Terror on Sunshine Boulevard by J.Q. Rose a perfect read for the scary month of October Click here to download this paranormal mystery and more mysteries by J.Q. from BWL Publishing 👻👻👻👻 |
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Terror on Sunshine Boulevard by J.Q. Rose a perfect read for the scary month of October Click here to download this paranormal mystery and more mysteries by J.Q. from BWL Publishing 👻👻👻👻 |
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Windmaster Legacy by Helen Henderson |
In the Windmaster Novels, readers are invited to journey the high seas, and from mountain heights to cavern depths on an epic quest to save the future of magic. One inspiration for the land of Tarekus in Windmaster Legacy was the Australian outback. The landmark where Lord Dal and Lady Ellspeth were to join the caravan was based on Uluru, or Ayers Rock, the massive sandstone monolith in the heart of the Australia's Northern Territory.
Image courtesy of Pixabay |
In the veldt, Dal, Ellspeth and the caravan encounter long-necked animals that eat the tender leaves off the top of trees. These creatures are called by tree-trimmers by the locals.
Settings can not only be where an author wants to go, but have been. Looking through old travel photographs of the Desert of Maine reminded me of the area around Montrat. The area is a perfect place for a rogue mage, such as Leod in Windmaster Golem to practice his spells without anyone being aware of his activities.
Spelunking is a non-starter for a fun activity. That is unless the ground opens up and swallows you, and traveling the underground is the only hope of escape. On the other hand, Ellspeth willingly entered a cave to save the future of mage. And, she had to do it without the knowledge of what was to come or the comfort of Lord Dal and his magic.
That is not to say that I didn't have real-world experience that served as inspiration for the cave in Windmaster. I have visited caves open to the public from Ohio to New York and used the experience as inspiration for Ellspeth's adventure. Each had their own unique world. Access to the underworld varied from rough-hewn, water-slicked stairs to a modern elevator. Some chambers were narrow and walked. Other sites had large, vaulted rooms with a river running through them and visitors traveled by boat.
The real world does not consist of one environment, one microsystem, or one geography. Varying the setting is important to me. And I hope my readers enjoy their journey in the dunes of Montrat, the scrub of Tarekus, and from mountain heights to cavern depths.
To purchase the Windmaster Novels: BWL
~Until next month, stay safe and read. Helen
Find out more about me and my novels at Journey to Worlds of Imagination. Follow me online at Facebook, Goodreads or Twitter.
Helen Henderson lives in western Tennessee with her husband. While she doesn’t have any pets in residence at the moment, she often visits a husky who have adopted her as one of the pack.
To find more of Nancy's work please click on the cover.
Time, where does it go? It feels like only yesterday I was sixteen and galloping through the Rouge Valley near Scarborough, Ontario. My world was filled with horses and the people associated with them. That time in my life is kind of like a golden halo, you know the old saying- the Good Old Days. Of course, life being what it is, there was good and bad in those days. But the constant thread running through it all was the horses and my passion for them.
It wasn't until I was seventeen that I got my own horse, but I still remember those wonderful patient horses who made up the dude string at Rouge Hill Stables. Considered by some as old, or used up, or just a grade (the equine equivalent of mutt), but they patiently put up with packing non-riders up and down the big hill to gain access to the valley. They did their job without complaining day in and day out. I learned so much from those horses, in my mind's eye I can see them still.
And now, in December I will turn sixty-five. Officially a Senior. How the hell did that happen? My youngest will turn forty in February of 2022. I mean...are you kidding me? Where did all that time go- how did all those years slip by without me really noticing? I have been many things in my life, but through it all the constant has been my horses. Although many horses have made an impact on my life, there are a few that were truly horses of my heart. Brandy was the first horse that was mine, one that no one else could make a decision about. That's the problem with loving horses that don't belong to you, other people can make decisions that take that horse away from you. The second horse of my heart was Tags, a big chestnut quarter horse that looked more like a stocky thoroughbred (and acted like one as well) the third horse, the horse of my old age is Emily. She's twenty-one and still looks much younger. She's been mine since before she was born as I owned her momma.
I know some men can keep track of events that happened in the past by what car they drove at that time, for me it's what horses were around me that brings back the memories clear and strong. In my heart I am still that sixteen year old kid riding horses in the moonlight through the blooming apple trees beneath Spy Glass Hill, wearing my heart on my sleeve and believing anything is possible if you just want it bad enough.
That idealistic outlook is a bit tattered by the passing years, but I guess I do still believe anything is possible if you just work at it and don't lose focus. The old lady I see in the mirror now can still startle me sometimes, who is she? And behind her eyes I can still find the golden halo of youthful optimism, and always the horses, teaching me courage and fortitude and reminding me patience is a virtue.
Until next month, stay well, stay happy.
The last week in September arrived. My granddaughter came downstairs. "The porches in the neighborhood are boring." Not that on our block the ten houses all have porches. Five do and five do not. I just shrugged. "Do you mind if I decorate a bit? she asked. "Go ahead." I thought of something for fall. Well Halloween is fall but what my porch has become since the end of September is quite stunning, I guess. If I can get the pictures to hit this post, you will see what she has done. Halloween is still weeks away. Her furious decorating spree was completed before September ended.
My Places
https://www.facebook.com/janet.l.walters.3?v=wall&story_f
http://wwweclecticwriter.blogspot.com
https://www.pinterest.com/shadyl717/
Buy Mark
The Twisted
Climb – Darkness Descends
Book 2 of the award-winning
Twisted Climb series
1st Journey to Bahamas: Route from Georgian Bay through Trent Severn Canal to Lake Ontario then down Hudson River to New York. South through Intercoastal Waterway to North Carolina then southeast to the Bahamas. Vacation in Bahamas for up to six months, then head north to Annapolis, Maryland, or Halifax, Nova Scotia. |
Cross-Atlantic Journey: Route from New York or Nova Scotia (Canada) across Atlantic Ocean to the Azores, east to Portugal and Strait of Gibraltar (perhaps Europe?) Weather window regulates passage south to the Canary Islands, then southwest across the Atlantic to Antigua, Grenada, British Virgin Islands. Note: arrows denote ocean currents. |
Catalina 47 aft cabin (Captain's Quarters) |
Hylas 49 main salon |
Moody 46 |
We purchased our 36' Catalina in Sandusky, Ohio in March 2009 and had her transported to Georgian Bay, Ontario (Canada). |
Hike to Lake Topaz, Baie Fine, North Channel |
Escape Route II at anchor, Henvey Inlet, Georgian Bay. |
At anchor, Covered Portage Cove, North Channel. |
Captain Ian enjoying the sunset at Beckwith Island, Georgian Bay. |
The last twenty years have bought
extraordinary changes to the publishing world. Among the most important have
been the emergence of the Digital Marketplace, and its younger brother, Social
Media Marketing. While purists may rue the days when everything was in print,
not to mention available in dozens of small bookstores, there is no doubt that
the new technologies have made writers’ works available to an enormous, global
audience.
The
days of innovation are not over. Newer, more democratic, ways of publishing are
on the horizon. Here then, are a couple of emerging technologies that hold
promise:
1. Auto-generated
Audio Books.
Currently,
only a select few books are turned into audio books. The process involves
professional narrators and expensive equipment. The conversion takes time and
money. Google, which controls Google Play Books, has been working to developing
Artificial Intelligence to automatically transcribe text-to-speech. Far from
the robotic voices which mangle names and words, Google has worked on using
natural voices that can handle complex words and proper nouns, and deliver
speech with authentic pitch, stress, rhythm and intonation. Once widely
available, this technology will allow audio books to become available to a vast
number of publishers and writers.
Crazy
Maple Studios, a tech company based in California has developed a software
which allows authors to recreate their books as graphic novels. While not an
automated process, it offers authors the chance to create graphic characters, plates
(or scenes) and insert animation and sound. The technology allows the author to
even introduce game play, where readers can decide what a character does. In
this way, it creates an immersive reading experience which can include gaming.
Mohan Ashtakala (mohanauthor.com) is the author of "The Yoga Zapper," a fantasy and "Karma Nation," a literary romance. he is published by Books We Love (www.bookswelove.com)
My October surprise is a sneak peek at my November 2021 release, Ursula's Inheritance. The third book in my American Civil War Brides series, it was a surprise to me, too! After publishing Book 2, Mercies of the Fallen, I thought I was finished with Ursula's story. But readers thought otherwise!
Mercies took place between the Battles of Antietam and Gettysburg. It ended just after the infamous New York City draft riots of July 1863. Readers wanted to know what happened next in the lives of Ursula and her Union officer Captain Rowan Buckley. Does he survive the war? Can she come out of hiding and clear her name? Will their young marriage born of desperate circumstances become a lasting union of souls? And what about the secrets still between them?
Did you know that this is how Louisa May Alcott's Little Women got written too? The first volume (1868) was a great success. But readers were eager for more. Alcott quickly completed a second volume in 1869. The two volumes were issued in 1880 as a single novel that has become our cherished classic.
I hope you'll enjoy what happens next in the story...The opening is from Rowan's viewpoint, and I hope you'll learn what a great dad he is becoming....
Chapter One, Ursula's Inheritance
April 1864, Gramercy Park, Manhattan
Even with the one eye the war had left him, Rowan Buckley knew the wee one pilfering from the garden was a girl, despite her trousers. He frowned at the canvas bag at her feet.
“So it is not a squirrel with an interest in our angelica, then?” he asked quietly.
The urchin turned, startled eyes narrowing. “Better me than an Irish thug!” she spat out.
The girl took advantage of his hesitation and his limited depth perception. She grabbed the sack and raced toward the iron garden gate. But after three hard years of soldiering, there was nothing wrong with Rowan’s reflexes. He caught up, took her wrist, and, when she resisted, her waist. She had a waist. So she was a little older than her small size had first impressed upon him.
“Please let me go, sir,” an even smaller voice came out of her.
“Am I ‘sir’ then, now that you’re caught?”
“You are a black Irish scoundrel to hold me against my will!”
She kicked him. Hard enough to throw off his stance. He maintained his temper and light grip as he steered her toward the tradesman’s door of Ursula’s house.
“You’ve nothing to fear from me, lass.” He sent her through the entrance with a nudge at her back. “Now hush up your caterwauling, the baby’s asleep.”
Jonathan was stretched out at the hearth, his stockinged foot rocking the cradle. His eyebrow arched.
“Company? The kettle’s on, my fine fellow.”
“Your fellow is a girl, and there’s nothing fine about her,” Rowan corrected, lifting the cap off his captive’s head. Fair-haired braids descended. “May I present our angelica and camomile thief?”
Jonathan smiled. “Ah. Mystery solved.”
The girl’s eyes fired. “I planted that garden!”
“Did you?” Jonathan asked in his most charming southern tone. “Fetch the young horticulturist a chair, brother.”
“She kicks,” Rowan warned.
The girl’s light brown eyes narrowed as she looked from one to the other. “You’re not brothers.”
“And you neglected to pay for your trousers,” Rowan observed, yanking off and reading the dry goods store tag. “The proprietor might want a word with you about that.”
“The proprietor is my father. His name is Selby, see?”
A rustling of nightclothes and Ursula stood in the back doorway. “Mr. Thomas Selby?”
Rowan saw something familiar in the girl’s trapped look, the tears stubbornly held back.
“You are so confusing! All of you!” she shouted, loud enough to startle wee Henry to wailing.
“Aw, there now then, fledgling,” Rowan soothed, lifting the baby from cradle and into his arms. “You’ve had enough of the lot of us, have you?”
Ursula kept her eyes fixed on the girl.
“What is your name?”
“Penina.”
She glanced in the sack, “Thank you, Penina. A little camomile is exactly what we need for our Henry’s teething gums. Take the rest home. Will you not join us for breakfast first?”
Rowan sighed. His wife had found another stray. He rubbed his sore shin, then fetched the frying pan. This little one might enjoy some of his oatcakes, he supposed.