Leigh Goff

Young Adult Author


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Latin-the Dead Language that Speaks to us Today

By Carol Browne

I know I was lucky when it came to education. Not only did I live in the UK at a time before austerity when the state paid for all our equipment, I also got to attend a grammar school. That meant I studied Latin for about the first four years I was there. At the time I didn’t see the relevance; none of my contemporaries did. It was a dead language confined to history. Something for academics and librarians and archaeologists. A difficult study for an English brain not used to complicated conjunctions and declensions. The concept that nouns had to beclassified into gender was bizarre. All the different word endings that had to agree with each other made my head reel. It seemed Latin was something you did to get a qualification—and I did. I achieved what in those days was called an ‘O’ Level. So, job done. Stick it on the CVwith all the others.

Image by Desi Maxwell from Pixabay

It was after I left school that I learned to love Latin and appreciate its value as a linguistic tool. More than that, I understood its historical significance, how it helped to shape the modern world we have today. How many languages have Latinate words as part of their lexicon? How many countries, corporations and institutions use Latin mottos? I’m thinking of a famous one here, E Pluribus Unum (Out of many, one) which appears on the Great Seal of the United States of America.Latin invaded Britain along with the Romans in the first century and it was clearly determined to take root as part of the language of the indigenous people because it became the language of the church for centuries. In 1066, when the Norman French invaded Britain, their Latinate tongue became the dominant language and married itself without ceremony to that spoken by the oppressed Anglo- Saxons.

In this way, Latin moved up to another level and its words formed a large part of what was to become what we now know as English. People wonder why in English there are so many different words for the same thing but the richness of the language is a result of having input from so many other languages brought to Britain by a variety of invaders.

Image by Photos for You from Pixabay

So from a living language spoken by the Romans, to an elitist language used by the church and the legislature, it evolved in many ways, even giving scientific names to plants, animals, diseases and body parts! And now it is supposedly a dead language because no-one speaks it anymore except for academics and historians. And yet how can you call it dead when it is so widely used? As a writer Latin isn’t dead to me. I can call upon my knowledge of Latin to help me work out the meaning of many words in use today. If I encounter an unfamiliar word, as long as it has had some truck with Latin during its evolution, I am likely to be able to recognise some part of it that will facilitate my understanding. Latin prefixes are extremely helpful: ex, inter, trans, sub, contra, for example. These are already pointing you in a certain direction. A submarine is obviously going to operate under the sea rather than above it! (And marine is also of Latin origin—‘mare’, sea.) Latin has also helped me translate words in other Latinate languages like Italian and Spanish, even though I’m not that acquainted with them.

Latin is timeless, as familiar in Shakespeare’s plays as in Hollywood movies. It has expandedits influence into popular culture without most people giving it a second thought—where would Hogwarts professors be without their Latin-inspired incantations? In the Marvel universe, what would Magneto be called without that ancient Roman language? (L. ‘magnes’?) All those horror films where the bad guys try to summon demons wouldn’t be half so dramatic if they didn’t use Latin to do it; likewise, exorcisms sound much more impressive in Latin. It is, I have come to realise, a rather beautiful language.Versatile too. You can have fun with Latin. In The Handmaid’s Tale, ‘nolite te bastardes carborundorum’ (Don’t let the bastards grind you down) is grammatically incorrect Latin with some made-up words and was a joke Margaret Atwood remembered from school, but it struck a chord with her audience and people actually have it tattooed on their wrists! Latin isn’t dead. It never really went away. Those ancient Romans gave us the gift that keeps on giving; even our planets are named after their gods and goddesses. Latin went global long before that concept even existed.The question must be, did we absorb Latin or did Latin absorb us! Whatever the answer, Latin is here to stay.Here is a little from my latest release for your reading pleasure. Yes, a little Latin has worked its way into this psychological thriller.

Gillian Roth finds herself in middle age, living alone, working in a dull job, with few friends and little excitement in her life. So far, so ordinary. But Gillian has one extraordinary problem.Her house is full of other people… people who don’t exist. Or do they?As her surreal home life spirals out of control, Gillian determines to find out the truth and undertakes an investigation into the nature of reality itself.

Will this provide an answer to her dilemma, or will the escalating situation push her over the edge before she has worked out what is really going on?

BLURB: Thursday, 26th March, 2015. My house is filled with people who don’t exist.They have no substance. They are neither alive nor dead. They aren’t hosts or spirits. They aren’t in any way shape or form here, but I can see them, and now I need to make a record of how they came to be under my roof. Why now? Why today? Because we line in strange times, and today is one of the strangest days this year; this is the day that Richard III, the last Plantagenet king of England, was interred in Leicester Cathedral, with all due ceremony, 530 years after he was slain at the Battle of Bosworth in 1485. How surreal is that? I watched the highlights on Channel 4 earlier. A couple of my house guests sat with me and together we marveled at the event. They did Richard proud, no doubt of that.

I left them to it after a while and came up here to my bedroom to start writing a diary: this diary. Life feels unreal today, as if time has looped back onto photo albums. The house clearly passed must itself and everything is happening now. And if I can set my thoughts down on paper, perhaps I can make sense of everything, make it all real somehow.Where did it start, this thing that has happened to me? A couple of years ago? I can’t say when. It evolved without my conscious input. The existence of my house guests was a fact long before I began to wonder at it. I do wonder at it now and I know I must keep track of what’s happening before I lose myself in this crowd of imaginary beings. At first there was only a few of them, and I observed their doings without much concern.

I watched them snooping around the place, choosing the most comfortable chairs to sit in, leaning against the furniture, inspecting the bookcases, checking the kitchen utensils, and peering into my photo albums. The house clearly passed muster and they stayed. In time, they knew me down to the marrow. I have never known them as well as they know me. They have an air of mystery, as though they have a life outside my house they will never divulge. Even so, I felt I was safe with them and I could tell them my problems. Tell them what no-one else must ever hear.

And so these shades thickened, quickened; their personalities accumulated depth and solidity, as though they were skeletons clothing themselves in flesh. I no longer came home to a cold, empty house, but to a sanctuary where attentive friends awaited my return. I was embraced by their jovial welcome when I stepped through the door. I never knew which of them would be there, but one or two at least would always be waiting to greet me, anxious to hear about my day and make me feel wanted, and for a while I could forget the problems I have at work (even the one that bothers me the most). Since then I have felt a subtle change. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I really need this to be a faithful account of the entire situation from start to finish, so I have to try to work out how it all began, even if I’m not sure when. If I cast my mind back, it floats like a lantern through a city cloaked in fog. I must try to isolate the shadowy figures that flit up at me out of the murk.

So, let’s begin with the friend I remember first. I was cooking my evening meal. My mind wandered. I remember feeling sad. And there she stood, at my right elbow, peering into the saucepan. “Watch you don’t burn that,” she said. I don’t have names for my imaginary friends, just titles, so I call her Kitchen Girl. She’s dark-haired with porcelain skin, and she’s tall and voluptuous. The sort of woman I’d like to be except I’m small with red hair and a ruddy complexion, and I need chicken fillets to convince people I’m female. I suppose Kitchen Girl is rather daunting, with those fierce blue eyes and no-nonsense approach to everything. I can stand up to her though. I use humour as my weapon of choice and she appreciates wit and banter. I’d like it if she didn’t nag so much, if I’m honest (“Use less salt… keep stirring… is that all you’re going to eat?”) but, criticism aside, I know she’ll compliment me on the finished product as it lies uneaten between us on the table.

Long conversations back and forth have been played out while the meals go cold on their plates. Fried eggs congeal and go waxen. Ice cream melts into a tepid sludge. Sandwiches curl up with embarrassment to be so spurned. You know how it is when you get gossiping. Someone wants to talk to me and that’s better than food.

And sometimes, it’s curious, but it’s Kitchen Girl who cooks the food and serves it to me likea waitress. She likes to surprise me with new dishes.I have no idea how this happens.Nor why she never leaves the kitchen. But I wish she’d do the washing up now and then.

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Born in Stafford in the UK, Carol Browne was raised in Crewe, Cheshire, which she thinks of as her home town. Interested in reading and writing at an early age, Carol pursued her passions at Nottingham University and was awarded an honours degree in English Language and Literature. Now living and working in the Cambridgeshire countryside, Carol writes both fiction and non-fiction.

Stay connected with Carol on her website and blog, Facebook, and Twitter.


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Apples From Emma Lane

Apples from Emma Lane

Photo by Fidel Fernando on Unsplash

Such a gorgeous fruit. Fruit bowl on the dining room table lends a nice fragrance to the room; apple bobbing and caramel apples are for Halloween. Did you mom ever make fresh apple sauce? Nothing like the stuff they sell in the grocery store, is it? At my little Herbtique Shoppe here in Western NY, we sell Gourmet Chunky Rum Apple Sauce. The recipe is a state secret, but here are some hints to make the most of this delicious fruit. Select both soft and firm apples, ie Courtland is soft, Greenings are firm. One will cook down first leaving the other ‘chunky’. Stir frequently. Burned apples are not delicious and the softones cook rapidly. To peel or not to peel: We leave the peel on at home. Commercially we don’t. Both are good. Taste before you add sugar. Most times it isn’t necessary. Blend flavors: Buy as many different kinds of apples as you can. Not only is this tasty, but it’s way fun as well. As you peel, take a bite now and then to compare flavors.

Flavorings: You are probably familiar with cinnamon to taste. A very small dash of nutmeg and cloves is good too. Vanilla is a winner. One cap and then taste. Other flavorings are great too-here is a good place to experiment. Let your eye roam over the choices at the grocery store. My son swears root beer would be great; he could be right. Be careful with maple syrup; it gets too sweet fast. Baked apples are wonderful when you use a touch of flavoring with your brown sugar—vanilla is one of my favorites but you might find others. Regarding the RUM: If you are making apple sauce, add at the last minute with whatever flavoring you have chosen. It gives it a sort of butter taste. I am about to experiment with BRANDY. You might try it too. A neighbor just hinted to me that apple added to salsa is good. Can’t wait to try. Canning apple sauce takes expert knowledge. Please do not try it if you haven’t done quite a bit of reading. PH is a biggie. We use lemon juice and a ph meter. Enjoy the apple harvest. There are so many ways and I didn’t even mention: apple pie, apples andcheese, cocktail apples, home dried apples, apple pan dowdy, apple crumb cake, apple butter, etc, etc. Dried apples and apple pie are delicious any time. After you’ve mulled over all the apple opportunities may I suggest a peek into one of my Regency releases?

Can an arrogant duke overcome his prejudice against a beautiful but managing female in timeto find true love and happiness?Miss Amabel Hawkins acknowledges her unusual upbringing, but she thinks James Langley, the Duke of Westerton, might be a tad unbalanced when he protests her efforts to right his badly managed properties. The duke, who has been away on the king’s business, demonstrates no respect for the beautiful but managing Miss Hawkins. Amabel has taken refuge at Westerton, fleeing from a forced marriage to a man who claims to be her relative in order to gain control of her young brother’s estate.The Duke arrives home to find his estate under the firm control of a beautiful but managing female. His suspicions are fueled by his recent task of spy-hunting and he wonders if Amabel Hawkins is just who she seems. While a dastardly spy lurks, a wicked man poses as her cousin threatening to take over the guardianship of her young brother. Amabel might be falling in love, but she knows for certain the duke would never approve of a meddlesome woman, and she decides to flee his estate. Will the duke finally realize the true value of the woman he loves or will his prejudice ruin his chances forever?

EXCERPT Fatigue and the effects of the brandy on top of the ale now gave his gait a distinct wobble. He chuckled, amused at his condition.As he reached for the portrait of great Uncle Barney, he lurched into the back of the red leather sofa in front of the cosy fire. “Deuce take it,” he exclaimed when a rounded arm rolled into view.He spotted the gentle curve of a hip and walked around to the front, where he spied a tumbled haze of dark curls hiding a face. It is indeed a female—a sleeping female.Who was she? The gown was too rich for his household staff. Curious, he knelt beside the sofa.“Only one way to find out,” he whispered and moved one dark curl. He sat back, satisfied when a handsome face swam into view. She sighed and rolled over, revealing a generous figure and a pair of rosy lips. She might be Sleeping Beauty—but not one of my relatives. He leaned over andkissed those tempting lips.As he lingered there, she sighed and came partially awake. He could not resist. He deepened the kiss and sounds of satisfaction like yum and umm came from those delicious lips. Her hand stroked his face, then reached around his head to pull him closer. Delighted with this turn of events, the Duke of Westerton complied enthusiastically and extended an arm around a slender waist. How much of the ale and brandy had he imbibed? Dizziness overcame his senses as he slid down on the floor and knew no more.

Emma Lane is a gifted author who writes under several pen-names. She lives with her patient husband on several acres outside a typical American village in Western New York. Her day job is working with flowers at her son’s plant nursery. Look for information about writing and plants on her new website. Leave a commentor a gardening question and put a smile on Emma’s face.Stay connected to Emma on Facebook and Twitter.


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A Hurricane of Ideas & a Free e-Book

2017-09-17T12-13-18-933Z--1280x720“Where do your story ideas come from?”

This is a question I’m often asked as an author and every time the same image pops into my head. The image is a map of seedling storms forming off the west coast of Africa as hurricane season begins. They cross the Atlantic Ocean, each seedling slowly developing into a tropical storm. They feed off energy from the warm waters of the tropics and some churn into hurricanes before making landfall or turning eastward into the Atlantic.

To me, my story ideas are those storms lining up in the distance, each waiting to feed on energy, time, and further imagining. Each desiring to become a full-blown, published novel. They consist of characters that need to be fleshed out, plots that need development, and settings that require delicious details.

My seedling storms start with imagination, inspiration, and maybe bits of memories from dreams or childhood experiences. I also make a conscious effort to tuck away all the goodies I come across—bits of interesting dialogue I overhear at a local shop, quirky personality traits or habits I might observe in strangers at a downtown restaurant, and historic facts I come across while researching. Then I start asking myself questions that might develop the story idea; questions like what happened before those ladies arrived at the pastry shop to stir that heated conversation? Why is that boy dunking his BBQ Pringles, one at a time, into his Diet Coke? What was the atmosphere like when an eighteenth century mob set a ship on fire in a waterfront part of town where I now buy fish tacos with extra guacamole?

As Neil Gaiman once said when asked where his story ideas come from, “I make them up. Out of my head.All fiction is a process of imagining: whatever you write, in whatever genre or medium, your task is to make things up convincingly and interestingly and new.” I must agree and I feel fortunate in knowing that hurricane season may only last July through November, but the hurricane of ideas forming in the ocean of my imagination keeps going.

If you would like to pick up a copy of Bewitching Hannah, Mirror World has ebooks and paperbacks available in their online store, or you can purchase them wherever books are sold! And this month, you can get this ebook for free from Mirror World Publishing with the promo code: COVEN.

Image from: https://www.nbcnews.com/news/weather/video/3-named-storms-brewing-in-the-atlantic-1048419907512


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Big Publishing News!

 

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After working with the wonderful Mirror World Publishing for my first two novels, I am thrilled to announce that The Parliament House has offered me a publishing contract for my next novel! (*cue happy dance*)
The Parliament House is the next big contender in the publishing community with an experienced team that specializes in editing, marketing, and design. Each acquisition is announced on Publisher’s Market Place and reviewed by Kirkus Reviews and Mugglenet.
The new novel is set in present-day New Orleans, a city where magic abounds and beauty masks danger.
The expected release date is Fall 2020. More details to come!

 

 


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Sloane Taylor’s New Summertime Cookbook!

JUST IN TIME FOR SUMMER

New from Toque & Dagger Publishing an exciting cookbook filled with recipes perfect for your grill and stove. Romantic Meals to Dine al Fresco, Book 2 in the Meals to Make Together series, is now available in e-book and paperback.

Starry summer nights are ripe for romance and dining al fresco. Enhance the mood with Romantic Meals to Dine al Fresco, candles, wine, and your favorite music. Fire up your grill and share a romantic dinner with your someone special. Then let the night take you away.

Create 45 delicious and complete meals for two that can be cooked on your grill or stove. No exotic or expensive ingredients needed to prepare these 103 recipes. They use everyday products already in your kitchen cabinets. Increasing the dinners is a snap for those fun nights friends or family join you.

Romantic Meals to Dine al Fresco, Book 2 in the Meals to Make Together series, is an ideal gift for a hostess, bridal shower, anniversary, or the couple who craves a fresh flavor in their lives.

What People are Saying About Romantic Meals to Dine al Fresco

In our fast food world, it’s nice to have a cookbook designed for you and your significant other to open a bottle of wine and enjoy each other’s company. You can turn to any page in this simple yet elegant book of tasty recipes and not be disappointed!
Paul Kutka, Private Executive Fine Dining Chef

Packed with mouth-watering recipes, easy-to-follow instructions, and helpful suggestions, Romantic Meals to Dine al Fresco is perfect for any cook who loves to serve succulent dishes on their secluded patio or candlelit living room. Perfect for busy couples wanting to spice up their relationships, this fabulous cookbook screams, “Bring on Summer!”
Sharon Ledwith, YA Paranormal Fantasy and Time Travel Author

Whether you’re a novice or an experienced chef, Sloane Taylor takes you on a gourmet journey adding flavour and panache to your meals. This collection is inventive with clear, easy-to-follow instructions. These recipes will become your favourites – I’d happily cook them every night!
Joy Wood, Award-winning Romance and Women’s Fiction Author

Sloane Taylor hits the nail on the culinary head with Romantic Meals to Dine al Fresco, dishes, as she points out, to be made together. I especially like the International fare, because food should also be about adventure. Start cooking with someone special and make your meals memorable. Taylor shows you the way.
Anne Montgomery, Award-winning Women’s Fiction and Young Adult Author

Delicious food prepared from elegant recipes to impress anyone! Romantic Meals to Dine al Fresco is my new favorite collection of no-miss recipes. And I love the cooking tips section in the back!
Suzanne G. Rogers, Victorian Romance Author

 

 

Sloane Taylor is an Award-Winning author with a second passion in her 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 romance novellas released by Toque & Dagger Publishing. Her first solo venture into non-fiction was a Couples Cookbook with eighty of her favorite recipes, DATE NIGHT DINNERS, Meals to Make Together for a Romantic Evening.

Excerpts from her books and free reads can be found on her website, blog, and her Amazon Author Page.

Connect with Taylor on Facebook and Twitter.


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NEW RELEASE! Blackflies & Blueberries From MG/YA Author Sharon Ledwith

Welcome to the 1-Week Virtual Book Tour for Blackflies and Blueberries (Mysterious Tales from Fairy Falls, #2) by Sharon Ledwith!
About Blackflies and Blueberries:
The only witness left to testify against an unsolved crime in Fairy Falls isn’t a person…
 
City born and bred, Hart Stewart possesses the gift of psychometry—the psychic ability to discover facts about an event or person by touching inanimate objects associated with them. Since his mother’s death, seventeen-year-old Hart has endured homelessness, and has learned ways to keep his illiteracy under wraps. He eventually learns of a great-aunt living in Fairy Falls, and decides to leave the only life he’s ever known for an uncertain future.
Diana MacGregor lives in Fairy Falls. Her mother was a victim of a senseless murder. Only Diana’s unanswered questions and her grief keeps her going, until Hart finds her mother’s lost ring and becomes a witness to her murder.
Through Hart’s psychic power, Diana gains hope for justice. Their investigation leads them into the corrupt world threatening Fairy Falls. To secure the town’s future, Hart and Diana must join forces to uncover the shocking truth, or they risk losing the true essence of Fairy Falls forever.
Blackflies and Blueberries Cover:
Genre: Young Adult, Paranormal
Publish Date: May 17, 2019
Publisher:  Mirror World Publishing https://www.mirrorworldpublishing.com/
EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT:

“I asked what’er ya doin’ on me property?”

Her tone was gruff, her manner, urgent. Hart didn’t want to argue with the old woman. Especially since she was wielding that axe around his head. He smiled weakly, and said, “I’m lost, I…I think.”

The woman was taken back. She stepped off of Hart’s hand. “What do ya mean ya think y’ur lost? Ya either are, or y’ur not. Which one is it, boy?”

Hart licked his dry lips. No use arguing with a backwoods hillbilly from Fairy Falls. He cleared his throat, and said, “I guess I’m lost. I’m looking for Gertie Ellis’ place. Do you know where she lives?”

The woman screwed up her face, which made her look even scarier than before, and then rubbed her bristly chin, as if she was actually contemplating beheading him. After a few seconds of silence, the old lady grunted. “Then I guess y’ur not lost, boy. Y’ur looking at her.”

Hart’s mouth fell open. His heartbeat accelerated. No way. She can’t be. Not her. Not this crazy, ancient biddy from the woods. He felt his face burn. This wasn’t who he expected. This whole freaking place wasn’t what he expected. Before Hart could reply, a sudden nudge under his right elbow begged for his attention. The dog, with a stick in its jaws and his tail wagging, wanted to play. It dropped the slobbery branch in Hart’s lap, then sniffed his bloodied ear and licked it. Hart winced as a gob of doggy drool dripped off his lobe. Gertie Ellis giggled, sounding suddenly like a little girl. He tipped his head to the side. Maybe there’s more to her than her backwoods charm?

“I see Skoka likes ya,” she said in a syrupy voice.

Hart smiled, then carefully patted the dog’s big, solid head. He sniffed Hart’s face and tried to lick his mouth. Hart ducked in time. “I think Skoka likes granola bars more.”

Gertie laughed again. “Ya got that right. So what do ya want with me, boy?”

Using Skoka as a brace, Hart lifted himself off the leafy forest floor, and turned to face Gertie Ellis. He was right about her height—five foot nothing—and noticed she brought the axe up across her stocky body, as if getting ready to defend herself. Hart shook his head.

He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Hart. Hart Stewart.”

She relaxed, grabbed his hand, and shook it firmly. Hart winced.

“So, Hart, what can I do fer ya, then?”

He frowned. “You don’t know who I am?”

She shrugged. “Should I?”

Hart bit his bottom lip. “Does the name Catherine Stewart mean anything to you?”

Gertie balked. “Catherine? Me niece Catherine?” She was silent for a moment, as if downloading old memories. Gertie scratched the bridge of her bulbous nose. “Hmm, yeah. Looked after her a spell when her mom passed. Then one day she just up and left me and Pete. No warning, no note. I only heard from her once in all the years.” She paused, as if letting the past catch up, and then looked up at Hart. “So, what of her, boy? Where’s she at now?”

A facial tick attacked Hart’s left cheek, then moved down to his mouth. Doesn’t she know about my mom? Hasn’t anyone contacted her? Hart wiped his face roughly to halt the twitching. “She’s, uh…she’s six feet under. She was murdered, a year ago today.”

Gertie’s leathery face clouded over, as if a shroud had covered her soul. She swooned and dropped her axe. Hart moved his foot before the axe’s head embedded itself into the earth. As Gertie fell back, Hart was there in seconds, holding her up, shaking her. She grasped his arm and pulled herself up. He could feel her warm breath on his skin, sense the shaky, unsureness in her touch. Shock, Hart assumed, and he suddenly wished he had informed Gertie of his mother’s death in a different way.

“M-murdered,” Gertie mumbled.

“It’s okay, Aunt Gertie, take a deep breath,” Hart said, encouragingly.

Gertie jerked. “A-aunt?”

“Oh, sorry. Great-aunt.”

Her face darkened. “What do ya mean? I got no family left. Me Pete’s been dead since last winter and now ya tell me Catherine’s gone.”

“You got me,” Hart whispered.

Her face reddened and she pushed Hart away. “And just who are ya?”

“Catherine’s son,” Hart replied.

Gertie reached down to seize the axe. It made a slow, sucking noise when she yanked it out of the ground. Hart’s great-aunt clenched the handle, her knuckles whitening under the pressure. “Liar! Catherine had no kid. She would’ha told me! Y’ur just a scoundrel after me fortune!”

Follow the Tour:
About the Author:
Escape to the past and have a blast
Sharon Ledwith is the author of the middle-grade/young adult time travel adventure series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS, and the teen psychic mystery series, MYSTERIOUS TALES FROM FAIRY FALLS. When not writing, researching, or revising, she enjoys reading, exercising, anything arcane, and an occasional dram of scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a southern tourist region of Ontario, Canada, with her hubby, one spoiled yellow Labrador and a moody calico cat.
Learn more about Sharon Ledwith at the following online places:
Sharon’s Website: www.sharonledwith.com
Sharon’s Facebook Page: http://www.facebook.com/#!/seledwith
Twitter: @sharonledwith https://twitter.com/sharonledwith
Buy Blackflies and Blueberries:
Mirror World Publishing:
Amazon:
Kobo (CA):
Barnes & Noble:
Apple Books:
Enter the Giveaway:

 


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Moon Pies from Author Chris Pavesic

by Chris Pavesic

These tasty treats combine the rich flavors of chocolate with a thick layer of marshmallow crème.

Total Eclipse Moon Pies
1 cup all-purpose flour
¼ cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tsp. baking soda
⅓ tsp. salt
½ cup sugar
¼ cup butter, softened
1 large egg white
½ cup 1% milk
¾ cup marshmallow crème

Preheat oven to 425° F.

Combine flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt in medium-sized bowl. In a large bowl, cream butter and sugar together. Add egg white and beat until fluffy with an electric mixer on medium speed, about 2 minutes. Stir in flour mixture, then milk, until just blended.

Drop rounded tablespoons of dough onto large, ungreased baking sheets 2-3 inches apart to make 18-20 cookies (Make sure to make an even number of cookies). Bake until the tops spring back when lightly touched, about 5 minutes.

Cool completely. Spoon 2 teaspoons of marshmallow crème on bottoms of half the cookies made. Top with remaining cookies.

Get comfy while you snack on your Moon Pie and indulge yourself with a good book. May I suggest one of the books from my LitRPG series The Revelation Chronicles? ?

In Starter Zone Cami kept herself and her younger sister Alby alive in a post-apocalyptic world, facing starvation, violence, and death on a daily basis. Caught by the military and forcefully inscribed, Cami manages to scam the system and they enter the Realms, a Virtual Reality world, as privileged Players rather than slaves. They experience a world of safety, plenty, and magical adventure.

In the Traveler’s Zone magic, combat, gear scores, quests, and dungeons are all puzzles to be solved as Cami continues her epic quest to navigate the Realms and build a better life for her family. But an intrusion from her old life threatens everything she has gained and imperils the entire virtual world.

Time to play the game.

Above the tree line floats an airship close to three hundred feet long with a slightly rounded wooden hull. Ropes attach the lower portion of the ship to an inflated balloon-like aspect, bright white in color with an identification symbol, a red bird with white-tipped feathers extended in flight, inside a round yellow circle in the center of the canvas. The deck is manned with archers and swordsmen. There are two sets of fore and aft catapults.

What I don’t see are cannons or any other type of a gun large enough to account for the sound of the explosion.

The ship pivots in the air, coming around to point directly at what looks like an oncoming flock of five large birds. Or creatures. They are too big and too strange looking to be birds. They drift closer, flapping their wings.

A moment passes before I realize that they are not creatures either. They are some sort of gliders. A person hangs below each set of the feathered wings, which flap and move with mechanical precision in a sky washed out by the morning sun.

The archers nock their arrows and aim at the flock.

The gliders draw in their wings and dive toward the deck, covering the distance in a few heartbeats. Most of the arrows fly uselessly past the attack force and fall like black rain from the sky. The archers aimed and released the volley too late.

The forward catapult releases a torrent of small rocks at the lead glider. It is a scatter-shot approach that proves effective. There are so many missiles that it is impossible to dodge them all.

But at the moment the stones strike, the other four let loose with fireballs. Spheres of crackling flame spring from their hands, glowing faintly at first and then with increasing brightness. The balls of fire shoot from their hands like bullets from a gun and fly toward the ship, exploding. Pieces bounce off the hull and fall to the ground, throwing hissing, burning globs of magic-fueled fire in all directions, setting everything they touch aflame.

 

Want to learn more about The Revelation Chronicles? Click HERE for updates on this and the other series by Chris. Watch the video on YouTube.

4eee6-chris2bpavesic2bauthor2bphotoChris Pavesic is a fantasy author who lives in the Midwestern United States and loves Kona coffee, steampunk, fairy tales, and all types of speculative fiction. Between writing projects, Chris can most often be found reading, gaming, gardening, working on an endless list of DIY household projects, or hanging out with friends.

Learn more about Chris on her website and blog.

Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and her Amazon Author Page.