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BOOK BLAST ~ Promise of More by Bronwen Evans with GIVEAWAY

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Blurb

In the second novel in Bronwen Evans’s sexy new Disgraced Lords series, two very independent souls find themselves fighting to resist a deepening passion.

When Beatrice Hennessey sets out to confront Lord Coldhurst, the notorious rogue who killed her brother in a duel, her intent is to save her family from destitution. She’s determined to blackmail the man into a loveless marriage. She’ll make the wealthy Lord Coldhurst pay for the rest of his life. But while greeting his ship, Beatrice takes a tumble into the Thames—only to be fished out by a pair of strong masculine arms that tempt her to stay locked in their heated embrace forever. That is, until she realizes those arms belong to Sebastian Hawkestone, Lord Coldhurst himself.

The little drowned mermaid has an interesting proposition indeed; one that Sebastian is surprised to find quite agreeable. Although he’s had women more beautiful, she is pleasing to the eye, and besides, it’s time he fathered an heir. Beatrice promises to be the ideal wife; a woman who hates him with an all-consuming passion is far too sensible to expect romance. However, it isn’t long before Sebastian’s plan for a marriage of convenience unravels, and he’s caught up in the exhilarating undertow of seduction.

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Buy Links

Amazon:  http://www.amazon.com/Promise-More-Disgraced-Loveswept-Historical-ebook/dp/B00GQAEUCM

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-promise-of-more-bronwen-evans/1117444883?ean=9780345547293

BAM: http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Promise-More-Disgraced-Lords-Series/Evans-Bronwen/Q310297277?id=5944268683128

Bronwen Evans

Author Info

Bronwen Evans grew up loving books. She has always indulged her love of storytelling and is constantly gobbling up movies, books, and theater. Is it any wonder she’s a proud romance writer? Evans is a two-time winner of the RomCon Readers’ Crown and has been nominated for an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award. She lives in Wellington, New Zealand.

Connect with Bronwen Evans: FacebookTwitter  | Website

 

Link to Follow Tour: http://tastybooktours.blogspot.com/2014/02/now-booking-tasty-virtual-tour-for.html

 

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*Loveswept is hosting a TOUR WIDE Rafflecopter Commenter Giveaway for Grand Prize – $25 egiftcard and a copy of A KISS OF LIES ebook retailer of choice and 3 First Prize bundles – A KISS OF LIES and A PROMISE OF MORE from your ebook retailer of choice*

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Posted by on April 24, 2014 in Blitz/Bonanza Spotlights

 

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COVER REVEAL ~ The Night Belongs to Fireman by Jennifer Bernard and Giveaway

NightBelongsFireman

Blurb

 

Daring . . . Sexy . . . Irresistible . . .
They’re the Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel

When fireman Fred Breen rescues a bachelorette party after a construction crane collapses onto their limo, the media labels him the “Bachelor Hero.” But all Fred can think about is the petite brunette with the sexy mane of dark curls who bolted away from him faster than a wildfire after he carried her to safety. And when he discovers she’s none other than Rachel Kessler, the daughter of a tech billionaire, the girl whose kidnapping riveted the nation, he intends to learn every intimate detail about this intriguing woman who sets his pulse on fire.

Rachel can’t deny the lean-muscled firefighter is smokin’ hot. But after having one too many drinks at the bar where she first meets him, Rachel knows she’s made a fool of herself. Yet when he rescues her from the limo, she feels safe for the first time since she was held for ransom as a child. Then her overprotective father insists Fred be her bodyguard—and his close presence kindles a burning desire that only he can extinguish.

 

 

Link to Follow Tour: http://tastybooktours.blogspot.com/2014/04/now-booking-cover-reveal-for-night.html

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20452183-the-night-belongs-to-fireman

Pre-Buy Links

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Night-Belongs-Fireman-Bachelor-Firemen-ebook/dp/B00HPWULW8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1396759915&sr=8-1&keywords=the+night+belongs+to+fireman

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-night-belongs-to-fireman-jennifer-bernard/1117992160?ean=9780062273703

 

jen

Author Info

Jennifer Bernard is a graduate of Harvard and a former news promo producer. The child of academics, she confounded her family by preferring romance novels to … well, any other books. She left big city life for true love in Alaska, where she now lives with her husband and stepdaughters. She’s no stranger to book success, as she also writes erotic novellas under a naughty secret name not to be mentioned at family gatherings.

Visit her on the Web at www.JenniferBernard.net

Author Links

Jennifer’s Websitehttp://JenniferBernard.net

Facebookhttp://www.Facebook.com/JenniferBernardBooks

Twitter @Jen_Bernard https://twitter.com/ – !/Jen_Bernard

Amazon Author Pageamazon.com/author/jenniferbernard

http://jenniferbernard.net/contact.php – mailing-list

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5263027.Jennifer_Bernard

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Giveaway Link (Kindle Fire HD and Firemen Goodies)

https://www.facebook.com/JenniferBernardBooks/app_455995934413715

 
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Posted by on April 24, 2014 in Cover Reveals

 

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What to Read Wednesday with Melissa Eskue Ousley and giveaway

Welcome to What to Read Wednesday! Please help me welcome YA author Melissa Eskue Ousley to the blog. Melissa wrote an interesting guest post that I really enjoyed and think you will too! She’s also sharing her latest release The Rabbit and the Raven, book two in the Solas Beir trilogy.

At the end of the post, please follow the link to enter Melissa’s giveaway :)

Take it away Melissa…

Tour-Banner-The-Rabbit-and-the-Raven

The Kruorumbrae of Cai Terenmare

As I was doing research to writeThe Solas Beir Trilogy, I found many legends about bogeymen, someof whichhave shape-shifting abilities. The phooka is a hobgoblin that often appears in Irish folklore as a trickster, and can appear in a number of forms: a shadow, smoke, or animals with black fur. In South America, there are similar myths about shape-shifting creatures that appear as jaguars. In Western history, the black cat was said to have the power to shape-shift, taking on human form as a spy for witches or demons. Another shape-shifter, Oude Rode Ogen, or Old Red Eyes, from Belgium, can change from human form to that of a black dog, and is thought to be cannibalistic. These stories have similar elements, and became the inspiration for the Kruorumbrae of Cai Terenmare, a magical parallel world. I imagined that some of these predators had found their way to Earth, inspiring our bogeyman myths.

Also known as Blood Shadows, these vicious monsters feed on the blood and life force of other living creatures. They are shape-shifters, changing their form to hide in plain sight as animals. The most powerful of the Kruorumbrae can even change into someone who looks and acts familiar to you, stealing that person’s body and using it as a disguise. These creatures serve Tynan Tierney, an evil lord aligned with the Darkness. Tierney calls himself the Kruor um Beir, or the King of Blood and Shadows. His goal is to seize the throne of the Solas Beir and rule Cai Terenmare.

 
In addition to feeding on the bodies of the living, the Kruorumbrae are parasites, feeding off psychic energy and fear. To prevent this, gifts can be presented to appease the appetites of the Blood Shadows, butnot any gift will do. Traditionally milk and honey are offered because these foods are more potent than others, having been obtained from creatures who expended great energy in producing them.

 
There are several other ways to keep the Kruorumbrae at bay. Sea salt or even common table salt can be helpful in creating circles of protection or blocking passage from windows and doors. For smaller Kruorumbrae, contact with salt can be deadly. For a larger Blood Shadow, crossing a line of salt will cause burns. The longer the creature maintains contact with the circle, the more likely it is to burst into flames. Fire or silver can also be used to slay Kruorumbrae. Silver is an effective weapon because the Blood Shadows are allergic to it. If they touch it, their skin burns, and they can be killed with a silver blade.

 
In The Rabbit and the Raven, David and Abby will need all these tricks and more as they journey throughout Cai Terenmare, seeking alliances with the Oracles against Tierney. They will find that their new world is more dangerous than they imagined, because it’s not just creatures of darkness they need to worry about. It’s the darkness within their own hearts.

The-Rabbit-and-the-Raven-Cover

BLURB

Darkness is beguiling…and power always comes with a price.

Adopted by loving parents, David Corbin had no idea his life was a lie. Then he met a girl. Abby Brown freed David from the spell keeping him from the truth, that he was the lost heir to the throne in a magical realm.

Even though he got the girl and gained a kingdom, David had no clue about the unfathomable power he would inherit, nor did he realize how much he would have to sacrifice to keep the throne.

If there is any hope of winning the war against the deadly Kruorumbrae, David and Abby will have to journey to the outer edges of the realm to secure the loyalty of the four Oracles. Along the way, they will learn just how seductive darkness can be.

EXCERPT

Out of the shadows of the labyrinth, a massive beast emerged. He was bigger than Calder had been, but while Calder had been a hairless, muscled brute, this feline creature was lean, muscled in a way that was beautiful and terrible at the same time. He had the look of a sophisticated and efficient killer—covered in thick, shiny fur with black-on-black stripes. He approached Abby with a menacing deliberateness, bearing long, primeval fangs.

“Hello, Rabbit,” the creature said as he circled her slowly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Abby could feel the beast’s hot breath on her skin. Don’t show fear, she thought, planting her feet in a fighting stance and drawing herself up to look taller, brawnier. Look him straight in the eye. If you’re going to die, at least have a little dignity about it. She stared into his eyes and spoke his name: “Tierney.”

The creature stared back, eyeing Abby’s clenched jaw and defensive stance, and then he smiled apologetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Tierney said. “I forget this face can be, shall we say, rather off-putting. Allow me to present a more pleasing visage.” His form changed, melting away like smoke, leaving black ashes lingering in the air. In the creature’s place stood a handsome young man with dark eyes—nothing like the beast he had just been.

Don’t be fooled by the illusion, Abby told herself. He’s the same monster he was before—it’s just a mask. She stood her ground, infusing her voice with authority. “On the contrary. You know that face is off-putting. That’s why you wore it.”

To her surprise, Tierney started laughing—not a mean, condescending laugh, but one of genuine, unguarded amusement. It wasn’t quite the response Abby had expected.

“Well, now,” he chuckled, “you are a surprisingly perceptive one. Do you know why I’m here?”

“I assume it’s to get to the Solas Beir by killing me,” Abby said.

“Oh, come now, Rabbit, I’m hurt. I have absolutely no such plans. None at all,” Tierney replied.

“I have trouble believing that—your reputation precedes you,” she said.

“Well, dear Rabbit, a reputation is really quite subjective, don’t you think? And you must concede that your sources may be a bit biased when it comes to me.” He began circling her again, looking her up and down. “Actually, I’m here because I heard a very interesting story about you. And I must say, I think there’s more to you than I was originally led to believe. I heard that an ordinary human girl rescued the Lightbearer by killing a Blood Shadow—and not just any Blood Shadow, mind you, but one of the strongest among us. And I wondered to myself, an ordinary human girl? How can that be?”

Abby noticed that Tierney used the term “Lightbearer” rather than David’s formal title of Solas Beir. She didn’t think it was an accident. In fact, she was certain that Tynan Tierney never said or did anything that wasn’t calculated. “What is it you want, exactly?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

“Only to see if the story was true. I can see now that you’ve been underestimated. Clearly, you are no ordinary human girl. You are turning out to be much more interesting than I thought you would be, pretty little c’aislingaer,” he said.

Abby glared at him. “Thanks, but you can’t fool me into falling for flattery.”

Suddenly Tierney stepped close to Abby, his arms pulling her to him, his breath on her neck as he whispered in her ear. “No, indeed I cannot. For I have met many a fool, and you are not one.”

He was so warm, and his touch made her skin tingle, much to her chagrin. She fought to show no response, reminding herself to keep her guard up.

He continued, his lips almost grazing her skin as he talked. “What I want, Abigail, is to show you the truth—to help you see my side of the story so you can decide for yourself if my so-called reputation is deserved.” He pulled away suddenly, his head cocked to one side as if he had heard something.

Abby heard nothing.

Tierney turned back, his dark eyes on her. “Your boyfriend is coming. Better not let him catch you fraternizing with the enemy. Until we meet again, little Rabbit.” Taking her hand, he held it to his lips, kissing it with a disarming tenderness. Then he was gone—not in some magic puff of smoke, but simply not there anymore.

Abby heard the crack of a twig breaking as someone approached. Rather than feeling a sense of relief, she felt oddly guilty, like she had been caught in the act of doing something wrong. She had just survived what should have been a lethal encounter with a monster, but instead of being frightened of Tierney, she found herself attracted to him. And that terrified her.

AUTHOR INFO

Author-Picture-Melissa-Eskue-Ousley-229x300

Melissa Eskue Ousley lives in the Pacific Northwest of the United States with her family and their Kelpie, Gryphon. When she’s not writing, Melissa can be found hiking, swimming, scuba diving, kayaking, or walking along the beach, poking dead things with a stick.

Before she became a writer, she had a number of educational jobs, ranging from a summer spent scraping road kill off a molten desert highway, to years spent conducting research with an amazing team of educators at the University of Arizona. Her interests in psychology, culture, and mythology have influenced her writing of The Solas Beir Trilogy.

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Posted by on April 23, 2014 in What to Read Wednesday

 

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Special Guest Robert Barclay author of The Widows Walk ~ giveaway

Please join me in welcoming Avon author Robert Barclay to the blog today! He’s sharing his latest release The Widows Walk along with a fabulous giveaway you can enter at the end of the post :)

But before we enjoy a teaser of Robert’s book, learn a little bit more about him by checking out his five reasons to write!

Take it away Robert…

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Five Reasons To Write:

This topic is an interesting one; and an easy one, too. If one can write for a living, there are so many good reasons to keep doing it that it’s actually difficult to pick only five. Anyway, here goes:

First, you supposedly love what you do. You know what they say–love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life. Well, that’s how I feel about it. I’ve been lucky enough to get published and to still be writing books. And because I love it, it’s never feels like work.

Second–and this one may be totally obvious–if you’re fairly successful, the money can be pretty good. The only drawback is that you get paid in a strange way; that is, in big lump sums from time to time, rather than drawing a regular paycheck. But with a little careful money management and a sharp accountant, it generally seems to all work out.

Third, we writers don’t have any real bosses, just an agent and an editor that we have to keep happy, plus the occasional publicist when a new book comes out and we’re being kept busy writing blogs like this one. In truth, I’ve never found it difficult to stay in the good graces of an editor, an agent, or a publicist. I’d much rather be working for them, than toiling in some cubicle with one or more bosses watching me.

Fourth–and this is a big one–provided your work gets done and you meet your deadlines, you can make your own hours. There’s no time card to punch, no need to ask permission for your vacation times. And there’s no one looking over your shoulder to make sure you seated at your desk, doing what you’re supposed to be doing. But with this freedom comes a lot of responsibility. If you goof off for a couple of days, it’s likely that no one else will know but you. On the other hand you have goofed off for two days, meaning that you’ve just lost two days during which you could have been producing.

And fifth, if you’re lucky enough to write enough books, there can be a certain amount of fame attached to this crazy job. Some writers find that to be a drawback. But I, on the other hand, actually enjoy it if someone stops me in a public place, for example, and asks if I’m really Robert Barclay, and could I perhaps sign something for him or her. That’s a great treat for me, and I’m not afraid to say so.

Best regards, and good reading, –Robert Barclay.

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Blurb

His name was Garrett Richmond and he had always wanted to live by the ocean. So when the opportunity to buy-and renovate-the old home known as Seaside arrived, he leapt at the chance. Never mind that his friends and family thought he was crazy, he knew he could return this lonely mansion, worn by time, wind, and neglect, to its former beauty. But Seaside was more than just a project; it was spot that had called to him his entire life.

And then one night he saw her…

Her name is Constance Elizabeth Canfield and she tells him Seaside has been her home for over 150 years. But Constance is no ghost; rather, she claims that she has been somehow magically trapped between this life and the next. At first, Garrett can’t believe her crazy story-the woman had to be lying! And yet, there was something about Constance that was from another time…

Soon this mysterious woman, and flesh and blood man share a closeness they cannot deny. But just as their love begins to bloom, Constance’s presence starts mysteriously fading away, soon to be gone forever. Is their love doomed–or is it strong enough to transcend time, and even death itself?

 

Link to Follow Tour: http://tastybooktours.blogspot.com/2014/03/now-booking-tasty-virtual-book-tour-for.html

Buy Links

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Widows-Walk-Novel-Robert-Barclay-ebook/dp/B00BATINZY/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1395632998&sr=1-1&keywords=the+widow%27s+walk

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/widows-walk-robert-barclay/1114298590?ean=9780062218803

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-widows-walk/id599873355?mt=11

 Robert

Author Info

After graduating from Colgate University with a B.A. in Economics and a minor Art History, Robert J. Barclay enjoyed a successful career in business, and served as chairman of his industry-related consulting group. After selling his business and moving from upstate New York to Florida (and with some rather successful prodding by his wife), he was able to finally devote his full attention to something he had always wanted to do: write a book. Rob lives in sunny south Florida. When he isn’t writing, he enjoys weightlifting, Shotokan Karate, and going to the beach to do absolutely nothing.

Author Links

http://www.harpercollins.com/author/microsite/About.aspx?authorid=36642

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/225166.Robert_Barclay

https://www.facebook.com/AuthorRobertBarclay

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BOOK BLAST ~ A Wild West Romance Series by Beth Ciotta with GIVEAWAY

Blurb

 

A Wild West Trilogy That’ll Rope Your Heart!
Sexy lawmen and the women who tame them. (Sort of.) Follow the adventures of the Garrett family and their colorful friends as they tangle with lethal desperadoes, volitile secrets, shady pasts . . . and the complications of true love. Intrigue, high adventure, and sizzling romance abound in this fast-paced historical western trilogy.

Lasso the Moon

LASSO THE MOON (Book One)

Motivated by a childhood promise, Paris Garrett travels to the wilds of Arizona Territory (1877) to seek fame as a stage actress. Never mind that she doesn’t possess a lick of experience or that her true passion is songwriting. Before he died, her papa encouraged her to reach for the stars. She promised to lasso the moon! She’s already slipped free of her over-protective brothers. Nothing and no one, especially some badge-wearing Romeo, is going to stand in her way.

Joshua Grant’s life went from diamonds to dirt in less time than a rattler strikes. His uncle bequeathed him an opera house he doesn’t want, forcing him to quit the law enforcement job he loved. The topper: In order to keep his sidewinder snake of a cousin from inheriting, Josh has to honor his uncle’s will and marry within two weeks. Life can’t get much worse, and then he falls for an eccentric, spitfire songwriter with a mysterious past and a passel of troublesome admirers. Marrying Paris is about as smart as kissing a coyote, but that’s exactly what Josh intends to do–whether she likes it or not. Together they could realize their dreams. That’s if they don’t drive each other crazy first!

Buy Links

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Lasso-Moon-Wild-West-Romance-ebook/dp/B00IFJU0Y4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1394500448&sr=8-1&keywords=lasso+the+moon+beth+ciotta

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lasso-the-moon-beth-ciotta/1118626027?ean=2940148192428

Romancing the West

ROMANCING THE WEST (Book Two)

Emily McBride is in a pickle. The preacher’s daughter writes scandalous romantic adventures under a penname and someone’s uncovered her true identity. If the blackmailer exposes her double life her small town friends and the man of her dreams will never speak to her again. Worse, she’s growing fond of her new friend, a literary poet, who would surely be horrified by her dime novel fame.

When lawman Seth Wright is recruited into the covert government agency, The Peacemaker Alliance, he’s eager to kick desperado butt. Instead his first mission is to travel to California to propose to Miss Emily McBride on behalf of his boss. Worse, when he arrives, the small town librarian mistakes him for a dandified poet! With two unwanted suitors and a blackmailer hounding her, Seth pretends to be that poet so he can stay close and protect her. It’s what his new boss would want. Unfortunately, Seth develops genuine feelings for the passionate book lover, which risks his future as a Peacemaker, especially when he learns she is not what she seems. More jolting . . . neither is he.

Buy Links

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Romancing-West-Wild-Romance-Book-ebook/dp/B00IGF4052/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=120D8GEJ2TQ5RZ8NA095

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/romancing-the-west-beth-ciotta/1118628618?ean=2940148231660

Fall of Rome

FALL OF ROME (Book Three)

Famous for bending the law to get his man, former Wells Fargo detective Rome Garrett signs on with the Peacemaker Alliance, a covert government agency intent on taming the west. His first assignment, bringing down cold-blooded killer Bulls-eye Brady, will help return his tarnished career to glory. Even better, when he learns he must team up with the only woman who ever broke his heart, Rome considers it a bonus. He vows to show his old flame how it feels to love and lose, vanquishing the hellcat from his dreams once and for all.

Retired cardsharp, Kat Simmons, has been in hiding from Bulls-eye Brady for six years. Now she’s being asked to risk her obscurity and join a whirlwind poker tournament to bait Brady into reclaiming the woman who “got away.” Trapping Brady, a man she fears, means teaming up with Rome Garrett, the only man she ever loved. She should feel safer having the Peacemaker with her, but the passion that reignites between them is frightening and past betrayals difficult to forget, especially when a secret is revealed that could doom any chance at love.

Buy Links

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Fall-Rome-Wild-West-Romance-ebook/dp/B00IGFJXYU/ref=pd_sim_kstore_2?ie=UTF8&refRID=15S5T7FQGN8D7J8YX6JG

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fall-of-rome-beth-ciotta/1118628685?ean=2940148231738

 

Author Info

Storytelling comes naturally to award-winning author Beth Ciotta. Dubbed “fun and sexy” by Publisher’s Weekly, Beth specializes in writing Romantic Comedy with a Twist of Suspense and is published in contemporary, historical, steampunk, and paranormal romantic fiction.

Beth lives in NJ with her husband, two zany dogs, and a crazy cat. A veteran professional performer, Beth now pours her artistic passion into her writing. To learn more about her colorful life, visit her website at www.bethciotta.com

 Beth Ciotta

Author Links

www.bethciotta.com

https://twitter.com/BethCiotta

http://bethciotta.blogspot.com/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/68766.Beth_Ciotta

https://www.facebook.com/BethCiottaBooks

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*Beth is hosting a TOUR WIDE Rafflecopter Commenter Giveaway for a Custom Necklace PICTURE BELOW*

Giveaway Photo

******CLICK HERE TO ENTER******

 
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Posted by on April 18, 2014 in Blitz/Bonanza Spotlights

 

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What to Read Wednesday with Erin Lindsey Maurer and giveaway

Happy Wednesday! Please join me in welcoming author Erin Lindsey Maurer to What to Read Wednesday. She’s sharing an interesting post about writing, baseball and her latest release LINE DRIVE…find out how they all tie in together. Afterward, don’t forget to enter her wonderful giveaway!

Enjoy…

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“Why Baseball?”

 

I have always known I wanted to write. I remember being a second grader, making up stories to read to my brother as I forced him to play “school.” The funny thing is, for the longest time, I convinced myself that I could not write a book. I have written countless treatments and opening paragraphs, never to get much further than a few pages.

When I thought up the Philadelphia Liberty series, somehow the floodgates opened up and it became so much easier. But there have been a lot of changes along the way. In my original draft, it was barely long enough to be a novella, and the Liberty was a hockey team. Once, I realized I wanted to write about baseball, well Line Drive was born.

            Creating a baseball team just felt natural. I’ve been a long-time fan of sports romances. I gobble up anything Nikki Worrell, Jami Davenport and Toni Aleo write. There’s something about unlocking the jock stereotype, to reveal the sensitive, passionate man underneath. Believe me, to devote your life to a sport and make room in your heart for love, requires a ton of passion. I knew I wanted to be a sports romance writer.

            Writing about hockey just felt a little off, but making the jump to baseball was simple. I grew up on the sport, cut my teeth watching the boys of summer take the field. I spent weekends at Little League games, watching my brother play or my dad behind the plate. Baseball has always felt like home to me.

            Deciding to write about the minor leagues was a little bit more of a stretch. For me, its what made sense. From the moment I put pen to paper, I knew that Mattie was going to be a complicated hero. I knew his sense of duty was going to pull him in multiple directions. His love of baseball was a driving force in his life, but its not the only force in his life.

            His complicated character was what made me realize that he needed to play for the minors. Those guys don’t make the millions we see in the majors. Many of them have second jobs, careers, and obligations. But, that’s not the only reason the Liberty had to be a minor league team.

            Just as long as I’ve been cheering on my beloved Philadelphia Phillies, I have loved visiting the minor league teams. For me, the feeling at the minors is just a little bit different. The stadiums are definitely always filled with families. I’ve always noticed more interaction with fans in the minor league parks. Though many of them have their sights set on the big time, in the minors you are sure to find guys who play just for the love of the game.

For me, that’s worth writing about.

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Blurb

Mattie Duvall is just starting to rediscover his dreams. Signing with the minor league Philadelphia Liberty gives him a second shot at playing professional baseball. What he didn’t expect was to fall for the cider-haired pixie haunting his dreams. Ashlynn Davis isn’t looking for love. She’s busy chasing down her own big dream: finding a way to use her cooking skills to give back to Philadelphia’s less fortunate. The two cannot deny their mutual attraction, or that they’re heading rapidly towards that four letter word they thought they’d never say: LOVE. When secrets from Mattie’s past bubble to the surface, Ashlynn begins to question her position in his life. Can the two put the past behind them in time to race toward a future together? Or is love destined to play second fiddle to big dreams and even bigger secrets?

 

Link to Follow Tour: http://tastybooktours.blogspot.com/2014/02/now-booking-tasty-virtual-tour-for-line.html

 

BUY LINKS:

Erin Lindsey Maurer

Author Info

Erin Lindsey Maurer grew up surrounded by stories. She made up stories about well everything and often got caught reading under her covers with a flashlight. Today, she is still cooking up tales, with a spicier spin. Line Drive is the first title in her Philadelphia Liberty series, celebrating the boys of baseball and the women they love.

Author Links

https://www.facebook.com/ErinLindseyMaurer

https://twitter.com/ErinLindseyBook

http://erinlindseymaurer.wordpress.com/

 

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Posted by on April 16, 2014 in What to Read Wednesday

 

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Special guest Rohn Federbush author of North Parish with giveaway

Please help me welcome author Rohn Federbush to the blog today. Rohn is here sharing her latest release, a historical, inspirational romance titled North Parish. She’s also offering a wonderful giveaway that you can enter at the end of the post.

Before we dive into Rohn’s gorgeous book cover, blurb and excerpt…let’s learn a bit more about her. She’s written an emotional and inspiring guest post I think you’ll enjoy :)

Take it away Rohn…

Rohn Federbush

Author of

Sally Bianco Mystery Series

Retired and bored with bridge, Sally’s life presents an opportunity to prove a friend is innocent of a murder charge. Once bitten by the investigative bug, murder cases continue to fill the rest of her days.

I lived on farms in Illinois until I was fourteen. Those wind-swept plains can’t compare to the storm-free, surrounding hills of my adopted state of Michigan. I’m dyslexic and uncomfortable in crowds. I’m happier in my old-age than I ever was in the riotous, experimental years of youth. Who hasn’t wanted to know everything about everything?

When I’m not writing, I paint cartoonish pictures in oil and even watercolors. I love the control over colors. I paint in primary colors, heavy on the brush. One sister-in-law thought I might have missed a career as a painter, but she received one of my better oils.

I like being married better than living alone. Of course, I am married to the best     man in the universe. I’m also thankful for moderate good health in old age. My grandchildren are perfect and my children claim every ounce of affection I own. Isn’t this every woman’s dream?

I first realized I wanted to be a writer when I was sixteen. My sister’s baby died after not completing a day of life. So I wrote a poem and eulogized my niece, hooking me forever on the potency of catharsis and the power of adding to the remembrance of a lost child. What gave you your first clue that you were one of us, unable to stop putting words on paper?

My first writing draft is finished in about three months, but the editing takes even longer. When I am in good health, I’m usually at my writing desk by 9:00 in the morning. I outline. I use Elizabeth’s system from “Write Right” and Michael Hauge’s “Six Stage Plot Structure,” which is a furtherance of Debra Dixon’s “Goals, Motivation, and Conflict” structure for characters. I put the finished outline, which includes one-sentence scene descriptions into the body of my manuscript and start writing the Rough Draft. Nothing is ever final, the outline, the sequence of scenes, etc. But the skeleton exists. The next day’s scene can be reviewed before bed and embellished in the morning. If I get stopped, I interview the characters to find out where we’re going.

I try not to stop until I have ten new pages or 4:00 arrives. My completed books are piling up, but I am still happiest and better balanced when new work is created.My ideas for books follow my curiosity.

Hiring my GirlFriday, Florence Price, has saved me from frustrating chores I don’t have the patience to learn. Such as my website design, promotion ideas and an increasing number of tasks I ask her to undertake. My books are on Amazon. I’m on Linkedin, Goodreads and have two Facebook pages. Feel free to contact me at rohn@comcast.net. My website is www.rohnfederbush.com.

Tour-Banner-North-Parish

An Ann Arborite, Professor Silas Douglas, became the first president of Michigan’s Historical Society. He was a teenager who witnessed the 1818 Maumee River treaty signing by seven tribes for President Monroe’s Erie Canal. The names of the tribes and the individual natives have been preserved in the Ann Arbor Public Library.

North Parish follows the diplomats around the Great Lakes.

* * * * *

Parish North is the blonde adopted son of a Huron native, and with his manhood-quest completed in time for his father’s trip with a Jesuit bishop, he’s allowed to participate in the efforts to secure powwow agreements from seven tribes around the Great Lakes for the building of the Erie Canal. During the trip, Parish recognizes his vision temptress in Dorothy Evans.

Hoping to join the delegation, Dorothy Evans dreams of escaping duties as her mother’s cook-helper at Fort Detroit. Exciting windows to the wider world open for the girl in the Fort’s Jesuit library. Two centuries worth of European books convince her everything good and pure comes from nature. And when Dorothy meets the blond native, Parish North, she feels her heart quicken when he smiles in her direction. She’s positive Parish is half of her future.

When a bishop assigned to the trip persuades Dorothy’s mother to allow him to chaperon her intelligent daughter on the trip to facilitate her education, Dorothy’s mother accepts his kind offer with the comforting knowledge that Dorothy is under the protection of a man of the Church. But the Bishop’s intentions may not be as pure as they appear and Dorothy’s virtue is in danger. Will the Bishop’s unholy plan succeed?

North-Parish-Cover-682x1024

 Chapter 1

Fort Detroit, Fall, 1817

Cheers from the fort’s crowd drew sixteen-year-old Dorothy Evans to the river’s shore. Two high-ended Algonquin canoes from Lake Erie and a smaller French trapper’s canoe advanced toward them on the Detroit River. With each new shout, more yellow aspen leaves tumbled to the ground, crushed under the feet of soldiers and civilians rushing along the riverbank. The sober clothing of the throng clashed with the riotous colors of the maple trees.

A Chippewa runner had arrived the night before to warn, or rather to assemble the fort’s population for Bishop Pascal’s arrival. Father Sebastian, the Jesuit pastor, rose on his tiptoes to peer down river. Dorothy and her mother stood on either side of the nervous priest. Elizabeth’s short, plump figure advertised her success as the rectory’s cook. Dorothy considered herself a competent but reluctant cook’s helper.

Preparations for meals left little time to think, to read, to dream. She hurried through her daily chores to escape into the priest’s extensive library. For more than a hundred years, the Jesuits at Fort Detroit had collected Europe’s finest literature. The tomes whetted her appetite for adventure and romance.

As Dorothy waited for the Bishop, histories of Florence, its free thinkers, faces of popes and red-garbed cardinals swam in her head. The band of young and seasoned soldiers from the fort held no interest. They smelled, and treated her as the stuck-up cook’s daughter. She was only someone to hand out an extra cookie or two when their buddies weren’t around to tease. But in her secret heart, Dorothy was a mysterious spy, an adventurous temptress, a princess waiting to be rescued.

No hint of cardinal reds were in the approaching crafts, only more drab brown and black clothing. Dorothy sighed, breathed in the cool, tannic-scented air and prayed for patience as the ceremonies began. Her chores awaited and her fingers itched to re-open the Italian history she had set aside.

After the first boat emptied its passengers, a sergeant among the troops yelled, “Attention!”

The thirty or so men lined up, tucked in their shirts and squared their shoulders. The newly arrived, tall, mustached officer with soft gray eyes under menacing bushy eyebrows introduced himself to the sloppy, disgraceful bunch. “Lieutenant C. Louis Cass.” He returned their salute and marched past them taking time to point out an unbuttoned tunic, dusty boots, or straighten a jauntily placed cap. “Where is your commanding officer?”

“Abed.” A young private in the rear yelled without fear of detection.

“This way,” Father Sebastian motioned for the Bishop to follow the troops on the half-mile trek back to the fort.

Dorothy’s mother gestured for her to follow, but Dorothy shook her head. Elizabeth delayed and tidied her hair until Dorothy relented and drew closer for what she thought would be a reprimand. Her mother merely whispered. “They’re going to take more land from the natives. Mark my word.”

“Not again. Where will they let them farm now? Is that why the Bishop came?”

“Father says the seven tribes around the Great Lakes will be affected.” Elizabeth tucked a loose black strand of hair behind Dorothy’s ear. “I guess the Bishop thinks a missionary is needed to persuade the tribes to attend the new treaty powwow.”

Dorothy shook her head. “What chance do the natives have to survive, if they disagree?”

“Hurry back to help me.” Her mother scurried away to catch up to Father Sebastian.

Dorothy wandered closer to the river. Dark clouds threatened to stop the sunshine’s play with the sparkling waves. The second smaller canoe purposefully tread water in order not to be drawn ashore. Dorothy examined its crew. A tall, straight-backed Huron sat in the front of the boat. Behind him a younger native caught her eye. The shifting sunbeams highlighted the man’s blond hair. His face seemed lit from within.

His eyes dreamily swept the shoreline past her, then sharply returned as if he had been startled into remembering something. Something important.

Me, Dorothy thought. He’s looking at me. For a moment her breath seemed to stop.

She couldn’t help rushing forward to mingle among the native men helping the two pull the boat onto the sandy shore. The natives nearly bowed before the tall Huron. He spoke kindly to each. Did he personally know their families? Then he introduced the younger man to them, “My favored son.” The older man inclined his head proudly in the direction of the blond young man, whose ethereal bearing evoked the capability of walking on water.

Noticing Dorothy among the group, the older man said, “They call me Ponthe Walker.”

Dorothy nodded but could not keep her face turned away from the infinitely more interesting younger man.

“And my adopted son, Perish North.”

“I’m…I’m,” Dorothy was sure she’d never remember her own name. “Dorothy Evans. My mother is Elizabeth, the rectory cook.”

Perish stepped forward. “A pious believer then?”

Dorothy gained full use of her tongue. “More of a favorite doubter of the Lord’s. Like Saint Thomas? You know the one who had to put his hand in Jesus’ side before he would believe in the resurrection?”

Ponthe seemed to lose interest, but Perish didn’t move.

“I’ve just returned from my vision quest,” he said.

Dorothy believed he grew an inch before her eyes. She slipped a glance down to his boots to see if he’d stretched up on his toes. As she brought her gaze up, she noted his waist adornments, his broad shoulders covered in buckskin. His light blue eyes seemed bleached by the sun, or his vision.

“The manhood rite,” she said, trying not to check. A stiff breeze lifted her hair, cooling the nervous sweat on her brow.

“You’ve heard of the Midewiwins?” Perish took a step closer.

Dorothy could smell a scent of juniper. “I have, but aren’t you too young?”

Perish laughed.

A thrill passed through her at the clear, rich tones of his voice.

When his father began to lead the natives back to the Fort Detroit, Dorothy boldly pulled at Perish’s elbow. “Walk with me.”

Perish slowed to stroll beside her.

Dorothy smiled as winningly as she knew how. “Tell me.”

“I can only share Orenda’s vision message with family.” His face was serious but his eyes were friendly.

“Adopt me,” Dorothy said, then raced ahead of the group. Aware of her silliness, she knew her mother would be needing help.

* * * * *

Perish watched the snowy show of petticoats as the dark-headed girl fled toward the stockade. His nostrils flared catching the scent of lilacs.

His father stopped, waiting for Perish to catch up before they continued to the fort. “Her hair is nearly black.”

“Brown eyes.” Perish pulled on one of his blond braids to anchor himself in a suddenly unknown landscape. “But she wasn’t wearing the red-spotted squaw cape.”

“But was she the girl in your vision?” Ponthe asked.

“The vision was taller, older.” Perish moved his hand above his eye level.

“Could have been floating,” Ponthe said. “You haven’t shared your vision with Renault or Kdahoi yet?”

“No.” Perish was still held in the dream world of the girl’s dark eyes. He shook himself to respond in detail to his father. “I wanted to keep my word to meet you at Fort Detroit, before I met with Mother.” He laughed in relief at his good fortune. “Then I ran across your runner’s path.”

“Dorothy Evans might have been less welcoming if she’d seen you when you came into the Bishop’s camp.”

“True.” Perish hadn’t washed for a fortnight and his hair had been dank with sweat and grime. “I hadn’t considered the Bishop’s idea of bathing of much worth, until now.”

“Beauty’s going to have a heyday with your vision.” Ponthe shook his head.

Perish was surprised that even now his father doubted the Great Spirit’s way. “It seems you have a bond with Dorothy Evans.”

“Can’t help liking her courage.” Ponthe said. “Not many parishioners under Jesuit rule voice their doubts in public.”

“She’s still a child.” Perish tried to dismiss his attraction to her bright eyes, her pert smile, that dance of energy.

Ponthe said not a word, only nodded.

“Father.” Perish stopped walking. His stomach attacked him with a great qualm, “I need to see Kdahoi.”

“Of course,” Ponthe said. “Your mother will be waiting. Tell Beauty I will meet with her when she comes to the fort. I’ll make your excuses here.”

Without another word, Perish ran down to the beach and launched his canoe.

* * * * *

Raisin River Camp

An evil wind seemed destined to slow his trip down to the Raisin River’s mouth to his mother’s village. The trip was difficult in the canoe meant for river use instead of slicing the storm waves on Lake Erie.

At the Raisin River camp, the moon’s position told Perish he’d reached Beauty’s isolated wigwam close to midnight. Perish smiled. If need be, he’d be able to find his home blindfolded. He wrapped himself in his blanket outside the entrance and waited for dawn.

“Perish,” Beauty scolded in the morning. “I nearly broke my neck falling over your lazy carcass.”

Perish had missed her laughter. He bowed as men did to their mothers. “I had a vision.”

“I see. First coffee, then symbols.”

After his mother’s breakfast of corn flapjacks, Perish realized a certain tension had left his body. Across the river the Potawatomi village was coming to life. Dogs were barking and familiar cooking sounds marked the morning. “Why is it I can only relax here?”

“You’ve been safe here for many years.” Beauty said. “The world outside is filled with tales of violence.”

“Is it true you told Governor Hull to abandon the fort or you would scalp him yourself?”

“Renault told you that nonsense.” Beauty smoothed her plaited hair down, in her habitual show of vanity, the only one Perish could recall.

“My Copper Harbor dream was a peaceful one.”

“I’m glad.” Beauty cleared away the remnants of their morning meal.

“I stayed in the cleft of rock, where some men leave pictures of their vision guides.” Perish recalled his heightened awareness. “A lightning storm from the west rolled past me but I could still see the islands in Lake Superior. I was wet with the rain, hungry, and cold. Then someone lifted my chin, or I looked up into the pelting rain to the tops of the cliff. A woman in a red-spotted cape drifted on the wind. We were eye-to-eye when she spoke.”

“What did she say?” Beauty couldn’t hold back her curiosity, but she kept her head bowed away from Perish.

Perish tugged on his mother’s buckskin skirt as he had as a child. Still Beauty wouldn’t meet his eyes, so he told her. “She asked me how many generations of children we would beget.”

“Beget?”

“A Biblical phrase. To give birth.” As Perish explained the word, his body remembered his initial visceral response to his dream girl at Copper Harbor, which matched his reaction to Dorothy’s appearance at Fort Detroit. Was she the one, his intended mate? He prayed the Lord’s will would be accomplished.

“That was all?” Beauty seemed disappointed. Her green eyes were full upon him now.

Perish dug into his memory to find something more for her. “Hmm. I think I fell asleep then. When I woke up the sun was shining and even my clothes had dried. I must have slept through an entire day.” Perish stood up and stretched as if refreshed from that long nap. “I have enough energy to run all the way to Fort Detroit.”

Beauty insisted he give her more details. “What did she look like? Was she a white-haired, old witch? A young woman? Smiling?”

Perish attended to his bedroll. “I met her at the fort.”

Beauty dropped the coffee pot. “Already?”

The campfire sputtered, too.

“I hope so.” Perish frowned. What if Dorothy wasn’t the same woman as his vision? Where would he start his future if Dorothy wasn’t his intended mate? “Her hair was nearly black and her eyes a dark brown.”

“A native.” Beauty seemed satisfied.

“No.” Perish watched his mother sit down too hard. “Her name is Dorothy Evans. Her mother is the Jesuits’ cook.”

Beauty held her head with both hands. “I know of them. I’ll have to meditate on this. I’ll make more coffee. Did you bring any tobacco?”

Perish was embarrassed now. “Sorry, Mother.” He began to gather the rest of his belongings. “I can barter for some at the fort.”

“Don’t go on my account. ” Beauty flashed angry green eyes at him. “Renault will be here tomorrow.”

“Should I wait to tell him about my vision?” Perish decided to stay with his mother until then. He loved the quietness of their home camp. “I could help you get ready for winter.”

“Will you be gone?” Beauty seemed worried.

“You’ve been without me for three winters now.” Perish accompanied Ponthe when he tended his fur traps throughout the last few winters. The landscape was safer because fewer white men ventured out in the heavy snows.

“I’m getting older.” His mother straightened her back as if a kink had suddenly caused a pain. Not one year of age showed on her face, her eyes were clear, her teeth sound.

“I could bring Dorothy here for you to meet.” Perish refused to think of Beauty as an aging woman. “Or, you can visit with her when we join Ponthe at the fort.”

A bright smile flickered for a second across his mother’s face. “Yes,” she said. “We’ll wait for Renault to join us.”

Beauty retreated into her wigwam and Perish laid down resting his head on his bedroll. “Now that I’m a man, Mother.” Perish tried to choose his words carefully but there was no gracious way of asking. “Where do your green eyes come from?”

“A Chinaman,” she called from inside the wigwam, and then laughed.

The old answer kept its secrets.

Perish said, “I wish you could have seen Ponthe with President Monroe.”

“I know Ponthe was taller.” Beauty exited her rounded abode, straightening from her bowed position. She handed Perish a new porcupine-quill vest. “Why do the whites need more land?”

“White men want to carve a new river out of dry land.” Perish stood and Beauty placed the vest over his head, helping him tie the side trusses. “Wagons will float farther west for settlers to claim more of our land. “Mother, the vest is beautiful.”

Perish picked at one of the beads on his vest.

Beauty slapped at his hand. “Careful you’ll undo a whole string.”

Perish knew the land-grab story was old, only the excuse was new. “They call the new river they want to build the Erie Canal.”

* * * * *

When Ed Renault arrived the next day, his canoe wasn’t filled with beaver pelts. Perish remembered Renault’s stories of when he first came to the new world as a young trapper, when the land was still thick with beaver. The deer hides and a few fox furs bore witness to Renault’s honed and deft trapping skills. In the weeks since he delivered Perish to Copper Harbor, the man had plied his trade well.

At times Perish speculated Renault might be a relative of his mother’s, but she denied any family link other than a long affiliation with their French trapper friend.

Renault’s hair was streaked with gray. Perish couldn’t recollect the gray when they had parted at the slip of the new moon. Had he been so wrapped-up in his own adventure not to notice signs of aging?

“Hard trip, friend?” Perish asked, helping to beach the loaded canoe.

“A bear tried to talk me out of life.” Renault drew up his shirt, where the claw marks of the beast still showed red, ugly welts.

Perish forgot his upbringing and drew the big trapper’s head down in a manly hug. “I’m glad he changed his mind.”

Renault grinned from ear to ear. “Me, too.”

“A few salves will erase most.” Beauty had caught sight of Renault’s raked chest before he could lower his rough blouse. She shook the trapper’s hand, a rare occurrence for them.

A glint of moisture shimmered in the old man’s eyes before Renault’s booming voice told them of other fights with Indians and settlers. The trapper was a peaceful man and Perish chalked up most of the stories to historic bravado in the face of the bear disaster.

Renault finished off another story with a cup of Beauty’s coffee, before asking Perish, “So you’re a man now?”

“And he’s met the woman of his vision.” Beauty teased him. “At the fort, a white girl.”

“When do we leave?” Renault laughed. “Have to check out a new member of this tribe.”

“I’m not sure she was the girl, Mother.” Perish could feel a blush rising as his body started to come alive again. Now that he was a man, he’d hoped to control at least this reddening of face.

* * * * *

Fort Detroit

Later that week Dorothy’s mother was too busy ordering her helpers around the kitchen to be bothered. So, Dorothy was trapped into taking Bishop Pascal and Father Sebastian a decanter of sherry and glasses into the rectory library. She sat the tray down safely, but her curtsy to the Bishop was clumsy. If she had been more graceful, she could have disappeared without them noticing.

“Bella parva,” Bishop Pascal said.

“Dorothy, let me introduce you.” Father Sebastian pushed her forward. “She has read nearly every book in the library.”

“Lovely,” the Bishop said. “What do you think of Saint Augustine’s conversion?”

“Silly,” she said without thinking.

“I beg your pardon,” the clerics said together.

Dorothy collected her wits. “St. Augustine based his conversion on his mother’s natural worry about his future.” The sober pair remained unconvinced. “On a laundry day among the drying linens.”

“I don’t remember that,” Father Sebastian said.

“Never happened,” Bishop Pascal declared.

Dorothy nodded believing the whole thing was made up so the saint could paint himself as a devoted sinner in order to relive the deeds. “Don’t you think he dwelt on his errors more than he needed to?” It seemed an innocent question to her.

“Of course not.” Bishop Pascal was obviously scandalized. “Father, I think you need to review the studies of your pupil more closely.”

Father Sebastian scratched the remaining hair on his balding head. “She reads Latin and has read the Old Testament four times, the New Testament eight.” He turned to Dorothy a proud smile on his face. “Isn’t that true?”

“Yes,” she said. “Every morning I wake with a hundred doubts, read all day and put them to rest before I can sleep.”

“Doubts?” the Bishop asked in a warning tone.

Undeterred, Dorothy continued. “I think the book of Ecclesiastes says it best when it rightly names belief in a Supreme Being as our vanity’s willingness to find the best in ourselves.”

“Dorothy!” Father Sebastian seemed embarrassed.

“A lot of work is needed, Father.” The Bishop ignored Dorothy so she slipped out into the hall, careful to eavesdrop. “That child could infect a whole nation of natives. Correct her before it’s too late.”

“She reads everything,” Father Sebastian tried to explain.

“Lock this room up and allow her only texts that will illuminate her belief.”

“But the Bible?”

“Needs careful interpretation.” Bishop Pascal raised his voice to stop further debate. “The laity is ill-equipped.”

“I can see that.” Father Sebastian acquiesced to his superior. “I’ll make sure she is forbidden to enter the room.”

Dorothy was devastated. The library was lost to her? Life wouldn’t be worth living. Where would her mind go to find solace? Her stomach hurt and angry tears burned her cheeks. She ran to the kitchen. Mother would fix it.

 

Rohn-Federbush-500-224x300

Rohn Federbush retired as an administrator from the University of Michigan in 1999. She received a Masters of Arts in Creative Writing in 1995 from Eastern Michigan University. Frederick Busch of Colgate granted a 1997 summer stipend for her ghost-story collection. Michael Joyce of Vassar encouraged earlier writing at Jackson Community College, Jackson, Michigan in 1981. Rohn has completed fourteen novels, with an additional mystery nearly finished, 120 short stories and 150 poems to date.

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Posted by on April 15, 2014 in Book Excerpts

 

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