Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts

Monday, June 23, 2014

#CoverReveal for #5PrincePublishing author #AnnSwann LILAC LANE








Genre: Fiction, Romance, Suspense
Release Date: July 24, 2014
Digital ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-060-2   ISBN 10: 1631120603
Print ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-061-9      ISBN 10: 1631120611

Lilac Lane


Ella and her son survived her ex-husband's drunken wrath. They are starting a new life in a new town, Stutter Creek. She's even met a real man. A gentle wild life biologist named Chet Boone. But now, her ex has been released from prison early. Is that him driving past their new house late at night? Is he the one causing the strange sounds and flickering lights? Can they survive a second round with a madman?

Thursday, June 12, 2014

#NewRelease for #5PrincePublishing #Author #SaraGalloway THE LETTER DRAWER




Available from 5 Prince Publishing www.5princebooks.com  books@5princebooks.com
Genre:  Fiction, Christian, Romance
Release Date: June 12, 2014
Digital ISBN ISBN-10: 1631120506 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-050-3
Print ISBN-10: 1631120514 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-051-0

Purchase link : http://www.5princebooks.com/buy-links.html







The Letter Drawer
True love never dies, but is it enough to heal a broken faith?

Claire and Evan met when they were children. They grew up together and fell in love. When Evan became a soldier, he and Claire held onto their love, remaining faithful to one another through every deployment. As the years passed, it seemed that life had given them everything they ever wanted … until tragedy struck.
Evan, left in the wake of tragedies, is now forced to decide what is most precious to him. Will love heal him or will devastation destroy his faith? Can Evan’s family show him the way? Can love truly set him free? 



About Sarah Galloway
Sarah Galloway is an Army wife and a mother to four wonderful children. She began writing as a child and continued her love of writing throughout her life. Sarah wrote The Letter Drawer while her husband was deployed in Afghanistan in 2012. She and her husband are residents of Colorado Springs, CO, but are currently stationed in beautiful Monterey, CA.
Sarah and her husband are both avid readers and enjoy a library of books that they keep along the length of their wall in their home office. One of her favorite past times is curling up with a good book while her Great Dane snores at her feet.
Sarah is also a Registered Nurse and spent many sleepless nights working in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit in Colorado Springs. She is very humbled by the tiny miracles that she saw during her years there and she loves all of the babies and families that she had the opportunity to care for. Sarah is continuing her education to become a Family Nurse Practitioner and plans to graduate at the end of 2014. Sarah’s passions include writing, healing people, and providing comfort to those who need it most.


How to reach Sarah Galloway

Twitter @sddlnscp


Excerpt of The Letter Drawer
They had been so young, so very young. She remembered walking to the school bus, alone and scared. Her first day of first grade and then there he was, a young boy in a dress shirt and slacks, a lunch box in his hand and a blue and red backpack on his back. Tall and quiet, the boy’s eyes did not meet hers. His dark brown hair was well cropped above his big brown eyes. She saw him and lost some of her fear. Walking up next to him, she stood silently as they waited for the bus.
That was the beginning of it. From that moment on, they were never far from one another. She chose a seat next to him in class and she always picked the seat next to him on the bus ride home. They sat in silence at first, both looking straight ahead with their hands folded neatly in their lap.
Later, when she could finally stand the silence no more, she glanced over at him. “My name is Claire, what’s yours?”
The boy’s voice was quiet. “Evan.”
“Evan,” she repeated softly. “Okay.”
He gave her a puzzled look. “Okay what?”
“Okay, I like your name Evan. You can be my friend.”
Evan looked at her, a small, confused smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Time went on. They played, built forts, explored the forest behind their neighborhood, and laughed. They grew up together. They became best friends, and that did not change.
Middle school approached and Evan became an awkward, lanky boy while Claire was a dark-haired, green-eyed beauty. She didn’t seem to care. All of the sudden, the boys noticed Claire, but still, she stayed by Evan.
“Hey Claire,” they would say. “Want to come hang out with us after school?”
“No thanks,” replied Claire.
“Why not?”
“I’m studying with Evan.”
Despite the whispering, whining, and complaining that came from the other boys, Claire never wavered. When she left school, she always walked to the bus with Evan. She rode with him, laughed, and told jokes with him, even when the others snickered or sneered.
One day, as they rode next to each other, Claire realized that what she felt for Evan was more than just friendship. She reached over and took his strong, masculine hand, clasping it in her own much smaller one. He looked up at her, waiting for something.
Wondering what was on her mind, he interrupted the silence. “Claire?”
“Yes, Evan?”
Brown eyes sparkled back at her. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Evan.”
The gaze lasted a moment longer. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Evan.”
He left his hand sandwiched between hers. “Alright then.”
When the bus came to a stop, Claire stood and waited for Evan to stand beside her and they walked off together, as they always did.
Standing there on the sidewalk, Claire silently stared at Evan, not moving.
Evan was clearly confused. “Ummm, did you want to come over and study?”
“Not really.”
Absently, he scratched the top of his head. “Alright then. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“No.” She halted him with her hand on his shoulder. “Come with me.”
Pausing for a moment, he gave her an inquiring look. “Where are we going?”
She clasped his hand in hers. “Just come.”
They were seventeen and when she took his hand this time, it was because she loved him. She led him into the forest and back through trees they hadn’t been under in years. They walked through the thick underbrush and finally came to a clearing. He looked at it and smiled. A couple of old, beat-up pieces of plywood leaned together were held there by nails creating a sanctuary fashioned by children. Various odd blankets and pieces of bark and wood that were tattered and faded and barely recognizable lay underneath them.
Confused, he glanced from her to their favorite childhood place. “Claire, this is our old fort.”
She pulled him toward it. “Yes.”
“I had forgotten about this place.”
The light breeze rushed through her hair. “Do you remember when we built it?”
Nostalgia was obvious on his features. “Of course I do! Oh gosh, how old were we, nine, ten maybe?”
“We were in third grade. It was fun. Come and sit with me under it now, will you?”
As she pulled him forward, he laughed. “Okay Claire.”
On their hands and knees, the dusty ground was cool and soft as they crawled into the tattered old fort. When they were sitting under it, there was barely enough room for both of them and Evan’s body was cramped against Claire’s so that they would fit.
Claire smiled at Evan and touched his forehead, brushing a lock of fallen hair away from his eyes.
A serious expression fell across his face. “Claire, can I ask you something?”          
“Of course.”
Evan’s eyes trailed off to the horizon. “Why do you still stay with me?”
“What do you mean?”
He shifted his gaze back to her. “I mean, you’re … well, you’re beautiful Claire. All those guys want to be with you, the good looking ones, the ones all the girls want to be with, and you still always hang out with me.”
“Well,” said Claire blushing. “That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What is?”
Unblinking eyes stared back at her as she spoke. “Evan, I think I’m in love with you.”
A friendly bear hug enveloped her. “I love you too, Claire.”
“No, you don’t understand. Not like a friend, not like we are best friends. I think I have fallen in love with you.”
He looked at her, as though he was barely registering what she was saying. She looked back into his dark brown eyes. Still, he said nothing. Finally, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. It was a soft and tender kiss, yet it was warm and inviting, too. And it was perfect, like they had done it all of their lives.
The words fell out of her mouth in a whisper. “Evan, I mean it. I love you.”
His voice was soft and tender. “Oh Claire, I love you too.”
Now he put his arms around her and she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body. They stayed that way, he held her and she curled up within his arms, finally able to relax now that she knew that he loved her too.

That had been twenty years ago.
Claire thought back on the memory and smiled. Twenty years. Has it really been that long? Twenty years since she realized that she truly did love Evan. It seems like only yesterday.
She closed her eyes and pictured him as he looked now. Sharp jaw, strong features, tall and lean and handsome. Evan was the kind of guy that women looked at twice when he walked by, although he didn’t realize it. Those soft, gentle brown eyes that she loved and adored still made her feel weak and he still had the shock of deep brown hair that he had to trim constantly because it grew so quickly.
He had been such a scrawny kid that nobody understood why she went for him when she could have any boy in the school, had she wanted them. They simply didn’t understand love. She had belonged to Evan from the first time she saw him. She had always been his.

Evan had taken more convincing. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Claire, because he did. It was more that he was terrified of her. He was scared to death that she would realize how amazing she was and that she would go fleeting off into the arms of one of the rough looking muscled guys that were always hitting on her. Eventually though, he realized that she only saw him and he began to feel safe with her. In time he learned that they truly did belong together and that she would never leave him. He didn’t quite understand why, but he knew it to be true all the same.

Claire closed her eyes and pictured Evan next to her. She could almost feel his breath on her skin. But it was too soon, he wouldn’t be home for another five months. Sighing, she forced herself up to make breakfast.
Claire pulled the contents from her cupboard to make pancakes and began mixing the batter. As she was holding the bowl under one arm and whisking with the other, she heard Eve’s soft footsteps on the linoleum. The quiet, dainty sound of Eve’s feet were soon overshadowed by Connor’s much louder thuds.
Her two children came into the kitchen, both still half-asleep. Seventeen-year-old Connor was in sweatpants and a t-shirt, while thirteen-year-old Eve stood in a long night shirt and knit sleep pants.
Claire greeted them warmly. “Good morning kids.”
“Mmmph,” groaned Connor.
Eve yawned. “Morning.”
“Oh come on now you two, it’s a beautiful day, just look outside.”
They both looked out the window, indifference on their faces.
Jackson, the family pet, came meandering into the kitchen when he heard the kids. The huge, black Great Dane pressed himself against Connor.
“Oooph.” The air rushed out of Connor. “Jackson, it’s too early.”
The dog quite happily moseyed away to Eve who patted him lightly on the head. Then he walked to Claire and sat down next to her. She leaned playfully on him while she waited for the pancake in the skillet to be ready to flip, he didn’t budge.
Connor got out the milk and poured himself a glass. “Do you want some Eve? Mom?”
“Yeah,” yawned Eve as she took her place at the table, wiping sleep from her eyes.
Claire flipped a pancake in the skillet. “No thank you honey.”
Connor poured a second glass and walked it to Eve who took it, thanked him and sipped at it as she tried to will herself awake. Claire finished cooking breakfast and put some on the plates, handing them to the kids. She watched as Connor carefully poured syrup onto each pancake and then handed the bottle to his sister. Eve cut up her pancakes with a fork first, and then lathered syrup all over the small fragments.
Eve handed the bottle to her Mom. Claire put a tiny dollop of syrup on her single pancake and then spread it across in a thin, even layer. She smiled as she watched the kids eat. Slowly, they began to wake up.
Connor finished first, his voice still hazy. “I’m gonna shower.”
“Okay,” said Claire.
Connor left and Eve sat at the table with her daughter.
There was silence before Eve finally spoke. “Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“I miss Dad.”
Claire sighed. “So do I. Five more months and he’ll be home.”
Eve’s face drooped. “It’s still so long.”
Claire’s heart ached as she looked across the table at her daughter. “I know honey. I miss him too. Soon, soon he will be home.”
Eve looked up at her mother with solemn eyes. “Can he stay this time?”
Patting her daughter’s hand, she spoke. “I hope so honey.”
“Me too.”

Eve’s young face flushed and Claire could tell she was holding back tears. Claire opened her arms and Eve walked to her mother and hugged her. Claire held her daughter and silently thanked God that, unlike most thirteen year olds, Eve still let her comfort her this way. She stroked Eve’s dark brown hair until she finally let go.
Her daughter’s eyes looked moist, but she no longer looked as though she would begin to cry. “Are you okay honey?”
“Yeah, it’s just one of those days I guess. I’m gonna get ready.”
She watched Eve disappear down the hallway to her room. Alone in the kitchen, Claire began picking up plates and putting them in the sink. She heard the shower stop and a few minutes later, Connor emerged looking much more like the bright, chipper boy that he was. He takes after his father so much. He was tall and lean, just like Evan, and he had those same deep brown eyes. Claire smiled at him and he returned the grin.

As she finished rinsing the dishes, she looked over at him. “Connor?”
He slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Would you mind dropping Eve off at school this morning? I am going to write your father a letter.”
His free arm wrapped around her shoulder and hugged her. “Sure Mom.”
“Thanks honey.”
“You’re welcome.”
He was such a good boy. They were both good kids. She was so thankful for them.            “C’mon Eve,” Connor called from the kitchen. “Five minutes.”
Eve’s voice trailed in from her bedroom. “Okay, I’ll be there.”
Just in time, Eve appeared with her book bag slung over her shoulder and Connor walked with her to the door. Eve looked as though she were a little less sad and Claire felt relieved.
Claire lifted her hand to wave goodbye to her children. “Have a good day guys.”
“We will Mom,” replied Eve. “Love you.”
“Love you,” chimed Connor.
Her heart swelled with joy. “I love you both, too.” Her children were so good to her. She watched out the window as they climbed into Connor’s old but reliable car, laughing about something. Then she returned to the nook.

As they pulled away, Claire sat in the warm light that shone through the window onto the breakfast table. The glossy surface was cool against her wrists, but the sun was warm on her back. She brushed her hair back with her hands, feeling the soft curls run through her fingers. Retrieving a piece of paper from the little drawer hidden under the surface of the table, Claire began to write.

My Dearest Evan...
Claire wrote the letter, telling him everything that was in her heart. She read it over. When she was satisfied that she had said everything that she needed to say, she signed it:
Your wife,
Claire

She placed a red lipstick kiss at the corner of it by her name. She slipped the letter into an envelope and addressed it to the APO address where the Army would receive the mail before dispensing it to the soldiers.
She closed her eyes for a moment, holding the letter in her hand and feeling the sun on her back. In that moment, she felt at peace. Her white, gauzy nightgown flowed softly in the ruffle of the breeze coming in through the window. It brushed against her thigh and then floated away as quickly as a whisper. Her hair fluttered against her face and she closed her eyes, embracing the wind. As she opened her eyes and rose, she felt the sun’s rays leave her back. Placing the letter on the edge of the kitchen counter, she walked to the bedroom. As she slipped into a pair of jeans, she retrieved a lemon yellow blouse that was well fitted to her figure. She could almost hear Evan telling her how beautiful she was and how he could get lost in her eyes forever. Moving back to the kitchen, she paused to pick up her car keys. She glanced at the letter before deciding she would place it in the outgoing mail in the afternoon. When she climbed into her car, a soft smile rested gently on her lips.
That was the last time Claire’s family ever saw her alive.


Thursday, March 20, 2014

Release Day for 5 Prince Publishing author Sara Barnard




FREE


Available from 5 Prince Publishing www.5princebooks.com  books@5princebooks.com
Genre: Fiction, Ghost
Release Date: March 20, 2014
Digital: ISBN: 13: 978-1-63112-017-6 ISBN: 10: 1631120174


FREE




Desperado:
A haunted mallet. A spooky song. An old west ghost story. Can Shelby survive a family camping trip or will the ghost of past misdeeds come calling?

Shelby didn’t want to go on the family camping trip with her parents and baby sister Rhea. Sitting around telling ghost stories couldn’t be more boring, even if one of the stories is supposedly true. When she accidently gets a scrape on her finger from the wooden mallet that is the heart of her mother’s ghost story, and not to mention also a bloodstained antique from the cowboy days, Shelby gets a glimpse of what she may have unwittingly unleashed into modern times. With the help of her family, Shelby must try to piece together the story of the haunted mallet and a certain song by the Eagles that keeps playing ... and playing ... and playing – before this Texas-sized ancestral ghost story takes a turn that just might be headed down a dead end. 


About Sara Barnard
Sara Barnard, who was most likely born into the wrong century, is mother to four awesome children. In addition to Rebekah’s Quilt, she has authored the historical romance Everlasting Heart series, consisting of bestselling A Heart on Hold, which was also a 2012 RONE award finalist, A Heart Broken, A Heart at Home, and A Heart Forever Wild – all from 5 Prince Publishing. She also writes for the younger among us. Chunky Sugars is a picture book from 5 Prince Kids and her independently published children’s nonfiction titles, The ABC’s of Oklahoma Plants and The Big Bad Wolf Really Isn’t so Big and Bad, have hit bestseller lists several times. She and her family make their home in the far reaches of the west Texas desert with the Javalina, mesquite trees, and of course, lots and lots of oil.


Where to find Sara:
facebook.com/sarabarnardbooks
Twitter: @TheSaraBarnard


Excerpt of Deperado:
“Okay let’s have a contest to see who can tell the scariest story.” Mom’s voice was much too chipper for my taste. She was all into this camping stuff, but there was nowhere for me to plug in my curling iron, so I could care less about being out here.
The flames from the fire danced, as though alive, as I shot a pained look at Dad. Showing off his trademark grin, Dad gave me a wink and tiny nod as if to say, humor your mother, she loves you.
Defeated, I pulled my old holey blanket around my shoulders and tried to ignore the encroaching shadows that looked to be dancing with the flickering firelight.
My baby sister Rhea straightened her back and leaned forward in her camp chair. “I’ll go first,” she chirruped. Rhea’s seven-year-old voice tried to sound scary and her blue eyes widened as she began her tale. “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away...”
I stuffed a whole s’more into my mouth.
Rhea held her hands up like claws. “There was a blue, no wait, make that a green bird.” She looked from face to face until she got to mine. “No, not a bird, a sister.”
I rolled my eyes as the corners of my mouth twitched upward.
Unfazed, Rhea continued. “The green sister was silly.” She dropped her voice low. “And I mean very, very, very silly.” She dropped her claw-hands into her lap, sat back in the camp chair, and grinned. “The end.”
Mom and Dad applauded wildly. I hid my ghost of a smile behind a nose twitch and passed Rhea another gooey s’more. “That was pretty good, Sissy,” I commended. “Take a few storytelling classes and you’ll be as good as Stephen King someday.”
The fact that I adored my baby sister was no secret, and I flattered myself to think that the feeling was mutual.
Rhea blew her blonde bangs up in a dramatic huff. “Shelby, do you always have to talk about him?” Her voice was an octave away from a full-on whine. “That movie he wrote scared me.” She glanced over her shoulder and scooted closer to Dad.
I crossed my legs. “Rhea, he writes books. Not movies.” It was an old argument the two of us shared ever since she snuck in and hid behind the couch while I was watching Pet Sematary one night. Rhea had watched the entire thing before I discovered her back there, terrified. She’d been sleeping in my room ever since then. “They make movies based on his books—”
“Ahem.” I could feel Mom glaring at me. My cheeks burned as the rest of my sentence fizzled, forgotten. Busted.
“We will talk about movie rules when we get home tomorrow, young ladies,” she said sternly. “As for now, who wants to hear a scary story? A true, scary story.”
“I do. Oh, Mommy, I do,” Rhea trilled in her normal, singsong voice. She scooted a little closer to Mom.
Dad rose from his camp chair. “If you ladies will excuse me, I think I will go find a tree right quick.” Turning, he trotted off into the shadowy woods.
Mom cut her gaze to me. “Shelby, are you up to it?”
I nodded and scooted in a tad bit closer to the fire.
Mom pulled her pink camouflaged backpack into her lap. “Good. Well, when I was a little girl, we were at a family reunion, not too far from here.” She gestured widely with her arm toward the west. “Before we left for the hour’s ride home, my mom, grandmother, great-grandmother, and I stopped at a garage sale on the edge of town. The house itself looked like it was out of a Stephen King novel––boarded up windows, creaky wooden front door swinging to and fro, peeling paint––the works.” She glanced at me. I smiled. She knew I was eating this up.
Mom leaned in and shifted her gaze back to Rhea. “Your great-great grandmother noticed that the homeowner was in a hurry to sell everything off. When she started poking around in a box of kitchenware, he accepted twenty-five cents for the whole box of stuff. Antiques, he said they were.”
The fire glinted off Mom’s face, making her wide eyes sparkle even more than they usually did. Rhea’s mouth hung open, a bit of marshmallow stuck to her cheek. A rogue arctic blast suddenly swept through our campsite, sending a collective shiver through all three of us. I tugged at the ends of my blanket and snuggled down deeper into my camp chair, taking care to not look into the dark woods behind me.
“Antiques?” Rhea asked through sticky lips. “What’s that?”
“The man told Great Gran that the stuff she bought had come west with his grandparents by way of a wagon train. Everything in that box was all that had survived a hellish campfire accident on their journey from the Pennsylvania.”
Rhea was sticking and unsticking her fingers. “Oh. Okay.”
Mom slowly slid up the zipper of her backpack. “Well, on the ride home, we had the radio on while your great-great grandma sorted through her box of treasures. She gave a purple glass bottle marked 1806 to my mom, a strange little garlic press to me, and a tiny tin snuff can to my grandma. From the very bottom of the box, she pulled out this.”
Mom reached into her backpack and drew out a weird looking wooden kitchen instrument.
“Is that a mallet?” I asked, letting my eyes rove over the little tool. “And what’s that stain? Is it ...” I gulped. “Blood?”
Mom nodded. “Yes and yes. The wagon train came under attack by a bad outlaw after the campfire accident. His grandma grabbed this mallet and swung it to kill, knocking the desperado’s black hat clean off his head. As Great Gran told the story to us in the car, the song on the radio changed to Desperado by The Eagles.”
“Oh, I love The Eagles,” I cooed.
Ignoring me, Mom continued. “While she told the story, Great Gran somehow managed to cut her finger on the mallet. Probably on this rough spot right here.” Mom slowly held the mallet out to me.
Equally slow, I reached to feel the spot she spoke of. The world around me melted into the blackness of the night as I touched the ancient piece of wood.
Oh did we mention that is is FREE?

Monday, January 27, 2014

Cover Reveal for 5 Prince Publishing Author Jessica Dall

Genre: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Alternative History
Release Date: March 13, 2014
Digital ISBN 10: 1631120093 ISBN-13:978-1-63112-009-1
Print ISBN 10:1631120107 ISBN-13:978-1-63112-010-7


The Copper Witch
Adela Tilden has always been more ambitious than her station in life might allow. A minor nobleman’s daughter on a failing barony, Adela’s prospects seem dire outside of marrying well-off. When Adela catches the eye of the crown prince, Edward, however, well-off doesn’t seem to be a problem. Thrown into a world of politics and intrigue, Adela might have found all the excitement she ever wanted—if she can manage to leave her past behind.

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Release Day for 5 Prince Publishing author Denise Moncrief

Available from 5 Prince Publishing
 www.5princebooks.com  books@5princebooks.com
Genre: Fiction/Romance/Suspense
Release Date: September 5, 2012
Digital ISBN 13:978-1-939217-69-1 ISBN 10: 1-939217-69-5
Print ISBN 13:978-1-939217-70-7  ISBN 10: 1-939217-70-9

The End:
Sometimes the end is only the beginning.

Almost a year after her husband dies, Ellie Marston opens the file for Tab’s last manuscript, a thriller so compelling it reads like a true story. His manuscript needs an ending, so Ellie writes the obvious conclusion. The same morning she types The End, her career as an assistant district attorney falls apart. Accused of throwing the high profile Patterson case, she resigns in disgrace. The only friend she has left in the criminal justice system is Det. Paul Santiago, a man she has worked closely with on numerous cases. While she was married to Tab, she squashed her growing feelings for Paul, determined to make her deteriorating marriage work, but circumstances after Tab’s death bring Ellie and Paul together.

Ellie’s paranoia increases as she becomes convinced Patterson is harassing her, certain that someone is searching her belongings for any hidden evidence she might have that would reopen his case. It becomes clear there was a conspiracy to release Patterson. She seeks help from her former co-worker, Presley Sinclair, but soon discovers Presley is deeply involved in the subsequent cover up. Worse yet, Tab’s affair with Presley drew him into the twisted conspiracy as well.

Together Paul and Ellie attempt to uncover the conspiracy in the District Attorney’s office, the set up that forced her to resign. The key to the mystery is hidden in the pages of Tab’s manuscript. Once Paul and Ellie come to the correct conclusion—Tab’s manuscript is a true story and Ellie’s added ending is the only logical outcome—Ellie attempts to reveal Patterson’s hidden partner in the District Attorney’s office, but the co-conspirator she uncovers is not whom she suspects. Danger swirls around her as she steps further and further into the conspirator’s trap.




Denise wrote her first story when she was in high school—seventeen hand-written pages on school-ruled paper and an obvious rip-off of the last romance novel she read. She earned a degree in accounting, giving her some nice skills to earn a little money, but her passion has always been writing. She has written numerous short stories and more than a few full-length novels. Her favorite pastimes when she’s not writing are spending time with her family, traveling, reading, and scrapbooking. She lives in Louisiana with her husband, two children, and one very chubby dog.





Excerpt of The End:
Tab’s Mac wobbled on the edge of the coffee table in front of me as my fingers tapped out the letters of the final sentence of the final scene as if they had a mind of their own. The idea for the ending had come to me in the middle of the night, and I was determined to finish the project before I forgot what I wanted to write. I hit return and then spaced down and typed The End with a flourish. I didn’t know if writers wrote that at the end of a manuscript, but I did it anyway.
I leaned back on the sofa. A smile should have formed, but it didn’t. I was pleased…but exhausted. The urge to finish Tab’s final project had been satisfied. How did he do this? The process had mutilated every one of my emotions.
He had put a lot of himself into his writing. I’d watched him, absorbed for hours on end, struggling to choose just the right word or just the right sentence structure. He’d tried for years to get an agent or a publisher to read one of his manuscripts. After numerous rejections, he’d send them to the virtual trash bin with an angry jab to the delete button. It appeared like a lot of wasted effort to me.
Thinking about Tab kicked me in the gut once again. He had been dead for almost a year, but his memory could still hit me hard when I least expected it. It’s true. You never get over losing someone you love the way I had loved him.
I was awake late one night the previous week watching Castle on a Netflix disk, when I decided it was time to read Tab’s unfinished masterpiece—well at least it would have been a masterpiece in his humble opinion—if he had discussed it with me. He never mentioned the project. I didn’t even know the manuscript existed until after the accident that took his life. If I hadn’t been searching the hard drive of his Mac for something else, I would have never known about it.
Odd. Tab wasn’t a secretive sort of guy. Was he?
So his unfinished manuscript had remained unread on the hard drive of his Mac for months. I’d put the idea of reading his final words aside, but then I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to read what he left behind.
When I opened the file, I expected to read something sentimental and just a little cheesy, something with a made-for-television happy ending. I expected to cry like a baby when I read his final words. Tab was the most dramatic man I’d ever met.
Instead, I became engrossed in a thriller that read so real I wondered if he had written a true story. All the plot needed was a realistic ending.
And the end came to me in the middle of the night.
It was done now. For better or for worse. I reached for my coffee mug and took a sip, then grimaced. The brew had gone stone cold. I rose from the sofa and slogged into the kitchen to refill my cup and stick it in the microwave. As I waited for the ready beep, the view outside my window captured my attention. A bare limb of an oak tree swayed, easily manipulated by the wind. The weather promised another gloomy, rainy day. I pulled my robe closer around me, but the chill of the morning pierced the terry cloth. I shuddered and headed for my bedroom.
My linens lay on my bed, twisted and tangled from tossing and turning. I had no desire to go to work. Finishing Tab’s masterpiece had drained my energy, and when I finally dragged my butt into the office, I would have to confront my boss. Executive Assistant District Attorney Michael Leads would not be happy with my lack of progress on the Baxter case. Into my second year as an assistant district attorney, I was well aware I had missed my calling. My confidence in the criminal justice system had disappeared. My passion for convicting the right offender put me in constant conflict with a process that had morphed over the years into a system designed for speed rather than accuracy.
With no enthusiasm, I dressed for the day. I chose my best black suit because it matched my mood, but beneath it I wore a bright, cherry red blouse. My power outfit. I needed all the chutzpah I could manage to face Leads’ wrath. It was coming at me, like a hurricane hovering off the coast trying to decide which shore was most vulnerable.
After applying a few final touches to my makeup, I zipped a brush through my hair, made a pretense of brushing my teeth, and swished an ounce of mouthwash. I held my hand over my mouth. My breath still smelled of stale coffee. I looked into the mirror and groaned, then swiped at the toothpaste stain on my lapel with a damp rag before heading toward the living room. After a few minutes of panicked searching, I found my only pair of black heels under the sofa.
I was as ready for my confrontation with Leads as I was ever going to get. My briefcase leaned next to the front door where I’d dropped it the night before. I had planned to review some case files before I went to bed, but once I closed my apartment door behind me, nothing could have motivated me to open my briefcase last night.
The ride to the office was probably the longest of my career. Lights flashed through the windows as the train passed through another station. I held tight to a strap above me because all the seats were full, always a marker of how my day would go. I was running late, and there was no hope for me.
My mind drifted. Instead of mentally listing the things I needed to accomplish at work that day, I dwelt on how I should have chosen a different path for my life and what that path would have been. Had everything I suffered to work my way through college and then law school really been for nothing?

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Launch Day for Doug Simpson's Soul Awakening


I am very happy to have Doug Simpson's Book Launch today!  Please join me in checking out his great work!


Available from 5 Prince Publishing www.5princebooks.com  books@5princebooks.com
Genre: Fiction/General/Christian/Fantasy/Romance/Paranormal/Ghost/Visionary & Metaphysical
Release Date: October 2012
Digital ISBN 13:978-1-939217-06-6 ISBN 10:1939217067
Print ISBN 13: 978-1939217-07-3 ISBN 10: 1939217075


Soul Awakening
Soul Awakening is a spiritual mystery/romance story involving the discovery of reincarnation and the past lifetimes of a group of individuals. It is a work of fiction, but was inspired by a series of actual events that were experienced by the author or other individuals known to the author. It involves the apparently accidental, though actually orchestrated by Divine Intervention, meeting of three total strangers, and their ultimate discovery that they shared previous lifetimes together. It includes episodes of spirit communication, messages from God, past-life regression sessions, Guardian Angels, past-life recall in the awake state, and Soul Attraction, which is the reincarnation of groups of souls together, in more than one lifetime, in order to deal with uncompleted Karmic connections from previous lifetimes together.

Bio for Doug Simpson:

Doug Simpson is a retired high school teacher who has turned his talents to writing. His first novel, a spiritual mystery titled Soul Awakening, was published in the United States in October of 2011, by Book Locker. His magazine and website articles have been published in 2010 to 2012 in Australia, Canada, France, India, South Africa, the United Kingdom, and the United States. His articles can be accessed through his website at http://dousimp.mnsi.net.

Author Contact Info:


Excerpt from Soul Awakening:
“I would like you to again picture yourself sliding down the same tunnel as before, sliding towards the light at the end. When you exit from the tunnel, you will land in a different lifetime than the one as Bernice Woodward. Please let me know when you are out of the tunnel.”
After a few seconds, Clippers said, “I am out of the tunnel.”
“Please describe what you see.”
“There is a large crowd, men, women and children, waiting by the side of the path from Capernaum.”
“Who are you waiting for?”
“Jeshua.”
“Who is Jeshua?”
“Jeshua the healer. Our Savior.”
“Are you waiting with the crowd?”
“Yes.”
“Is Jeshua a relative or a friend of yours?”
“No.”
“Why did you come this day to see Jeshua?”
“I brought our son for Jeshua to heal.”
“What is wrong with your son?”
“He has a crippled leg.”
“What is your son’s name?”
“Abraham bar Joseph.”
“Is your husband Joseph there with you?”
“No.”
“What is your name?”
“Anna.”
“I would ask you now to move along in time, just a little, to when Jeshua and His followers or disciples arrive at the spot where the crowd, including Anna and Abraham are waiting. When they arrive there, where you are, will you let me know, please?”
“Yes.” The room went silent, and the seconds slowly ticked by.
“Four of His followers have joined our waiting group. They are telling us that Jeshua will be arriving in a few minutes. The four followers have split up and are circulating amongst the throng of people. One is coming over where we are. He seems to be looking at us, or maybe it is Abraham that caught his attention.
“‘What is the matter with the boy’s leg? Did he break it?’ he is asking me. I told him that Abraham was born crippled. He has put his arm around Abraham’s shoulder and asked us to come along with him. We are moving through the crowd to the edge of the pathway. The people at the south end of the crowd are starting to cheer. I see heads appearing over the knoll. It is wonderful to see Jeshua. We have never seen Him before. He is stopping when He reaches one of His followers. That follower appears to have a blind beggar with him. Jeshua just placed His hand on the beggar’s head, and said something quietly. I am too far away to hear. The beggar is jumping up and down, shouting, ‘I can see! I can see!’ He is now thanking Jeshua.
“They are moving on towards us. The follower beside us is telling Jeshua that Abraham has been crippled from birth. ‘Is that correct?’ Jeshua is asking Abraham. Abraham says, ‘Yes, sir. Please make me well so that I can run and jump like the other boys.’ Jeshua is smiling. ‘My son, your sins are forgiven. Give Me your crutch.’ Abraham hands Jeshua his crutch, and He tosses it on the ground. ‘Now My son, let us see you jump as high as you can,’ Jeshua says. Abraham is hopping around the path like a rabbit. ‘Now,’ Jeshua says, ‘Let’s see you run down to the end of the crowd and back as fast as you can.’ Abraham has taken off moving as fast as I have ever seen any boy run. This is a Miracle. It truly is a Miracle. Abraham has turned around and is charging back towards us. He runs right into Jeshua’s arms and is hugging Him, saying, ‘Thank you! Thank you!’ through his tears.
“The tears are pouring down my cheeks, also. I feel faint. I reach out for Jeshua’s follower and he helps me to remain standing. Jeshua backs away from Abraham, and musses-up his hair. ‘The Father has Blessed you, My son,’ He says and now is walking further down the path. The follower asks if I will be alright, and I tell him I think so. He is also moving along the path, following Jeshua. Abraham and I are hugging each other. We are still crying.”
Eye was so mesmerized by the revelation that it took a few moments for it to register that Clippers had stopped talking.
‘How do I follow that?’ she asked herself. “Is there anyone in your current lifetime that you recognize who is there in the crowd waiting for Jeshua?”
“Yes.”
“Please tell me their name then and today.”
“Abraham is Max Winston, my son.”
“I am now going to slowly bring you out of your hypnotic trance. On the count of ten, you will be wide-awake and feeling refreshed, and you will be able to remember most of what has taken place during our session today. One ...... two ...... three ...... you are beginning to feel more awake, four ...... five ...... six ...... seven ...... you are almost totally awake, eight ...... nine ...... ten. Wake up!”
Clippers stretched her arms, yawned, and opened her eyes.
Eye handed her the two CDs. “I believe that we just experienced the most rewarding regression session that I can ever remember, Clippers. You truly are Blessed.”