New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

"How should I act? Like a spoiled brat arrogant snot who thinks she should run the world, and just makes herself look like a brainless twit?"

"Like you?" Harry added.

Sylvia let out a steam whistle shriek and launched herself at me. How unfair was that? Harry said it. She never would have realized I was talking about her until he said it.

Someone must have been teaching Sylvia boxing. She got in a good right hook between my left temple and eye socket before I realized she was getting physical. Sylvia hadn't tried to inflict capital punishment on those who crossed her since fifth grade.

While I didn't use my telekinetic power to shove her away, pin her to the wall, maybe even shove her through the wall, honesty compels me to admit that Harry saved me. Maybe he had a little ability to fly, or least do the long jump fast, and hard. He body-slammed Sylvia from behind while she was spinning around and coming back in for another strike. I was still catching my breath and seeing stars. Then suddenly the male five percent of the faculty and staff stormed into the room and got hold of Sylvia.

*****

I couldn't wait to get home and report to the "We loathe Sylvia Grandstone club." It wasn't really an official group, although a number of people in our graduating class confessed they had looked into voodoo dolls and sending requests to the State Department to keep her from coming back into the country.

No, that wasn't very mature of me. It also wasn't very mature that I let Mum and Pop praise me for not using my powers to slam Sylvia into the wall, or through a window, or just hold her up in the air and spin her around like a WWE wrestling champion. I didn't use my telekinesis because I didn't get a chance. Ten-plus years of self-imposed "never use our talents where other people can see" made me hesitate. Even when it came to a chance to work out my frustrations on Sylvia Grandstone and get payback for all my friends at school.

So I really didn't deserve any of the kudos I got. Sympathy for my black eye, yes, I earned that. Praise for not slamming that spoiled brat snot into a greasy makeup smear on the stone wall of the chapel? Nope.

Off the Bookshelf: DUST, by Kara Swanson

Heirs of Neverland, Book 1

I confess -- I got the book because of peer pressure!
And I'm glad I did it.
Lots of people in Realm Makers were talking about this book coming out. Eagerly anticipating it.

I can see why now. Wow ...

Claire, our heroine is a broken girl, searching for the truth of what happened to Connor, her brother who vanished six years before. She has a big problem: dust that constantly spills from her skin. Not just a medical condition, it can kill. Dust has put a wall between her and the rest of the world. It has destroyed her life, ripping away chances to have a family.

Claire doesn't trust the only clue her brother left behind -- a note written in a copy of Peter Pan, telling her he's heading for Neverland with Peter. For Claire, the faerie story has become a horror story.

When she gets a new clue that takes her to London, where she meets a police officer named Jeremy Darling, and the man who was seen with her brother six years ago is named James and has a hook for a hand ... yeah, it gets kind of scary. Dark. And confusing ... because Claire's dust is pixie dust, and it can either heal or it can kill, and she doesn't know who to trust while she races to figure out how to control it before time runs out.

Did you catch the part where this is Book 1? Really? I have to wait a YEAR to find out what happens next? Nooooooooooo!

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

What I tried to hide was my grin. Until that first booksigning where people were lined up halfway around the block, it never really registered that my parents with twenty books to their names were indeed popular writers. People paid good money and waited eagerly for first editions in hardback.

"I can't believe I never made the connection." Sylvia tipped her head to one side, letting her hair fall in her face. "I mean, yeah, they're the weird, hippie Zephyrs, but they're famous. They've got about a gazillion books that people buy. You are rich."

Uh huh. So that was her problem. Nobody in town was allowed to be rich other than the Grandstones.

"How did you con them into adopting you? Like, you're gonna be rich when they kick off. Both of them are so old. You have got to tell me how you did it."

Why? So she could con someone into adopting her?

"I didn't do anything. I was only six when they adopted me." I barely managed to hold back "remember?" because of course, the only time Sylvia paid attention to me back in school was when I stood between her and what she wanted. "Right place, right time, right people, I guess." I couldn't really say my parents were warm, loving people who were looking to share their love. Sylvia would not understand at all.

"Some people get all the luck." She straightened up and shook her head, with that calculated, slow kind of movement that I swear she had to practice in the mirror. How else could she get her curls to respond like that and lay just so on her shoulders? "You're rich. Who would have thought it? I mean, you don't act it."

The Adventure: PRESENT HELPS THE PAST, by Carole Brown

Present Helps the Past

by Carole Brown

I never guessed several years ago when my family and I worked for short periods of time in some of the western states, with the American Natives, how it would influence me in the future as I prepared to write a historical western romantic suspense.

One of our special trips out west included heading up into the mountains of Arizona where a friend named Jeb took us gold panning. On the way, we passed a ghost town but finally reached a wooded area with a strong stream where we settled down for a spot of gold panning. There were few, if any, people around, Jeb was knowledgeable about the panning, interesting in his explaining and describing, and it ended up being a memorable experience for us as a family. And though we didn't “strike it rich,” we did find numerous gold flecks that we kept in a small jar for years as a memoir of our fun.

Although in my story the gold hunting that was done by the four families tied together was achieved entirely differently than what we did—by digging in caves or on mountain sides—our experience gave me a bit of knowledge on how to proceed with the setting. In that era of time, gold hunting was the rage among certain people. Striking it rich was a tempation that many men couldn't resist. In Caleb's Destiny, the men did discover a reasonably good vein of gold, and all of them profited from it.

Besides being a member and active participant of many writing groups, Carole Brown enjoys mentoring beginning writers. An author of ten books, she loves to weave suspense and tough topics into her books, along with a touch of romance and whimsy, and is always on the lookout for outstanding titles and catchy ideas. She and her husband reside in SE Ohio but have ministered and counseled nationally and internationally. Together, they enjoy their grandsons, traveling, gardening, good food, the simple life, and did she mention their grandsons?

Personal blog: http://sunnebnkwrtr.blogspot.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CaroleBrown.author

FB Fan Page:  https://www.facebook.com/groups/183457429657732/

Amazon Author Page:  https://amzn.to/38Ukljnhttps://amzn.to/38Ukljn

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/browncarole212

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/carole-brown

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/browncarole212/?hl=en

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/sunnywrtr/boards/

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/5237997-carole-brown

Linkedin:  https://www.linkedin.com/in/carole-brown-79b6951a/

The Adventure: CALEB'S DESTINY, by Carole Brown

Today:

Learn about a historical romance,  CALEB'S DESTINY.

Tomorrow:

Meet the author, CAROLE BROWN

Mr. Michael, Destiny Rose McCulloch, and Hunter have a mysterious history. Why were three fathers, all business partners, murdered under suspicious circumstances while on their quest to find gold? 

Hunter, who is Mr. Michael's ranch manager, is determined to find the answers and protect the precocious young lady who he suspects holds a key answer to his questions. 

Mr. Michael wants only to be left alone to attend to his property, but what can he do when Destiny refuses to leave and captures the heart of everyone of his employees? 

Destiny almost forgets her quest when she falls in love with Mr. Michael's ranch and all the people there. And then Mr. Michael is much too alluring to ignore. The preacher man back east where she took her schooling tried to claim her heart, but the longer she stays the less she can remember him. She only came west to find a little boy she knew years ago. A little boy all grown up by now...unless, of course, he's dead.

Purchase Links:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3egdd2q

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

"Am I supposed to ask what you were thinking?" I asked, after we stood there for a few minutes in silence.

Sylvia was the one Grandstone who had learned some patience. Where just staring down her cousins, Reggie and Freddie would get them to mouth off and get themselves in trouble, silence didn't get under Sylvia's skin. She could stand there and smirk, or give indications of the mental gymnastics she was going through, and wait for someone else to talk.

The smart tactic was to take control of the pseudo-conversation when Sylvia was involved. Besides, the more time she had to think, the better the chances she would twist the situation around entirely in her favor. For instance, if I made her stand there long enough, by the time an argument arose and she started screaming, she would have convinced herself that I had tricked her into staying behind after the Q&A. Since I had survived ten years of attending school with her, the odds were good that I could predict what she would say and do, and even how she thought. If the mental gyrations in the gray matter of a Grandstone brain could be called "thinking."

"Just how long did you think you could keep that secret?" She adjusted her stance so the other hip was cocked out and she leaned against the other side of the door.

"Uh, it's a secret to me, I guess."

That got one of her trademark squeal-snorts. "Your parents."

"It's no secret that I have parents."

I fully expected her to harangue me with the fact that I was one of the Lost Kids of Neighborlee. Former resident of Neighborlee Children's Home. A reject. A throwaway. Sloppy seconds.

"They're famous!" Sylvia came out of the doorway, jamming her fists into her hips. "Your parents are big-time, famous writers! How long did you think you could hide it? Some people!" Another squeal, with only a touch of snort.

"Uh, I never tried to hide it."

Update: GOALS

The plan is to check in every week and tally up what I've accomplished, and add any new goals to the list. (Feel free to jeer if I don't get at least half this list done this month!)

JULY GOALS LIST as of 07/20/20:

Rough Draft MAKING IT ALL UP: Match Girls Book 2:
Started -- 1/3 of the way

Realm Makers Conference: July 16-18
AMAZING!

Tweak 4 Commonwealth novels:
Meruk Episodes 6-10,

Load another Neighborlee book in Kindle format

Typeset Warriors Against the Storm anthology -- to benefit author Mary Weber (Storm Siren, Sophi Snow series)

Off the Bookshelf: THE OCEAN AT THE END OF THE LANE, by Neil Gaiman

Audible
Audiobooks

If you haven't guessed by now, I am in awe of Neil Gaiman, and his writing just blows me away.

Of course, it might just be the accent, when he reads his own stories in audiobooks. But I don't think so. I have a stack of his books waiting to be read one of these days when I actually have time to read for pleasure, instead of snatching half an hour of listening when doing errands, or 45 minutes when I walk in the morning.

THE OCEAN AT THE END OF THE LANE. How do you describe it without giving too much away, and without trying to sound all philosophical and psychological and totally ruining that feeling you get deep inside, of wonder and a little bit of scared, and that anticipation that something is just lurking there (good and bad) waiting for you to be ready before it steps into the light of day and you get that, "Oh, right, of course, now I understand," reaction ....

On the surface, it's just a recounting of an odd incident that a man recalls from  his childhood, when everyone was totally oblivious and easily fooled, and all that stood between the ordinary world and terror and the destruction of that world was a quiet, bookish boy with no friends. No friends except the odd, magical girl at the end of the lane, who claimed the farm pond was actually an ocean. And a simple mistake he made threatened to let that horror and danger come in ....

And it was an ocean, in all the right, magical, mystical ways. But I'm not going to tell you how. Listen to this lovely, quiet, somewhat frightening, thought-provoking gem for yourself.

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

Harry escaped while the girls were still filing out. I waited until everyone was gone before I came downstairs. Pop went back to the archives with Dr. Butterfield, and Mum walked off with a knot of girls with specific questions about resources and searching.

There was nothing to pick up and move after the Q&A, not like other talks where Mum and Pop had books or visual aids. I wandered around the room, looking at the stained glass, the chimneys on the lanterns with all the fancy brasswork and colored glass, the inlay on the ends of the benches. There was a lot of history in this little room of ten rows with two five-seater benches in each row.

"Thought so," a familiar, whiny voice said, punctuated with a snort.

I looked at the door. There was Sylvia Grandstone, arms crossed, head tilted to display her golden curls. I wondered who she was trying to impress. Ninety-five percent of the staff were women, and this was a girls-only school. That was followed by a sense of "whew!" Her entrance stopped me just in time, before I acted on an idea of floating up to look at some writing in the stained glass panel at the front of the chapel. While I didn't really care what Sylvia Grandstone thought of me, I wasn't stupid enough to risk her making a fuss that the wrong people might listen to.

I always had to keep in mind the rules Kurt and Felicity and I had made up to protect our talents or powers or whatever let us do what we did. Hide what we did, hide what we were, hide from trouble. There was no telling when the weirdness factor of Neighborlee would fail us, and those people who spied on the children’s home would return, notice us, and make us vanish.

So it was good that Sylvia didn't catch me kinda-sorta flying.

THE ADVENTURE: Virtual Conferences in the Time of COVID

This week is REALM MAKERS 2020.

THANK YOU to our incredible conference team, who have been working for months to turn this from an in-person writing conference to a virtual conference.

YOU ARE AMAZING!
WE LOVE YOU!

Yesterday was the pre-conference workshop and opening session, and there were technical difficulties far beyond the control of our moderators and organizers and tech wizards, and they were incredible, working tirelessly to come up with solutions and keep things running smoothly.

I wish it was safe to find all of them and hug them -- and send them to a spa to get pampered for a week.

We had incredible proof what an amazing tribe of fantasy and science fiction writers we have, when we were waiting more than an hour for our keynote address to start, and the technology simply refused to cooperate. No, it was more like the technology was hiding under the bed, kicking its heels and shrieking, "Nuh uh! Not gonna come out and play!"

We had the BEST fun, 300-plus writers of weirdness, getting silly, chatting in the comments column, talking so fast that it was sometimes hard to read, with the comments scrolling upward at near-light speed. Someone should have tried to record it. I bet there are some good story ideas in there. (A lot of discussions about donuts ....)

This edition of THE ADVENTURE is a salute to the incredible team who gives us the REALM MAKERS CONFERENCE every year for the last eight years. You are my heroes!!!!!

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

As soon as the first green plaid skirt and black sweater trimmed in gold strolled into the meeting room-slash-former chapel for the first question-and-answer session, I got that sick feeling of impending doom. Harry was sitting with me in a small balcony where we could see and hear everything, but we weren't on display like Mum and Pop. He was busy with a pretty cool hand-held video game Dr. B gave him, and he didn't pay any attention to the students filing into the room and jockeying for one of the sixty seats, until I groaned.

"What?" He scooted over on the bench seat and rested his elbows on the balcony ledge, to look down on the growing audience. He frowned at the girls filing in, then at me. "What?"

"Don't you recognize the uniforms?"

He shook his head and shrugged.

"Remember the Tower of London?"

"I remember that Grandstone… Oh." Harry patted me on the shoulder. "Maybe she's sick today."

"Grandstones are always sick, but it's not the kind that gives us any relief." I slid back on the bench, away from the ledge, even though chances of anyone looking up and seeing us were slim.

"Well, you think she's going to come here to listen to Mum and Pop if it's voluntary? I bet the only thing she reads is a supermarket gossip rag or else something about Hollywood. That's why she got sent over here, because she wanted to go into acting. Right?" He waited for me to nod, then bent his head over his video game again.

Honestly, my little brother was a really smart kid.

Too bad his theory was wrong. Sylvia came strolling in among the last of the first group for question-and-answer. She didn't look happy about being there. Maybe because she strolled in entirely alone. No followers, no admirers, no co-conspirators. 

Update: GOALS

The plan is to check in every week and tally up what I've accomplished, and add any new goals to the list. (Feel free to jeer if I don't get at least half this list done this month!)

JULY GOALS LIST as of 07/12/20:

Rough Draft MAKING IT ALL UP: Match Girls Book 2:
Started -- 1/3 of the way

Revise and Polish CADETS, Young Defenders Book 1
Draft 2, done
Draft 3, done

Book Proposal package for CADETS, for Realm Makers Conference
Sent

Realm Makers Conference: July 16-18

Tweak 4 Commonwealth novels:
Meruk Episodes 6-10,

Load another Neighborlee book in Kindle format

Finish setting up the store on the Ye Olde Dragon Books site
DONE (as much as it can be -- but we can take orders!)

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

We were climbing around in the attic and our folks were downstairs, going through boxes of crumbly historical documents, when a delegation from the village came in to speak with them. They wanted a progress report on what they had found after only one full day of investigating. I heard the door creak-bang open and signaled Harry to be quiet. He was in the middle of leaping from one rafter support beam to the next. Kind of hard to land on the next beam without making noise, but he managed.

He didn't land square, though, and started to fall backwards. Not a problem if this was an ordinary attic, built by sensible people, with plywood sheets stretching from one rafter to another, to provide a solid platform for storage. Keep in mind, Harry and I had to jump from one rafter to another because there was nothing solid between them. A layer of fluffy gray stuff that was more likely to be dust than insulation was all that lay between Harry's backside and the thin sheet of plaster and paint that made up the ceiling of the room below us.

Fortunately for Harry, his big sister had telekinetic power. Unfortunately for said big sister—moi—it isn't that easy to catch a husky nine-year-old going through a growth spurt, either with hands or with mental powers. Something gets strained, muscles or brain. Harry yelped. I snagged him so he metaphorically skidded to a halt in mid-air, with his bottom about three inches from breaking through. I let out a muffled yelp-argh. Sorry, but that's the only way to describe the involuntary sound that came from the sensation of a spike going through my left temple and out my right eye. Fortunately, only a temporary sensation. We froze in that position until I could regain my breath, while my stomach settled back into place after trying to come out my nose.

Down below, the five people with Mum and Pop all froze and looked upward at the ceiling. Mum knew what had happened, because she had seen us in action about twenty minutes before, when she came upstairs for the last crate of historical records. Don't even get me started on her fury over the deplorable state of those records. Mum froze, and Pop took his cue from her, even though he didn't know what was going on. He didn't notice the delegation at first, immersed in deciphering a document that later turned out to be over three hundred years old.

Mum said everyone just stood there, looking up at the ceiling, waiting for something to come through. She waited a few seconds, then asked them what was wrong. Mrs. Guttersnatch declared that was proof the building was haunted by the spirits of children who had died there when it was a pauper's prison. Mr. Wimbly said it was the spirit of a schoolteacher who had been driven insane by the imbeciles he had to pound learning into, and who had committed suicide. Note: she was an advocate for prison reform and believed in communication from the Great Beyond. He was a teacher who had been forced to retire after a nervous breakdown. Miss Wilson-Smythe countered that the rats had come back, despite the promises of the rat catcher.

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

As soon as Mr. Cloverdale opened the door, the woman's volume dropped and she turned to him, pointing at Harry and me. We weren't afraid, just kind of stunned, and ready to laugh about some of the rabid fans of Mum and Pop's books. Mr. Cloverdale jammed his fists into his hips and glared at the big, angry, noisy woman. She quieted down and seemed to shrink about ten percent in height and width. He ushered us inside and locked the door, then told us not to mind her, Beatrice was a wonderful lady who loved books. She simply hadn't had her first pint of the day yet.

Yeah, that's right. Pint. As in Guinness. First thing in the morning. The sandwich shop/pub next door connected to the bookstore by a door about halfway back in the shared wall. The lock was on the bookstore side of the door. The sandwich shop opened at ten in the morning, and when the bookstore opened the connecting door, Beatrice got her first pint of the day. That was her routine. Step into the bookstore, get copies of all the morning papers, and cross into the sandwich shop and pub. Get her first morning pint, then cross back to the bookstore and settle into the big easy chair next to the fire to read for the next hour.

Well, that morning, her routine changed slightly, because she wanted to get Mum and Pop's newest book before she got her newspapers and pint. As she told us later, over the most incredible meal of gazpacho, goulash and chocolate soufflé, in her old age the slightest change set her off. Hormone therapy didn't help, lithium didn't help—only set routine, and her morning pint. Yes, we had dinner with her. By the end of the day, she was Auntie Bea, and we laughed a lot over our first encounter.

Bottom line: Harry and I had a blast. The coolest part of the whole adventure was seeing Mum and Pop as other people saw them. Charlie and Rainbow Zephyr were loved by both sides of the whole debate over the weird and wonderful. On one side were the cynics who lived their lives to debunk mysteries and wonders and miracles. They admired our folks for their honesty. On the other side were people who wanted desperately to believe in the weird and wonderful, in miracles and aliens, doorways to other dimensions, reincarnation and ancient astronauts. They also admired and respected Mum and Pop because they didn't mock or set out to shred whatever the extremist radicals held dear. No matter what conclusion our folks arrived at by the end of their investigation, both sides were at least happy with the rational and respectful treatment of the issue or question or mystery or theory.

Back home in Neighborlee, they were just Charlie and Rainbow. In England, they were celebrities, somewhere between priests, philosophers, and explorers. Back home, Harry and I were just the Zephyr kids. In England, we were envied and admired. Despite being Americans. 

Update: GOALS

The plan is to check in every week and tally up what I've accomplished, and add any new goals to the list. (Feel free to jeer if I don't get at least half this list done this month!)

JULY GOALS LIST as of 07/0620:

Rough Draft MAKING IT ALL UP: Match Girls Book 2:
Started

Revise and Polish CADETS, Young Defenders Book 1
Draft 2, done

Book Proposal package for CADETS, for Realm Makers Conference

Realm Makers Conference: July 16-18

Tweak 4 Commonwealth novels:

Load another Neighborlee book in Kindle format

Finish setting up the store on the Ye Olde Dragon Books site

Off the Bookshelf: MISADVENTURES OF THE LAUNDRY HAG: SKELETONS IN THE CLOSET, by Jennifer L. Hart

This is a fun, kind of snarky, kind of slapstick, kind of scary suspense story told through the eyes of an overwhelmed SEAL wife.

Maggie and her hero husband, Neil, and their two boys are settling into civilian life. Thanksgiving is coming and the demanding in-laws are not only descending on the house, but they're bringing business guests and dictating the menu and redecorating the house. Can you tell that nothing Maggie does will ever be good enough?

In the middle of this, Maggie is trying to get to know the neighbors, who all seem far too upscale for her. A new friend is trying to be helpful and somehow Maggie finds herself signed up to be the cleaning lady for their snooty hostess. Yes, she needs some extra income, but right now?

Before she knows it, Maggie is in the middle of a murder investigation, the unwitting alibi for the suspect husband. She investigates and keeps tripping over more bodies and some pretty unsavory characters -- and arrested, when she did nothing wrong. Except be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Oh yeah, and there was the time her van died and she needed to get the Thanksgiving menu shopping done, so she walked to the grocery store pushing the wheelbarrow to carry all the groceries -- and the wheelbarrow got stolen while she was in the store. And then found with a dead body in it.

Whew! This is a romp and a clever suspense tale, full of humor. And poor Maggie seems doomed to be everybody's cleaning lady -- at the behest of the police who think she might, possibly, somehow, be helpful.

Sounds like more stories are coming!

New Release Sample: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

Being Charlie and Rainbow Zephyr's kids got Harry and me into places that ordinary tourists couldn't go. Armed with cameras and digital recorders, we were official assistants. When that didn't smooth the way, the incredible luck or unbelievable coincidences that usually surrounded our folks came to our rescue. Once people got over a graying Hippie, an Asian woman with emerald or amethyst hair, a brunette teen with hazel eyes, and a husky little Latino boy being a family, they ignored the background weirdness.

Being the Zephyrs' kids got us some frustrating and slightly embarrassing moments, too. We were nearly trampled five times by fans in search of autographs. You'd think we would have learned the warning signs after the second near-death experience.

Or the time Mum and Pop had a booksigning in this cool little bookstore north of London. This huge woman at the front of the line nearly shattered glass, yelling at us, when Harry and I showed up and tried to get into the bookstore before it officially opened. The bookstore owner, Mr. Cloverdale, was a little man who Harry and I both swore had slightly pointy ears. Like some of Angela’s friends who dropped by Divine’s Emporium. He was watching for us, since we'd left the inn a good half hour after Mum and Pop that morning. He didn't see us trying to sidle through the crowd to get up to the door at first, because the crowd had grown to about forty people by then. Plus, that huge woman was right in front of the door. While the bookstore had enormous picture windows, we were hard to see because the windows were full of books on display or posters of Mum and Pop and information on the booksigning.

The big woman's voice, raised in a shout that would have stunned a dinosaur, alerted him that we had arrived. The British are supposed to be so reserved and dignified, but this woman…? Maybe she was also a soccer fanatic when she wasn't going into ecstasies about Mum and Pop's latest investigation. As soon as Mr. Cloverdale realized Harry and I were there, jammed between the locked door and the woman, he came running. The old-fashioned roll-up blind covering the door zipped up with a rattle-clatter-hum-bang and the keys chimed as he unlocked the door. I could hardly hear all that through the woman's furious lecture on the rudeness of the two of us trying to get to the head of line and sneak in ahead of people who had done the sensible thing and gotten there two hours ahead of opening time. Seriously? She was waiting there two hours?

It's LAUNCH DAY!

ARE YOU COMING TO THE LAUNCH PARTY TONIGHT ON FACEBOOK?

Here's the link:  https://www.facebook.com/groups/1436254603241495/

Last month, I posted excerpts for FRIENDLY FIRE, the first book in the new SF series, AFV Defender.

This month, I'll be posting excerpts for SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES, which launches in paper today, and is Book 2 in the Neighborlee, Ohio series.

Hold on, it's going to be a fun ride!!!

Both books are published by Ye Olde Dragon Books.

Check out the website for buy links and for special offers. 

And please consider signing up for my newsletter, to learn about freebies and special events, and maybe even hear about new books, booksignings, cover reveals, and other fun information FIRST!

The signup form is on the right -- can't miss it!