by Sarah | Sep 11, 2014 | Book Spotlight, Guest Authors, Writing
| Goodreads |
Description:
Dorian Lake spent years cornering the Baltimore hex-crafting market, using his skills at the hermetic arts to exact karmic justice for those whom the system has failed. He keeps his magic clean and free of soul-corrupting Netherwork, thus avoiding both the karmic blow-back of his practice and the notice of the Presidium, a powerful cabal of practitioners that polices the esoteric arts in America. However, when an unscrupulous Netherworker interferes with both his business and his personal life, Dorian’s disarming charisma and hermetic savvy may not be enough to keep his soul out of jeopardy.
His rival, a soul monger named Neil Osterhaus, wouldn’t be such a problem were it not for Carmen, Dorian’s captivating ex-lover. After two years’ absence Carmen arrives at Dorian’s doorstep with a problem: she sold her soul to Osterhaus, and has only two weeks to buy it back. Hoping to win back Carmen’s affections, Dorian must find a replacement soul without tainting his own. As Dorian descends into the shadows of Baltimore’s underworld, he must decide how low he is willing to stoop in order to save Carmen from eternal damnation… with the Presidium watching, waiting for him to cross the line.
—
Excerpt
When I answered the thunderous knock on my front door the following morning, the last person I expected to see huddled against the chilly morning air on my doorstep was Carmen. But there she was, without makeup, her hair pulled back under a ball cap, her eyes filled with some kind of nameless, but terrifyingly familiar dread.
“Dorian. I have to talk to you.”
I stepped aside immediately and stood limp as she brushed past me into the house. She pulled off her jacket and hung it on the coat rack. I watched her as she stepped directly into the kitchen, marveling at how easily she could slide right back into some kind of familiarity with the house she had lived in two years ago.
“What’s the matter?” I blurted as I tightened the belt to my robe and ran a hand over my hair.
She took a seat at my kitchen table and folded her arms in front of her. “I need your help.”
“I’m getting that. What kind of help?”
“Your kind of help.”
I lifted a brow and took a seat next to her. “You have my attention.”
She looked up at the ceiling and sucked in a ragged breath. Tears formed in the rims of her eyes, and I reached out to touch her hand.
“Jesus, Carmen. What’s going on?”
She pulled away, then sniffled as she wiped her eyes. “I’m in trouble, Dorian, and I don’t know how to fix it. I’m so fucking far over my head, here.”
“The club?”
“No, not the club. I just, forget about the club, okay?” She calmed down and took a breath. “I did something a while ago. Almost two years, now. It’s something I was told would be temporary, and that I could undo if I needed to.”
“What did you do?”
She sniffled again, and her face slowly crumpled into a wincing sob. I reached behind me to grab the paper towels from the counter, bunching one up and offering it to her.
Carmen daubed her cheeks and cleared her throat. She looked me square in the face with bloodshot eyes and said, “I sold my soul.”
From time to time, someone will tell me something so patently unbelievable that I manage not to understand the words as they’re spoken. This usually leads to my blathering something incredibly insensitive or incongruous which makes me look like a tremendous jackass. This was one of those moments.
“No you didn’t.”
Carmen held a breath and shook her head. “Yes. I did.”
“No, you couldn’t have. What do you mean you sold your soul?”
“You know what I mean, and I did it.”
I closed my eyes and held up my hands. “Wait, what the hell are you talking about? You didn’t sell your soul, Carmen. There’s no way you could be that stupid.”
“Thanks, Dorian.”
“Carmen!” I shouted, making her jump. “What the fuck?”
“It happened a couple weeks after we… after that happened. It got bad for me. I was losing everything, Dorian. My job, my contacts, my reputation. Everything that meant everything to me, all because…”
She let the sentence hang, but I followed her train of thought just fine.
“Because of me.”
She shook her head.
“No, I’m not going to let you take responsibility for my life.”
“You’re being kind. I know I really screwed you. I admit that. Never apologized for it, did I?”
“Well, it doesn’t matter now because I went with what I thought was my best option. That was my choice.”
“Your best option was selling your soul?”
She glared at me with a mix of patience, anger, and despair. I could tell she wanted to tear my head off, but she kept it reined in. She needed my help.
Only, I wasn’t sure there was anything I could do for her.
*~*
About The Author:
I am a storyteller, eager to transport the reader to strange yet familiar worlds. My writing is dark, fantastical, at times stretching the limits of the human experience, and other times hinting at the monsters lurking under your bed. I write science fiction, urban fantasy, horror, and several shades in between.
I am a husband and a father, living in the “wine country” of central Maryland. I’m surrounded by grapevines and cows. During the day I commute to Baltimore, and somehow manage to escape each afternoon with only minor scrapes and bruises. I am also a homebrewer and a certified beer judge. My avocations dovetail nicely!
Find J.P. Sloan Online:
| Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads |
by Sarah | Sep 11, 2014 | All About Me, Personal, Redefining Perfect, Story of Me
I posted this last year and the year before at this time. I’m re-posting it. I will always repost it every year at this time…
I know what today is. I know what it means to our country. I remember every detail of 2001 in vivid detail…but since before 2001, this date has been difficult for me, for my family…in 1996 my family’s core was lost, the heart of us…my grandfather…so my post on 9/11 is for him. Oh, and at surface glance I hate this picture of me, but then I see the pure joy on my face dancing with my grandfather and aesthetics be damned, it’s my favorite picture.
It was his birthday.
I was about four years old, and a very short kid…and he was TALL.
I remember standing by as he put our coats in the closet. I leaned my head way back to stare up, up, up at him and asked, “How tall are you?” With his sparkling eyes and laugh he informed me that he was over 6′. My eyes grew wide, and all I could say was, “But you’re so close to the ceiling! If you have ANY more birthdays you’ll go right through!”
His chair sat by the front door and the minute he sat the race was on – who would get the privilege of sitting on his lap, carrying on as deep a conversation as a child was capable of? Who would get to play with his round pot belly, and listen to his laughter?
He worked for GM and he was proud of it, and so were we.
When I close my eyes I can still smell his pipe and see the pipe carousel on his dresser. I can smell the cigarettes that he and grandma smoked.
I remember that after he retired he would watch soap operas during lunch.
And I remember the weddings – when my cousin and I would trade off and share him for the dance. “Grampa” by the Judds.
I remember his smile.
I remember his belly.
I remember the strength that he always carried in his soul and body.
I remember the pain that shot through my heart at the word…”cancer”. Once it was uttered it was less than a year. 10 months.
I remember the first time I saw him in the hospital-and how I had to run from the room because it made me physically ill to see my big strong grandfather lying in a bed weak and hooked up to tubes.
I remember his fight.
I remember when it was acknowledged in our hearts that the time to fight was over.
I remember how he held on – hours past when we thought we would lose him – because he would not let go until he’d gotten to hear the good-bye of all of his grandchildren, and my brother had been in surgery for a shattered wrist around the world in Japan. Half an hour after the final phone call, Grampa was gone.
I remember the sound of the tennis balls scattering across the hallway when my professor’s assistant walked up asking if she knew where I was…and all I could do was run to my car to get home as soon as I could.
From there it’s a blur…a long car ride from NC to NY. The arrangements. The funeral home. The droves of people I didn’t know, but who all knew him, overflowing the room.
The pain has lessened, resorted to a memory. For the most part I remember the love, the good things, the joy. But on this day every year the pain comes back to the forefront.
The pain seems so much stronger now that Grandma has gone to join him.
Refreshed and renewed now, they are together forever, but they will always be here in our hearts.
We love you still, and will always love you, Grampa.
by Sarah | Sep 9, 2014 | Book Release, Book Spotlight, Guest Authors, Writing
Synopsis
To Averianna Brooks true love is like a mythical creature, it just doesn’t exist. Needing an escape from what most would consider a living hell, she leaves the place she has always called home to move to Atlanta where she is determined to rebuild her self-worth with her long time best friend.
Home holds too many bad memories along with a certain person she wishes to never see again. All she wants is a fresh start, a new atmosphere, and a new city away from the horrible times her life once held. In an effort to save herself from any unforeseen pain that she desperately wants to steer clear of, Averi vows against anymore relationships.
But will all that change after a chance meeting with Damian Cole, a well known business mogul to a chain of hotels and resorts with a deviant and damaged past of his own? Unable to stop thinking about his wickedly good looks and his crystal blue eyes, she wonders if she will ever meet him again. When fate brings her slamming into a familiar pair of sapphire eyes, things seems to take a turn, developing into a deep desire that neither one of them saw coming. Can Averi and Damian overcome their hurdles together and repair their damaged pasts enough to fall in love? Or will the past come back to haunt them? They say love conquers all or does it?
Buy Links
Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Damaged-A-N-Hennessy-ebook/dp/B00HNFCPPI
Excerpt
Not looking up so no one can see my drenched face, I walk through the door. Clumsily, I smash straight into someone. Firm hands grip my upper arms preventing me from falling or else I would have collapsed if not for the unseen stranger.
“Averianna?” The voice is warm and welcoming. A voice I have missed since earlier today when he was being so prudent. “Are you okay? Look at me,” he croons.
“I’m fine, Damian, just need some air.” I shrug out of his grip and walk past him into the slightly cool night air. I sit on a bench to the side of the building as I hear him follow. The tears are still unwelcomingly rolling down my cheeks. I don’t want Damian to see me crying, so I turn my head away from him as he tentatively sits beside me. I can feel anxious blue eyes boring into my back.
“Look at me Averianna…please.” He reaches around discreetly to grab my chin, coaxing my face in his direction. “Shit…what’s wrong? Please don’t cry.” He breathes in deeply, tugging me into his arms. “Is it because of me, did I cause you to cry?” His question sends a shock of pain straight to my heart as my sobbing resumes more forcibly. I remember telling him that I never wanted to see him again. That I couldn’t handle him, but at this very moment I don’t want to be near anyone else. I want him. I want to feel his nearness. I want to be smothered in him and I want to tell him. I want to tell him everything so he can tell me it will all be okay. That he will keep me safe like he did last night. It pissed me off at that moment, but now it’s the comfort that I want to hear.
“No Damian, it’s not you. I’m so sorry for what I said to you. I didn’t mean it. I was just mad. Forgive me?”
“Forgive you? Princess, I forgave you the moment you said it. I was the one out of line. I’m sorry. I’m the one who needs to be forgiven. Now, please tell me why you’re crying. Look at me.” He plants his warm hands on my cheeks catching my falling tears of pain. Looking at his beautiful face, I notice that it looks just as pained as my own. His brow is creased with worry, light glimmering off of ebony hair that is flopped messily over his forehead. His narrowed eyes take on a bothered gleam. I can’t hold it back. If there is ever going to be anything between us, no matter what that may be, he has to know everything. Then maybe he will share some of his past with me. But I’m not getting my hopes up.
Author
I live in a small town in southern Tennessee. Before writing I raised Great Danes and I still do to this day. There is nothing more majestic than a beautiful, giant Dane. Reading and writing has become a huge part of my life and helped me get through a really tuff time in my life. My sister was wrongfully ripped away from this world. Reading and soon writing became my escape from the nightmare that plagued my brain. I will forever believe that my sister pushed me in this direction and for that I will always owe my success to her. She is my whisper away and I know she is guiding me where I need to go:)
I am married to my high school sweetheart, Zac and we have two crazy yet beautiful kids together. Between them and the Danes, life in the Hennessy house can be extremely loud and rambunctious at times. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Social Links
Twitter: https://twitter.com/anhennessy
by Sarah | Sep 6, 2014 | Books, Masked Hearts, WeWriWa, Writing
Welcome back to the Weekend Writing Warriors!
I’m back with my travelling wild west show story, Masked Hearts.
Mister Rawlins has already shot an apple off Minnie’s head as a warning, but he isn’t done with her yet. In the middle of the night, he makes a never-before-seen appearance in her tent, but he isn’t alone:
“This here is Silas. I told him all about you,” The Mister wrapped his hand around her elbow and pulled her off her cot.
The man that ogled her from across the tent didn’t bolster her hope that the night would improve. Short and dark, his eyes skimmed her with a lecherous open leer.
“Drop the sheet,” Silas commanded. The man never heard ‘no’, she could tell just by his attitude. He moved closer, and the lamp lit up weathered and filthy features. The crooked grin displayed yellow rotted teeth he picked at with a toothpick; his nose was bulbous at the end, a distinct twist at the bridge showing he’d been in his fair share of fights.
*Creative editing used this week to fit in the 8.
*~*
If you want more of these wonderfully damaged pair…pick up a copy!
| Amazon | SCP | BN | ARe |
Minnie Woodward lives a lie. After barely surviving the Bear River Massacre she’s lived in the white world of her guardian Mister Rawlins, her life debt keeping her tied there. The last thing she needs is Roy’s attempts to gain her favor. Her fate’s sealed. She’s never believed in hope, and not even Roy can make her start.
Roy Ornum saves Minnie every night in the traveling Wild West show. The job he took to break his gambling habit brought him a new addiction – her. He knows she doesn’t want to be rescued, but maybe he does. She’s the key to a past he lost, one he wants to find again.
As the two grow closer old wounds are reopened and their burgeoning trust is shattered. When lives hang in the balance of their choices they’ll need to work together. Otherwise everything will be lost before hope can be found.
*~*
Head back on over to the Weekend Writing Warriors to read many more wonderful offerings!
by Sarah | Sep 5, 2014 | Book Spotlight, Guest Authors, Writing
The Traveler’s Wake, by J.P. Moynahan
Genre: literary fiction, crime-thriller
Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press
Date of Release: July 31, 2014
Cover Artist: Michelle Johnson at Blue Sky Design
Find The Traveler’s Wake Online:
Goodreads | Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble | Kobo
Description:
Wesley Rourke is a mouthy, Irish-lucky millionaire, trotting the globe in search of the perfect place to kill his most hated enemy, himself. Blowing his money on charity, and booze as he zooms from city to city, he lays his course towards Lima, Peru.
Once he arrives, he sets about his grisly task only to be inconvenienced by the lure of a pretty young tourist, the daughter of a prominent British lawmaker.
A few days after their first date, he awakens in a hospital to find her missing and he himself embroiled in a media blitz and massive manhunt. With time running out, and wracked with horrifying night-terrors, Wesley is forced to face his past cowardice and wade into the bowels of a pitiless underworld in search of his one ray of hope.
The city of Lima awaits him.
—
About J.P. Moynahan:
I’m a wilderness guide and mountaineer, musician and poet. I’ve climbed all over North and South America, and played my music throughout. From mission’s work in Mexico, to clinking beers with toothless Canadians, and onto climbing an Andean glacier, I enjoy whatever comes my way.
I’m a mouthy sort with a quick tongue and an even quicker grin. Most folks hate me for the first seven minutes, then fall right in love with my winning personality and straight-toothed smile.
Though I harbor a strong sense of independence, I believe in the strength of a supportive community and tight knit family. I enjoy working with youth and young adults and showing them that staying out of jail isn’t so hard and can even be fun. But I’m not a goody-two-shoes, my head isn’t anywhere near my ass, much less in it.
Find J.P. Moynahan Online:
Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
Description: 
About The Author:
