seminary in 1961 with a Masters in Theology (ThM) and later received a Doctor of Ministry (DMin) degree. He spent 20 years on staff with Young Life Campaign, a ministry of clubs and camping to evangelize and disciple non-church teenagers.

In 1984 he founded the Coalition on Revival which created the 17 World-view Documents which state the biblical principles for the various spheres of life and the “blueprints for how the Bible applies to the fields of: Law, Government, Economics, Education, Science, the Media & Arts, Medicine, etc.” Under his leadership, COR organized the International Church Council Project in 1992.

In 2004 and 2005 he organized theological committees in Guatemala, San Salvador, Costa Rica and Panama to discuss and defend certain of the 22 Theological Documents of the Church Council Project which had been translated into Spanish. A year later, Dr. Grimstead gathered national leaders from various fields to create the “24 Year Plan to Rebuild America upon the principles of the Bible.”

Dr. Grimstead now lives with his wife, Donna, a registered pharmacist, in Murphys, CA. They have two grown children, Julie and Guy.  Dr. Grimstead’s favorite hobbies are mountain climbing and playing jazz and blues on his trumpet.

To learn more about Dr. Grimstead and his work, please visit http://www.nordskogpublishing.com/book-rebuilding-civilization.shtml

Pump Up Your Book and Dr. Jay are teaming up to give away a $25 Amazon Gift Card!

Terms & Conditions:

  • By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
  • This giveaway begins June 2 and ends on June 27, 2014.
  • Winner will be contacted via email by July 2, 2014.
  • Winner has 72 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

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Categories: Book Blitz, Christian non-fiction | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Stolen Herd by K. Madill – Win a $25 Amazon Gift Card

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00068]Title:  The Stolen Herd
Author: K. Madill
Genre: Young adult fantasy
Paperback: 181 pages
Publisher: CreateSpace (February 20, 2014)
ISBN-10: 1482640023
ISBN-13: 978-1482640021
Kindle:B00GBQ9V8O

Purchase at http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B00GBQ9V8O

About the book:

Mandamus is only a foal when his herd is captured by the terrible Rakhana Army. Rescued and raised in secrecy, he knows nothing of his heritage until a dreadful incident in the woods brings him to the attention of the Forest council – and everyone else. Sent away for his own protection, he is determined to seek help on behalf of the many animals who have gone missing from the forest, including his own family.

With the help of a troubled man and a stout-hearted bat, can Mandamus save his fellow creatures before it’s too late?

First Chapter:It was a pale spring morning when a green butterfly failed to save the Alsvid herd. The wind, brisk in the early hour, carried the small creature in its swiftly flowing current. The sun had not quite risen but lit the edges of the world, colouring the sky a still and sullen grey. The butterfly, whose name was Gideon, pulled out of the rigid breeze and swirled down to the empty field below. Landing on a fat coneflower, he hungrily searched for food. An inky black bat swooped and darted behind him.

Gideon took a deep gulp of nectar and then shook his head sadly. He turned to the bat that had landed softly next to him.

“Well, Arkas,” he said gloomily. “I tried.”

Arkas nodded sympathetically and dug around the flower bed, as if he hoped to find something tasty.

“I should have put an arrow through Arion’s heart,” said Gideon, plucking half-heartedly at a petal. “His…and the rest of the horses. They’re all are as good as dead now, anyway.”

Arkas chirped in agreement then scrounged up a strawberry and stuffed it in his mouth. He had begun rooting around for more when a rumble of thunder shook the sky. The ground began to quiver and the trees that lined the meadow swayed wildly from a sudden, howling wind.

“They’re coming!” yelled Gideon over a sharp crack of lightning. “Let’s go, we have to find Daleth and Mareva.” He dove into the air and sped away while Arkas flapped closely behind.

 

* * *

 

Mareva awoke with a jolt. Her mate, Hengist, flicked one gray ear at her movement but did not wake. The cave was quiet in the early morning. The queen mare took a deep breath. The tangy smell of smoke reached her nose and lit her senses with an uneasy spark.

She shook her chestnut coat and stepped carefully through the sleeping horses of her herd to the entrance of their cave. Looking out, she faced a long stretch of white sand and deep green sea. As she listened to the rush of the surf, her instinct began to nag in slow whispers. She listened closely, and then crept out of the cave. A cold wind whirled around her, bending the flowers and tearing the leaves from the trees. Shielding herself behind a gnarly oak, she peeked down a worn path to a clearing where several figures were gathered. 

Are those humans?” she asked herself, drawing a deep breath. “Yes…that is the smell of man, but…it’s different somehow.” She inhaled again. Her nose picked up the scent of unfamiliar horses—a dusty smell that didn’t match the burnt-grass odour of her herd, the Harena. She moved closer for a better look, jumping when thunder crashed closely overhead. A storm was coming.

“Do you smell that?” asked a voice from behind. Her younger sister, Daleth, a golden mare with amber eyes and a pearly mane, had followed her. “That is the stench of man and his fire.”

“It doesn’t smell like a regular man,” Mareva said with a puzzled frown. “And that fire is black—that’s not a normal flame. There is something else… a strange scent I would not associate with humans.”

Daleth studied the clearing through narrowed eyes. She flared her nostrils, testing the air for herself.

“You are right, Queen Sister,” she agreed. “It smells like an animal that has lain dead in the sun. It is the Rakhana Army, the Silver City’s most dreadful pick of soldiers, led by that reprobate, General Caucus. That’s him there, the tallest one. I’ve tasted that scent before.” She pushed her sister with her muzzle. “We should wake the others and hide further in the cave.”

“Not yet,” said the queen, for her instinct had begun to whisper again, telling her to wait… or she would miss it. “Miss what?” she thought as watched a terrible scene unfold in front of her.

The Rakhana had caught a herd of horses, trapping the terrified animals in a ring of black fire. With fat whips, the men lashed any horse that tried to dash out of the blaze. General Caucus, his face hidden by a glinting silver mask, had cornered the herd’s king. The stallion reared and struck, but the man quickly leapt out of the way and jabbed the horse with a long stick. A jet of blue flame stunned the creature and he crumpled to the ground. Men swarmed the horse, tightly pulling ropes around his thrashing form. The general attacked the stallion’s mate with bolts from his weapon until she too collapsed, only with a loud ‘snap.’ He stood over the mare and watched her flail on the hard ground.

“Oh, no,” Daleth whispered in horror. “Her leg is broken.”

General Caucus pulled a small, silver ball from his cloak and aimed it at the wailing mare, who scrambled to get to her feet. A thunderous boom rang across the field and the mare was still. He kicked at her limp form and then strode away to where the stallion lay struggling against the ropes. Mareva strained her ears and fought to pick up what the man was saying, but his words were lost under the stallion’s furious whinnies. The sisters huddled miserably together.

The moon still cast its faint light across the land as Gideon and Arkas reached the beaches.

“What pretty green wings,” said Daleth dryly, spotting the butterfly who landed at her side. Arkas squealed and flapped over to Daleth. He nuzzled the large horse affectionately.

“Daleth,” Gideon said breathlessly. “It is good to see you, old friend; you too, Mareva.”

“Never mind that,” said Daleth impatiently. “What are you doing here, Forest Man? You’re only a lucky charm for humans. Anytime I see you, it usually means trouble.” She tossed her head warningly at him.

“Gideon, what is going on down there?” asked Mareva anxiously. “Who is that herd?”

“It’s the Alsvid. That fool, King Arion, came here to make a deal with Queen Asura. She wanted animal Bonds with his herd for her soldiers of the Rakhana. In exchange, she promised them immortality.”

“What?” Daleth shrieked. “Immortality…has he been bitten by a rabid fox? How ridiculous!”

“I thought the Alsvid were dead against Bonding,” Mareva murmured.

“So did I,” answered Gideon. “But her falsehoods fed his large ego. He actually believes his herd legends about being created for the Gods and he was lured by the lies of Asura and that wizard of hers.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that scoundrel of a magic maker, Dazra, is still hanging around and stinking up the castle?” Daleth hissed. “Why he and Asura weren’t beheaded for killing their human king is beyond anything I’ve ever…”

“They weren’t beheaded because they rule the Silver City now, in his place,” Gideon interrupted. “Most people still believe their lies about him dying in a riding accident. An accident while atop your back.”

“Hmpf,” Daleth snorted. “So, they’re still up to their two favourite pastimes, trickery and untruths, are they? I see nothing has changed since I left.”

“It’s gotten worse,” Gideon answered grimly.

“Did you not tell Arion what that so called “queen” has been doing to the animals in the Silver City?” Daleth asked bitterly.

“Of course I told him,” came the reply, followed by a soft pop.

Where a butterfly had been only moments before, stood a tall, lean man. He had a bony face lit by fierce, green eyes. His long hair was the colour of tree bark and he wore a green cloak that brushed the tall grass. Arkas flew up and roosted on his shoulder.

“You’re getting old, Gideon,” said Daleth, studying the lines on his face.

“If Arion was coming to make a deal with the queen, then why are the Rakhana rounding them up?” asked Mareva quietly.

“Because she had no intention of giving them immortality,” Gideon said angrily. “She just plans on turning them all into warhorses. I came to warn him that it was the army coming to meet him, not her, but he didn’t believe me. What a fool.” He watched the soldiers with an expression that was both miserable and furious.
“Oh, no,” Mareva whispered, “the entire Alsvid—finished.”

“Not quite,” said Gideon turning to her. “I managed to do one thing right today and that’s where you two come in.”

“What do you mean?” Daleth asked.

“I took his foal.”
“Good heavens, you did what?” gasped Mareva.

“I took him,” Gideon replied. “Like I said, Arion wouldn’t believe me when I told him the army was on its way. I stood there arguing with him as the minutes ticked by and with each one the Rakhana grew closer. So, I changed to my butterfly form and teased his foal into following me. He’s so young; there’s no way he could have made the journey from here all the way to the Silver City. The first time he tried to lay down to rest, the Rakhana would have just left him there…that or killed him.”

“Where is he?” Daleth asked.

“I hid him in that brush, just over there.” Gideon pointed to a clearing further up the edge of the forest.

“Oh, Gideon, his son…” Mareva whispered unbelievingly.

“He’s your son now,” said Gideon. “Mareva, I need you to keep him here at the beaches and raise him as your own.”
“Wait a minute, you mean you want us…?” Daleth began.

“Daleth,” interrupted Gideon, “I don’t trust anyone else to take him. There’s more to this and I don’t have time to…” he stopped short, as if taking a cue from the worried looks on their faces.

“There is a legend,” he said as the violent wind that whipped his hair, “about a man who rides a ‘white-eyed steed; Alsvid are the only horses to have white eyes, as far as I’ve seen. I must keep him safe. What if he is the horse from the myth?”

“A legend,” Mareva muttered. “But if the legend is about a man and men are rounding them up then wouldn’t—”

“No,” Gideon interrupted shortly. “I need you to trust me, Mareva. Now, tell no one he is here except for the Forest Council, do you understand me?”

Without waiting for their answer, he and Arkas disappeared in a rush of green smoke.

“Good old Gideon,” said Daleth with grudging affection. “Always running around sticking his nose in everyone’s business—turns out it was a good thing, this time.” She turned to Mareva. “You stay behind me and if I tell you to run, you do it, no matter what. Let’s go find that foal.”

Daleth quickly led her sister in the direction that Gideon had pointed. As they reached the small clearing, Mareva caught the fresh-morning scent that always accompanied a young horse. She pushed past Daleth and poked her face into a small hillock.

Huddled in the weeds was a small, shaggy foal. His coat was the deepest shade of midnight and his hooves were as black as coal. He would have looked like a perfectly ordinary horse if not for his white, glowing eyes that shone like two full moons in the dark morning. He looked up at Mareva’s looming figure and gave a surprised snort.

“Daleth, my goodness,” Mareva whispered in amazement. “Look at this!”

“Let me see him,” said Daleth, shoving Mareva aside. She eyed the odd shape on the colt’s flank—a white spiral, bordered with a scattering of tiny, silver spots. “There is his mark,” she muttered. “Alsvid, indeed; we should get him to the cave.” She stared back out at the Rakhana army.

The Alsvid had stopped fighting and were grouped miserably under a swollen storm cloud that had settled solely over them. Under a shroud of pounding rain, the soldiers bound the horses into a long line. The largest soldier led the limping king stallion to the front of the row and began dragging the horse away.

“That is not a fight we can win,” Mareva said warningly, after seeing the blazing look on Daleth’s face. “And if the Rakhana see you, you will be caught too. Come, Sister, we have to get this foal to safety.”

“Quickly now, little one,” Mareva whispered to the small horse. He shakily got to his feet and they rushed him to the trees outside their cave. Here, they looked him over.

“An Alsvid,” Daleth said wondrously. “I’ve never seen one before. Look at those strange eyes. Oh, how I hate leaving them to this. Now that the army has them, who knows what dreadful things fate has in store for them.”

The foal sank to his knees and laid down between the sisters. Mareva began to wash his coat with soft, gentle licks. Comforted by the queen horse’s affection, his strange eyes grew heavy, and with a deep sigh, he fell fast asleep.

“Look at that,” said Daleth quietly. “He’s settled right in already. How lucky for us too, what with no foals this year.” She swished her tail and gave the foal a small push with her nose.

“I worry about what Hengist will say.” Mareva said with a frown. “Bringing a strange male into the herd will seem like a challenge to him, don’t you think? He won’t like it at all.”

“Well, that’s too bad for Hengist, isn’t it?” Daleth answered, laying her ears back. “You are the Queen of the Harena herd and your stallion will do as you say, if he knows what’s good for him. Besides,” she added, “Gideon told us to take him and trust me—you do not want to go against his wishes.”

Seemingly satisfied with this reasoning, Mareva finished grooming the foal. “There you are,” she whispered. “You don’t need to worry; we are your herd now.”

“I wonder what his name is,” Daleth mused. “Gideon, that twit, he forgot to tell us.”

“Now, now,” chided Mareva. “Gideon might not have known it himself. This poor, little fellow; he must have one. I hate the thought of changing it on him.”

“Well, he can’t tell us what it is and we have to call him something,” Daleth said logically. “What should it be?”

“I don’t know,” answered Mareva as she got to her feet. “You’ve never had a foal. Would you like to name him?”

Daleth looked pleased. “Well,” she replied, licking her lips. “My Bonded human used to shout a very strange word just before he led his army and me into battle. I don’t know why he said it—it didn’t seem to have any effect on the enemy, but he did it every time. I always loved the sound of that word. To me, it meant victory.”

“What was it?” asked Mareva.

“He yelled, ‘Mandamus.’”

“Mandamus,” murmured the queen. “What does it mean?”

“He told me that it meant “we command,” in a very old human language, spoken before creatures decided to use the Common Words that we and the humans share now.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mareva said with a frown. “That sounds dangerous to me, naming him after a human battle cry. It could bring all sorts of problems and we don’t want that for him.”

Daleth snorted. “Right, well if you think this little guy is going to go through this life without running into any problems, then guess again—no one gets off that easy. For starters, he is the last of the free Alsvid… I’d say his troubles have already begun.”

“‘We command,’” said Mareva thoughtfully. “Shouldn’t it be ‘I command’?”

“Absolutely not!” Daleth answered. “Who should be allowed to command on their own? You said I could pick what we call him; now, let’s name him.”

Mareva smiled at her sister’s stubbornness. “Mandamus,” Mareva said softly, touching the foal’s forehead with her muzzle. “By the Goddess Epona, we will call you Mandamus.  Mandamus of the Harena.”

The sisters stood over the sleeping foal and listened to the fading sounds of his herd being forced away. When the sun finally rose on that dreadful morning, the Alsvid and the army were gone.

About the author:

Karai MadillA chronic “head in the cloudser” K. Madill lives in a rickety house on a well treed street in British Columbia, Canada.  When she’s not hanging out with her best equine friend in the woods she can be found trying to stay upright on her roller skates or mediating the affairs of her various furred and feathered friends that rule the aforementioned rickety house. 

K. Madill’s website: kmadill.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/K-Madill/161159890706088

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KaraiMadill1

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20643483-the-stolen-herd

 

Pump Up Your Book and K. Madill are teaming up to give away

a $25 Amazon Gift Card!

Terms and conditions:

    • By entering, you confirm you are 18 years of age or older.
    • Raffle runs from 12:00 AM EST on June 2 through 12:00 AM EST on June 28, 2014.
    • Winner will be selected randomly by Rafflecopter.
    • Winner will be notified by email and has 72 hours to claim the prize before a new winner is selected.
    • Prize will be sent via email from the author’s representative.
    • VOID WHERE PROHIBITED.

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Categories: Adventure, Fantasy, Young Adult | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A Sandy Grave by Donna M. McDine – Win $50 B&N Gift Card

A Sandy Grave cover

Title: A Sandy Grave
Author: Donna M. McDine
Publisher: Guardian Angel Publishing
Pages: 24
Language: English
Genre: Tween chapterbook
Format: Paperback, hardcover & eBook

PURCHASE AT:

GUARDIAN ANGEL PUBLISHING: http://guardianangelpublishing.com/sandy-grave.htm

AMAZON: http://www.amazon.com/Sandy-Grave-Donna-M-McDine/dp/1616334541/

BARNES AND NOBLE: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-sandy-grave-donna-m-mcdine/1118285403

The anticipation of summer vacation can put anyone in a great mood with the excitement of adventures to be had–especially at the beach. But what is a group of friends to do when they discover mysterious men poaching whale teeth at the beach?

EXCERPT:

The lifeguards had their arms extended and attempted to move the crowd back. The tallest lifeguard said, “People, please stay back. The authorities will arrive to examine the whale to determine the cause of death within the hour. The whale must have died at sea and washed ashore.”

TRAILER: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OzzVjJWd4hM

Donna McDine Headshot

Donna McDine is an award-winning children’s author, Honorable Mention in the 77th and two Honorable Mentions in the 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Writing Competitions, Literary Classics Silver Award & Seal of Approval RecipientPicture Book Early Reader, Readers Favorite 2012 International Book Awards Honorable Mention, Global eBook Awards Finalist Children’s Picture Book Fiction, and Preditors & Editors Readers Poll 2010 Top Ten Children’s Books ~ The Golden Pathway.

Her stories, articles, and book reviews have been published in over 100 print and online publications. Her interest in American History resulted in writing and publishing The Golden Pathway. Donna’s 2013 releases of Powder Monkey and Hockey Agony and the 2014 release of A Sandy Grave will be joined by an additional book to be published by Guardian Angel Publishing, Dee and Deb, Off They Go. She writes, moms and is a personal assistant from her home in the historical hamlet Tappan, NY. McDine is a member of the SCBWI, Children’s Literature Network, and Family Reading Partnership. 

Visit Donna online at www.donnamcdine.com or her blog at www.donna-mcdine.blogspot.com

Donna McDine is giving you a chance to win a $50 Barnes and Noble Gift Card.

Terms & Conditions:

  • By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
  • One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive one $50 Barnes and Noble Gift Card
  • This giveaway begins March 3 and ends on April 25, 2014.
  • Winner will be contacted via email.

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Categories: Children's | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The Virgin Mary in the Light of the Word of God by Dr. Labib Mikhail

Title: The Virgin Mary in the Light of the Word of God
Author: Dr. Labib Mikhail
Publisher: Nordskog Publishing
Publication Date: August 2010
Paperback: 160 pages
ISBN: 978-0982707494
Genre: New Testament non-fiction

About The Virgin Mary in the Light of the Word of God

The Virgin Mary in the Light of the Word of God fills a tremendous need for a concise, elegant, Biblical treatment of Mary. Dr. Labib, as he is affectionately known, gives Mary her due full honor while fending off the many faith-damaging myths perpetuated about her.

For those not well acquainted with but interested in Christianity and its true historic beliefs, you will find a straight-forward declaration of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. This is the Gospel that leads to the eternal and abundant life our God always intended for mankind, through the saving and sanctifying work of Jesus Christ. For the committed Christian, you will find an edifying presentation of the true Gospel and of sound doctrine.

The book is a balanced and Biblical portrait of the Virgin Mary. It is a relevant study clarifying Mary’s role and significance.

About Dr. Labib Mikhail

Dr. Mikhail is a theologian, apologist, journalist, counselor, and television/radio, seminar, and evangelistic campaign speaker in the US and around the world.  Originally from Egypt, Dr. Mikhail is a former professor of homiletics, psychology, and journalism in Faith Mission Bible College in Cairo, where he founded and pastured churches for more than thirty years. You can read more about Dr. Mikhail  http://nordskogpublishing.com/book-virgin-mary-in-light-of-gospel.shtml.

Categories: Christian non-fiction, Non-Fiction | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Book Spotlight: Rast by Christopher Hoare

Title: Rast
Author: Christopher J. Hoare
Publisher: MuseItUp Publishing
Publication Date: March 2011
Paperback: 269 pages
ISBN: 978-1-926931-43-2
Genre: High fantasy

In Rast, magic is not a convenient parlour trick, it’s a deadly force that takes no prisoners. Those who must wield it are doomed, for it never ceases to work within the mind and nerves until it destroys its master.

And now, the time of the interregnum is here; the reigning sorcerer king, the Drogar of Rast, is struggling for a last grasp on magic power while his heir, Prince Egon, must take up the deadly mantle. Egon is fearful but courageous in his duty. Not one peril threatens Rast, but many. 

While he struggles to tame the magic to his command the mechanistic Offrang adventurers arrive to seize the land for their empire. The Offrangs don’t just disbelieve in magic, they treat any attempt to discuss it with withering scorn. Then, when the Drogar falters, the North Folk sweep out in their multitudes to cover the land of Rast at the behest of their depraved Casket of Scrolls. Deepning too, a creature of earth magic in its mountain pools, stirs to gain power enough to conquer Rast.

The Prince’s sweetheart Jady does her best to support him, but she is not strong enough in the power of the lineage to bear him a magic wielding heir. She sets out to meet the caravansi of the cousin princess who is sent to be his consort with duty and anger both warring in her mind. The crisis will reveal surprising enemies, surprising friends, and as the Drogar tells Jady, “Even a Drogar may not see a future not yet determined.” While Egon goes west to spy on the Offrangs and Jady makes her way east, the oracle provided by the Pythian that lives in a cavern beneath the palace reveals, “You have no high point to see the scattered threads but must trust to those who grasp them.”

Everyone, enemy and friend, has a part to play in the preservation of Rast.

Book Excerpt:

Chapter Two
Jady pulled firmly on the reins, the tall pickaback reared to his full height and planted his aft-most claws tight into the root-born path. His long body flexed beneath her as three of his six legs pawed at the air. When his middle claws again touched the musty smelling moss she leaned forward to whisper words of an ancient language into his feather covered ears.

Pellad, Cerefrus. Dosar––let me dismount.”

The obedient animal bowed low his head to let the mail-clad maiden slip from the saddle to the forest floor.

She stood a moment, tall and slender in the shadowy forest, watching the flicking movements of her mount’s ears—noticing each glance of golden eyes into the overhanging branches. No single sound or sight held more than a momentary notice––then they were alone. The only other occupants of the small clearing lived in her memory.

Their mound occupied the center. The scavenger-chewed bones of a thousand Krachins decorated its surface, and at the summit sagged the bloodstained talisman of the Soulingas, the family of the first Soule. It hung tattered from its staff, waiting for an eldest son to reclaim and restore it to glory. An eldest son who may never be.

“I cannot help it, father,” she sobbed, falling to her knees before the tomb.

In her mind, he looked down at her and smiled. “I would not ask you to forsake the man you love…but your dreams are sterile.”

“I would receive him in shame––if that were the only way.”

“That can never be. You know he could not––and you deceive yourself if you think you would.”

“But Rast…without the Soulingas––?”

“Your brothers and I are patient with you, but––”

“I could never love another!”

“Have you given any other the leave to win you?”

She knelt silently for many minutes. “Am I making it hard for him?” she said, at length.

“You both know his duty.”

“And yet his father has never spoken harshly to me. Surely if the Drogar saw the error of it he would have ended my hopes.”

“Even the dead cannot see into the mind of a Drogar.”

She breathed in sharply. The thought of her Prince becoming a Drogar in his turn was frightening. Would his gentle glances become veils of ice-hard magic? Not Egon––surely not Egon!

“Do you know why the Drogar sends you at this time?”

“This time? What do you mean?”

“Your Grandfather, my father, saw omens in it.”

“He didn’t speak to me of what he saw.”

“A commission to Deepning is never given lightly.”

She opened her eyes wide to take in the evidence of the tomb. “Three times have I come. Five times if I count the journeys with you and my brothers.”

“But this time the Drogar’s words are stronger, his intent more given in detail.”

“I know not why.”

“Go, Daughter, be about your mission. We cold bones will delay you no longer, but we will ever hold your life to our charge. We will never take rest until you and a husband kneel here—until the son you shall make together can be prepared to take up our talisman.”

Without another word or backward glance she stood and walked to Cerefrus. He bent to allow her to mount. Continuing along the forest paths she rode until she could see the dark overhanging rocks of a mountain through the branches.

Here she dismounted again and set the pickaback loose in a forage dell until her return. She settled the bow of sinew, horn, and wood across her shoulders, tightened the coil of long dark hair beneath her leather helm and glided forward beneath the tangling branches into paths no mounted warrior could follow. Testing again the Vales of Deepning Pools she trembled slightly, shivered within her taught nerves. She stifled her misgivings and set out upon the mission.

The Drogar spoke of some future sons of Soule. Did he mean the words in truth, or were they mere bolsters for her courage?

She walked watchfully; stepped softly. No gentle forest animals stirred, no bird flew. The trees grew tall and twisted as if they had wrestled, each with the other, for every scrap of sunlight falling dappled into the forest. Jady knew the secrets of each. She smelled resin weeping from wounded bark, wooden tears seeping from the trunks where tree had flailed against tree in wind-borne combat. She knew the smells of every forest dweller, and feeling her soft leather boots sink to their moss covered roots, caressed them in her walking.

The Deepning Pools lay above her, in a hanging valley upon the edge of the mountain.

She bent her footsteps up through the slanting trees and followed a path made by the many feet of the only animals strong and fierce enough to live near the magic Vale—the sharptoothed Krarks. Broken branches told of the rough passages they forced with their segmented bodies. Here and there, a fallen tree lay torn in two by mighty claws. Jady reached to touch the crystal-tipped arrows at her waist, and plunged on up the path.

She walked more quickly for about a league. When she felt the magic singing—the distant hints of dangerous melody ringing in her ears—she stopped to take the gossamer net from her pack. Woven by a wraith of midnight sorcery, the heirloom was handed down from distant ancestors. It had shielded generations of warriors from the spells. Fierce, dark-haired men with arms like the roots of trees. Men who let fly the crystal tipped arrows from tempered bows of horn and wood. Brothers, fathers, uncles and grandfathers, descended in unbroken line until at last, the only watcher of the forest was this high-breasted maid—the last of the Soulingas. She carefully draped the shimmering silver over her head and wrapped its folds about her. Safe within the wispy filament from the sirens’ temptation, she stepped gently on, spells buzzing futilely against the gossamer shield as angry bees against the keeper’s net.

Few but the Soulingas could venture into the Vale of Deepning Pools. Even Drogar magic rarely clashed with the fey enchantry—except at a few intervals in the circle of time, force was blocked by force. Prince Egon knew where the Pools lay, but had never glimpsed their glowing, living liquid. Only the Krachins were drawn to the fetid swamps by their lust for sour smelling vapours. The Guardian of the Forest must mark their comings and goings, and when the moment was right thwart their fell intention. Thwart also the evil purpose of the Pool creature, whatever strange reality it might possess––and prevent it gaining living sacrifice.

Only flying crystal point could secure payment and account in such magical commerce.

About Christopher Hoare

Christopher Hoare lives with his wife, Shirley, and two shelter dogs, Coco and Emmie, in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies. As a lad he lived, breathed, and dreamed aeroplanes, won a place at RAE Farnborough learning to engineer them, but found the reality didn’t fit the dream. Did a stint in the army and then away to Libya to join the oil circus. Flying objects only appear as tools when they now appear in his writing.

His stories never take place next door to the lives most people live; the less charitable find similarity in characters who tend to be stubborn, independent, and contrarian. Perhaps there’s a connection between the worlds he portrays in fiction, and his working life in oil exploration in the Libyan Desert, the Canadian Arctic, and the mountains and forests of Western Canada.

He has written stories set in Anglo-Saxon Britain, in modern industrial projects, in the alternate world of Gaia, and the fantasy world of Rast. Sometimes known to satirize jobs and organizations he knows. Likes to write central characters who are smart, beautiful, and dangerous women who lead their male counterparts to fulfill dangerous duties they’d rather avoid. Gisel Matah in the Iskander series is perhaps the most Bond-like of these, but Jady in Rast can match her in many aspects.

Visit his website at http://www.christopherhoare.ca/ to learn much more, and download the free novella “Gisel Matah and the Slave Ship”. You can find his blog at http://trailowner.blogspot.com/

Categories: Fantasy | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Plug Your Book Spotlights Azuka Thomson author of Dark Patches

Dark Patches

Author: Azuka Thomson

Title: Dark Patches

Genre: social drama, literary fiction

Language:  English

 ISBN:  UK ISBN 978-1-84698-782-3:     DE ISBN 978-3-8372-0763-7

 Genre: Literary fiction/ Social drama.

Publisher: Frankfurter Literaturverlag

Publication Date: November 2010

# of Pages: 245

Purchase Here:

Link to book on Amazon (or where it is sold): http://www.amazon.de/Dark-Patches-Azuka-Thomson/dp/3837207633/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books-intl-de&qid=1297197255&sr=1-1

http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Patches-Azuka-Thomson/dp/3837207633/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1297197345&sr=1-1

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dark-Patches-Azuka-Thomson/dp/3837207633/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1297197458&sr=8-1

Visit Azuka Thomson at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Azuka-Thomson-Dark-Patches/116641701734714

Book Synopsis:

Meet Ndidi, the high school teacher and adoring wife. Blissfully married for seven years, a single question brings her world crashing down.

Grant, Ndidi’s loving husband, is his mother’s only child. Unable to stand up to his relatives, he devises a plan to keep his family together.

Omorose, Grant’s mother, is determined to leave no stones unturned in her quest for more grandchildren, even if it means spiritual intervention.

Josephine is no ordinary second wife. Selfish, manipulative and troublesome, she does not intend to share Grant with Ndidi, so she starts an evil campaign with horrifying consequences.

 As each of them make sacrifices for the sake of a common goal, ruthless bids for power unleash sinister forces of catastrophic proportions….

Excerpt:

Book Excerpt from Dark Patches

“Ndidi, please come and sit down with us,” said Uncle Agadagba. “We have a message for you from the village.”

Surprised, Ndidi walked back to the sitting room and took one of the vacant seats available. As she did so, she realised that the visitors were occupying the couch while her husband was sitting on the single chair next to Uncle Agadagba.

Consequently, she was forced to sit across from them. For a moment it nearly seemed as if they were purposely aligning themselves against her. But Grant would never join anyone against her, she reasoned. So Ndidi tried to smile at them but they were all watching her solemnly, except Grant who was contemplating the carpet. Her smile dimmed as she sensed trouble. They did not keep her waiting.

As the oldest in the group, Pa Ewuru cleared his throat and began.

“Ndidi, we all know that your husband loves you very much and when he married you, we accepted you into the family with open arms. We also know that you are a loving and loyal wife to your husband and that is why we understand his attempt to ignore our traditions and culture.

“Our forefathers told us that any man who gets all his children from the same woman is regarded as the father of only one child. In the days when everyone respected tradition, every Bini man married many wives so he could have many children. These days, some educated people see nothing wrong in a man getting all his children from the same woman. Most of them blame this attitude on lack of money and usually, our elders try not to interfere in the matter.

“Your case, Ndidi, is however an exception. As you know, Osahon is the only surviving son of his father and you have been married to him for more than seven years. In all that time, you have given birth to only one daughter who is nearly five years old. We do not blame you for this situation but the elders cannot sit idly by and watch Osahon waste his energies. He is almost forty years old and time is not on his side. He needs to father more sons and daughters.

“The elders have therefore sent us to seek your cooperation in getting a second wife for Osahon. The decision on how to proceed in this matter is in your hands and we want to hear from you.”

Every word spoken by Pa Ewuru stuck like a sharp knife in Ndidi’s heart. By the end of the speech she was in so much physical pain that she glanced at her chest expecting to see blood. Surprised at the absence of blood, she looked up at her attackers. The three men were staring at the floor. Only her mother-in-law continued to watch her. Ndidi did not say anything because she could not say what she really felt. She felt insulted and wronged and would have liked to ask them to leave her house. But this was Nigeria and she was dealing with her “Bini” in-laws. Only her husband could defend her.

So why is he staring at the carpet and saying nothing? She wondered as she continued to look at him.

Grant’s mother was very pleased with the way her plan was working out. She glanced at her son and noted with satisfaction that he was obeying the elders’ instructions not to interfere. It was time for the little “Erue ahusa ”(bed bug) to know that she did not own Grant. Ndidi had to know her place and a second wife was just the thing. Moreover, Omorose really did need more grandchildren. Grant was her only child and she had so looked forward to having many grandchildren. She was not about to allow Grant’s love for this foolish girl to destroy her dream. No sir, she would see to that.

She looked back at Ndidi and saw her still staring stupidly at Grant. 

“Ndidi,” she chided, “we are not asking Grant to throw you out. We are only asking him to take a second wife who will bear him more children. So stop staring at him and give us an answer.”

When Grant still did not come to her defence, Ndidi knew that the battle was already lost. She tried anyway.

“Uncle, I thank you and the elders for your concern over our welfare.” She began in a low and quavering voice. “Grant and I have only this one child because we planned it so. We are spacing our children to enable us to give them our full attention. We shall have more children when the time is right. Moreover, at twenty-seven, I am still very young and there is nothing wrong with me. I fully expect to bear more children for my husband and therefore see no reason for this . . .”   

“Ndidi,” cut in her mother-in-law, “you can expect all you like but your expectations are not in discussion here. The issue is that your husband needs another wife to bear him children. Even if you are able to have more children in future, it will only increase the number. We are sure that my son can take good care of you all.”

At this point, Ndidi appealed directly to Grant. “Husband,” she asked softly, “what do you say?”

Visit Azuka Thomson at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Azuka-Thomson-Dark-Patches/116641701734714

Categories: literary fiction, Social Drama | Tags: , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Book Spotlight: BUYING TIME by Pamela Samuels Young

Buying Time Virtual Book Tour November and December’10

Title: Buying Time
Author: Pamela Samuels Young
Paperback: 370 pages
Publisher: Goldman House Publishing (November 1, 2009)
Publication Date: November 1, 2009
ISBN: 098156271X
Genre: Legal Thriller

PURCHASE HERE!

Buying Time is a scandalous tale of blackmail, murder and betrayal, evoking John Grisham with a dash of Terry McMillan.

Waverly Sloan is a down-on-his-luck lawyer. But just when he’s about to hit rock bottom, he stumbles upon a business with the potential to solve all of his problems.

In Waverly’s new line of work, he comes to the aid of people in desperate need of cash. But there’s a catch. His clients must be terminally ill and willing to sign over rights to their life insurance policies before they can collect a dime. Waverly then finds investors eager to advance them thousands of dollars—including a hefty broker’s fee for himself—in exchange for a significant return on their investment once the clients take their last breath.

The stakes get higher when Waverly brokers the policy of the cancer-stricken wife of Lawrence Erickson, a high-powered lawyer who’s bucking to become the next U.S. Attorney General. When Waverly’s clients start dying sooner than they should, both Waverly and Erickson—who has some skeletons of his own to hide—are unwittingly drawn into a perilous web of greed, blackmail and murder.

Soon, a determined federal prosecutor is hot on Waverly’s trail. But when the prosecutor’s own life begins to unravel, she finds herself on the run—with Waverly at her side.

EXCERPT:
PROLOGUE

Veronika Myers tried to convince them, but no one would listen. Her suspicions, they said, were simply a byproduct of her grief.

Each time she broached the subject with her brother, Jason, he walked out of the room. Darlene, her best friend, suggested a girls’ night out with some heavy drinking. Aunt Flo urged her to spend more time in prayer.

Veronika knew she was wasting her time with this woman, too, but couldn’t help herself.

“My mother was murdered,” Veronika told the funeral home attendant. “But nobody believes it.”

The plump redhead with too much eye shadow glanced down at the papers on her desk, then looked up. “It says here that your mother died in the hospital. From brain cancer.”

“That’s not true,” Veronika snapped, her response a little too sharp and a tad too loud.

Yes, her mother had brain cancer, but she wasn’t on her deathbed. Not yet. They had just spent a long afternoon together, laughing and talking and watching All My Children. Veronika could not, and would not accept that the most important person in her life had suddenly died. She knew what everyone else refused to believe. Her mother had been murdered.

“Did they conduct an autopsy?” the woman asked.

Veronika sighed and looked away. There had been no autopsy because everyone dismissed her as a grief-stricken lunatic. When she reported the murder to the police, a disinterested cop dutifully took her statement, but she could tell that nothing would come of it. Without any solid evidence, she was wasting everyone’s time, including her own.

“No,” Veronika said. “There wasn’t an autopsy.”

The funeral home attendant smiled sympathetically.

Veronika let out a long, exasperated breath, overwhelmed by the futility of what she was trying to prove. “Never mind,” she said. “What else do you need me to sign?”

* * *
Later that night, Veronika lay in bed, drained from another marathon crying session. She rummaged through the nightstand, retrieved a bottle of sleeping pills and popped two into her mouth. She tried to swallow them dry, but her throat was too sore from all the crying.

Tears pooled in her eyes as she headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. “Don’t worry, Mama,” Veronika sniffed. “I won’t let them get away with it.”

Just as she reached the end of the hallway, a heavy gloved hand clamped down hard across her mouth as her arms were pinned behind her back. Panic instantly hurled her into action. Veronika tried to scream, but the big hand reduced her shriek to a mere muffle. She frantically kicked and wrestled and twisted her body, but her attacker’s grip would not yield.

When she felt her body being lifted off the ground and carried back down the hallway, she realized there were two of them and her terror level intensified. But so did her survival instinct. She continued to wildly swing her legs backward and forward, up and down, right and left, eventually striking what felt like a leg, then a stomach.

As they crossed the threshold of her bedroom, she heard a loud, painful moan that told her she had likely connected with the groin of one of her assailants.

“Cut it out!” said a husky, male voice. “Grab her legs!” he ordered his partner. “Hurry up!”

The men dumped her face down onto the bed, her arms still restrained behind her back. The big hand slipped from her mouth and Veronika’s first cry escaped, but was quickly muted when a much heavier hand gripped the back of her neck and pressed her face into the comforter.

Fearing her attackers were going to rape, then kill her, Veronika defiantly arched her back and tried to roll her body into a tight ball. At only 130 pounds, she was no physical match for her assailants. They easily overpowered her, forcing her back into a prone position. As one man sat on her upper legs, strapping her left arm to her side, the other man bent her right arm at the elbow and guided her hand up toward her forehead.

During the deepest period of her grief, Veronika had longed to join her mother. But now that she was face-to-face with the possibility of death, she fought valiantly for life.

That changed, however, the second Veronika felt something cold and hard connect with her right temple. She stiffened as one of the men grabbed her fingers and wrapped them around the butt of a gun. At that precise instant, Veronika knew with certainty that her suspicions were indeed fact. Her mother had been murdered and now the same killers had come to silence her before she could expose the truth. And just like her mother’s death, her own murder would go undetected, dismissed as the suicide of a grieving daughter. A conclusion no one would question.

As the man placed his hand on top of hers and prepared to pull the trigger, a miraculous, power-infused sensation snuffed out what was left of Veronika’s fear, causing her body to go limp. The heavy pounding of her heart slowed and she felt light enough to float away.

Completely relaxed now, Veronika closed her eyes, said a short prayer, and waited for a glorious reunion with her mother.

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

God’s Poor – Excerpt by Mike Manos

Click on the book cover to purchase

ISBN: 0-7414-5140-9
Genre: Fiction
Publisher: Infinity Publishing
Publication Date: June 2009
# of Pages: 307
Purchase Here at Amazon

About Mike Manos

Mike Manos is professor of Economics and a scholar of History and archaeology. He is also a poet and a freelance writer. God’s Poor is his first novel.

About God’s Poor

The sudden deaths of pregnant women rock the world.
A deadly virus causes world panic.
A dangerous heresy reemerges from the misty past.
The Catholic and Orthodox Christian Churches face an unknown enemy.
Mossant reveals dangerous secrets that threaten religious foundations.
The quest for immortality leads to the first Jerusalem and incredible revelations.
Finally an earthquake produced by HAARP gives a temporary solution.

Excerpt

MADRID

Jesus said,” Know what is in front of your face and what is hidden from you will be disclosed to you. For there is nothing hidden that will not be revealed.”
Gospel of Thomas, 5

Jorje Matanas woke up abruptly. His silky purple pajamas were soaked in sweat even though the climate control of his mansion kept the temperature steady at 21 Celsius all year round.
The dream seemed to him alive. He was inside a low stone cottage. In front of him stood an ascetic elongated monk of undeterminable age, dressed with a dark blue hooded cassock fastened around his waist with a rope. On the center of his cassock there was a white symbol, like a cross but with the upper line replaced by a circle. The monk had a light white beard, black charcoal eyes and hollow cheeks, like a figure painted by El Greco. A milky white light filled the cottage. A force pushed Matanas on his knees and he kissed the monk’s bare toes. The monk put his right hand on Matanas’ head and his caved voice echoed inside his mind.
“Welcome, my brother. I was waiting for you.”
The soft ring of the phone found Matanas sitting in the middle of the bed trying to get over the dream. He picked up the phone.
“Senor?” the old butler’s voice was heard on the other end of the line.
“What is it, Juan?”
“Senior, it is 6 in the morning and I ask you to forgive me. A monk is here and he insists that he has an appointment with you now. What should I do?”
Matanas was shaken and nearly dropped the phone. “Take him to the living room. I will be there in a minute.” Still soaked in sweat, he went to the bath off his bedroom, washed his face and neck, and wiped himself with a white towel monogrammed in dark blue thread with his initials. He took a silk burgundy robe from his closet, slid his feet into the matching slippers to the side of the door, and made his way down the marble staircase .On the ground floor he went to the open, hand-carved wooden door with its four impressive gold emblems and entered the huge royal living room, sumptuously decorated with thick blue-white rugs, red velvet sofas and heavy chandeliers.
A short, skinny monk with a long white beard stood next to the low marble table close to the door. He wore a plain grey hooded cassock fastened at the waist with a rope. Matanas was shocked when he saw on the left side of the cassock the white symbol of his dream.
He approached the monk and gave him a handshake, trying to hide his impatience. He was surprised that although the monk looked very old, his grip was quite strong. The monk smiled at Matanas.
“God is merciful. I am Friar Jose from the order of the Pure. Theophilus, our guide, sends me. You have already met him,” he said in a way that made Matanas shiver.
“But how?” Matanas whispered. “What’s happening?”
“Don’t ask. He is waiting for you. The flight for Salonica is scheduled for 10 a.m. You must not say a word to anyone about where you are going. There you will visit the Ministry of Northern Greece, where you will get a permit to visit Mount Athos, the Holy Mountain. You will arrive there by boat from Ouranoupolis. They will wait for you. Don’t bring anything with you, just some money for the trip and your passport.”
The monk paused and handed Matanas a small open grey envelope with the same white symbol on its left side. “All the instructions are written inside the envelope,” he continued. “God have mercy, my brother.”
The monk turned and walked towards the door. Matanas followed him, looking puzzled.
“But I don’t understand,” he stuttered. “I have to leave today at 10 a.m. for Salonica?”
The monk stood at the entrance to the living room. The old butler appeared to be trying to button his jacket. Without turning his head, the monk spoke again. “He is waiting for you tomorrow, you know that. Don’t delay.” He walked to the door without saying anything else.

Categories: Historical Fiction | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Book Spotlight: Synarchy Book 2: The Ascension by DCS

Title: Synarchy Book Two: The Ascension
Author: DCS
Publisher: SVT Publishing
Publication Date: July 30, 2010
Paperback: 442 pages
ISBN: 978-0578062181
Genre: Science Fiction, Thriller

Purchase here!

Excerpt

“We’re villains, as much as we are capable of being heroes. When the moments come that we can we soften the blow of our sins, we’ve got to take them.”
-Stefano Vasco Terenzio

Prologue

December 20, 2012- 11:44 PM
Vacherie, Louisiana
Oak Alley Plantation

It came down in thick heavy sheets, bulleting from the sky, drenching the ground that could only absorb so much before it leaked up from the grass, and quickly became the swamp that was so common in the area. The glare of headlights cut through the rain, illuminating the porch of the antebellum mansion that was now empty.

Caesar climbed out of the car, whistling. He snapped open the trunk and stared with vicious glee down at Vasco, whose hands Caesar had taped behind his back. Caesar reached inside and hauled the other man out, half dragging him through the puddles of water, and shoved him in front of the stairs, facing the house. “I thought you‘d want to see it one more time before you died.”
Vasco’s eyes traveled slowly over the elegant, old fashioned structure. It had once been her home, before she—

His jaw hardened. A lifetime ago, he had made love to her against those columns, often after he’d shot a few people out among the centuries-old oaks. For a fleeting moment, his eyes softened at the phantom images.

“You know, she and I had some good times here after you got popped.” Caesar grinned at his own memories.

Vasco’s eyes narrowed, jealousy and fury coiling hotly in his gut. His fingers fisted around the piece of glass hidden in his palm, and sharp edges cut into the tape and his skin, the blood washing away with the force of the rain.

Caesar turned him around so they were facing each other. “I don’t get you, Vasco.” He took a step back, pulling the gun out from the waistband of his pants. “Why? Out of all of them, I never thought you would choose this.”

The hatred in the depths of Vasco’s eyes was unhidden as he regarded Caesar. It was their destiny to be enemies, their agreement for this lifetime. He was fully committed to honoring that agreement. “Choice, Caesar,” Vasco said over the noise of the storm. “I never made anyone do anything. They always had a choice. You—Them—you take the fun out of the game when you take that choice away. But the better, less noble reason is I just don’t like you. Or your masters. I never have.”

Caesar shook his head. “I’ll never understand you Terenzios. I won’t miss you, either.” The thunder growled, a flash of lighting exposing the malevolent gleam in Caesar‘s eyes as he pressed the muzzle of the gun against Vasco’s temple.

About the Author

DCS was born in Alexandria, Virginia. She graduated high school in Huntersville, NC and attended the University of North Carolina at Charlotte intent on earning a degree in Political Science and becoming a lawyer.

She instead eventually turned to writing. DCS is currently attending the American Institute of Holistic Theology to earn her PhD in Metaphysical Spirituality.

You can also hear her live every Saturday evening on BlogTalkRadio’s In the Mind of DCS. Show starts at 7pm Central Standard Time.

Synarchy Book 2: The Ascension is her second novel, and four more are scheduled for release.

Synarchy Book 3: SVT and Synarchy Book 4: The Black Widow are the next in the series due out in 2011.

“We’re villains, as much as we are capable of being heroes…” A lifetime ago, Stefano Vasco Terenzio saw one way to maneuver his family into a game of betrayal against an unbeatable enemy; walking into a bullet. A generation later, what started with one man’s ego will determine the fate of the whole word. For centuries The Brotherhood and their Gods, the Anunnaki have hidden in plain sight among us. For centuries they have lied, sacrificed man by the thousands, and manipulated humanity into their service. As the clock ticks closer to December 21st, 2012, they will stop at nothing to keep their control of planet Earth. In the thrilling sequel to Synarchy Book 1: The Awakening, the end is only the beginning. Secrets emerge that will challenge the core of everything you think you believe. All the while a team of scientists must make sense out of the fantastical, and the tenuous link holding together the one family that can save humankind, shatters.

Categories: Science Fiction, Thriller | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

THE SAGA OF BEOWULF by R. Scot Johns

the-saga-of-beowulfAuthor: R. Scot Johns
Title: The Saga of Beowulf
Hardcover: 640 pages
Publisher: Fantasy Castle Books (Oct. 2008)
Genre: Heroic Fantasy
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0982153805
ISBN-13: 978-0982153802

First Sentence: Flames rose in the darkness, illuminating the scarred face of a grim warrior.

amazon_buy11

The Saga of Beowulf is the first complete and accurate novelization of the epic Old English poem Beowulf, chronicling the tragic wars of the rising Nordic nations, the endless blood-feuds of their clans, battles with mythic creatures in an ancient heroic age, and the final, futile struggle of one man against the will of Fate that made of him a Legend.

The story follows the young Norse warrior Beowulf as he embarks upon a fateful quest for vengeance against the creature that slew his father, setting in motion a sequence of events that will bring about the downfall of a nation, all the while fleeing from the woman he has sworn to love. Based on extensive historical research and steeped in Nordic myth and lore, the saga unfolds across the frozen fields of Sweden and the fetid fens of Denmark, ranging from the rocky heights of Geatland to the sprawling battlefields of ancient France, as our hero battles men and demons in a quest to conquer his own fears.

“An epic adventure 1500 years in the making,” this classic tale now comes to life once more in a bold new retelling for a modern audience.

r-scot-johns-2R. Scot Johns is a life-long student of ancient and medieval literature, with an enduring fascination for Norse mythology and epic fantasy. He first came to Beowulf through his love of J. R. R. Tolkien, a leading scholar on the subject. As an Honors Medieval Literature major he has given lectures on such topics as the historical King Arthur and the construction of Stonehenge. He owns and operates Fantasy Castle Books, his own publishing imprint, and writes the blog Adventures of an Independent Author, where you can follow his progress as he writes The Jester’s Quest, his second novel.

You can visit his website at www.fantasycastlebooks.com.

Where did you get inspiration for your book?

Being a fan of Tolkien, as most fantasy authors are, I was interested to learn more about the stories that inspired the professor’s epic work. Foremost of these was Beowulf and the mythologies of the north. I immediately fell in love with Beowulf. It captivated me. Something about this ancient folk tale from the cold northlands called out to me, and so I followed. Not content merely to read the work in someone else’s words, I studied Old English and undertook my own translation, that I might read it in its original language. Throughout that process, while enjoying the work immensely myself, I became consciously aware of how negative the experience of reading this ancient tale was for the average college student, a multitude of whom would groan beneath its weight each midterm, and how few speakers of the modern language could appreciate this oldest of English epics. So it was that I decided to bring the story to a modern audience, in as accurate and entertaining a way I could manage. I had devoured Gardner’s Grendel, and plodded my weary way through Crichton’s mess, but no one had yet attempted to tell the entire story as it lurked within those lines of ancient verse. From the fog-bound fenlands of the Danish isles to the battlefields of ancient France, The Saga of Beowulf is the result of ten years’ effort, the first complete novelization of that earliest of English tales.

How did you get your book published?

I started my own publishing company. While waiting for months and months to hear back from trade publishers I began to look into print-on-demand technology and learn about the changing face of the publishing industry. Never one to sit around and wait for others to do what I could do myself, I was quite excited to learn that I could now publish my own book – not in the vanity press sense of bygone days, but by producing and promoting my own work using newest technology. Having always been a hands-on, do-it-yourself type – I wrote, edited, typeset, illustrated, and did the cover art and layout for my book before ever sending it out -, this was my ideal solution, akin in many ways to those earliest days of printing when pamphlets were hand-printed and peddled on the corner.

Of course, publishing my own book meant I also had to market it, and this has been a very steep learning curve: from building a rich website to creating promotional videos and ebook editions, things I’d never thought to be a part of becoming a writer. But I likely would have had to do all that myself anyway, even had I gained a trade contract (I stopped bothering after only the third rejection), given the low budget a genre novel like mine generally receives. Owning my work has allowed me to control every aspect of its production, from page layout and artwork, to the price and discount retailers are given. But the best part is the pride of ownership my effort nets.

Any words of wisdom for aspiring authors?

Read. Read all the time. But most of all, read what’s good. Read the classics. “Good stuff in, good stuff out,” I like to say. Sort of a “you are what you eat” philosophy for the mind. We are all very much the products of our environment, and if you read crap that’s what you’ll think good writing is. Be critical of everything your read, and especially your own work. Develop your ability to discern what is good writing, and adhere to it at all cost.

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