Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Welcome to Death's Dance (Tuesday Guest Post: Crymsyn Hart)

Top Ten Things Not to Forget When Going to Death’s Dance

Need a great vacation spot?
Looking for a quaint, romantic getaway on the outskirts filled with wondrous views of the waving grass where there is nothing more than the wilderness and the wide open skies? Want to spend the night in a small, quiet town whose inhabitants will welcome you with open arms into their community. Although I if I forget to mention, you have to be dead in order to truly get the whole experience.  
If you dare venture into Death’s Dance there are ten things that you can’t forget.

1.       Upon arriving, don’t be alarmed if you find a barren landscape with only a cemetery and a large oak tree with a few nooses swaying from the boughs.  Remember to snap a few pictures for posterity, but don’t be alarmed if other people show up in the images.

2.        If you want to have a meaningful conversation with the ghosts there, pack a digital recorder.

3.       Bring lots of supplies for the day trip because it’s a long way back to civilization.

4.       Don’t stay after nightfall.

5.       If you feel a chill around you, not even a blanket is going to help you.

6.       Turn off all cell phones because you don’t want to wake the dead.

7.       If you do happen to find yourself staying after sunset, make sure you bring a scythe.

8.       If you happen to see a figure in a black cloak, run. Run as fast as you can.

9.       If you find yourself in a nearby farmhouse, don’t think you’re safe.

10.   Remember no matter what you’re never going to leave Death’s Dance. Death always collects what enters his town.

Death’s Dance Blurb:
Being a psychic, you would think talking to the dead was a walk in the park. However, it’s not always that simple. The hooded specter haunting me is one I’ve been dreaming about since I was a kid. One day, he appeared in my bedroom mirror. Good. Evil. I don’t know what his true intentions are.

Enter Jackson, ghost hunting show host extraordinaire, and my ex, to save me from the big bad ghost.

From there…well…it’s been a world wind of complications. My house burnt down. I’m being stalked by an ancient evil and gotten myself back into the world of being a ghost hunting psychic. Jackson dragged me, along with a few other psychics, to a ghost town wiped off the map called Death’s Dance.
From there things went from bad to worse.

Death's Dance is Book One of the Deathly Encounters Series

Death’s Dance Buy Links:
Amazon (Kindle Version)
Amazon (Print Version)  
Barnes & Noble

Crymsyn is a National Bestselling author of over seventy paranormal romance and horror novels. Her experiences as a psychic have given her a lot of material to use in her books. She currently resides in Charlotte, NC with her hubby and her three dogs. If she’s not writing, she’s curled up with the dogs watching a good horror movie or off with friends.

To find out more about Crymsyn:

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8/18 The Southern Belle from Hell Top Ten
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8/22 Seers, Seraphs, Immortals & More Interview
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8/24 Willow’s Author Love Review
8/24 The Rage Circus Vs. The Soulless Void Review
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8/24 LucyBlueCastle Guest Post

Friday, August 8, 2014

Friday Guest Post: Blak Rayne

First, I’d like to thank Pamela for having me at her blog! Very awesome, thank you. My new gay erotic romance novel is out! To read the first 10% of my new release, click on the Smashwords purchase link at the bottom of the naughty excerpt!

The Ideal Side of Life
By Blak Rayne
‘Imperfect, but inescapably a love worth saving.’
Self-made entrepreneur Stephen Pritchard was given a second chance at life and love when he met Carson. However, as of late, their marriage has been anything, but ideal. Aside from the usual occupational hazards and Carson’s inability to communicate emotionally, Stephen’s learned marriage to a police officer, especially an attractive one, comes at a price.
While shopping in the city, Stephen and Carson unexpectedly run into Stephen’s former college buddy Dudley Kramer. During the conversation, Dudley insists they attend an upcoming party at the art gallery he owns. Believing the invitation to be harmless, Stephen convinces Carson to go. But part way through the evening, he realizes Dudley’s developed an unhealthy liking for his husband and the party isn’t as it appears. Illegal drugs and partner swapping isn’t something Stephen bargained for, and neither is the chain of events that follow. Disenchantment over the past, arguments, and a near fatal car accident suddenly puts his life into perspective.

Excerpt: (adult)
     Later that night, subsequent to the consumption of a homemade seafood dinner that consisted of stuffed cannelloni and a Caesar salad, we decided to hit the hay early. We’d both had a long day.
Carson stripped, tossed his clothes in the hamper, and flopped out on his stomach, bunching a pillow between his head and arms. After the mattress stopped bouncing and he’d found his comfort zone, he muttered drowsily, “Can you cover me with the sheet?”
“Sure.” Ogling his ass, I removed my tie; no matter the temperature, he always slept in the nude. As for my preference, I was a pussy; anything below sixty-five degrees and I wore pajamas. Grabbing a corner of the blanket, I separated the gray linen sheet from underneath and draped it over him.
“Thanks, baby.” He yawned, hugging the pillow tighter.
“You’re welcome.” Removing my shirt, I dropped it on the chair. Then I kicked off my shoes and unclasped my belt buckle. I couldn’t wait another second—the smooth, muscular curve of his ass under the thin sheet and the way he lay with his legs spread; he was begging to be molested. Crouching like a tiger, I moved in silence toward my target and the edge of the bed, preparing to pounce.
“If you’re going to fuck me, do it quick before I fall asleep.”
“Oh come on!” I exclaimed loudly, throwing both hands up. “How did you know? What—do you have eyes in the back of your head?”
“I didn’t know,” he murmured, shooting a weary glance over his shoulder. “Other than you’re taking too long to undress.”
“You know you’re a frustrating man. Every time I try to be sneaky, you ruin it.”
Snuggling the pillow again, his chuckling was muffled. “That’s because you couldn’t sneak if someone paid you. You’re too obvious.”
“I’m not obvious.”
“You are. The whole point of sneaking around is to avoid getting caught.”
“Why thank you for that useless tidbit of information.” Sitting down hard on the bed, I pulled off a pant leg and caught the other on my heel. “Now I know I’d be a lousy jewel thief.” I frowned in disgust, tossing my pants with the intention they’d land on the chair, but they hit it instead and slid to carpet. A dreary sigh seeped from my lips. I was too damned lazy to pick them up.
“Don’t get upset.”
“I’m not.”
The bed shifted and when I looked, he’d switched around to lie on his back. The sheet did little to hide his thick erection that lay slightly bent against his left thigh. The image triggered a glorious memory of Greece...and the beach. God, we needed to fuck—no romance, just a good old-fashioned fuck.
“I ruined your fun, I’m sorry. How about I pretend you’re not here?” He bent an arm over his eyes, sliding toward the end of the bed, and sank into the bedding, getting more comfortable. “How about something like this?”
When he’d moved, the top sheet had fallen away completely and his muscular torso blanketed in soft, dirty-blond hair appeared. Taking a moment to admire his body, I didn’t readily answer. My cock started to swell.
“Baby, are you still there…?” he asked, the apprehension lingering in his words.
Pressing my hand into the bed, I got down low and put the head of his cock in my mouth and sucked, the tangy mix of perspiration and urine sharp on my tongue. He grunted, rutting his hips, and I dug the tip into his slit. He grunted louder, and I suckled then mouthed his balls, one after the other. Working my tongue farther down, I pried his buttocks apart, digging my chin in while moistening his perineum and rimming his hole to a sloppy wet. His reaction was instantaneous; he grinned and his cheeks flushed scarlet. Putting my other hand flat on the mattress to brace my upper torso, I inched a tad higher and kissed the trail of tapering, curly pubic hair to his belly button, his erection rubbing floppily under my chin. Letting the moisture from my lips caress his stomach to chest, his flesh became dappled in goose bumps and his nipples hardened to tiny pebbles. I flicked and nibbled on the right then switched to nip the left. When I’d finished revving him up to a satisfactory level of arousal, I reached in the nightstand drawer, felt around for the bottle of lube then shook it and squeezed a little onto my open palm.
After I’d made my cock slick, I slid two lubed fingers along the tightening crease of his sac to his hole, and carefully inserted them. His thighs spread wider and he groaned. I played for a while, gentle then rough, ramming deep. When his groans transformed to harsh growls of uncontrolled pleasure, I knew he was teetering on the threshold. Kissing his throat, I removed my fingers, settled on top of him, touching his cock with mine.
“Just do me, baby,” he urged, slapping the right side of my ass, then squeezed. “I want to feel you.”
Rising above him for a split second, I glanced down to guide my shaft. Carson tensed somewhat, pinching his buttocks against the intrusion. But once I penetrated as deeply as possible, he relaxed, melting into a curve, and embraced me.
Normally, I was a great deal calmer, a regular Casanova, but that night I wanted straight ecstasy—to get off as fast as possible. Moving strongly, in and out, I breathed harder and faster. Our bare, sweat-coated skin slapped on contact. Minutes in, we both grunted and an extreme heat almost flash-burned my stomach. We’d both blown our loads simultaneously and his spunk had made a trail up my chest. Putting his hands to my back, he hugged my upper body and I fell onto the bed with him.
“I love you.” He kissed me everywhere excitedly, pushed me backward into the comforter, pinioned my wrists above my head, and lifted a dense, muscular leg to straddle my lap. “Now it’s my turn.”
“Huh,” I gasped, trying to catch my breath and wits. I was dazed, enjoying the fleeting tingle of euphoria.
While maintaining his vice like grip on my wrists, Carson snatched the tissue box from the nightstand. He fumbled with it, yanking out the white squares. “I’m going to make love to you,” he said, wiping us both clean with the massive wad. Then he stuffed the used tissues inside the empty box and tossed it over his shoulder.
The lust ended with Carson sleeping soundly while spooning me, and me thinking about what the notary had said. I have no idea why the living wills came to mind. After the jungle sex, I should’ve been exhausted and collapsed into a peaceful nothingness. But I couldn’t. I lay there for over an hour, staring into the dark, contemplating everything from our anniversary and Christmas, to what breed of dog I preferred, and whether I should purchase Carson a newer vehicle. Then I awoke to the alarm clock beeping.

While Carson was at work, I assembled the targets I’d bought for practice in the backyard. Robin Hood. Eat your heart out! Life was uneventful, for the most part. Then, something weird happened, causing a chain of events to unravel that put my fortitude to the test and altered our life together as a couple forever.

Blak Rayne

Monday, August 4, 2014

Fandom Fest "Four" the Win!

Authors Melissa Goodman and Amy McCorkle
Wow! I can't believe this was my fourth year at Fandom Fest. Over that time, I've met some wonderful artists, authors, editors, and publishers.

This year I participated on two panels: "Stephen King" and "Grimm Fairy Tales to Disney Character Evolutions." In both panels the audience interacted with the panelists, which made for some interesting and thought-provoking discussions.

What made this year special was I had a print book for sale. All other years, I handed out swag - postcards, pens, trading cards, etc. I still had free promo, and I even made a sale because someone saw my display. So that was pretty cool.

And the print book? I brought five copies of The Ripper's Daughter (my leftover stock from previous book signings), and sold all five. Also sold a copy at the BlackWyrm Publishing table, making it six altogether. I know, it doesn't sound like a lot, but I'm still happy. Yes, it's the little things. LOL

Had a great time with fellow authors and friends, Missy Goodman and Amy McCorkle, and a special shout out to Stephen Zimmer, who helped organize the literary track.

Overall, Fandom Fest proved to be quite a successful year. Looking forward to Imaginarium this September.

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Anthology Call for Submissions: "Reel Dark: Twisted Fantasies Projected on the Flickering Page"

Authors, check out this call for submissions to an anthology I'm editing with L. Andrew Cooper .

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS: BlackWyrm Publishing is opening several positions in its spring short fiction  anthology for general submissions. We offer professional rates (typically $.05/word) for full members of  professional organizations such as the HWA, MWA, RWA, and SFWA; other stories accepted through  general submissions receive a flat semi‐professional rate of $25. All contributors receive copies. The  collection, tentatively titled Reel Dark: Twisted Fantasies Projected on the Flickering Page, focuses on  the infection of (prose‐fictional) worlds by movies. We want innovative approaches: if you think endless  references to films or characters stepping into or off of the screen is innovative, reconsider submitting.  Although the anthology as a whole will be dark in tone, it will speak to a range of audiences interested in  horror, science‐fiction, fantasy, and/or romance (particularly paranormal). Stories should not exceed  3,500 words. Submissions are open now and close November 1, 2014. We intend to launch the  collection at the World Horror Convention in May 2015. Submit stories in standard manuscript format  via movieantho@blackwyrm.com. Direct questions about the focus, rates, etc. to Editor‐in‐Chief L.  Andrew Cooper via landrewcooper@blackwyrm.com. Submissions sent directly to the editor will be  deleted unread. Authors accepted or invited to submit may join the group at  www.blackwyrm.com/movieantho for more information.

Friday, July 18, 2014

Friday Guest Post: Cate Masters

The Goddess Connection Book 1
Goddess, Awakened
by Cate Masters


With a little help from a goddess, battling evil is a piece of cake for Jocelyn Gibson.

A descendant of the goddess Iris, Jocelyn Gibson may have forgotten about the realm of magic, but it hasn’t forgotten her. When Eric Hendricks is targeted by a demon, Joss must step in to battle the evil and save the town’s awkward, but endearing, vet…who also happens to be the man she loves.

Joss’s new inn, a culinary career specializing in cooking with lavender and a new love all make for a fine recipe of disaster. She needs to embrace her inner goddess and harness the powers she never knew she had before it’s too late.

Goddess, Awakened
The Goddess Connection, Book 1
Fantasy/paranormal romance novel
About 89,700 words

The Goddess Connection Series
Every woman should embrace her inner goddess. What’s your connection?

In each novel of The Goddess Connection series, the heroine is somehow connected to a goddess. Her lifelong quirks will become strengths once she finds her true place in the world, and accepts herself for who she really is.

And in each, the heroine is encouraged to embrace her inner goddess. And the hero treats her like one! As it should be for every woman.

About the Author
Cate Masters has made beautiful central Pennsylvania her home, but she’ll always be a Jersey girl at heart. When not spending time with her dear hubby, she can be found in her lair, concocting a magical brew of contemporary, historical, and fantasy/paranormal stories with her cat Chairman Maiow and dog Lily as company. Look for her at http://catemasters.blogspot.com and in strange nooks and far-flung corners of the web.

Contact Details
Twitter:  @CateMasters

Book video
Embed code:  

Mini excerpt for GODDESS, AWAKENED
In starting her life over, Joss had expected some resistance, even some trouble, but not this. The bedroom floor boards trembled beneath her golden-slippered feet. Tendrils of an unseen power curled upward from deep within the ground, tingling through her toes. She paused to steady herself, then continued to put the finishing touches on her costume. The tremors grew into rumbles and their hum seeped beneath her skin. When their tiny wisps twined through her mind, she clenched her hands. Enough. Go away.
Thick as starlight on a clear summer’s eve, sweet as the lavender blossoms she had yet to plant, energy whooshed up through the cracks of the worn wood and out into the October night.
She gripped the bureau until it passed, the vibrations rolling over her in lessening waves. Bubbly, effervescent waves. “Third time tonight, Taz.” Each departure took longer, and more of the essence remained.
When the dog whined, she stroked his fur. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you.”
Even if tonight the waves were palpable enough to make her hairs stand on end. Oh, no, please.
Nothing could ruin tonight. More than a party, this event would determine her future. And after three years of grief, she’d never allow anything to trap her in its clutches again.

Full Excerpt
The sting remained with Joss long after Eric fled the inn. Deep-rooted pain emanated from him when he’d first entered, and his palm against her arm sent an electric shock straight to her bones. The poor man. Grief kept him its prisoner. Joss understood how easy it was to fall into that dark trap. The way he’d held her, he sought escape. Comfort.
He awakened deep-seated sensations in her. In the few moments with him, she’d felt more alive than she had in three years.
So strange. Normally, one look allowed her to see the person inside. With Eric Hendricks, her receptivity went into overload. His soul, pent up for years, stirred to life and churned up love, fear, joy, hopelessness, yearning, jumbled and shifting faster than light. He displayed great strength in his firm stance and gentle touch. Beneath a hard veneer of sheer pain, one other trait came through clearly—purity of spirit, and integrity enough for many men.
The arrival of more guests drew Joss to the foyer again. Another matronly witch and an older man wearing a checked flannel shirt, jeans, and boots stepped inside, followed by a princess and a boy in a fabric turtle shell.
Joss recognized the girl as one of the riders whose horse was boarded at the inn’s stable. After greeting them and pointing them toward refreshments, she returned to Lydia. “Sorry about Dr. Hendricks.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s wonderful you have so many guests.” Lydia fingered the flowers in the vase on the table.
One woman stood in the archway to the front room, her bright-eyed glare directed at Joss. Wearing a short white shift adorned with large red hearts, the woman held a wand topped with a glittering red heart.
Confused by the woman’s malevolence, Joss approached and fought to overcome the negativity oozing from her. “Did you try some of the booscotti?”
The woman tilted up her chin. “I’m not hungry, Mrs. Gibson,” came her familiar nasal reply.
Recognition finally hit. Of course—the girl who worked at the diner in town. “Sheree?”
At her curt nod, Joss forced a smile. “I love your costume.”
Sheree’s gaze darted her length. “Likewise.”
What could be her problem? The woman wielded her wand like a weapon, ready to strike. “Please have a drink and make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.” Her narrowed eyes swept the room as if suspecting an ambush, and then she moved stiffly away.
Joss crossed the room to Lydia. “That was weird.”
Lydia whispered, “Be careful of her.”
“Sheree? I can’t imagine why.” Could she be nervous the inn would take away some of the diner’s business? Though Joss would have liked to think it was the cause of her strange behavior, Sheree’s vibes told Joss otherwise. Business had nothing to do with it. The waitress directed her bad juju at Joss personally. Had Joss unintentionally insulted Sheree? She’d barely met the woman.
Leaning close, her aunt spoke sternly, “I warned you to watch for others who seek the power of this place.”
Sheree? Her aunt must be mistaken. The woman’s terrible attitude resulted from something. Maybe an imagined slight? Joss would find a way to put Sheree at ease.
More guests entered, and Joss excused herself. She left Lydia deeply inhaling the air. Joss couldn’t deny the charged atmosphere was one of the reasons she’d bought the place. Not to tap into any lines of power for herself, but maybe to enhance the lavender field she planned. Joss needed the garden to thrive so the inn would as well.

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Excerpt Wednesday: Death Sword

“Fail this assignment and don’t bother coming back.”

Xariel grasped the handle of his concealed dagger, recalling Metatron’s warning. Why did Karla Black interest his superior? Orders to kill then revive her ran counter to Xariel’s normal duties. Karla’s dossier indicated nothing remarkable except heterochromia iridium. A recent headshot sent to Xariel’s email revealed a pale oval face framed by a cinnamon bob cut so it angled along her jaw. Most noteworthy, though, were Karla’s eyes. One was cobalt, the other, emerald.

He inhaled a drag from his cigarette, flipped the butt over the rail and watched it disappear beneath the choppy waters of the Ohio River. Back to work. Concentrating, he locked his internal radar on her position. Third and Market. He’d finish this assignment, return home to his Courier-Journal and Crown Royal.

Thank Seraphim cold, damp temperatures kept people away from Riverfront Plaza tonight. No one to witness him teleport.

Xariel closed his eyes. Seconds later, he appeared behind Karla, shoes making no sound on the concrete. She shifted from one foot to another, her calf-high PVC boots drawing his attention to the short denim skirt she tugged down over black tights. Eyes focused on the don’t walk sign, she muttered an impatient expletive.

Was she a street walker? He didn't recall reading so in her file, only that she worked as a barista at a local coffee shop. At least she had sense enough to wear a short wool jacket against the damp chill permeating downtown Louisville.

Before Karla registered his appearance, he grabbed her from behind, slapping a hand over her mouth. She struggled to jerk free. One stiletto-booted heel kicked back, aimed for his instep. Xariel dodged and dragged her into a nearby alley, ignoring the muffled cries vibrating against his hand. There, he focused on setting up a temporary barrier. He couldn't risk her escaping, not after Metatron’s warning.

The force field wouldn't last long. Xariel shoved Karla back against the brick facade of an office building. He pulled out his dagger, plunging it into her stomach. Her eyes, narrowed in anger, widened in shock as blood drained from her face.

Xariel withdrew the knife, blood dripping down the blade. Karla slumped to the tarmac. He
watched her soul, a wispy tendril indiscernible to the human eye, slip through her slack mouth.

He unscrewed the dagger handle and directed her soul into the hollow recess. Although he’d only a short time, he needed to be methodical, cautious. Move too fast and a fragment of psyche might escape. She’d be damaged, worthless.

Satisfied no essence remained, Xariel sealed the dagger and invoked the prayer Metatron had taught him.

He pierced Karla again in the same place, willing her soul to reenter her body and the wound to heal. She remained unresponsive.

Xariel drew a sharp breath. Failure? Shit. Metatron would have his head.

Published by Lyrical Press/Kensington Publishing Corp.

Available for

Amazon Kindle

Barnes and Noble Nook


Monday, June 30, 2014

Macabre Monday Movie Review

I've been wanting to try something different with my blog, and thought about posting weekly horror/thriller/suspense movie reviews. While I don't know if this will be a continuous feature, there's certainly enough material out there.

The first movie up for review is Dominique (aka Dominique is Dead), a film from 1978, directed by Michael Anderson.

(Minor spoilers below)

Dominique Ballard (Jean Simmons) believes her husband, David (Cliff Robertson), intends to drive her mad. He succeeds, and she commits suicide. Or does she? Soon David finds himself experiencing the same disquieting episodes that drove his wife to her grave. Will Dominique get her revenge?

Dominique plays more suspense than horror, and allows itself to move languidly, foregoing jump cuts or other fast-paced editing intended to keep a viewer on the edge of their proverbial seat. The film is effective at using atmosphere, although at times the screen was so dark, it was impossible to see anything. (But that could have been the quality of the print.) Most of the movie was shot in wide or medium shots, again dispensing with sudden zooms and close ups that filmmakers sometimes rely on for shock effect. The director of Dominique doesn’t seem to be going for outright horror but more of a Hitchcockian vibe, although that’s only my guess.

There were unanswered questions. Dominique suspected her husband of trying to drive her mad. She seemed very rational about it, which begs the question of why she killed herself. Why not just leave? David didn’t come across as a controlling man, and the only reason given for her not being able to go anywhere was she’d fired the chauffer. But a new one, Tony, arrived shortly after. Since he was given orders to drive Dominique wherever she wanted, that would’ve been one way for her to leave.

Motive was also questionable in David’s case, especially at first. His business is failing, and we later find out he wanted Dominique dead so he could get her money. Again, why go through that trouble? Why not just ask for a loan? There was never any indication Dominique wouldn’t give him the money.

Another incongruity was the murder of the doctor who declared Dominique dead. No explanation is given for this action, making it seem superfluous and thrown in to fill time.

The movie could’ve ended after a certain point. That would’ve been sufficient and satisfying. But for some reason, the writers and/or director seemed to want to “explain” the events. Again, I’m not sure if this was because they needed to fill more time, or if they couldn’t bring themselves to accept a paranormal ending.

Dominique isn’t a bad film, despite its flaws. If you enjoy suspenseful movies, you might enjoy it. I’ll definitely be watching it again.