Saturday, July 7, 2018

I chose to write because... ?



Writing can be the most singular activity one can do. And yet, you stand in a crowd of people who've chosen the same passion. A writer has conversations with non-existent people as real to them as the flesh and blood type. They angst over emotions imaginary characters will express, and speak about them in the present tense. Only other writers understand the insanity of writing your story into a dead end because you, the creator of this passion play, wants a character to do something they are insistent is an action they would never do.

Writers have to balance the precarious nature of gently expressing our viewpoints through our stories, without beating the reader over the head. In the end, we sit in front of our computer, or typewriter, or with pen/pencil and paper, and gnash our teeth to put the ideas pushing through our brains onto paper.

What else would a sane person want to do?

Sable Angel

Friday, July 6, 2018

Fourth of July-ish



Our country just had a birthday on Wednesday. Now, more than ever, we need to go back to the documents drafted by men who fought to secure the freedom we so cherish.

We may not like our neighbors point of view, but, according to our Bill of Rights, they are entitled to voice their view. We have the right to walk away.

With so much dissention in this nation, it's time to review our basic history lessons and put them to practice. Let's make our ancestors proud.


Sable Angel

Thursday, July 5, 2018

#TheEmeraldCave #Action #Adventure


Title: The Emerald Cave
            Ramsey Series Book 3
Author: James McPike
ISBN: 978-1-62420-361-9
Genre: Action/Adventure
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 2

Buy at: Amazon, Barnes and Noble

TAGLINE

Renowned Ministry investigator Vince Ramsey returns for his biggest mission yet. To hunt down a dangerous arms dealer who is after the Holy Grail.

BLURB: The Emerald Cave

The Ministry of Jerusalem calls in their top investigator—Vince Ramsey—to track down a shadowy arms dealer whose last known whereabouts were in a reclusive village in France. It soon becomes clear that the arms dealer was after a fabled treasure—something so powerful that it could be used as the ultimate weapon. Ramsey enlists the help of April Fulton, an expert in rare antiquities, to aid him in his whirlwind quest.
            April traces clues to a controversial physics lab in Switzerland, led by a mysterious figure. Hunting down another lead, Ramsey travels halfway around the globe to a decommissioned military base in the most remote place on earth—Antarctica. There he must battle the dangerous elements and a ruthless team of mercenaries in a race to find the treasure in time.



EXCERPT: The Emerald Cave

The door opened with a pitiful creak.
Wasting no time, Ramsey slid his mask back on and darted in, gun drawn. There was a long hallway with two doors on his left and three to his right. He swiftly checked the closest one to his left, ducking in and sweeping the room from side to side.
Nothing but an empty bunkbed and an unsightly disarray of clothes.
Erstad reluctantly followed a few steps behind, sticking close to the walls. For the first time, he was looking a little unsure of himself as if it was a grave mistake to come here. But he kept his mouth shut.
Ramsey moved smoothly and expertly, operating in stunning silence. He checked the next room. Nothing but miscellaneous storage goods. He quietly moved on, checking room after room with expert precision and impeccable timing. Each one turned out to be empty until he reached the last one on his right.
It happened to be positioned straight across from the front entrance.
There was a desk in the room with a radio for communications. Someone was sitting there with a pair of earphones on while chowing down on a sub sandwich. The guy immediately whipped his head up, startled at first, then he quickly recovered and reached for something by his side.
A shotgun.
Ramsey flew into the room with dazzling speed and knocked the weapon out of his hand. Then he spun the man’s chair around to face him and jammed the muzzle of his Jericho pistol into his forehead.
“Nice to meet you,” Ramsey said with a wicked snicker beneath his mask.
The man’s face suddenly drooped in fear as he slowly raised his hands up. He’d reached for the shotgun so fast that he’d dropped his sandwich, leaving a disgusting stain all over his sweater.
“Oh, maybe you didn’t hear me,” Ramsey went on to say as he knocked the earphones off the man’s head. “I said, nice to meet you!”
The man was shaking all over. “Uh...who are you?” He spoke in a distinct Chechen accent and had pronounced cauliflower ears.
“Don’t worry about that. Just tell me what you’re doing here?”
“I’m...” the man paused and gulped, trying to figure out what to say. “I’m a geologist conducting my research. Did you know the main mineral resource here is coal? But the best of all is the untapped oil and natural gas reserves that lie offshore.”
“Thanks for the geology lesson,” Ramsey replied with an absurd sigh, not buying it. For the first time, he noticed all the different maps of Antarctica displayed in the room. There was a dizzying amount of charts and correlation studies attached to each one. He’d almost forgotten about Erstad who was hanging back in the hallway, looking uncertain he wanted to be any part of this.
Ramsey gestured toward all the empty space in the room. “It’s okay. You can come in.”
Erstad attempted a feckless smile, looking as if he didn’t have a choice in the matter, so he tentatively stepped in, saying nothing.
Ramsey focused once again on the man in the chair. “What’s your name?”
“Razan Kadyrov.”
“Okay,” he said as if they were off to a good start. “I’ll call you Raz for short. How’s that? I just have a few questions to ask, and then I’ll be on my way. Depending on how you answer them will ultimately decide if you get out of here or not.” He paused, letting that monumental bit of significance sink in. “So, let’s begin, shall we?”
The man nodded, but hesitantly.
“Do you know someone by the name of Cordoba?”
Ramsey studied his reaction as the man seemed to rake his brain for an easy answer. After what felt like too long, he finally spoke up, saying firmly, “No.”
Ramsey took a step back while keeping his gun trained on him, a look of sheer disappointment concealed beneath his mask.
“All right then. Next question. Do you know anything about a treasure that the Nazis hid out here?”
Despite himself, Raz laughed at the ridiculousness of the question. “You’re kidding, right?”
Ramsey’s storm-blue eyes regarded him with deadly intensity. “Not at all. I’ve flown halfway around the world to find out. So, do you know anything about it or not?”
Raz gave a shrug of indifference. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, man. I just run a research station here.”
Ramsey sighed most regrettably. He could tell that this person wouldn’t be as forthcoming with info as he thought. That was too bad. He’d have to resort to more extreme measures.
“All right. Let’s try something else.” He made a show of returning his gun to his holster as if coming to friendlier terms with the man. “Maybe I was a little rude at first. What I should have done is this.” He swung his fist and punched the man squarely in the face.
“What the hell!” Raz croaked as his head snapped back.
Erstad stepped further into the room, growing wary. “Maybe we should just leave,” he suggested.
“Not a chance,” Ramsey told him incredulously. “We just got here.” He wrapped his left hand into a tight coil around the collar of Raz’s nice wool sweater. Then he slowly reared back his other fist in the air. “Shall I try this again?”
“You’re fucking crazy!” Raz scolded him.
Ramsey smacked him again, only much harder this time. The crunching sound of cartilage breaking was awfully painful to hear in the confines of the room.
“Ow! For chrissakes!” Raz unleashed another outburst as blood squirted from his busted nose. He clamped his hands over his bruised face, trying to contain the torrent of blood. He looked pleadingly over to Erstad for help. “Tell your boy to stop!”
Erstad sighed in a disgruntled manner, hating the position he was in. He held up his hand as if maybe this had gone far enough. “I think you made your point.”
Ramsey settled back, looking sympathetic for only a fleeting second. “Find him a towel or a rag, would you?”
Erstad obliged, rushing back to another room and returning a minute later with a dishrag. He handed it to Raz who immediately snatched it up and held it like a sieve to his broken nose. Ramsey gave him a couple minutes to regain his composure, standing off to the side with his arms casually crossed.
“Feel any better?”
Raz nodded angrily as the outpour of blood began to subdue.
“Well, that’s good,” Ramsey said as he drew closer. “Feel like talkin’ yet?”
Raz clammed up, his bleary eyes filling with malice as he held the bloody rag to his face. He spit in hateful defiance toward the floor.
“Really?” Ramsey asked him as if he were not the least bit surprised. “You still don’t want to cooperate? Hmm...” He gazed around the room, pondering on what else he could use.
There was a long metal survey pole that looked tempting. Ramsey grabbed it and wound his arms back like he was a slugger in the batter’s box.
“Okay, okay!” Raz frantically protested, his voice badly garbled and distorted through the rag. He raised one trembling hand, hoping to fend off any more debilitating blows. “You don’t know what kind of trouble you’ve just put yourself in,” he told Ramsey with a newfound confidence and swagger. He glared at him through red-speckled eyes, issuing a crude laugh. “The people I work for are going to come after you. Cordoba is one of them. We’re here searching for that Nazi treasure just like you. Cordoba is out looking for it right now.”
“Do you know how far away he is?”


KEYWORDS: Emerald Cave, Action, Adventure, Mystery, Thriller, Antarctica


SOCIAL LIINKS

Website URL: jamesmcpike.webs.com

Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/james.mcpike.94

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

#OldEnough #ContemporaryRomance #Suspense



Author: Christie L. Kraemer
clkraemer1@gmail.com
ISBN: 978-1-62420-225-4

Genre: Suspense
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 4


TAGLINE

Justin Anderson and Diane Wallace have both travelled rocky roads in their relationships. Patience and willingness to try again might just be the cure for their ‘never again’ attitudes.

BLURB

Justin Anderson is recovering from a nasty divorce. An ex-wife who never has enough support income and precious little time with his daughter fill most of his days. When he spies an attractive, self-sufficient older woman, he is intrigued. But can he convince her not all guys are animals who need to be locked up?

With a gentle push from their bartender friend, the two face more intrigue than either thought possible in such a small town. However, each terror filled moment proves to provide the glue that brings them together.

EXCERPT: Old Enough

Justin glanced anxiously at Mark.
"Don't worry," Mark leaned his lanky frame against the counter, "she's just having a bad day. Got a genuine flake of an ex-husband who's convinced she still loves him. Hell, he thinks every female he talks with falls in love with him. Guess he's bordering on the edge of stalking lately. Their divorce has been final for two years, but he won't accept she's moved on because she didn't jump into another marriage. If you're interested, really interested, have patience. Diane's worth the wait."
"Then why haven't you two…" Justin blushed letting the thought die. "Listen, I'm sorry. It's really none of my business."
"You're right. It is none of your business. But there's no secret about it. We dated once and realized we didn't want to ruin a good friendship. Diane's like the sister I never had. She's level headed, has no problem telling me when I'm being an ass and I do the same for her. I really think you two would get along. Let me try to talk to her again. You in a big hurry?" Mark nodded to the cocktail waitress waving to get his attention. "Gotta actually earn my pay. Be right back." He headed toward the waitress station at the end of the bar.
Justin turned his glass of beer around with his fingertips. He'd been coming into this club for about seven years and hadn't been attracted to most of the ladies who frequented the place. Diane's confidence first grabbed his attention. Her poise and overall demeanor spoke to the fact she was probably older than most of the bar's regular clientele. Justin smiled. I think confidence is as sexy as a great figure. He peered into his beer as though it were a crystal ball. The amber liquid was slightly cloudy and he couldn't tell anything except he was getting close to needing another beer.

~ * ~

Diane slipped off her barstool and marched toward him. This is ridiculous. She shook her head slightly. He's no different than any other man. The dive-bombing butterflies in her stomach threatened to destroy her bravado.
As she drew closer, she realized he was younger than she'd assumed. Make that young man. He puts his jeans on one muscular tan leg at a time. The closer I get, though, the more I can see I was right about his incredible physique. His plain cotton shirt strained over well-formed chest and arm muscles developed by hard physical work, not hours in the gym with weights. The spicy scent he wore sent Diane's hormones stampeding. God, this isn't fair. He smells yummy! She took a deep breath. I'd better do this before I lose my nerve.
Justin jumped when the five-dollar bill slapped down on the bar beside him. He snapped his head around to face flashing, fiery brown eyes.
"I believe this is yours. I pay for my own drinks. You'll need this later when the young ladies begin to arrive. I understand they require lots of these," she picked the five off the bar and waved it in the air, "to keep them interested."
Justin opened his mouth to reply, but Diane had turned on her heel and marched away, leaving him with his mouth gaping. He snapped his jaws closed and watched the rhythmic sway of her hips as she moved away from him. Whew. What a spitfire! Justin leaned back in his chair. She's going to be a challenge and I love challenges. He turned to face a smirking Mark.
Mark swept his arm in the direction of Diane's disappearing back, "I see you've met my friend, Diane Wallace. What do you think? Worth waiting for?"
Justin turned his glass. Looking at Mark, his eyes twinkled as he answered, "In every man's life there's one challenge he feels destined to take. She's mine. She's confident, takes nonsense from no one, including you, and she's a woman, not a girl, unlike most of the others who sit on the barstools in this place. I like older women. They don't need a man in their life."
Mark took a bar towel and absently wiped at invisible dirt. "Well, you're right on all counts. But be careful what you wish for because she has the ability to sting like a scorpion."
Moving away, he continued to wipe the bar as he gravitated toward Diane.
"You're a real piece of work, Diane. Personally, I like Justin. He's a helluva guy who'd treat you with respect. You know, that stuff Timmy hasn't got a clue about? Got to go. As you can see, the place is beginning to get busy and I have customers who need me."
Mark picked up his pace as the crowd started gravitating through the doors. The cocktail waitresses were congregating near the register, placing drink orders while the bar filled with townies and kids from the nearby college. The volume on the jukebox had amplified in relation to the volume of increasing chatter in the room. A blue haze of cigarette smoke curled toward the ceiling coloring the room in a muted glow. The happy buzzing of voices swelled as time drew closer for the band to play.
Diane picked up her glass and swirled the contents in the bottom. The frenetic atmosphere crackled, raising the hair on her arms. A stream of cigarette smoke blown her direction triggered a coughing fit.
A stocky man reeking of Jade East cologne and wearing multiple gold chains accenting a three-piece white suit suddenly occupied the barstool next to her. His dark dyed hair was heavily sprayed to hold a style he should have quit wearing in the seventies. Chain-smoking, he kept blowing smoke in Diane's direction.
"Hey, gorgeous, how about letting me buy you a drink?" An ugly sneer covered his puffy face.
"I buy my own drinks," Diane half turned toward the stranger just as he blew another stream of smoke in her face. She closed her eyes against the acrid stream and wrinkled her nose at the stale smell invading her senses. He reached out a nicotine-stained finger and touched her nose.
"You have a cute little nose," he said.
Grabbing his finger and bending it toward his arm, Diane glared at him. "I will break every bone in your body if you touch me again. Do I make myself clear?"
Wrenching his finger free, he smiled widely, revealing yellow tinted teeth. "You're quite a little pistol, aren't you?"
He turned to the bar and waved his hand at Mark. "Hey, bartender, bring the little lady a drink!"
This idiot isn't listening. She snatched her purse and jacket and slid off the stool. Her nose tingled in identification of the spicy aftershave she noted Justin was wearing.
"Gosh, honey, I'm so sorry, but you know Dave when he starts talking about fishing. A man could lose an ear. Want to dance to this song?" Justin stood wearing an apologetic smile and lightly touching Diane's elbow.
"Look, bud, I don't know what your game is but I'm buying the lady a drink. Take a hike." The Retro Man moved to get up.
Diane slipped her arm through Justin's, "I'd love to dance. Hey, Mark! Will you put my things behind the bar?"
Mark snatched Diane's purse and jacket set them on a shelf under the counter.
"Bartender, give me a gin martini, very dry. Oh, yeah, shaken not stirred." Retro Man swiveled his barstool to face the quickly filling dance floor.
Mark prepared his drink and set it on the napkin.
"Bitch," Retro Man muttered as he turned and grabbed his drink.
"What did you say?" Mark's eyes flashed.
"How does a young punk like him rate with an older broad like her?" Retro Man scoffed.
"I suspect he treats her like a lady."
"Hell, any broad who comes into a bar is looking for one thing and one thing alone, you know what I mean?" he sneered in Diane's direction.
"Yeah, I do. And I think you'll be a lot happier heading down to Club Nouveaux," Mark picked up the drink he'd just placed on the napkin and motioned to the door.
"You can't kick me out," Retro Man started to protest. "I haven't done anything."
Pointing to a sign taped at the center of the bar mirror, Mark read out loud. "We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone." Turning to the man he added, "I have just exercised my right. There's the door. Don't bother coming back." He nodded to a video camera in the corner, "we have your picture. I'm letting you know you've been permanently barred. Now take your money and go!"
Grabbing his bills from Mark's hand, Retro Man turned toward the dance floor. He glared at Diane and Justin smoothly flowing together to the slow music.
"This isn't over yet," he muttered. "We will meet again, little lady."


Tuesday, July 3, 2018

#NoMorePoodleSkirts #ContemporaryRomance #Fantasy #Humor


Author: Genie Gabriel
Email: genene@genenevalleau.com

Genre: Romance/Fantasy/Paranormal
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 2


BLURB:



EXCERPT: No More Poodle Skirts


Life seemed much simpler when all a girl had to worry about was keeping her bobby socks and the pompom on her poodle skirt a brilliant white.Daphne Madison wiggled and gyrated into panty hose that seemed determined to twist around her like a boa constrictor squeezing its prey.
A modern woman was expected to have it all--a husband, a family, a career--with never a wrinkle in her face or her confidence.
Daphne zipped up her dress and drew a shaky breath as she stared at herself in the mirror. The form-fitting pink dress wasn't as comfortable as her skirts, and the high heels shoved her feet down into the pointy toes. 
I can do this,Daphne reassured herself. She hadn't even been born in the fifties, but it seemed like such an innocent time. If she could pretend to live in that time, surely she could live in the current millennium.
Something doesn't seem just right,she thought, as she fastened a strand of pearls around her neck. However, she refused to wear the short skirts she had seen on television programs. The pencil thin skirt that ended just above her knees was as daring as she would go. 
She slid her arms into the pink jacket that matched her dress and considered herself once again. Something still seemed amiss. She settled a pink pillbox hat borrowed from her sister on top of her smooth blond hair. Better.
White gloves restored her confidence even more. 
With another deep breath, Daphne swept down the stairs to garner the reaction of her family. She knew her adult son, Ryan, would be of little help but to offer a gourmet breakfast gleaned from the latest cooking show on TV. A meal Daphne knew her jittery nerves wouldn't tolerate. 
Her sister wouldn't be stirring yet, but Linda would be organizing the house for the day. She was the mother of Daphne's daughter's husband. Did that make her and Daphne sisters-in-law? No, that wasn't quite right, and thinking about it made her brain hurt.
She gave her head a slight shake. It didn't really matter. Linda was quite practical and had motivated Daphne out of her fantasy life. She would know if Daphne was dressed appropriately for her job interview.
"So what do you think?" Daphne turned slowly as she entered the kitchen. 
Her son glanced up from the television long enough to mumble a good morning. Linda considered her thoughtfully. "Very elegant. Where's your interview?"
"The bank is hiring for a teller."
"Ah." Linda nodded. "Perhaps take off the hat and gloves…"
Panic niggled in Daphne's stomach. The two accessories that had restored at least a smidgen of her self-confidence.
Linda smiled when she noticed Daphne's obvious distress. "Well, maybe just take off the gloves to shake hands with the interview committee."
Daphne swallowed. Perhaps she could manage that.
"Are you going to eat breakfast before you go?" Linda asked.
"I-I really couldn't." Daphne laid a hand over her belly. "Already full of butterflies."
Linda's smile grew wider. "You're beautiful and smart, Daphne. I'm sure you'll knock 'em dead."
Horror mixed with the butterflies in Daphne's stomach at the thought of her interview committee keeling over dead when she stepped into the room.
"It's just an expression." Linda patted Daphne's hand. "Try to relax and let them see how much of an asset you would be to their bank."
With a shaky nod, Daphne faced the long, long journey down the hallway and through the front door, out into a world she really wasn't sure she wanted to live in.



Monday, July 2, 2018

#MyAngel #HistoricalWesternRomance


My Angel by Christine Young
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 



BLURB: My Angel

A BEAUTY IN BUCKSKINS 
When her father decided to send her to a finishing school back East, Angela Chamberlain refused to be confined to stuffy drawing rooms. Instead, the daring spitfire who could shoot like a man and ride like the wind longed for a life of adventure and romance—and she knew exactly who could give it to her. Devil Blackmoor was a hired gun with a dangerous reputation. But Angela was willing to go to the ends of the earth to capture the handsome devil's heart.

A DEVIL IN DISGUISE 
He'd come to America looking for excitement, but Devil Blackmoor got more than he bargained for when he encountered a beautiful rebel who answered his kisses with a wild innocence that touched his very soul. Yet standing between them were more obstacles than either ever dreamed. For Devil had strapped on a gun for the wrong man. And that made Angela his enemy. Now he'll have to choose between his duty and the woman he loves more than life. 

EXCERPT: My Angel


A polished azure sky looked down on a day that vacillated between winter and spring--a day unable to make up its mind. Cool breezes lifted Angela Chamberlain's brand-new canary yellow skirt off the moisture-laden sidewalk. A blazing hot sun dried the puddles in the street left over from last night's deluge.

Unlike the day, Angela had no trouble making up her mind. Angela knew what she wanted out of life. She touched one finger to the sapphire earrings adorning her newly pierced ears.

She wanted adventure.

She had a terrible craving to see the world--to climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower, to walk the Great Wall of China. She yearned to fly in a hot-air balloon high above the earth, or ride in a gondola in Venice. She wanted to fall in love with a man who was as brave and smart as her father and as dangerous as Devil Blackmoor.

Angela's wish list had no end.

Instead of adventure and romance, in three short weeks she'd be enrolled in Miss Somebody's finishing school for young ladies, where knowing which fork to use was more important than riding with the wind on her favorite horse, Kangee. A place where changing one's clothes three times or more each day was common practice.

Two days ago she'd told her father she didn't want to go.

And two days ago her father had told her she would learn to appreciate the schooling and that she was a very lucky young woman. He'd also promised her a trip to the continent for a graduation present.

A graduation present! She wanted to yell at him, but wisely kept her mouth shut. She wanted to travel now. Today. But more than anything, she didn't want to be confined to the stuffy drawing rooms in the East. Just like her father, she needed freedom. But her father meant to take the choice from her.

To gossip and chatter with rich society women was not her destiny. To know which wine was served with fish would not make her happy. This was his dream for her. Sam Chamberlain needed to look to his own heart and remember the choices he had made twenty-five years ago.

Her destiny was out there somewhere, waiting for her to snap it up and hold the moment close to her heart. She knew what she wanted, and to prove her point, she'd bought a camera and had the machine sent over to the hotel. She meant to photograph all her adventures, every nook and cranny, every monument, every intriguing person.

Across the street and down two blocks, Devil Blackmoor had just taken the saddle off his horse. He brushed the stallion's back, all the while petting the animal's sleek coat and crooning into the horse's ear. Mesmerized, she watched his hands and the gentle way he stroked the horse. 

She wished she had her camera.

Devil Blackmoor commanded her attention. He symbolized everything a father cautioned his daughter to be wary of. Despite the warning, Devil's strong jaw, his powerful shoulders and the confident way he held himself beckoned to every feminine nerve in Angela's body.

Angela clutched her hands to her chest, willing her gaze to shift to something or someone who wouldn't shatter her senses and set her blood boiling. Helpless to control her wayward heart, she kept looking back at Devil. She noticed everything about him, the way he moved, the way his denim jeans clung to his legs and the way they molded to his backside. Devil laughed at something the bouncer from the saloon said, andwhen he smiled, one edge of his mouth tilted crookedly. Ange­la's heart swooned and fluttered, and she thought she might never breathe again.


Sunday, July 1, 2018

#EditingByAngels #UniqueCovers


Editing by Angels

Rogue’s Angels would like to help make the publishing process a little bit easier. We offer editing, proofreading, and covers at a reasonable price. 

Rogues Angels have years of editing experience, starting in the 90’s. Please check out resumes at the Rogue’s Angels blog: http://roguesangels.blogspot.com

Editing plus proofreading rates are:

$150 for under 50K words
$250 for 50K to 100K words
$350 for over 100K words.

Covers price varies. Once a cover is used it will not be used again. Check out pre-made covers at:


For more information contact Christine Young ~ achristay@aol.com

AVAILABLE  COVERS: