Monday, September 30, 2013
ABOUT THE AUTHOR After growing up in the Pacific Northwest, A.T. Douglas ventured away from her quiet hometown for the bustle of college in the city of Boston. Though she studied astronomy and was a science geek at heart, she always had a love for the written word and a story swirling in her head. It wasn't until she became addicted to the Young Adult/New Adult Contemporary Romance genres that she embraced her renewed passion for reading by self-publishing her debut novel, Someone to Listen. Fueled by coffee and her love of music, she strives to turn daydreams and the realities of life into words the world can read. Her writing is inspired by personal experiences and memories from her past. She hopes to inspire others to break the silence and get their stories out into the world. A.T. Douglas lives in New Hampshire with her husband and son and wishes desperately that there were more hours in the day for family, reading, and writing.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Abby wanted a fresh start, a new life thousands of miles away from her four difficult years of high school and the rumors that followed her. As she begins her college experience in Boston, she finds friendship and love she didn’t expect, people who show her that she doesn’t have to be alone.
She is torn between two paths, inexplicably drawn to two completely different guys. One understands her and reminds her of who she used to be, the broken shadow of a person wandering through life but not truly living. The other is the key to her future, the guiding hand that she waited for years to pull her out of the darkness and into the light.
When Abby’s newfound happiness and renewed existence are threatened, everything changes. She can fall back to that dark place within her or fight to save her future.
She faces the same struggle she has all along: getting someone to hear her, finding someone to believe her.
All she ever needed was someone to listen. Buy Link (exclusively on Amazon)
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Sunday, September 29, 2013
J.J. (James) DiBenedetto was born in Yonkers, New York. He attended Case Western Reserve University, where as his classmates can attest, he was a complete nerd. Very little has changed since then.
He currently lives in Arlington, Virginia with his beautiful wife and their cat (who has thoroughly trained them both). When he's not writing, James works in the direct marketing field, enjoys the opera, photography and the New York Giants, among other interests.
The "Dreams" series is James' first published work.
“I would give anything to take this away from her. I would gladly go back to having the nightmares myself – the very worst ones, the ones that had me waking up screaming in a pool of my own vomit – rather than see Lizzie go through this…”
As a resident at Children’s Hospital, Sara can handle ninety hour workweeks, fighting to save her young patients from deadly childhood diseases. But she’s about to be faced with a challenge that all her training and experience haven’t prepared her for: her four-year-old daughter has inherited her ability to see other people’s dreams…
“Dream Child” is the suspenseful third novel in the “Dreams” series.
Someone’s shaking my shoulders, yelling right in my face. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”Buy the Book!
My eyes open, and I’m instantly wide awake when I see the panic in the face of my daughter. I throw my arms around her and hug her to me. “It’s OK, Lizzie. Mommy’s here. You’re safe,” I say with a calm I definitely don’t feel.
“I had another funny dream!” Oh, God. I – I remember now, I did, too. But that’s not important, it can wait.
I keep holding Lizzie as tightly as I can. “Can you be brave again, like before? Tell Mommy all about it?”
She has to think about that. I don’t blame her – I don’t feel especially brave right now myself. But she finds her courage, takes a deep breath and launches straight into what she saw: “Billy, Billy from the train, he was in his bedroom. He has a big model airplane, like how Uncle Bob makes. And he was on his bed and his door was shut, but his mommy and daddy were yelling, I could hear them through the door. Billy was crying. He was really sad! I couldn’t hear what they were saying, ‘cept it was bad, ‘cause they were both yelling and they sounded really mad.”
She stops and looks up at me, with a fear in her eyes that I’ve never seen there before. I know exactly what she’s going to ask me. “Mommy, do you and Daddy…?”
Thank God, no. We rarely fight, and it’s funny – the worst one we ever did have was all whispers instead of shouts. “No, honey. We don’t yell like that at each other. Some – uh, some grown-ups do, but your Daddy and I love each other very much, and we would never be like that. And you know what? We love you, too.”
Lizzie accepts that; I think she already knew it, but she wanted to be reassured. “I’m glad, Mommy. They were yelling really loud. It was bad and Billy was crying and I wanted them to stop, and I tried to open the door and go tell them to be quiet ‘cause Billy was so sad and crying, but then I woke up.”
To my surprise, Lizzie is holding back tears, but it’s clearly taking a lot of effort. I am so proud of her – I kiss her forehead, squeeze her tight. “You are such a wonderful girl,” I tell her. “You have such a big heart. I’m – I don’t even know what to say.” I’d love to think that she’s this way because of what she’s learned from Brian and me, but we can’t take credit for it. It’s been inside her from the start.
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Saturday, September 28, 2013
When Booth, under the guise of seeking spiritual advice, visits the President's medium to gather information about Lincoln's habits in order to kidnap him, a malevolent spirit begins to haunt and torment him, driving him to the brink of
I won a Romantic Times Top Pick award for a previous novel, FAKIN' IT, and am the author of 13 paranormal and historical novels. I'm studying for a Master’s Degree in Archaeology, and own an engineering business with my husband Chris. A longtime member of Romance Writers of America’s NH chapter and the Richard III Society.
I'm a golfer, pianist, and sling a mean kettlebell. Fav bands are the B-52s, Stones, Ozzy, and the 60s rock n roll I grew up with. Rock n roll keeps me young!
Washington City, November, 1864
I don’t believe in ghosts, Wilkes assured himself as he listened to the high keening of the medium. He shivered as a draft wafted over him. Smoky incense intensified the gloom. He wasn’t at this séance to seek omens or cryptic guidance from beyond the grave. He was attending this charade to learn of Abraham Lincoln’s future.
He still ached with grief over his boyhood friend’s death. A part of his soul died along with John Beall, who was everything the South stood for. Rage over the betrayal seized his heart and boiled his blood. How could Lincoln do this to another human being? How could the President look him in the eye and promise he’d let John live, then murder him?
Wilkes fought to subdue these emotions. No phantom held the answers he sought on this bone-chilling night, just the bird-like matron entranced before him, Nettie Colburn Maynard. The medium was Mrs. Lincoln’s spiritualist, famed for her evenings at the White House “bringing back” their dead boys, Eddie and Willie. Wilkes had to admit she put on a good show. One thing he appreciated was fine acting. But he was wary. The parlor felt haunted as shadows crept up the walls. The hairs at the back of his neck already stood on end, and a chill slithered through his body. Although his hands were icy, his palms sweated, making them even colder. The room stood silent and musty as a tomb. The dank staleness assaulted him. His throat aching for a trickle of brandy, he coughed.
Mrs. Maynard’s eyes were shut tight. His own gaze darted about, unable to settle. Candles flickered jagged shadows around the room. Wallpaper patterns swirled to impenetrable fog. And the curtains...did they flutter, even though the windows were closed?
“A spirit is present, Mr. Booth.” Her voice, almost a whisper, barely reached his ears. She exhaled feathery tendrils of steam in the eerie half-light. “It watches over you, seeks to guide you.” He felt her shoulders shake with violent tremors. “He was powerful in life, but more powerful in death, released of mortal frailty.”
Wilkes felt the dread of approaching harm, but sat too spellbound to get up and quit the whole thing. He guessed it was raw fear that kept him frozen in his seat. His voice, trained in delivery of lines, was suddenly struck silent. He had to admit she was gifted, the perfect witch for Macbeth. The funereal black dress draped her gaunt figure like a shroud. Shadowed by the pale flames, Mrs. Maynard played her role to perfection. Once again, he convinced himself it was all an act. But if it was real and some being from beyond really did hover over him…
Just then he realized his jaw was tightly clenched. He struggled to slacken it.
“He lived many centuries ago, Mr. Booth, and knew you by another name. He revisits you now, drawn close by your pain and grief. She shuddered again. Her grip crushed his hand, her knuckles white as bleached bone. “I feel his essence very forcefully, right there…” Her hands turned to ice. “Behind you…”
He nearly ripped a tendon snapping his neck around, but saw neither phantom nor flesh, just movement at the edge of his vision flickering up the wall. Threads of fear tickled at his nerves. Nothing was as it seemed. Turning to face her again, he felt foolish for succumbing to her trickery. An embarrassed blush heated his cheeks as the room temperature plummeted. He breathed deeply to calm his pounding heart.
“He will thrust you towards your true destiny, young man.”
Friday, September 27, 2013
Thursday, September 26, 2013
The City of the Mirage is ruled by the Divine Astarte. She has called the man who comes to be called the Conqueror to her service. Astarte was born on our own world.
Astarte rules a vast empire of the multiverse. Her race seeded many worlds with life over the eons. The Conqueror leads her legions to victory in a war against forces led by her brother.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013