GtPGKogPYT4p61R1biicqBXsUzo" /> Google+ I Smell Sheep: character post
Showing posts with label character post. Show all posts
Showing posts with label character post. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 10, 2019

Character Diva podcast with the main characters from The Crane Diaries + giveaway

Hi, my name is Thelma and I will be your host for tonight’s Character Diva podcast. We have an exciting show for you with the main characters from both The Ghost Files and The Crane Diaries written by Apryl Baker. They’ve been on the show before and tonight we’re going to focus on their new life in New Orleans as written in The Crane Diaries.

Let’s welcome Emma Rose Crane AKA Mattie Hathaway and Dan Richards to the show to talk about their latest adventure The Red Church and to catch up on what’s been going on with them since moving to New Orleans.

Thelma: Let’s start with you Emma. You’ve changed your name. Why?

Emma: After everything that went down in Charlotte, I just wanted to get away and start over. Emma was a world of pain and horrible memories. Emma was a fresh start. It helps me.

Thelma: There was a lot that went on before you came to New Orleans. You lost someone very special.

Emma: (nods slowly, her face giving way to a deep sadness.) I did. I’m not gonna talk about it, but I will be haunted by the guilt every day of my life.

Dan: Squirt, it wasn’t your fault…he…

Emma holds up her hand and Dan falls silent.

A beat of silence falls over the radio and those listening don’t have to see Emma to know how much Eli’s death still haunts her. 

Thelma clears her throat.

Thelma: Let's get back to the interview. It’s not every day we meet a real live ghost whisperer.

Emma: (glares at Thelma) Did we really have to go there first? I don’t like to publicly talk about my…gifts. You know this, Thelma. We’ve been over it before.

Dan: Emma is sensitive about her…er…gift.

Emma: Like you don’t have issues with your own gifts?

Dan: Did you have to bring that up?

Thelma: What’s this? Last we spoke you were very much in the human category.

Emma: When he died and hid from the reaper on the ghost plane, he came back with the ability to touch something and see the owner’s memories. Comes in handy in his line of work. Officer Dan has been promoted to detective.

Thelma: Congratulations.

Emma: He also carries the Sword of Truth, one of four holy swords. It beefed him up a little.

Thelma: I did notice he seemed to have gotten in shape.

Emma: (smirks) Dan is like Captain America before the serum and the Holy Warrior is Captain America after the serum.

Thelma: Admit it, you are enjoying the muscles.

Dan blushes.

Emma: I liked him just the way he was and I like him now.

Thelma: Girl….

Dan: She says that until she needs a lid opened.

Mattie: Fine. I like his muscles.

Dan’s turn to smirk.

Thelma: (chuckles) Back to our interview. For those of you who don’t know, Emma has the ability to see ghosts and help them decide to move on. How has that been going for you?

Emma: (snorts) When the powers that be aren’t trying to smite me you mean?

Thelma: Why would they smite you?

Dan: Because she’s not supposed to exit or some such nonsense. She’s part reaper, part demon, part god.

Thelma: Wow. That has to be…

Emma: Aggravating. It’s more trouble than it’s worth, believe me. But it does help me when I’m hunting. Cass seems to have accepted me at least.

Thelma: Cass?

Emma: Cass Willow. He’s a hunter who I work with. He’s one hundred percent Cajun with an accent that can make a girl swoon.

Dan rolls his eyes.

Emma: You know he doesn’t do that for me. He’s like the irritating little brother I never had. One who forgets to mention he’s taking me into the middle of the freaking swamp with all the alligators. (Emma shudders)

Thelma: You’ll have to bring him along the next time you come.

Emma: Sure. He’d love that. He’ll charm all the girls out there.

Thelma: You said you’re hunting now. Care to tell us a little about that?

Emma: Just little things here and there. A few ghosts, a Roogie…

Dan: Rougarou

Emma: (shrugs) Whatever.

Dan: Don’t whatever me. That thing nearly killed you. Don’t you remember the curse that came along with that bite? You were thinking of eating people.

Emma: Don’t remind me. I’m still suffering the after-effects of that thing. It made all my insecurities come up, all my emotions got magnified, all my old fears…I still get afraid sometime. But you know, Amber, Apryl’s PA did some really fantastic teasers that will explain it a lot better than I can!


 
 
Thelma: It sounds like you had a rough time, but Dan was there to help you through it.

Dan: Always. She’s the most important thing in the world to me and…

Emma: (Slaps a hand over his mouth) Shhh…we want people to read the darn books, don’t be giving away everything.

Dan: (tries to talk and Emma glares)

Emma: (screeches) Eweeee…you licked my palm.

Dan: You didn’t mind it…

Emma again slaps her hand over his mouth.

Emma: Don’t you dare.

Dan grins wide enough so Thelma can see it behind Emma’s hand.

Thelma: Ahem. Maybe we should get back to this new adventure you came here to talk about?

Emma: Yes, lets.

Dan laughs, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

Thelma: What’s the new about? I think it’s called The Red Church?

Emma: (nods) Yes. The Hathaway Foundation got hired to deghost an old church, only it wasn’t ghosts. Well, there were ghosts there, but they were more like sentries, trying to keep innocent people away. It was something far worse.

Thelma: What was it?

Emma: a creature that made the first vampires. No one, not even my demon grandfather, Silas, knew how to kill it.

Thelma: But you did?

Emma: I did, but if the hunters ever find out how I did, I’ll end up on their supernatural hit list.

Dan: Not as long as I’m alive.

Emma: It wasn’t just that though. We knew someone had removed all my protections given to me by the goddess that was my metaphysical mother, but we discovered someone stole my memories of Silas. Someone hid me from him and I don’t know why. We’re working on finding that out, though.

Thelma: Sounds like you’re going to busy for a while.

Dan snorts, a habit he’s picked up from Emma.

Thelma: Something you want to add, Dan?

Dan: Let’s not talk about busy. If you could see what Apryl has us doing in the new book, busy is like comparing Black Friday to Sunday mornings in Walmart.

Thelma: How are you both getting along with Apryl these days? Still giving her hives over all the crazy you make her think up?

Emma: Her? What about us? Do you know the nightmares I’ve had after that one scene in the swamp? The slime…the.

Dan: Don’t give to much away.

Emma: Even you have to admit the slime was a bit much. (Emma has a full body shudder)

Dan: I don’t want to repeat that again.

Thelma: If you could sit in a room with your author, what would you tell her?

Emma: You really want her to not like me don’t you? Then imagine all the crazy she’d put me through.

Dan: Squirt’s being dramatic. We love Apryl. I mean despite all the pain, the anger, the heartbreak, not to mention the whole dying and hiding from reapers thing…well…yeah, best not put us face to face with her. We’ll admire and plot her death from afar.

Emma: She’s not all bad. She gave us an amazing ending in The Red Church.

Dan: (smiles softly) Best one yet.

Thelma: And on that note, we’ll end it here. Thank you both so much for joining us today and sharing a few things!

Emma: (jumps up and waves her hand before the camera pans away) Wait, you didn’t let me tell you about the giveaway Apryl is hosting!

Thelma: Oh, my I forgot!

Emma: I did promise I’d tell everyone about it. She’s giving away a $15 Amazon gift card and a Crane Diaries charm bracelet.

(Flashes card with the giveaway link at the camera)

Dan: Uh, we forgot something else!

Thelma: (frowns at them and glances at her watch) Go ahead, Dan.

Dan: First here's a little bit about Apryl Baker, our creator who we usually love, but sometimes want to strangle for putting us in certain situations...

Emma: Like Ollie the snake.

Dan: (shudders) Yeah, Ollie. Any way here's a bit about Apryl:

So who am I? Well, I'm the crazy girl with an imagination that never shuts up. I LOVE scary movies. My friends laugh at me when I scare myself watching them and tell me to stop watching them, but who doesn't love to get scared? I grew up in a small town nestled in the southern mountains of West Virginia where I still currently live.

Growing up in a small town, I learned a lot of values and morals, I also learned parents have spies everywhere and there's always someone to tell your mama on you. So when you get grounded, what is there left to do? Read! My Aunt Jo gave me my first real romance novel. It was a romance titled "Lord Margrave's Deception." I remember it fondly. But I also learned I had a deep and abiding love of mysteries and anything paranormal. As I grew up, I started to write just that and would entertain my friends with stories featuring them as main characters.

Now, I live Huntersville, NC where I entertain my family and watch the cats get teased by the birds and laugh myself silly when they swoop down and then dive back up just out of reach. The cats start yelling something fierce...lol.

I love books, I love writing books, and I love entertaining people with my silly stories.

PS: DO NOT GET IN MY WAY IF THERE IS A SALE ON AT TARGET - my home away from home!

(PS, you can read her work here free on Wattpad until it’s published)

Thelma: Okay, thanks so much for reminding us of that, Emma! Thank you both and let’s hear it from our sponsor, Writer’s Anonymous, for those who just have a problem with writing way too many stories at one time!

(Dan and Emma leave the studio arguing about who is going to drive home)

(Fades to Writer’s Anonymous commercial)


by Apryl Baker
July 2nd, 2019
Genre: NA Horror/Paranormal
Cover Designer: Deranged Doctor Design
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR
In the swamps of New Orleans sits an old church.

Its history is steeped in blood and death.

For over a century, this abandoned church has inspired fear, and the rumors of the creatures that inhabit it have kept the locals away.

The church has been sold, but work on the property has stalled. Centuries-old fears resurface when accidents start to befall the construction crews and ghosts are seen wandering the derelict stone building. No one dares go back until the property has been cleansed.

The Hathaway Foundation is hired to rid the property of ghosts so that work can begin again, only Emma Crane soon discovers it’s not the ghosts they have to fear, but something far more evil.

There was a reason the church was abandoned, a reason a powerful protection spell was put around the property, and a reason everyone from her father’s priest to Silas, her demonic grandfather, is warning her to stay away.

But now that she’s discovered what roams the halls, she can’t walk away. She can’t be responsible for innocents dying when she might have prevented it.

She’ll gather her team and go up against something she thought existed only in books and movies, something even the hunters in the area fear—a primordial evil, a creature that spawned the first vampires.

But can she stop the creature before it’s too late, before its family destroys hers?

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Character Post: The Rogue Who Got Away...Ghost Wolf (Wolves of Willow Bend Book 12) by Heather Long

The Rogue Who Got Away
Julian, Chief Enforcer of all North American packs

The hunt for Dallas Dalton has become a legend amongst the Enforcers. A tall tale exchanged over one too many drinks. How many Rogues managed to evade one Enforcer, much less all of them? She’d earned her place in the annals of our history, and I didn’t begrudge her the spot.

Not when I was part of the problem. Twenty-two some odd years ago, when I first issued the warrant to locate her, I restricted the Enforcers to only detaining her, if they could, without harm. Otherwise, they were merely to follow and observe as well as contact me immediately.

I received a handful of calls over the years alerting me to her presence. More than once, I was on the wrong side of the country to act with any alacrity. Give Dallas a minute, and she can turn it into a hundred mile head start. What most of the Enforcers didn’t know about Dallas was how exceptionally clever she was, and how patient.

Then again, how could they? None alive had met her—or they hadn’t, until a month ago when John Nelson and Hadley Sexton reported her visit to the house outside of Eugene. I knew every speck of the landscape and every inch of the house. I knew she’d been there over the years—never long enough for me to act on it—and I couldn’t afford to merely wait there for her to appear once more.

Sending John and Hadley to the house served two goals—the first, it got them off the grid. Foreign wolves hunting the packs and murdering my Enforcers had gone on too long. I would lose no others. They would have time to recover at the house, and if we were lucky—or unlucky, depending on how you look at it—they would see Dallas.

She showed up, and she gave us a very vital clue in determining how the Volchitsa communicated—a line we would never have discovered without her. Being forced to label her assistance as invaluable did not allow for the absolution of her crimes. Yet, no matter how I examine the data, I arrive at the same conclusion repeatedly.

I need to contact Dallas Dalton. I need to speak to her. She has avoided me for more than two decades, but her daughter is safely ensconced in Willow Bend. Chrystal is also a terrible liar, so I know she’s been in touch with her mother.

Now I must call her and request a meeting…but am I truly doing this for the packs and security or because I simply want to see her again?

Does it matter?

No matter how many times I ask myself the same question, I return to the beginning. Wolves are dying. We cannot wage war if we cannot find our enemy or at least identify why the enemy is after us in the first place.

Dallas could have those answers.

My feelings on the subject are irrelevant.

My pride is irrelevant.

What did it matter if I had to excise my own heart to save the packs? I’m the Chief Enforcer, my first oath must always be to them.

Always.



by Heather Long
April 25, 2017
338 pages
It's the book you've been waiting for! Don't miss the stunning conclusion to the Guardians of the Wolves!

Most Lone Wolves have a story—a pack they left behind, a love they lost, or worse, one they buried. Some leave their packs to roam because they crave freedom, and independence. Some leave because in their hearts, they can’t bear to stay. Some leave because they see no way to go back… 

Packs attacked. Humans forced to turn. Enforcers murdered. 

Julian has been juggling the conflict without a real target for months, they always seem to be just one step behind the Volchitsa and even the wolves they’ve captured can’t tell them enough. With the fate of the packs resting squarely on his shoulders, Julian, the Chief Enforcer, will swallow his pride to seek out the one wolf he knows can help them all, the one who seems to know all the players, who can think like them…if anyone can find the Volchitsa it’s the ghost he’s hunted for decades…

Series Reading Order:

Wolf at Law (Prequel)
Book 1: Wolf Bite
Book 2: Caged Wolf
Book 3: Wolf Claim
Book 3.5: Wolf Next Door
Book 4: Rogue Wolf
Book 5: Bayou Wolf
Book 6: Untamed Wolf
Book 6.5: Wolf with Benefits
Book 7: River Wolf
Book 7.5: Single, Wicked Wolf
Book 8: Desert Wolf
Book 9: Snow Wolf
Book 9.5: Wolf on Board
Book 10: Shadow Wolf
Book 11: Thunder Wolf
Book 12: Ghost Wolf 

About the Author:
National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.

Saturday, November 14, 2015

Seven Tips for the Care and Feeding of Death Replacement Agents Kory Shrum

Seven Tips for the Care and Feeding of Death Replacement Agents

Here with us today, we have the lovely Alice “Ally” Gallagher. Ally has worked as the personal assistant to death replacement agent Jesse Sullivan for three years and has seven tips on how to do the job right.

1. Know a good mortician.
Dying is really traumatic to the body. Sometimes when Jesse is lying on the pavement with this or that organ hanging out of her abdominal cavity, I’m certain she will never be the same again. Thankfully, having an excellent mortician is the difference between scars and a flawless recovery. It is true that doctors do their best to place the organs back where they belong and make sure the oil is at full, but after that, it’s the morticians that really know what to do with a stiff body. So having a good working relationship with a mortician will ensure that your death replacement agent has a great recovery.

2. Know a massage therapist who’s good with stiffs.
Once your death replacement agent resurrects, they will be a little “needy”. I find that Jesse is more manageable if I can less her physical discomfort as much as possible. I find that an excellent massage following a death replacement does wonders for rigor mortis stiffness and lessens Jesse’s reliance on pain pills. Ideally, you would want a massage therapist who was comfortable massaging a cold corpse. However, if you find that your therapists are uncomfortable with this arrangement, scheduling a massage for as soon as your agent wakes up is the second best option.

3. Hot baths are a must.
I really cannot stress physical comfort enough. In addition to massage, I’ve found that a good soak in the hot tub or bath works wonders for rigor mortis. Again, it would be great if you could put your death replacement agent’s dead body in a hot tub before they resurrect in order to mitigate the damage, but unless you have a hot tub at home, this is probably not an option. We have found through personal experiences that many health clubs, hospitals, and clinics frown upon putting corpses into tubs used by the living.

4. Always have enough food to feed the living dead.
As your death replacement agent is healing, they will be absolutely ravenous. I’ve seen Jesse put away whole extra large pizzas, two foot long sandwiches, or a whole gallon of Ben and Jerry’s Everything But when she first wakes up. Since your recently resurrected agent won’t have great fine motor skills at first, it will be your responsibility to feed them. Make sure you have take out menus on hand and the speed dial programmed. I would also suggest going out to eat, but sometimes depending upon the conditions of the death, your agent might not be ready for public interaction right away. Many people find their appearance startling at first, so it is best to stay out of sight until all wounds have healed and color has returned to their face.

5. A clean death bed is a happy death bed.
Bringing your dead agent home and placing him or her into bed is instinctual. However, the body tends to *leak* a little during and after death, so you might want to make sure you have several sets of fresh sheets on hand at any time. No one wants to lie around in their own ooze and your cranky and stiff agent won’t want to either.

6. Have the right shoes for any death.
This is true for both you (the assistant/loved one) and the agent. A death replacement is a strenuous and unpredictable occupation. Gunshots? Fire? Car Crash? You never know what kind of situation you will find you and your agent in. Therefore, it is important to wear comfortable and practical shoes at all times. Also, if your death replacement agent is anything like mine, s(he) will likely lose a shoe during a replacement. Make sure they have several pairs of comfortable, yet affordable shoes in their wardrobe. Replace missing shoes as soon as possible.

7. Never lose your head.
The most valuable advice I can give anyone looking to assist a death replacement agent in their work is this: stay cool. Death replacing is unpredictable, stressful, and sometimes violent. Your clear action and support is needed more than you think. So do what you must to keep a clear head in any situation and formulate as many contingent plans as possible. Expect the unexpected. If you can do this, you’ll form an unbreakable bond with a rare and special individual.



by Kory M. Shrum
296 pages
November 2, 2015
In the wake of her handler's death, Jesse has never felt more alone. Her best friend is distracted by a new love. Her mentor Rachel is missing and her boyfriend Lane isn't returning her calls.

Worse, a Necronite with the ability to heal any wound wants to kill Jesse and absorb her power of pyrokinesis.

With little to hold her to Nashville, Jesse agrees to work as a freelance agent for Jeremiah Tate, a pharmaceutical tycoon in Chicago. Together they plot revenge against Caldwell, the mastermind responsible for the genocide of over 100,000 Necronites worldwide.

When Jeremiah fails to dominate Jesse and her abilities, tensions escalate, dividing her from her allies. Then Caldwell gives Jesse an ultimatum she cannot refuse.

About the Author:
Kory M. Shrum lives in Michigan with her partner and a ferocious guard pug. When not writing, she can be found teaching, traveling, and wearing a gi. Her poetry has appeared in North American Review, Bateau and elsewhere. Her first urban fantasy novel Dying for a Living will be available March 4, 2014.






Thursday, September 10, 2015

Character guest: Madison shares her first song (Madison's Song by Christine Amsden) + giveaway


My First Song
by Madison Carter 
(Madison's Song: A Cassie Scott Spin-off)

My dad forbade music in our home after Mom died. And before you start thinking it was for some sentimental reason, let me add that he called music “The Devil's Language.” I was so shy, so eager to please, that I didn't even sing at school; I stood at the back of the class and mouthed the words along with everyone else.

But I wanted to sing. Oh, how I wanted to sing!

Since music was an elective in high school, I didn't take it – Dad would never have allowed it. But I knew the music teacher, Mrs. Grant. I knew her classroom. I sometimes snuck inside after school on the days she had bus duty, sat at the piano, and pretended to play and sing. Simple songs. Childish songs. Mom died when I was six, after all, and I had scarcely kept up with modern music in the intervening ten years.

“Are you deaf?”

I jumped at the sound of Mrs. Grant's voice one Friday afternoon when she should have been at the bus line.

“Apparently not,” she said, coming around to stand in front of me. She had a sort of half smile, half frown on her face, like she had no idea what to make of me. “I've seen you here before, you know. I thought maybe you were one of the deaf students; I even did some research on teaching music to the deaf.”

My face went up in flames, which wasn't an entirely unusual experience for me. I'm easily flustered, and here I was caught red-handed doing something I knew I shouldn't do. And apparently, I hadn't been as sneaky about it as I thought.

“Why haven't you taken one of my classes, if you're so drawn to music?”

“It's from the devil,” I whispered.

Her eyes went wide. “Who told you that?”

I shrugged.

“No really, who told you that?”

“My dad.”

Her nostrils flared and she looked very much like she would march to our house right then to give him a piece of her mind.

“Don't tell him, please!” I pleaded. “I just … I don't know why I care so much.” I ran my fingers along the smooth keys of the piano.

“What were you singing?” Mrs. Grant asked.

“I wasn't singing!”

“In your head. What were you singing?”

“Oh. It's um-” I felt kind of stupid. “'I Know an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly.'”

“One of my favorites!” she said, not showing the slightest hint that the song was intended for kindergarten children. “Slide over so I can play while you sing.”

I started to stand but she motioned for me to stay seated on the long bench while she sat beside me. This close, I could see the graceful curve of her fingers as she placed them atop the keys. She held them in place for a long second while I memorized their starting position, then she burst into the staccato beat of the song.

“I know an old lady who swallowed a fly,” I sang. Or maybe just whispered.

“Louder!” she said, not pausing a beat.

“I don't know why she swallowed a fly,” I said, still feeling terribly self-conscious.

“I guess she'll die,” we sang together.

I managed a small smile as I moved onto the second verse, the silliness of the song helping to lift my spirits. I continued to watch Mrs. Grant's fingers move over the keys so intently that I failed to notice people begin to trickle into the room. It was only after we sang the last verse and I looked up that I noticed we'd gained a rapt audience – several teachers, some students, a janitor, and the vice-principal. And they weren't just watching, they were … frolicking like children, with goofy smiles on their faces! Mr. Griffith, the janitor, sixty years if he was a day, was holding hands and dancing with Ms. Stone, the vice-principal, who hadn't smiled since her pregnancy started showing and parents demanded she resign until she became Mrs. something-or-other.

“What just happened?” I asked.

Mrs. Grant shook her head. “I don't know, but you – you have a siren's voice. I haven't enjoyed that song so much since I was five.”

A siren's voice? “I knew I shouldn't have–”

“No! Don't go! I didn't mean … I meant you're wonderful.”

Around us, the others in the room began to clap while I ducked my head, utterly speechless.

“Have you ever played the piano?” Mrs. Grant asked. “I mean really?”

I shook my head, still staring at the piano keys.

“I'd like to teach you,” she said. “After school.”

“My dad would never–”

“Have to know,” she finished for me. “I'd never forgive myself if I let you go through school without learning music. I might as well resign right now.”

I continued looking at my hands while Mrs. Grant stood and began shooing everyone out of the room. When they were gone, she closed it and turned the lock.

“There, now it's just you and me,” she said. “Will you at least think about it?”

I was thinking about it. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't help it. I had been thinking about it for months. Slowly, as if anticipating being burned, I lifted my fingers to the piano keys and placed my hands in the starting position I recalled. Then, heart hammering wildly at my rebellion, I played the song. Not perfectly – I misremembered a few notes and had to interrupt the rhythm to find the right chords – but I played the song.

When I finished, Mrs. Grant had tears in her eyes. “You're going to be a star.”

I shook my head, but only partly in horror at the thought. I suddenly understood something about myself that I hadn't been allowed to understand before. Maybe I was demon-possessed, but regardless, music was in my soul. It always had been.

“No,” I told Mrs. Grant, “I don't want to be a star. I want to be a music teacher.”


Madison's Song
by Christine Amsden
Paperback, 272 pages
September 15th 2015
by Twilight Times Books Her voice is enchanting; his soul is black...

Madison Carter has been terrified of Scott Lee since the night he saved her from an evil sorcerer – then melted into a man-eating monster before her eyes. The werewolf is a slave to the moon, but Madison's nightmares are not.

Despite her fears, when Madison's brother, Clinton, is bitten by a werewolf, she knows there is only one man who can help. A man who frightens her all the more because even in her nightmares, he also thrills her.

Together for the first time since that terrible night, Scott and Madison drive to Clinton's home only to discover that he's vanished. Frantic now, Madison must overcome her fears and uncover hidden strengths if she hopes to save him. And she's not the only one fighting inner demons. Scott's are literal, and they have him convinced that he will never deserve the woman he loves.


About the Author:
website-FB-twitter
Christine Amsden has been writing science fiction and fantasy for as long as she can remember. She loves to write and it is her dream that others will be inspired by this love and by her stories. Speculative fiction is fun, magical, and imaginative but great speculative fiction is about real people defining themselves through extraordinary situations. Christine writes primarily about people and it is in this way that she strives to make science fiction and fantasy meaningful for everyone.

At the age of 16, Christine was diagnosed with Stargardt’s Disease, a condition that affects the retina and causes a loss of central vision. She is now legally blind, but has not let this slow her down or get in the way of her dreams. (You can learn more here.)

In addition to writing, Christine teaches workshops on writing at Savvy Authors. She also does some freelance editing work.


Christine currently lives in the Kansas City area with her husband, Austin, who has been her biggest fan and the key to her success. They have two beautiful children, Drake and Celeste.

TOUR GIVEAWAY
$100 gift card

Friday, September 26, 2014

Character Post: If I Ruled the World by Hermes (Lucienne Diver)

I Smell Sheep kindly invited me back even after the last time when my heroine Tori Karacis took me to task over all the horrible things I do to her in the Latter-Day Olympians series. This time, though I tried and tried to form a rebuttal, well…I just couldn’t. Anyway, Hermes was not letting either of us have any more screen time. Not if he could help it. And, uh, he might have gotten the wrong impression about the interview. So without further ado, I present to you Hermes (modern day aliases: humor columnist Thom Foolery, messenger service mogul Hector Molyvos, gods know what else):

If I Ruled the World by Hermes

I thought this was an interview for Playboy. No? What do you mean “I Smell Sheep”? Is that a crack about me stealing Apollo’s flock? Listen, that was ages ago. I was a kid for gods’ sake. And anyway, they were cattle…though they certainly did smell!

Anyway, I suppose I can give up a few minutes of my time to talk about the way things would be if I ruled the world. It’s not as if I haven’t spent enough time fantasizing along those lines!

First of all, you know all those ancient Greek statues where everyone’s hanging around naked with maybe just a pair of sandals or some draping that misses all the naughty bits?

I give you Exhibits A and B:


Have you ever noticed how Athena’s the only one all suited up? The ultimate party pooper, always girded up for war. Well, I say no more! Nope, nudity is the new black. It worked for us during the Olympic Games. It worked for the bull-jumpers at Knossos. Honestly, I don’t see why we ever gave it up! Oh, right, hole in the ozone layer, skin cancer, all that jazz. Well, I have a cream for that. No, really. Wonderful stuff. Herbal. No FDA approval necessary. (And don’t you believe that P.I. Tori Karacis about addictive properties.) Still skeptical? You can try it right now for free! Return it if you’re not fully satisfied.

Off topic here on the topic of satisfaction—WTF ancient sculptors. You chisel us naked and skimp on our manhood? You give the satyrs shlongs all day long and the rest of us you make limp biscuits? Remind me again why we let you live. Well, anyway, you’re dead now, so I suppose that’s some justice.

Moving on… Next we bring back the libations! Ah, the good old days of worshippers bringing us the best of everything—food, oils, drink… Ah, drink. Now they call it tithing. Back then we cut out the middlemen, the moneymen. When I rule the world, I’ll once again generously accept your…donations…in the form of the best of the best of the best. Gourmet chefs, boulangers, a wine cellar that would make Dionysus moan. And supermodels to serve me. No Vestal Virgins in my high temple, thank you very much. Give me the bad girls. The naughty and kinky, yearning to breathe free. There’s no judgment here. I leave that for others. (Yeah, that’s right, Athena, I’m looking at you…without even your helmet and peplos. How about them apples? The answer: not bad from where I’m sitting!)

Then we do away with all the buzzkills. Infomercials #1. Death to infomercials. Death to talking head political pundit programs. There’s only going to be one party in the future, and what a party it will be! We’ll keep the Daily Show, though, of course. And I’ll appoint Stephen Colbert as my own personal press secretary, but that’s where I’ll draw the line. Although…now that I think about it, press conferences might be kind of fun. I won’t have to picture anyone in their underwear. They won’t be wearing any!

Hey, all, it’s been real, but Lucienne is jumping up and down (which would be so much better without clothes on, I think you’ll agree) trying to get my attention (mission accomplished) to remind me that I’m supposed to be sending you all forth to read about my further adventures. There’s a bottle or two of the good stuff calling my name, so I’ll be brief. Read these or when I rule the world you will be conscripted into an endless game of Naked Twister. Or maybe Pictionary. Depends on my mood.



Battle for the Blood.
Latter-Day Olympians, Book 4
Kindle Edition, 319 pages
September 16th 2014
by Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Dragons, demons, gods, gorgons. Who will save the world…and who could destroy it?
Tori wakes after Rise of the Blood to two very shocking realizations: one, she’s in bed with a very naked Apollo, having lost the fight to resist their attraction. Two, she still has her wings. Not dinky little fairy wings. Full-scale, cover-’em-with-a-trench-coat bat wings.

Apollo suggests consulting the Gray Sisters on the wings. Those cannibalistic, psychopathic oracles who, even with only one tooth and one eye among them, manage to see too much. As in a Rapture, zombie-apocalypse, biblical-plague, hellgates-busted-open the end of the world.

While the Sisters are perfectly on board with death and destruction, the thinning of the human herd doesn’t sit well with them at all. They’ll help her. All she has to do is save the world.

Tori and her team trace the origin of the plagues to New York City, which is under quarantine and martial law—as if that’s enough to stop the influx of gods and gorgons, dragons and demons. But as death threatens from without, betrayal lurks within Tori’s ranks. And nobody is safe. Nobody.

Warning: Betrayal and bad-assery, sensuality and a sizzling hot sun god. Death, demons, destruction and, potentially, the end of the world as we know it…zombie style.

Latter-Day Olympians titles:
BAD BLOOD
CRAZY IN THE BLOOD
RISE OF THE BLOOD
“The Parlor” – story in the KICKING IT anthology
BATTLE FOR THE BLOOD


About the Author:
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Lucienne Diver writes the Latter-Day Olympians urban fantasy series for Samhain, featuring a heroine who can, quite literally, stop men in their tracks. Long and Short Reviews gave the first in the series her favorite pull-quote of all times, "Bad Blood is a delightful urban fantasy, a clever mix of Janet Evanovich and Rick Riordan.” Sequels: Crazy in the Blood, Rise of the Blood and Battle for the Blood(forthcoming in digital September 16th). She also writes the popular Vamped young adult series (think Clueless meets Buffy the Vampire Slayer). Her short stories have been featured in the Strip-Mauled and Fangs for the Mammaries anthologies edited by Esther Friesner and, of course, the Kicking It anthology from Roc Books, edited by Faith Hunter and Kalayna Price. Her essay “Abuse” is included in theDear Bully: 70 Authors Tell Their Stories anthology from HarperTeen.


Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Meet Mr. Robbins from R.J. Sullivan's Y.A. Ghost Mystery: Haunting Blue

Haunting Blue Character Post: "Mr. Robbins"

I sat behind the desk, waiting for the last of the students to file in. Most of the kids in Senior English were prompt, no real discipline problems, at least not so far. None of them had shown any real talent, either. Well, it was only September, so anything could happen.

I'd assign a few more creative writing projects, including today's. I had no real hope of discovering greatness here, but then again, I didn't move to Perionne to discover great artists.

Then...she walked in.

I suppose if someone used a sentence like that in a story assignment, I'd write "cliché" next to it with my red pen. But never mind.

She had blue-dyed, spiked, unkempt hair. She slumped in her desk at the back of the room, so not even sure what color her eyes were, but I noted the punk jacket with cuts and slashes in the demim the half-tee, and the...the attitude. The sort of disrespect I'd fled years ago when I left Indianapolis to come here.

Who is she? And how can I get her out of my class as fast as possible?

My gaze darted to my stack of mail and a distinct green index card. Transfer student. I grabbed the card and scanned the information.

Fiona Shaefer. Transfer from Broad Ripple High School. Well, that makes perfect sense, doesn't it? Broad Ripple was a college town, the east side of Indy fairly overflowing with deadbeat college kids. Oh, and look at this. Her first day was last week, but she was already suspended for fighting in the halls.

Now I remember. Last week, the faculty lounge was abuzz about a new punk girl who had put Clinty Buckner in the hospital. Some of the teachers even gave each other mild fist pumps as they told each other the story. Disgusting. Sure, Clinty could be a troublemaker. Typical bully nonsense. But to hurt someone so bad that they're taken to the hospital...that's criminal behavior.

Before I can control it, I'm back in Indianaolilis, back in my middle school classroom. I feel the cold metal of the knife at my throat, and I'm pleading for my life. "You can't fail me, Robbins. You fail me and I'll cut you." He darted for the door and fled. Not that it mattered. I knew who he was, and I promptly reported him.

The police were called. But he was a minor, and ended up with a suspended sentence and community service.

And in a way you could say he won, because I left the school, fled to the country. To a school system where I hoped I'd never again have to deal with such nonsense.

The bell rang. I needed to start class. I stood before the students; all the while I avoided eye contact with the punk girl in the back of the room. Her notebook was out, scribbling furiously. Undoubtedly doodling, not paying attention.

I assigned the class a freeverse poem, answered a few questions, and discussed some basic techniques. The whole time, the punk in the back ignored me, the cocky, mocking smile never left her face.

After a few minutes, I couldn't go on. I intended the poem as homework, but I had to stop. "Let's take a few minutes to work on the assignment in class." I retreated to my desk and put my head in my hands. I could only hope to regain my composure before the end of the hour. Cold sweat beaded my forehead. Most of the students socialized, I pretended not to notice.

The bell rang 40 minutes later and a few papers were stacked up on my desk. The punk girl approached and slapped her paper on top. Then...she spoke to me. "Hello, Mr. Robbins," she said. "I'm Fiona Shaefer, the new girl."

I swallowed back bile. "Yes," was all I could get out. I couldn't believe it. I sat, intimidated and overwhelmed. I was right back in Indianapolis, a knife pressed to my throat.

"Well, I love poetry. I'm hoping to major in it after high school."

Her audacity left me speechless. I made a grunting noise.

She smiled her mock smile and shuffled out with the rest of the class.

I stared at the paper for over a minute before I gave in and scooped it up. Maybe I shouldn't jump to conclusions. Maybe... Then I read the poem and I knew.

American Idol Finalist
The camera eye
the single I
Ole One-Eye
Pans
down her shirt
and up her skirt
She’ll be singing
something
about teen suicide
I think

I shook my head, repelled. Disgusting. Exactly the sort of vulgarity I'd expect from a criminal like her. I should have known better than to get my hopes up.

I drew a deep breath and reached for my red marker. They say the pen is mightier than the sword, you little criminal. And now I'm going to prove it. Like a musketeer defending righteousness, I waved my weapon across the paper in three vicious strokes, defacing the poem with a large "F".

I released that breath. This isn't over. Getting that girl out of this school will be a long, tough battle. But I'd fled once to get away from criminals just like her. I won't flee again. Before the semester's over, I'll see to it she fails Senior English and is unable to graduate with her class.

And why not? It's nothing less than a criminal like her deserves.

Some interior artwork in Haunting Blue.

Punk, blue-haired “Blue” Shaefer, is at odds with her workaholic single mother. Raised as a city girl in a suburb of Indianapolis, Blue must abandon the life she knows when her unfeeling mother moves them to a dreadful small town. Blue befriends the only student willing to talk to her: computer nerd “Chip” Farren.

Chip knows the connection between the rickety pirate boat ride at the local amusement park and the missing money from an infamous bank heist the townspeople still talk about. When Blue helps him recover the treasure, they awaken a vengeful ghost who’ll stop at nothing--not even murder--to prevent them from exposing the truth behind his evil deeds.

Haunting Blue is Book One of the Adventures of Blue Shaefer



About the Author:
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Haunting Blue is the first book of the adventures of punk girl Fiona “Blue” Shaefer. This is the 2014 revised edition by Seventh Star Press. Seventh Star also released Haunting Obsession, a Rebecca Burton Novella, and Virtual Blue, the second book in Fiona’s tale. R.J.’s short stories have been featured in such acclaimed collections as Dark Faith: Invocations by Apex Books and Vampires Don’t Sparkle. His newest project is the Red Lotus series of science fiction novelettes.

R.J. resides in Heartland Crossing, Indiana. He drinks coffee from a Little Mermaid mug and is man enough to admit it. www.rjsullivanfiction.com