Sunday, December 27, 2015

Visions II: Moons of Saturn - review

Visions II: Moons of Saturn received an excellent review in Perihelion Science Fiction Online Magazine, published 12/12/15.
Please visit the magazine and read the review.

Thursday, November 26, 2015

My Enemy, Myself...

In fiction, the protagonists are largely defined by their adversaries.  So it is in reality.  Our real-life enemies define us as a people.  In how we react to their trespasses against us, and in how we compare ourselves to them.

In a bygone era, our identity as a nation was largely defined by the struggle between western democracy and communism.  Today, our defining enemy is militant extremist Islamic fundamentalism.  (Not as easy to say as communism, so we've come up with a few catch phrases over the years, like Islamofascism, but you get the idea.)  In the devastating attacks of this  foreign ideology upon western civilization and western values, we are forced, and perhaps welcome the opportunity to define ourselves in stark contrast to this current enemy.  They are fundamentalist while we are pluralist.  They are ruled by clerics while we are ruled by elected leaders.  They do not value life.  We do.  (Up to a point.  We've been killing thousands for over a decade now with predator drones, but we do our best to miss hospitals.  Fortunes of war.)  Above all, we are free and they are not.

Of course, how we define freedom is largely determined by our enemies, as well.  Whether the government taps our phones or monitors or emails is something we decide based on the enemy clawing at our gates.  Or, is it?  When Al Quaeda hits us on 9/11 or when ISIS hits France, our leaders (in particular, our right-wing leaders) immediately consider cracking down harder on civil liberties, giving the national security agencies more authority to watch every move we make, compile our messages and perhaps even profile us based on our religion or ideologies.  Republican national candidates start toying with the idea of registering American Muslims.  (How far is that from internment camps, one wonders.)  Not surprising, on the face of it.  Someone attacks you, and it's instinctive, and only human to react accordingly.

But, strangely enough, such reactions appear rather selective.  When Timothy McVeigh blew up a government office building in Oklahoma City, conservatives automatically assumed at the outset it was foreign Muslim elements who'd done the job.  We were longing to strike back, to kill as many of them as we could; it was war.  When we found out it was home-grown right-wing militia types who'd done the deed, then it was just a matter of criminal prosecution.  A bit of national soul-searching over capital punishment, then the lethal injection, and life goes on.  No one started profiling white racist good ol' boys with confederate flags on their pick-ups.  No one started advocating all-out national internment or relocation for conservative white Christians critical of big government, race-mixing or over-taxation.  When some white supremacist punk shoots up a church, everybody blames his parents for not being strict enough, but nobody sounds the war cry against white supremacism as the "true enemy."  Goons can cry out "white power" or tell an Hispanic reporter to "get out of my country" at a political event, and no one seems to care.  Least of all the candidate.  And, random mass shootings may well become a monthly event, but no one seriously or passionately reacts by advocating tougher gun control laws.  "Stuff happens," is the strongest reaction our conservative leaders can or will muster.  (So much for our love of life.)

Senseless death is senseless death, yet our society is indeed very selective in its reactions to it, as in its choice of enemies.  Yes, our enemies define us.  We want them to.  We want them to reinforce that which we value most in ourselves.   We're a gun-toting nation, and we love it.  If increasingly familiar tragic death and mayhem in schools and churches is the price we pay, so be it.  We hate big government, though we're not opposed in the least to big government spying on our next-door neighbor if he looks or prays differently than the rest of us.  When the attack comes from outside, from someone different, our knee-jerk reaction is war against all the attacker's kind.  That's easy.  When the attack comes from inside, from one of us, we don't consider it a wake-up call for self-improvement.  That's too hard.  Rather, it's just an excuse to gather outside a death house with placards, waiting for that hearse to roll out.

If we ever happen to run out of external enemies, I imagine we'll find a way to make more, or focus on convenient minorities within our borders.  After all, without external enemies to occupy our attention, we might actually have to take a long hard look at ourselves.  And, at the enemy inside our own skins.

Monday, October 26, 2015

Sloane Taylor's novel of intrigue, international danger, and steamy romance...


"French Twist"
By Sloane Taylor


As American as Apple Pie is the hero of my erotic short story French Twist. Don Hobbs knows exactly what he likes in the bedroom as well as the kitchen. This Chicago born and bred man is a true lover of fried chicken. The lady in his life, Claudette D’Laquois, has no clue how to turn on a stove, let alone fry this scrumptious dish. But what can you expect from an Interpol agent? To make Claudette's life easier, I gave her the recipe so she can keep her man happy while he oversees an orchard in Nice, France.


Sloane’s Down-home Fried Chicken

1 tbsp. salt

Tap water

6 chicken legs, or thighs or 4 breasts, skinless and boneless

1 cup flour

1tsp. thyme

½ tsp. marjoram

Freshly ground pepper to taste

1 large egg

1½ tbsp. milk

½ cup solid shortening or lard, plus more as needed


Dissolve salt in a small amount of water. Add chicken pieces then cover with more water. Set this in the refrigerator for 4-6 hours.


Remove chicken from fridge 2 hours before you plan to cook. Drain and pat dry.


Combine flour and seasonings in a paper or plastic bag. Shake gently to combine ingredients. Mix egg and milk in a bowl. Set a clean plate or platter on the counter to hold the breaded chicken.


Place one chicken piece at a time in the bag, shake gently to thoroughly coat, then dip in egg mixture, then return the piece to the bag and gently shake again. Set chicken on the plate. Repeat the process until all pieces are coated. Set the uncovered plate in the fridge for at least 30 minutes.


Heat the shortening in a large frying pan over medium-high heat. Test to be sure shortening is hot enough by adding a small piece of bread. It should sizzle and toast quickly.


Carefully add the chicken pieces. Maintain the temperature, but adjust it so chicken doesn’t burn and grease doesn’t splatter everywhere.


Turning frequently, brown the chicken on all sides. Cover and cook 20-25 minutes or until juices run clear when pierced with a sharp knife.


Lay pieces on a plate lined with paper towels to absorb any oil. Transfer them to a clean platter and serve.


Here's a brief intro to Book Three of the Naughty Ladies of Nice series with Don and Claudette.


Spies and lies bring a deadly twist to the City of Lights.


Interpol agent Claudette D’Laquois is trapped in the hellhole of life and unable to trust anyone. Desperate to regain control, she flees to the safety of her uncle’s rundown chateau on the French Riviera. But Claudette soon learns the countryside has its own dangers when she finds herself alone with a sexy foreigner.


Uptight accountant Donald Hobbs ditches numbers for dirt to oversee his friend’s orchard for three weeks. His well deserved vacation is perfect until a seductive mademoiselle drags him into a dangerous world of intrigue and erotic fantasy.


Illegal drugs and Russian mobsters take a back seat to a lethal night of sinful pleasure for Claudette and Don.




Nothing like an afternoon of hot sex to keep this guy happy.

Don followed Claudette down the hallway. He scanned her shoulders and down to her narrow waist and clenched his fists until the knuckles almost popped. His gaze dropped to her shapely hips that flared over her long legs. Legs that went on forever. He worked his way back up to her firm ass, mesmerized by the little swing it did as she nonchalantly strolled ahead of him. The rose dangled over her shoulder, luring him like a horse to the carrot, and he was eager to chase after it. 

Walking right then wasn’t the easiest thing, but he managed. Her tapered legs in those sexy heels strapped around her slender ankles were the added bonus to keep him moving.

She stopped at her open bedroom door and glanced over her shoulder. Her long auburn hair shimmered with the movement.


Jesus, she was beautiful.


Mon cher, do not be shy.” Her voice dropped a couple of octaves. “I am not.”


Obviously, and he loved it.


He followed her to the bed while fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. She bent and laid the rose on the nightstand, exposing her wet pussy. His cock jackknifed. He swallowed hard and prayed he didn’t come before he finally got to touch her.


“You look as if you need help.” Her soft voice came out low, like a woman who’d been making love for hours.


She turned and reached for his belt. Her large breasts jiggled with the movement and erased his control.


He stretched out a hand for her, but she eluded him and dropped to her knees before he could touch her rosy nipples. An herbal aroma drifted up to him as her hair flowed across her breasts. He scooped it out of the way. The need to watch her every movement overwhelmed him.


His zipper rasped open. Don forced himself to breathe. His swollen cock leapt out of his shorts, grazing her moist mouth. 


“I like a man who is eager.”


Her warm breath tingled against his swollen head.


He closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer she followed through on what he hoped she had in mind.



He held out his hand, wrapped it around hers, and pulled her into his arms. She was warm and yielding and sexy as hell. He cupped her chin and raised it toward his mouth...





Award-Winning author Sloane Taylor is a sensual woman who believes humor and sex are healthy aspects of our everyday lives and carries that philosophy into her books. She writes sexually explicit romances that takes you right into the bedroom. Being a true romantic, all her stories have a happy ever after.

Her books are set in Europe where the men are all male and the North American women they encounter are both feminine and strong. They also bring more than lust to their men’s lives.


Taylor was born and raised on the Southside of Chicago. Studly, her mate for life, and Taylor now live in a small home in Indiana and enjoy the change from city life. She is an avid cook and posts new recipes on her blog every Wednesday.  The recipes are user friendly, meaning easy.  


Taylor currently has seven erotic romance books and one box set released by Toque & Dagger Publishing. Excerpts from these books can be found on her website, blog, and all popular vendors.


Subscribe to her short newsletter. Connect with Taylor on Facebook, Twitter, and Google+. 


Monday, September 14, 2015

The Paranormal Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

Fans of the bizarre, the dark and the horrific...And, of the one and only Sherlock Holmes, attend:
Coming October 27, 2015!!!

“When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

Sherlock Holmes is one of the most recognizable characters in Western literature.  Conan Doyle’s inimitable detective has been the subject of literally thousands of books, movies, television shows, plays and even songs.  With the rise of the BBC series and the release of all copyrights, the beloved character has found a new life among modern audiences. 

In An Improbable Truth: The Paranormal Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, 14 authors of horror and mystery have come together to create a unique anthology that sets Holmes on some of his most terrifying adventures.  A pair of sisters willing to sacrifice young girls to an ancient demon for a taste of success, a sinister device that can manipulate time itself, and a madman that can raise corpses from the dead are just a few among the grisly tales that can be found within these pages.

Curl up with a warm cuppa and leave all the lights on.  This is not your grandfather’s Sherlock Holmes.


The Fairy Pool by Lucy Blue

Sherlock Holmes and the Hungry Ghost by Katie Magnusson

The Diamond Carter Ghost by Matthew Wilson

The Haunted Branch Line by Tally Johnson

The Arendall Horror by Thomas Olbert

Worlds Collide by S. H. Roddey

Time is Running Out, Watson by Adrian Cross

A Voice in the Blood by Dan Shaurette

The Hunt of the Red Boar by Thomas Fortenberry

The Canaries of Clee Hills Mine by Robert Perret

The Chase by Melissa McArthur

The Adventure of the Missing Trophy by Mark W. Coulter

The Case of the Rising Dead by Trenton Mabey

The Adventure of the Slow Death by Harding McFadden

"The Arendall Horror," by Tom Olbert

 Sandborn led us through the tunnel, into the caves.  As we all entered, torches lit, I sensed something cold and horribly forbidding in the dank interior of those murky caverns.  There was a slimy, rancid stench as if we were walking into a slaughterhouse.  “What is that horrid smell?” I asked.
“Rats, I expect, sir,” Sandborn answered.  “I saw a few of them down here that night, picking at other scraps of itself that thing had left behind.  Then, I heard the poor vermin squealing in the dark as they died.”
Then, I saw it. The torchlight fell on a shadowed corner of the cave.  Dripping milky-white fibers formed a grotesque nest of sorts, containing three large, ovoid, leathery objects.  They resembled egg pods in a spider’s web, though magnified to scale many thousands of times.  I gasped as the horrid things began to split open, bursting from the inside out.  Sickly, milky-white fluid coated the abominable things that emerged, squealing as they clawed their way out.  To this day, I cannot accurately describe them.  The creatures had long, jointed limbs like that of a giant spider, yet they were webbed, like the wings of a huge bat.  Their heads were rodent-like and snarling with six-inch fangs dripping.  Their eyes glowed green in the torchlight.  Scarcely out of their ungodly crèche, they were shrieking and swarming at us with inconceivable speed, slithering on multiple tentacles.

Monday, September 7, 2015

Visions II: Moons of Saturn

Ice mining in space, colonization of extraterrestrial moons, war between interplanetary corporations, and time travelers bent on destruction, with mighty Saturn as the backdrop.

 The theme, Moons of Saturn, provided inspiration for the creation of widely divergent tales centered about the mysterious planet and its system.

 NASA’s Cassini Missions have captured stunning images of Saturn, its mesmerizing Rings of ice and rock, and its 53 officially named moons. These twelve authors present their visions of the Saturn System’s promise, as rich and diverse as the reality of Saturn, its Rings, and moons.

 The second book of the Visions Series, this anthology features: Tom Tinney, W.A. Fix, Thaddeus Howze, Ami Hart, Bonnie Milani, Jeremy Lichtman, S.M. Kraftchak, Timothy Paul, Tom Olbert, Amos Parker, R. E. Jones, and Duane Brewster.

·       In the depths of an ice mine on Dione, embattled troopers combat alien amoeba in the frigid tunnels.

·       Wry humor combines with eccentricity in a tale of time traveling disaster.

·       Enemies team up to complete a mission, in an intense tale of revenge.

·       Security teams from opposing corporations, battle for possession of lunar mining operations.
"Reckoning at Enceladus" by Tom Olbert
The exploding glider lit the methane clouds over Titan in a bloody red glow. Gene Grey Wolf gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath in the gunner’s canopy, a torrent of half-frozen liquid methane slamming against his suit, as he struggled to get a radar lock on the two remaining gliders zeroing in on him.  “Hold her steady, dammit!” He yelled at his glider pilot, now turning into the heart of a raging squall, the superstructure of the cloud glider rattling wildly. Gene was reminded of the time he dove his space fighter into Saturn’s upper atmosphere, two Combine laser ships on his tail.
“You wanna try it?” the other man’s voice came blaring in over the radio link in Gene’s oxygen helmet, wild and scratchy.
One of the Combine gliders spread its elevator fins and turned in, riding the storm current as the pilot tried for a flank shot. The attacking glider’s radar silhouette looked like a monstrous dragon fly, its braking fins spreading like great wings as it turned. “Pull up!” Gene yelled. Too late. His pilot was too busy navigating the storm, his glide sails ready to collapse under the pressure. The enemy pilot fired, a plasma volley cutting through the superstructure of Gene’s glider, the braking fins splitting clean off as the glider spun wildly into the storm. Gene fired wildly, trying to take out at least one of the killers. He clipped the wingtip on one glider as the other turned to navigate the storm. “Burn, you scum!”  He swore at the top of his lungs as his own pilot ejected. Blowing his own separation charge, Gene groaned at the lurch of the gun module blasting free from the disintegrating glider. He spun end over end, his head swirling as he triggered his braking chute.

VISIONS II: Moons of Saturn

Paperback: 232 pages
Publisher: Lillicat Publishers (August 20, 2015)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0-9916426-2-7

Thursday, September 3, 2015

A hauning mystery from Rita Monette..


Behind every legend lies the truth… 

Moving is nothing new for ten-year-old Nikki Landry. Her father relocates their raggedy old houseboat several times a year in search of better crabbing spots. However, their latest move has brought her to a mysterious bayou where she feels something is watching her from a nearby island.

Nikki learns of a local legend about something sinister inhabiting those swamps, stealing the souls of dogs...which would explain the strange howling sounds. Papa reassures her there’s nothing on the island but gators and snakes. He should know. He’s spent his whole life trapping and fishing those bayous and swamps…But maybe there’s something Papa doesn’t know.


Nikki and her new friends begin to uncover strange happenings from years ago that may have started the old legend…and town folks aren’t talking.

Then her beloved beagle goes missing.

Join Nikki as she seeks to discover the real truth behind the legend of Ghost Dog Island…before it’s too late.

Title: The Legend of Ghost Dog Island
Author Name: Rita Monette
Genre(s): Middle Grade, Adventure, Mystery
Tags: Adventure, mystery, middle grade, louisiana, bayou, dogs
Length: Approx. 204 pages
E-book:  978-1-987976-00-7
Paperback:  978-0-9947490-9-3
Re-Release Date: September 1, 2015
Publisher:  Mirror World Publishing

“I’m going to hate Morgan City,” I complained to my dog Snooper, “no matter what Papa says.”
My beagle laid his head on my lap and gazed up at me with his watery eyes. He pretty much agreed with me on everything.
I sat on the deck of our old flat-bottomed houseboat as it glided through the winding bayous. Papa’s fishing boat, filled with baskets of line and crab crates, trailed behind on its rope. We were leaving Pierre Part…Lydia…far behind. I rolled the legs of my overalls up and dangled my feet over the edge.
“Nicole Landry, keep your feet out of that filthy water,” Mama hollered from the doorway of the small living area of our floating home. She wiped her hands on her stained apron, then fixed the comb that held her long dark hair in a pile on top of her head. Mama was born and raised in New Orleans, but left the big city for a life in the bayous with Papa. She never looked back. At least that’s what she always told folks.
“They ain’t in the water, Mama.” I held my legs up so she could see they were dry.
She opened the patched screened door and shooed a fly out, before closing it and going back inside.
I twirled the end of my long black braid. Moving to a new place always gave me a lump in my throat as big as a bullfrog. But I wasn’t going to cry this time. I was ten years old after all.
I’d lived in that same house since the day I was born—as Mama always tells it, "the coldest morn’ of 1946." But I couldn’t rightly recall how many times it got tied up to a new dock. Mama liked to say Papa never let the grass grow under his feet. But I could hardly think of a time when his rubber boots ever touched grass.
Papa grew up in Morgan City, and he said folks there were mighty friendly. But it seemed to me, most city dwellers weren’t too welcoming to my kind, being from the wrong side of the levee and all. And the city was where I’d have to go to school.
“And, as for making friends with any kids there, no way.” I shook my finger in Snoop’s face. “Just to up and leave ’em behind anyway.”
He managed a tiny whimper, as if I was fussing at him.
I thought about Lydia standing on the Belle River Bridge waving goodbye. My eyes burned, and I squeezed ’em shut. I felt in my pocket for her note. I’d read it at least a hundred times since she’d handed it to me, right before I went stomping down the ladder from her tree house. She’d scribbled down her post office box address and "write me," then signed her name with the little heart over the i like she always did.
“Hmph!” I told Snooper. “She’s crazy if she thinks I’m gonna write her after what she did.”
Lydia Hebert was my best friend in the whole world…until yesterday. It was a lot easier to leave while I was still mad at her. But now it felt like an empty hole inside me.

Amazon Link:
 Mirror World Publishing Links:

About the Author: 

Rita Monette was born and raised in Southwest Louisiana. She loves to write stories set in the beautiful, yet mysterious, bayous and swamps of her home state.

Her middle grade series, The Nikki Landry Swamp Legends, is based on tales told by her father—who made his living in those bayous—of reasons to stay out of the swamp.

She currently lives with her husband, four lap dogs, and one lap cat, in the mountains of Tennessee. Besides writing and illustrating, she loves watching the many birds that make their habitat on the Cumberland Plateau, working in the garden, and frequenting waterfalls.


Follow the tour:


Sunday, August 23, 2015

Fantasy's border...

People generally know where fantasy ends and reality begins in the realm of fiction.  But, maybe the dividing line isn’t so clear in real life.

Donald Trump the frontrunner in the Republican primaries??  Are the voters kidding, or just temporarily insane?

Probably neither.  They’re in rebellion.  The kind of rebellion that manifests in flight from reality.  People (Republican people, at least) are fed up with the perceived ineptitude and corruption of government.  (They don’t understand much of it; they just want someone to give them easy answers.)  They love Trump because he’s an outsider (that is, someone who knows absolutely nothing about government) and more importantly, he’s the symbol and embodiment of everything the modern Republican party holds dear.  Money.  Greed.  Materialism.  Social Darwinism.  Life as reality T.V.  Winners and losers.  Winners get rich.  Losers, I guess, get deported.  And, those who are different are not welcome.  The GOP constituents are living in a kind of real-life science fiction dimension in which a giant wall is going to magically appear along the Mexican border, and illegal immigrants are going to magically disappear.  (Their kids too, BTW.)  Jobs will magically appear too, of course, and America “will be great again.”  No clue how.  That’s the thing about dreams; they aren’t limited to the boundaries of logic.  Oh, and good news:  Global warming doesn’t really exist; It’s just propaganda launched by Red China so they can trick us into shutting down our industry.  (Wow, that’s a relief, to discover those floods, storms and wildfires devastating the world are just figments of Beijing’s imagination!)

Donald Trump is no right-wing ideologue.  He is first and last a showman.  Like a carnival magician, he deals in illusion.  He tells the people what they want to hear, aiming at the heart instead of the mind (tossing in a few doctored statistics to make it sound reasonable) and, like any practiced con artist, he knows they’ll buy it simply because they want to.  He’ll seize the oil fields in Iran and give the money to the families of our veterans.  He loves our veterans.  He loves our military.  Never served a day in his life, but he loves them from afar.  He lays on the sugar-coated patriotic sentimentality thick, and lashes out with adolescent insolence and obscenity when attacking his competitors.  And, unlike real candidates, he gets away with it.  Yes, he’s the candidate for the cyber-age.  The public loves the Internet because it frees us from the constraints of courtesy and empathy.  We can indulge our petty, hateful, judgmental, adolescent side with complete abandon.

At some point though, the public has to wake up and face reality, right?  Don’t bet on it.  Remember the 1980’s?  The public twice elected a cowboy movie star who promised to make America great again, offering simple solutions to all of life’s complicated problems.  He ended up selling guns to Iran to finance right-wing death squads in Central America, he defended white supremacism in South Africa and he left this country with the biggest national debt in history.  Yes, it really can happen.  Fantasy and reality can merge with horrifying effect.  The one essential ingredient is a convenient enemy.  In Ronald Reagan’s case, it was the “evil empire” of Soviet communism.  In Trump’s case, it’s illegal immigration.

Flash forward to President Donald Trump. Would he really keep his hopelessly impractical promises, by whatever means necessary?  Would millions of undocumented immigrants and their children really disappear in the dead of night, only to turn up later in mass graves along the border, or scattered across the desert as ashes fluttering down from chimneys?  Probably not.  Trump’s not the kind of guy who cares about keeping promises after they’ve gotten him what he wants.  Chances are, President Trump would concentrate on lining his pockets by shipping more American jobs overseas and making life safer for corporate tax shelters.  He’d wage open war on organized labor, of course.  He’d become the standard bearer of the school of thought that corporations are people, and people are disposable assets.  And, forget the environment.  It’s history.  Four years of getting ripped off again by utterly unbounded corporate cannibalism.

The dream becomes the nightmare.  Why?  We trust the rich because they represent what we want to become, even as they squeeze the middle class into extinction and make upward mobility a remote memory that they will bloody-well keep to themselves.  So much easier to trust the charismatic leader…king, czar, fuehrer…and to blame all our problems on the outsider we can scapegoat and persecute.  Trump recently summarized the reason for his popularity:  “Politicians try to make themselves look like one of the common people.  But, the voters don’t want that.  They want somebody who can beat Japan and China.”  He likely has no clue how to do that.  But, the masses don’t care.  They just want some iconic, larger-than-life figure they can look up to.  It’s so much easier than actually governing themselves.

The fantasy becomes reality.  And, then, God help us all.   

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

"She Dreamed of Dragons" by Elizabeth J.M. Walker


Welcome to the Blog Tour for Elizabeth J.M. Walker's Young Adult Fantasy Novel, She Dreamed of Dragons!!
Follow the tour to read exclusive excerpts, guest posts, reviews, and spotlights.

Could a dragon mage be the next ruler of the magical kingdom of Dorlith?
Title: She Dreamed of Dragons
Author Name:  Elizabeth J.M. Walker
Genre(s): Young Adult, Fantasy
Length: Approx. 234 page
Ebook ISBN:  978-0-9947490-6-2
Print ISBN:  978-0-9947490-5-5
Release Date: July 17, 201
Publisher:  Mirror World Publishing
This is a re-release tour.  Book previously published through a different publishing company

About She Dreamed of Dragons:
Trina is a fifteen-year-old dragon mage in a kingdom ruled by witches and wizards – the same people who have brought dragons and other magical creatures near extinction. Trina can barely control her fire powers and is desperate for an apprenticeship, but finding a fellow dragon mage to be her teacher is proving more difficult than coming across an actual dragon.
Then there’s the Royal Tourney – a competition presented by the Queen to find a successor to the throne. Trina heads to the competition in the hopes of sparking some interest in the mage society and earning herself an apprenticeship.
She never intended to be a frontrunner in the competition.
She never meant to catch the attention of the evil witch trying to take over the throne.
She never expected to fall for a wizard.
Now Trina must face tough decisions about who she is and who she could become. Trina must ask herself: Can she really win the Royal Tourney?

Trina ran her finger over the spines of the books and looked over her shoulder, down to where the main door was. How long would the librarian be gone? If she could just read some of these books on witches, she could know all their secrets: how their magic worked, their spells, how to use a wand, how to make her own flying broomstick…
“I found them!” she heard Paisley say from down the aisle as she piled her arms full of books.
“Mmm-hmm,” Trina said as she took a book from the shelf entitled Finding the Right Man, Cauldron and Wand for the Young Bachelorette Witch.
The book was bound in pink leather and the title was written on the cover in gold. She took another look over her shoulder and then opened the book, rifling through the pages.
“It’s blank…” she said aloud as she looked at the empty pages of the book.
“Mine aren’t,” Paisley said as she rushed over. “Just look at this pattern!”
Trina hastily put the book back and pulled out a brown leather one entitled Love Spells Made Easy and flipped through it—blank again. She took another one from the shelf to find it was blank as well.
“Trina!” Paisley said, noticing the books her sister was trying to read. “You’re not supposed to look at those!”
Trina frowned. “I know…it’s just…”
“It looks like they’re spelled or something, anyway, so we can’t read them,” Paisley said, peering over at the book Trina held.
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Trina agreed and put the book back with a pang of guilt. Maybe it was for the best. Witches and wizards were very secretive about their powers. She would just end up feeling even guiltier if she had actually found out information she wasn’t supposed to know.
Purchase Links:
Amazon Kindle - US
Amazon Paperback - US
Mirror World Publishing -

Barnes & Noble -
Meet the Author:

Elizabeth J. M. Walker lives in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. She has always loved books and writing. As a teen she discovered zines, which inspired her to publish her own litzine of odd fairy tales for over a decade.
She Dreamed of Dragons is her first novel.
Connect with her on her website:

Follow the Tour - Schedule Posted at the Following Link: