Blast Off for the New Year

Comment on any Rogues Angels post from today to March 17, and you will be entered to win. 

Rogues Angels will have drawings through January, February, and March. Grand prizes to be awarded on Valentines Day and St. Patrick's Day.

Prizes

Gift Cards

Name in next anthology (pending, I'm pulling for May Day) 

Bookmarks

Downloads of past anthologies (6)

More gifts pending

Genene Valleau AKA  Amber

A little something about the Author:

Well, I've known Genene for about 15 years but who is counting? She is a lovely lady who writes fantastic books. Her St. Patricks Day novella shows a side of her I never knew existed on paper or er...her books. Actually I knew she could write humor. One of the first critique meetings we had at the MidWillamette Valley Romance Writers, she read the first 5 pages. This was years ago. I fell in love with it, thought it was the funniest piece and encouraged her to write the book. Finally after at least 14 years Genene finished the novella and it became part of A St. Patrick's Day Tale. Her story became intertwined with C.L. Kraemer's and mine.

(Cinnamon and Sable feel free to add a little something)

St. Batzy and the Time Machine

Excerpt

            On the monitors, Horace watched the giant fire hydrant. On the outside, it looked much the same as it had when Horace set it up for the dog next door. However, the monitors showing the inside of the hydrant revealed major changes. Living quarters for human time travelers were contained on the second floor of the hydrant. On the ground floor, a mini-nuclear reactor had been installed. A semi-circle around it contained a bank of monitors and control panels linked to the computer that controlled the time machine and contained a calendar program to calculate the day, month and year where the time machine had traveled.

            "T minus thirty seconds and counting," Clement intoned.

            Horace drew a deep breath to calm the buzzing of adrenaline through his veins. If this worked--no, when they proved the time machine worked, Horace would rescue Maddie and never let her travel without him again.

            "Ten, nine, eight..."

            A movement on one of the inside monitors caught Horace's eye. "What's that?"

            "...two, one. Activate."

            "I think we have an unexpected passenger." Horace dashed outside to where he had sited the fire hydrant a few short weeks earlier. Now only a flattened patch of lawn separated his back yard from the neighbor's fence.

             A freckle-faced girl with bright red hair leaned against the fence. "Have you seen my dog, Batzy?"

###

            Batzy felt dizzy. Disoriented. Like the time he ate a shoe and the metal fasteners didn't want to digest. Some grass would be good right now. 

            He hopped off the chair, wobbled a bit, and scratched at the door. Funny, it didn't open like it usually did. 

            He dug a little harder. Still nothing. Okay. Well, he wasn't in trouble until his little girl, Chloe, called him for dinner. In the meantime, he'd have a snack and a nap. 

            Batzy put his front paws up on the control panel and pushed the button that dispensed treats. 

            Instead of a treat, a voice spoke to him. "Manual override engaged. What year do you wish to travel to?"

            "Woof!"

            "Unknown command," the voice intoned. "Please state the day, month and year where you wish to travel."

            "Woof, woof!" Batzy was not pleased with this change the Big Human had made. He was getting hungry and this strange voice was playing games. "Grrr."

            The hydrant began spinning slowly, then faster and faster, until it stopped abruptly with a thump. The door bounced open and fresh air filled with many tantalizing smells filled the inside.

            Well, that was better, Batzy thought. Chloe should have his dinner waiting. 

            With his tail curled over his back, Batzy trotted outside.

Christine Young AKA  Allana

A little something about the author:

Writing about your friends is tougher than writing a bio about myself (Amber). LOL! When I first met Allana, we were both learning the craft of writing. However, I noticed right away she was much more focused and goal-oriented than me. I meandered off on side journeys and questioned my ability to write, but she simply focused on writing and being published. In spite of her nudging and encouragement, my road to publishing my first book took much longer than hers. When she and her husband set up an e-publishing company, I was delighted to be contracted as one of their authors. Allana also graduated from college as an art major and provides invaluable feedback in designing book covers--another benefit for her company. And now that she has retired from teaching, she is using her focus and drive to promoting the books and authors of Rogue Phoenix Press in addition to writing. I'm delighted to know Allana and be part of making Rogue Phoenix Press a successful and fun place for authors!

(Angels feel free to fill in the blanks)

Star Crossed

Excerpt

Ireland 1816

The ring of knuckles hitting flesh thundered through the brilliant spring morning. Casey O'Connell lifted her skirts and raced up the little knoll behind the old white church. She knew her big bro was fighting. They always fought after church on Sunday. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why.

"No! Stop it, I say. Patrick O'Connell, you--" Breathing hard Casey barreled through the ring of brawling men.

"Of course, Casey, anything you say," her brother and his friends laughed as he stepped aside.

"Get him, Casey! Land a punch for your big brother and St. Patrick," one of the young men called out.

"The O'Connell's are getting their women folk to fight their battles now?"

"I'll have your head for that, Shaunasey," another joined in.

"Watch your mouth and where you're a starin' or you'll have a black eye so swollen you won't be able to see."

"Woo--eee!" The brawl escalated then seemed to settle around Casey and her off-balance charge through her brother's foes.

Surrounding her she heard raucous cheers, cat calls, and whistles as well as her name. Her arms flailing, she ignored them all and tried desperately to keep her balance.

"Hmph!" She hit hard--a solid rock of muscle--heard the slightest grunt from the object in front of her. Air rushed from her lungs and stars seemed to circle inside her head.

"Oh…" she wailed as the object she hit cradled her with his arms on their way to the dampness of the ground below. Dizziness overwhelmed her. She let her head rest on a muscled chest. She heard a slow even heartbeat then a low rumble of laugher.

~ * ~

Moya sat on the softest of flower petals, watching the scene unfold. Oran sat on another petal, cocking his head sideways in scrutiny, his manly features grimacing with disgust. For a quick moment, Moya let her gaze rest on the young men behind the couple, wishing she dared play a trick on them to shoo them away.

"Do you think these two will ever get it right?" Moya asked smiling at her best friend and older brother. A wee spell to send the others on their way wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"I'm not holding my breath," Oran said, brushing a piece of lint from his clothes and looking to the sky as if seeking divine intervention.

"She is lying on top of her true love. What more could she wish for?" Moya sighed, clasping her hands together and enjoying the pure romance as well as the knowledge it was her doing that had brought Casey to the knoll this fine day.

"A little shower of pixie dust? Or maybe a pinch would be enough?" Oran asked a twinkle in his eyes. "I'm thinking they may be needin' more enchantment. They are hell bent on getting this all wrong."

"We have to give them more time. Humans are so--soo--sooo--" Moya let her eyes close, searching for the right word to describe humans. My god, but they were impossible, always ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Inept?" Oran asked. "Would that be the word you are lookin' for little sis?"

"Foolish with their hearts," Moya told him, trying to give the couple in front of them the benefit of the doubt. Her heart beat hard beneath her breast, her pulse racing in anticipation of Casey finally finding happiness.

"Stupid," Oran shot back with a snort.

C.L. Kraemer AKA Sable

A little something about the author:

Sable loves fantasy, dragons, shape-shifter and riding with her hubby on his Harley. (I hope that is ok to say) She is a creative genus and has ways to create and reshape ideas I would never think of. My writing has become more professional because of her incredible editing abilities. I am oh, so happy and thankful she moved back to Salem. Renewing a friendship that began years ago, was a joy to me.

(Cinnamon and Amber please add a little something).

I (Amber) was also delighted to learn Sable would be returning to the area. That meant we could get together in person again to critique, to brainstorm, to plan ways to get our books in the hands of readers, and to simply catch up with each other's lives. I didn't realize how much I took that for granted until the miles separated us. So pleased we can do that again! Sable's creativity and vision have introduced me to dragons and fae people. She's quite patient with my blank looks as I slooooooowly learn about this fascinating new world.

Meadows of Gold

Excerpt

St. Patricks Day Anthology – Meadows of Gold by C. L. Kraemer

A gentle breeze sighed, undulating the meadow grass lazily and whispering past the forlorn figure slumped on the tree trunk, hands clasped tightly in his lap. Thomas, a forest leprechaun, released a long melancholy breath between his cracked, dry lips. A single plump tear meandered down his stubbled cheek.

Sunlight sent bright shafts of light through the pine boughs and around the wooden pedestal upon which the morose figure resided. Ignoring the dancing beams, the leprechaun pulled a shuddered breath into his lungs and stared at a spot in front of the stump where a crumpled daisy chain necklace lay withering in the warmth of the afternoon. Another plump tear snaked down his unshaven face.

In the distance, a lone figure scuffed up the lane, which crossed in front of the tree stump. Thomas paid no heed to the approaching form, pulling a thin silver flask from inside his rumpled vest. He blindly opened the lid, placed the opened top to his lips and pulled a deep draught from the container. Refitting the cap to the top, he slipped the silver spirit holder back into his vest. His next shuddered breath was interrupted with a hiccup.

The figure on the road drew closer. Thomas raised his head and squinted his eyes. Was it she coming back? He hiccupped and straightened up. Maybe she had been teasing him when she ran away and now she realized how much he cared for her. His eyes brightened and a smile began to touch his lips.

The figure came around the bend and toward him. The last he’d seen her, she was wearing a diaphanous, thin dress. Had she changed? The form nearing him was clad in leather breeches, a braided leather tunic, knee-high, soft leather boots, A sword blade strapped to the figure’s back flashed in the sunlight. Was Cary so angry she meant to cut him in little pieces? His heart began to pound in his chest and inside his mouth his tongue stuck to the roof.

The figure stopped two lengths from him and raised a hand to shade its eyes from the brightness of the day.

Thomas realized he was shaking. This was it… his life was over. He hung his head.

“Thomas?”

The voice was familiar but it didn’t sound like Cary. If it wasn’t her…

“Thomas! What are you doing?” Tiamoon, a warrior gnome of the valley clan, stood with her feet planted shoulder width apart, in her full leather armor on the roadway to her home. She’d just reconnoitered the meadow area for evidence of the marauding night elves. The local hill clan had been raiding the gnome settlements and wreaking havoc on the inhabitants. The gnome community was rallying together to protect their families against further damage.

Thomas narrowed his eyes and looked through his veil of tears.

“Oh, Tia (hic) moon, itsch you.”

Tia rolled her eyes heavenward and leaned toward the wobbling leprechaun, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the sour smell of alcohol surrounding the disheveled lump occupying the tree stump.

“Thomas? How long have you been sitting here?”

“Dunno. What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

“Really?” Thomas lifted rheumy eyes to meet Tiamoon’s clear blue ones.

“Yes, really. So how long have you been here, Thomas?”

“Uhm, (hic) since Saturday.”

“Saturday!”

Tiamoon stepped to the stump, in the process crushing the daisy chain necklace. She reached out to grab the leprechaun as he dissolved in tears.

“You (hic)… you stepped on (hic) the necklace. (hic) Just like she (hic) stepped on my heart.”

“Good heavens, Thomas, pull yourself together. She who?”

She wrestled the drunken leprechaun to his unsteady feet. His weight surprised her. He was sturdy and muscular beneath the rumpled clothing.

“Cary, the love of my life.”

“Heavens be cursed. Thomas…”

“Wha-a-a?” He turned red-rimmed, green orbs her direction.

“You fall in love with every female who crosses your path.”

“Do not!’

“Really? Okay let me guess… she flirted with you and teased you until she got you out here at the edge of the meadow where you promised to tell her where your secret stash of gold was hidden if she’d kiss you and be your mate.”

His eyes ricocheted in the sockets making Tiamoon’s head hurt.

“You were (hic) sshpying on ussh.”

Tia got her shoulder under his armpit and hoisted him up. She wrinkled her nose at the stale body odor emanating from his clothing.

“No, Thomas. It’s a pattern everyone in the woods knows. Come on. You need a bath, some food and sleep.”

“But what if (hic) she comesh back?”

“Thomas? I can guarantee that won’t happen today. Come on.”

She dragged him along the road. His head was slumped on his chest and his leather shoes were dragging, toes down, in the soft dirt of the two-lane thoroughfare. After a mile of struggling with the leprechaun, she turned down a single file path winding through the trees. Thomas had hiccupped in Tia’s ear through the entire journey, his head lolling from side to side.

She’d reached the end of the path as well as the end of her patience. When the path stopped abruptly at the river’s edge, so did Tia. She allowed the momentum of her pace to transfer to the inert leprechaun.

The moment the figure hit the icy water, he screamed.

“You’re killing me! Gods in Heaven! You’re trying to kill me!”

“For crying out loud, Thomas. Just dunk your head under the water and quit yelling. Maybe if you bathed more often, you wouldn’t chase away the ladies.”

The figure floundered in the icy stream.

“I can’t swim! Tia! I’m drowning!”

“Thomas?”

“Help! I’m drowning!”

“THOMAS!”

The roar echoed through the woods.

“Put your feet down!”

Blustering until his face was crimson, the drunken man splashed furiously. His head went beneath the water and he rose up sputtering, unconsciously standing on the stream’s bottom. He quit flailing his arms.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Tia drew her sword and pointed it his direction. “Now get yourself and your clothing sopping wet. If you even think of getting on the bank without attempting to wash off some of that stench, I’ll split you from gullet to gizzard.”

He glared at the gnome warrior until his head started pounding.

“Fine.”

She stood pointing her sharpened blade at him until he and his clothing were sufficiently soaked.

“Now, let’s go. My mom will have some stew to put into your stomach.”

“But I don’t wa…”

Thomas stopped his whine at the glare he was receiving from Tia.

“Lead the way.”