I'm afraid you're building up antibodies.""What?" "We've found some patients build up antibodies to the drugs they are on." "No way!" On top of feeling lousy, I have this to take in. Antibodies are created when your body recognizes a foreign invader and sets out to destroy it. They effectively render the invading medication--harmless. Not what I wanted to hear. "I think we'll change your Humira schedule to once a week instead of twice per month."
Teeerrrrriiiiffffic. I get to stick a needle in my arm, or leg, or belly, four times a month instead of two times. Thank heaven I'm not diabetic. OH WAIT, I AM. I ask, "Does that mean double the side effects?" I am hoping not. No one wants a bizarre cancer they almost always die from."No." I am somewhat reassured. "So you don't think this flare is going to go away on its own." "Ah, no." After some additional discussion, I agree and head home. I have developed a stricture. So far, it's not too bad. Definition of STRICTURE
an abnormal narrowing of a bodily passage; also :
the narrowed part b :
a constriction of the breath passage in the production of a speech sound 2 :
something that closely restrains or limits : restriction
> 3 :
an adverse criticism : censure In my case, it is not an adverse criticism. And although my husband would like to put a few restrictions on me, it isn't that either. This one is in my large intestine and it makes a bizarre POPPING noise/feeling when something fiberful goes through.How gross is that? You actually feel it more than hear it though there are times it is audible. It starts with a pain like a side-ache you used to get when you ran. Me: Why oh why did I agree to write a Crohn's blog? Higher Self: Humility, humility, humility, Louann. Always honor your agreements. OK, so, that dilemma solved I shall continue. Shortly after, you get a pushy/crampy feeling,
then...it pops through. I'm even having a few issues with bread so it may not be long before surgery. I'll know in a month or so. All this means the inflammation is not under control. Hence, more Humira. On the upside, he did say Cimzia was an option and then Remicade which is a type of infusion therapy done in the hospital every few weeks. Now to tie all this in with being a writer. The Muse Writers Conference is coming up and I'll be teaching a class on Emotive Writing. What is that exactly? Basically,
it's about writing emotively or emotionally and it isn't as easy as you think. Having taken numerous courses in psychology, there is one theory--and I would acknowledge the writer if I could remember who she/he was--that believes the worst things that have happened to you have given you your greatest gifts. So it is to your benefit to get down with the mucky stuff and roll around. ShudderWell, if you wanna be a writer you gotta take some risks. That's what this blog is. It's my way of rolling in the dirt to better understand how I feel. Once I understand the emotions, I can transfer those emotions into my characters. And that, my friend, is important. Every single one of us has muck. No one is immune. Maybe you have felt the claw of depression, that spiky ball rolling around in your gut reminding you that you are not worthy. Or the piercing needle of anxiety that won't allow you rest--anywhere--not even in sleep. The agony of humiliation, the horrible cringing reflex that bursts out of you once your true self is unknowingly uncovered. Oh my. I could go on but no one stays around to read a long blog. *grin* Suffice it to say that it is
HEALTHY to get down with your good self. Look at your emotions like a big ball of pizza, yes a ball, not a pie, and it's one you threw up.
Pull out a piece of pepperoni. Eww, gross. A stringy piece of cheese. Sick!. Yet, each one means something. A physical pain, an emotional hurt. That damn ex-husband or wife. Bring it out and examine it. No matter how bad it is, it will not destroy you. NEVER be afraid to be yourself.
You are who you were meant to be. God never makes mistakes. (((HUGS)))Louann
Several years ago, there was much ballyhoo over whether or not ancient humans interbred with Neanderthals. Seems scientists discovered genetic similarities between us and in Interrupt, Jeff Carlson comes up with his own, unique ideas about Neanderthals and humans.
Emily Flint, biologist, is late for an appointment. One moment she is driving down the street, the next she is standing in front of a car accident. She doesn't know how or why she got there. Or even why the accident happened.
Flint catalog's the experience, then proceeds on her way. Her fiancee will retrieve her car and have it fixed while she makes her appointment. Emily's main goal in her work is to discover a cure for autistic children. Not only has she found a cure, but she has also discovered a vaccine against the elusive genetic disorder. Her nephew, P.J., is autistic and it is for him that she began her studies. Torn between the pharmaceutical's need for a weekly injection that will make everyone rich and a cure, Emily enters her appointment.
More accidents happen. A plane falls from the sky. Flashes of white light pierce the sunlit day. A solar max is on the way.
Astronomer and part-time father, Marcus Wolsinger, discovers that the sun, which has been stable for the last four thousand years, is entering a period of solar max that will upset the equilibrium. His son is visiting him but Marcus sends him back to LA just as the largest of the flares enters Earth's atmosphere. This will prove to be his undoing.
In the South China Sea, Lieutenant Commander Drew Haldane, a secret operative of ROMEO, tries to make sense of the deteriorating situation around the globe. Is China using an EMP against the US? Or perhaps something more sinister?
As solar flares shut down the world, Emily, Drew, and Marcus, begin to see the effects of the storm on the human population. Those humans caught outside revert back to primitive human behavior . Autistic children, who carry the genetic connection to Neanderthals, become Neanderthal and form bands that kill primitive humans. In the meantime, China is still trying to wipe the US off the planet.
While the writing is intense and drives you forward, I had great difficulty believing the story. With apocalyptic writing there has to be a believability factor that Interrupt was missing. Sure, there was plenty of jargon used, but it didn't connect. The last part of the book was page after page of descriptive fighting. So much so, I lost interest and hurried to finish.
As an ARC, Interrupt was interesting enough to while away the afternoon, but I wouldn't pay for it unless it was a .99 cent special for Kindle.
After a lengthy doctor's appointment and the decision to inject Humira once a week versus twice monthly, I was a little depressed. Still, I do want to feel better, it's just that the side effects of Humira are a little scary. Who wants to end up with Lymphoma? Urgh. The Crohn's fight continues. What did make my day w
as being able to introduce you to, The Grave Winner,
by Lindsey Loucks. Blurb:
Leigh Baxton is terrified her mom will come back from the dead — just like the prom queen did. While the town goes beehive over the news, Leigh bikes to the local cemetery and buries some of her mom’s things in her grave to keep her there. When the hot and mysterious caretaker warns her not to give gifts to the dead, Leigh cranks up her punk music and keeps digging.
She should have listened.
Two dead sorceresses evicted the prom queen from her grave to bury someone who offered certain gifts. Bury them alive, that is, then resurrect them to create a trio of undead powerful enough to free the darkest sorceress ever from her prison inside the earth.
With help from the caretaker and the dead prom queen, Leigh must find out what’s so special about the gifts she gave, and why the sorceresses are stalking her and
her little sister. If she doesn’t, she’ll either lose another loved one or have to give the ultimate gift to the dead – herself. Bio:
Lindsey R. Loucks works as a school librarian in rural Kansas. When she’s not discussing books with anyone who will listen, she’s dreaming up her own stories. Eventually her brain gives out, and she’ll play hide and seek with her cat, put herself in a chocolate induced coma, or watch scary movies alone in the dark to reenergize.
She’s been with her significant other for almost two decades.
Add The Grave Winner
| Check out Lindsey’s website
| Follow Lindsey on Facebook
| Follow Lindsey on Twitter
Join me in congratulating Lindsey on a great book. If you have the chance, introduce your teens to the great line of Crescent Moon Press, young adult novels. You won't be disappointed. (((hugs)))Louann
May is Crohn's Awareness Month in Canada. In the US it is in November. Which is how I got to blogging about the disease that has interrupted my life. I received an e-mail from a reader who knew I had Crohn's. They wanted to know why I wasn't blogging about it. Truth to tell, I'd never thought about it. I mean c'mon, who wants to talk about Crohn's?
I got slammed when I got home last night. Seems my son and his father had cooked up a scheme to get me to eat baby food. They were sure that would cure me.
"Mom. You are the rock that holds this family together. We would fall apart without you."
Who said anything about dying?
I've been subsisting on applesauce and white flour tortillas for the last two weeks. My hopeful optimism was sorely dashed by a major flare last weekend that nearly landed me in the hospital. Thankfully, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. There's no use kidding myself any longer. The Humira is not working. Oh, my psychological processes want me to BELIEVE it's working, but the pain level tells me it's not.
However, when anyone asks how I'm feeling I tell them I feel great. No problems, everything is wonderful. For some reason, this makes me feel better. If I do have a problem, I blow it off and say it will pass. Now, inside I know the truth, but outwardly I'm on this positivity kick that I'm hoping will translate into better health. You know, the power of positive thinking. After all, it can't hurt. Besides, who wants to bring a bunch of negativity into the world. Not me. I am so done with bad stuff. I'm ready for the good. Even if it means surgery, I'm okay with it.
If your life has been interrupted by Crohn's, here's some great advice. TAKE YOUR VITAMINS. As you know, especially if you have inflammation in the large and small intestine, you aren't getting all the vitamins you need. Of course, even I don't follow my own advice and a few months ago when I ran out of B12, I just didn't pick up anymore.
When I started to feel run down, pooped out, energy going by the wayside even if my thyroid meds were working, I remembered the B12. Within a few days---YES JUST A FEW DAYS--of taking the liquid drops, (you put it under your tongue instead of swallowing them or getting the injection) I felt enormously better.
Vitamin D--A must supplemental for Crohnies. Promotes bone and muscle health. Good for Crohn's arthritis and mental health.
Extra Bs--You need those B vitamins to keep depression at bay and your spirits up. They are also a great way to chase away the anxiety.
As always, check with your doc before taking anything. Even an herb. Remember--aspirin and NASIDs can make you bleed--go easy on the Tylenol. Elavil, a mild anti-depressant, works great for pain. You take it at night and it has a sedative effect. You will sleep better and feel better. I know there aren't a lot of options for pain control so managing Crohn's is the most effective way to banish pain.
As always, you are in my thoughts and prayers.
Today, I have the pleasure of introducing you to Katie O'Sullivan and her debut novel, the YA romance, Son of A Mermaid.
Congratulations, Katie. (I just love your name. Could it get anymore Irish?) When did you first start writing?
Like most authors, I was hooked on writing at a young age. I started writing in second grade… but it wasn’t until more recently that I decided I really wanted to be an author. What genre do you prefer or do you mix it up?
I’m a voracious reader and enjoy a wide range of genres, from YA to romantic comedy to mystery to science fiction. From Scott Westerfeld and Suzanne Collins to JRR Tolkien and GRR Martin… with a little Charlaine Harris and Jennifer Crusie thrown in for good measure.
I also love to discover new authors and LOVE so many of the books by my fellow Crescent Moon Press authors. Kary Rader’s recent release QUEEN OF JASTAIN reminded me of my teenaged obsession with Mark Twain’s classic Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court
. Love a good time travel book! Son of a Mermaid is a wonderful title. I wonder, where did your inspiration for this story come from?
I’ve always loved the beach and the ocean. When I was young, we used to spend summers on the Jersey Shore. My friends and I always made up stories involving mermaids. Now my family lives year round on Cape Cod, and we spend a lot of time walking on the beaches near our home. How fortunate you are to live near the ocean. Tell me, what has your publishing experience been like?
Crescent Moon Press has been wonderful to work with! I can’t say enough good things about the supportive group of authors that write for this house. It’s like a family! I couldn't agree more. CMP is a wonderful group of people. Do you have a certain routine you have for writing? i.e. You listen to music, sit in a certain chair?
I’m one of those odd writers who prefer silence when I write. Which is hard to come by with two big dogs and three teenagers roaming around and constantly asking for things! I do most of my writing when the kids are at school and the dogs are napping, lol. Oh, it's nice to meet another silent author. I hate noise when I'm writing. So, how do you come up with character names and places in your books?
Some of the names come to me, and some I do online research. For example, in Son of a Mermaid, I used a lot of Latin-rooted names for things, and wanted them to have meanings.
For everything that happens on dry land, I used real places and names or based them on real names. Windmill Point isn’t a real neighbourhood, although there are many neighbourhoods on Cape Cod just like it.
I had a best friend in high school with the nickname of Kae, and my mermaid character is based on her. In your most recent work, who is your favourite character and why?
My main character, Shea MacNamara, is my favorite. When I imagined and wrote him, I infused him with characteristics from both of my sons, so I’m very partial to him. He’s strong and sweet at the same time. Did you learn anything from writing your book? What was it?
That I love writing young adult fiction! It’s a genre I really enjoy reading, but I had so much fun writing it as well. How did you/do you market your work?
I’m promoting this book online with my “Splash Into Summer” blog tour! A complete list of tour stops (including this one!) can be found on my blog by clicking the tour badge.
I’m also taking part in a big Twitter Party next week with a few fellow Crescent Moon authors, to celebrate our recently released books.
Cape Cod also has many wonderful independent book stores! Over Memorial Day weekend, I’m having a big launch party at Where the Sidewalk Ends bookstore, in Chatham. And for the Solstice in June, I’m the featured author at The Little Beach Gallery, in Hyannis, as part of Cape Cod Maritime Days. I’m hoping to add more signings and events throughout the summer. Can you describe the feeling you had when you saw your published book for the first time?
Joy. Pure joy. Have you ever suffered from a "writer's block"? What did you do to get past the "block"?
Chocolate. And coffee. Sometimes both at the same time.
If that doesn’t work, I try taking a walk, or talking over the problem with a friend. But I find chocolate cures almost everything. I get that about chocolate. It is my favorite go to food for solace. What piece of advice would you give to a new writer?
Write. Keep writing. Are you working on anything new? If so, can you tell me about it?
My latest project is a sequel to Son of a Mermaid. I recently signed a contract for it with Crescent Moon Press, and am excited to get working on the edits!
The second book starts a few weeks after the first book ends. The current blurb sounds like this:
At fifteen, Shea McNamara discovered his mother’s a mermaid and he’s heir to an undersea kingdom. And even more important, he fell in love…with a mermaid. Big life changers for a former farmboy from Oklahoma.
Seventeen-year-old Zan commands powerful magick, and owes his allegiance to Prince Demyan. Kidnapping the heir’s girlfriend is just another step in Demyan’s twisted plans for world domination. But Zan has never met anyone like the beautiful mermaid Kae. She makes him feel things that he never thought he deserved, and he makes promises that put both their lives at risk.
Kae is torn between two mermen battling not only for her affections, but also for the future of the undersea world they inhabit. In the clashes between good and evil, the lines are not always clearly drawn. Especially when love is involved. Congratulations on your second contract and thank you for being here today.
Happy book birthday! I wish you all the happiness and success your novel will bring you. And now, for m
y 5 Star Review
: Simply Charming
Shea MacNamara, fourteen going on fifteen, is torn from land-locked Oklahoma when his father disappears from the family farm during a tornado. Under the care of his grandmother, Shea is transported to Cape Cod where he meets a beautiful young lady on the beach. Shea likes to pick up the trash, counting each item in his head. From out of nowhere she appears, dripping wet and wearing a bikini.
Kae, a mermaid turned into a land-walker with the help of a special stone,sees Shea and wants to meet him. After a quick hello on the beach, she returns home, wanting to know more of this nice young man. It doesn't help that her mother and father forbid her and for some reason, the name Shea, brings an angst to her family she is unfamiliar with.
Shea, who has never known his mother, discovers from his grandmother, that she is still alive. He was to have met her the summer of his fifteenth birthday. This summer. Except now, his father is dead and his world has collapsed around him. Even the pancakes his grandmother makes remind him of home, of the farm, and of his dad. He's not so sure he wants to meet the woman who abandoned him. Enter Hailey, a t
om boy with a sizzling personality. You will feel her jump off the page and into your heart. Finally, Shea has someone to hang out with. She teaches him the ropes of life on the Cape. While Shea's world is one of the familiar, beaches, oceans, grandmothers, funky friends, and an odd old lady, Kae's world is filled with mermaids and mermen, princesses, queens, and kings. The balance of power in her kingdom is lost and her princess is forced to marry someone against her will. Kae learns of a legend where a teenage boy, half human and half merman and a beautiful young mermaid
will bring harmony back to her world. She can't help but wonder, is Shea the merman of which the prophecy speaks?
Son of a Mermaid is a delightfully charming YA novel that could, if allowed, become a fairytale yarn. Everything you need or expect from such a tale is included, from legs morphing into tails, beautiful young girls, and all of it is seen out of the charming eyes of
young boy growing into manhood. The writing is spectacular, moving you from paragraph to paragraph with ease. The editing is outstanding.
I would recommend this novel to any parent or teen looking for a delightful fairy-tale-like novel. In fact, I shall purchase a copy for my grandson. Thanks to the author for allowing me to read Son of a Mermaid. Blurb:
Shea MacNamara's life just got complicated.
After a freak tornado devastates his Oklahoma farm, the fifteen-year-old orphan moves to Cape Cod to live with a grandmother he's never met. Struggling to make sense of his new surroundings, he meets a girl along the shore who changes his life forever.
Kae belongs to an undersea world hidden from drylanders. The daughter of royal servants, she knows the planned marriage of her Princess to the foreign King should put an end to the war between the clans. Two things stand in the way of lasting peace: an ambitious Regent and rumors of a half-human child who will save the oceans.
Sparks fly when she meets Shea, but could the cute drylander really be the Son of a Mermaid
? About the Author:
Katie O’Sullivan lives with her family and big dogs next to the ocean on Cape Cod, drinking way too much coffee and inventing new excuses not to dust. She writes YA and romantic suspense novels, and works as an editor making other people’s words sparkle. For the last four years, she’s been the Editor of CapeWomenOnline.com magazine and writes a column entitled “The Write Way.”
She hopes her debut YA novel, SON OF A MERMAID, will make a big splash this summer, engaging young readers with a Cape Cod tale of a boy who discovers both his roots and his destiny far below the waters of Nantucket Sound.
Find Katie online:
Follow her Blog – http://katieosullivan.blogspot.com
Like her on Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/AuthorKatieOSullivan
Find her on Twitter - https://twitter.com/OkatieO
Check out her website at http://www.katie-osullivan.com
Add Son of a Mermaid on Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17184560-son-of-a-mermaid
Already the Five Star Review(s) are coming in:
From M.E. Wilson: What a fun read! I was thrilled to read an ARC of O'Sullivan's wonderful novel! The characters are interesting and the story moves quickly and has enough twists to keep you turning pages.
Shea is an engaging hero coming to grips with the death of his father, a move halfway across the country and bewildering new friends. He also has to discover just who - and what - he really is.
Entertaining and fun! The perfect read for this summer! I highly recommend this novel.
For a chance to win this beautiful necklace, an e-book of Son of a Mermaid, or some really cool swag, heck out the rafflecopter below!
Marne Ann Kirk was one of the first authors to introduce me to fantasy. Not only was I attracted to the book cover, but the content caught my attention and never let go. Marne has a way with words, she can open you up to a whole new world and make you believe it is taking place around you. For this weekend, check out book two of the Fae Dragon Chronicles. I promise, you will not be disappointed.
Of course, I've also added book one below, and Goddess on the Run. Enjoy!Fae Dragon Chronicles: Book Two, Love Dared
by Marne Ann KirkPurchase e-Book Purchase Print
Cover art by Jeannie Ruesch The fae have scattered, the dragons are gone, hope is but a distant and forgotten memory...
Just as Willow's people fall to a crazed king, Dare, a warrior more compelling than any before him, comes whispering of magical people and promising to save Willow's kingdom for the small price of her cooperation. All she must do? Go with him to meet these fae.
So why doesn't she trust him?
Dare will do anything for the fae and his Queen, even sacrifice the Chosen One, if that's what it takes to save their race. What's one life compared to the lives of many?
But Love has a way of mocking even the best laid plans...
Excerpt Copyright © 2013 Marne Ann Kirk
All rights reserved — a Crescent Moon Press publication
Willow’s head pounded out a fierce staccato in her mind and her stomach rebelled. Why had she awakened before her mind and body had a chance to heal?
Passing into the gods’ realm to understand others’ dreams sent her into mental and physical exhaustion, and it always took her a full two suns to recover. She would normally remain unconscious for the first half of the recovery time. Yet, for some reason, this time her body insisted on waking earlier than it should. Why?
She fought against the rise of bile in her throat, and concentrated on healing the throbbing pain in her head. The strong power of the foreigner pulled at her as he moved around her small home again, but she couldn’t open her eyes to see death stalking her.
It was why he’d come. To kill her.
She hadn’t seen it, as she couldn’t foretell her own future, but she knew it all the same. She sensed his threat.
Something sweet and foreign permeated the air around her. The stranger knelt down beside her and tilted her head up with surprising tenderness.
A gentle killer? No, he would lop her head off now. He just needed a better angle.
He brushed something along her bottom lip, as if trying to coax her into opening her mouth.
Would he poison her, then? Such a woman’s weapon.
The sweet odor smelled so familiar to her. Familiar and welcoming. It reminded her of a mixture of lavender and rose crushed into the oil of verdante and mixed with honey, a common remedy for headache and nausea. The villagers used it often to cure their ills from excessive drink.
She’d never thought to use it as a cure for her majic-induced pains, though.
Willow let the stranger pour the thick broth into her mouth and allowed it to trickle down her throat. She tasted something else in the brew, unfamiliar to her, yet calming. She’d barely swallowed before it started working. Within moments, she felt better than she could remember ever feeling after the self-imposed two-day rest.
She cracked her eyes open and studied the stranger kneeling beside her, cradling her head in his lap. The power he exuded felt strong and formidable, mysterious even; but not evil.
As soon as Willow accepted this man’s energy wasn’t malevolent, she could accept and absorb it. His strength washed through her, and her psyche no longer fought his force.
She silently thanked him for what he could never know she’d taken, a bit more hopeful than before about her mystery visitor.
She reminded herself to remain cautious of the unknown feelings this stranger raised in her, though. He might not mean her harm, but he would hurt her.
Of that, she felt certain.
His hair was as black as Oshmeir’s thick pelt, exactly as in her vision. Yet it looked so much more alive, so vibrant in actuality. He had it pulled back and tied at the nape, but rebellious strands had come loose and fallen over his forehead to curtain one of his eyes. Her hands tingled at the idea of running her fingers through what she felt certain would be silken hair.
And what eyes. They reminded Willow of the forest trees late on a moonless night, so dark a shade of green they looked almost black. The secrets in them stared out at her from a face chiseled in stone, begging her to coax them from her troubled soul.
Concern creased his brow. Did he worry for her?
Willow wouldn’t allow those treacherous thoughts to dwell, planting seeds of hope in her mind. Such a path led to trouble.
She tore her gaze from his temptation and looked around, allowing her sight to adjust to the early morning-lit room.
The man beside her sat back on his haunches to give her some much needed space.
Her brother walked around the room, gathering her more precious belongings and placing them in sack-cloths. Kaleb’s whole body seemed to tense every time he lifted his right arm.
The front door stood open, and Willow glimpsed a man standing not far beyond it, as if keeping guard in the early half-light. Many more warriors milled about on the grass past the guard.
She pushed herself upright, unease jolting her fully alert.
“What are you—”
The man kneeling at her head interrupted her. “Your brother gathers your belongings, so we can leave this land as soon as you’re recovered.”
She swung her gaze back to him and grimaced. She still needed to make slow movements if she wanted to avoid head pain.
Deciding to ignore the stranger for now, she turned away from him and focused on her brother.
As if he sensed her intent and found it abhorrent, the stranger moved from behind her, rose, and went to stand beside Kaleb, keeping himself firmly in her view.
“What happened, Kaleb?” Willow asked through gritted teeth. Talking made her head spin, and she needed worse than ever to concentrate. But she’d be a squirrel’s dinner before she’d follow this intruder anywhere. He was no one to her. Less than no one.
A handsome nobody.
Kaleb glanced over his shoulder and sent her a weak smile. “It seems those changes you spoke of are upon us. Willow , this is Dare of Laocoon. Dare, Willow the Dream Healer.”
Willow gasped and shook her head. “You’re wrong,” she whispered. He couldn’t be right. She wasn’t ready for change—not yet.
The foreigner gave her a questioning, if somewhat guarded, look. “You expected me?”
She ignored him.
Kaleb continued as if they had both remained silent. As he spoke and using his left arm, he continued putting her things in the sack the stranger now held. “A small company ambushed us. Some of the attacking men were my own. Samat escaped his prison and he’s gained control at the castle, with the help of strong majic. We managed to hold the enemy off with the help of your pets, and they retreated to the castle. But they’ll return. Soon. And we must be away from here before they do.”
Willow tried to stand, and she surprised herself when her body did as she bid. She moved to Kaleb’s side, resting a hand on his left shoulder for balance.
He stopped packing her belongings and turned to her.
“This foreigner has you not thinking clearly.We can’t leave, Kaleb. If we do, our people will die. Mother and little Dori will be in serious danger, their lives in jeopardy.”
“We have no choice,” he responded. “Father has control. I’ve thought hard on what Dare of Laocoon said, and he’s right. My only option right now is to retreat and regroup. Those loyal to me will follow.”
Willow struggled to remain calm, forcing a deep breath in through her nose and then pushing it out her mouth. How could she convince her brother? “We need to save as many as we can. You can’t leave your people to be slaughtered. And make no mistake, King Samat will retaliate against the people who helped put you in power before. Emotion rules him, not logic. He’ll kill anyone he feels threatened by.”
Kaleb turned from her and shouted, “I know this.” He paused, closing his eyes as if regaining his control, and then continued in a softer voice. “But still, we must leave.”
Taking a step back, she crossed her arms. When was the last time Kaleb had yelled at her? She couldn’t remember. “Do what you will, then. But don’t expect me to follow. This is my home. I stay.”
The stranger, apparently having decided he’d had enough of being ignored, stepped between Willow and Kaleb, facing her. “Do you accept Prince Kaleb as your leader?”
“Of course, I do,” she said, dismissing him and leaning sideways a bit to see around the oaf so she could study her brother. Something was wrong with him. He acted pained.
“Then you must do as he orders, and leave with us,” the Laocoon warrior said.
Willow blinked, glanced at the foreigner, and looked back at Kaleb. She felt surprisingly torn. She wanted more than anything to remain here, in her beloved forest. This was home, and she’d never before left. At least, not far. Yet Kaleb so obviously was not going to budge in this or in needing her by his side. Yet, something inside her whispered if she went with this stranger, she might never return.
She walked back to the fire and stared into its burning embers, praying for guidance. A creak in the timber above warned her Sarethe hadn’t gone to rest, as she should have done. Instead, the dragon had returned to her perch and waited for Willow to decide on their course of action.
Oshmeir came up beside Willow , wrapped his mouth around her small hand and gave a light tug, as if he too wanted her to leave. Then he released her hand, and rubbed his large body against her leg. She scrunched her eyes closed and sighed. Both of her friends sensed the danger and her indecision.
Willow, resolved to remain with Kaleb, moved away from Oshmeir, grabbed some candles and herbs from the mantle and placed them in the bag the Laocoon held. She peered into the bag, needing to see what the men had packed so far. Then she poked her finger into the stranger’s muscled chest. “If any harm comes to Prince Kaleb, I will unleash the wrath of the gods on your soul.”
The man had the nerve to grab her hand. She’d expected him to force it back down to her side. Instead, he raised it up and examined each digit, rubbing her softer skin between his rougher thumb and forefinger.
His gaze caught and held hers and something soft lit the green depths. “These hands could never bring about anything but good.” Releasing her, he walked past her and left the house, taking the sack he’d held with him.
Kaleb shook his head; a concerned frown creased his mouth. “ Willow , only you would torment such a powerful being,” he said. “Help me in this, please? I need you.”
Embarrassment consumed her. She covered her insecurity with a shrug as she blustered, “What right does he have to bully us into leaving? Are you sure this is in our best interest? In the best interest of your people?”
Kaleb chose that moment to look ashamed.
“What have you done, brother?” Willow ’s unease niggled and grew with the guilt she read in his eyes. He’d done something, and she wasn’t going to like it.
Fae Dragon Chronicles: Book One, Love Chosen
by Marne Ann Kirk Purchase e-Book Purchase Print
Publication Date: March 2012
Cover art by Jeannie Ruesch
For millennia, dragon and fae have peacefully co-existed, but the fae themselves have lived segregated and very different lives.
Now a malevolence threatens to separate them all permanently. Can a Queen's guard and a rebellious outlaw join forces to defeat this common enemy?
Tyler's touch sparks fierce desire, drawing Issie to him, but she despises his way of life and all that palace society represents. If he learns she wields majic to help the less fortunate escape the kingdom, he'll charge her with treason. Her punishment - death.
Issie, is a sassy rebel who is constantly looking for ways to circumvent the conventions of their society. Tyler's head warns that she's a non-majical lower, beneath him. His heart sees by her inner strength and outer beauty. Only a binding love will lend them strength to save her life - their world.
Can either of them bend enough to trust that love?
Excerpt Copyright © 2012 Marne Ann Kirk
All rights reserved — a Crescent Moon Press publication
Tyler pushed his way through the onlookers. They reeked of sex and sweat. The foul odor made his eyes water and his vision blur as he forced his way to the front of the crowd, almost stepping on the female lying in a heap on the floor. He turned, saw his guards at the rear of the crowd, and addressed the unfortunate Lowers. “Leave now.”
He turned back to the scene, expecting them to follow his orders. Disgust filled him as he assessed the scene. Blood pooled on the bed where two bodies laid holding each other. The heads from both bodies were missing. He wouldn’t bother searching for them now. He wouldn’t find them. The killer, it seemed, liked to keep the heads as trophies.
Tyler sighed, becoming aware again of the others crowding the room. When he found those heads, he’d find the sick bastard who did this.
“But what ‘bout Lenore?”
“I ‘eard Issie scream.”
“She all right?”
One chattered over the next in their efforts to find out what happened. They weren’t listening to him.
His eye twitched. He hated when that happened.
How could he make these dullards leave? Did they not see the violent murders on the bed? Or did they not care? Were their lives so barren and meaningless, death didn’t bother them?
His gaze fell on the female at his feet. Her face covered by her mass of honeyed tresses, she lay in a limp pile, her robes undone and revealing a creamy swell of ample breast.
The two victims in the bed were beyond help, but this unconscious female held the concern of the others.
He knelt by her side and lifted her in his arms. She smelled clean, like moss and sea air, instead of the sweaty body he’d expected. Her hair caressed his arm when he stood with her nestled to his chest. It fell like a lowered curtain and hung almost to his knees. A waterfall of honey.
She felt right in his arms; her neck fit into the crook of his shoulder, her breath warmed his chest like she belonged there. Where had such a thought come from? He didn’t associate with the powerless Lower class. Ever.
He pushed aside a rising need to draw her even nearer.
Tyler faced the crowd again. “As you can see, she sleeps. She’s not injured. Now go. All of you.” He fixed a few of them with the glacial silver stare which always yielded results. “Go back to your beds. I’m Tyler, of the High Council. My warriors will take care of this.”
“But, Issie. Is she hurt?” one barmaid asked, wrapping her arms around her waist as if she feared retching.
“You, take me to Issie’s rooms. The rest of you, go. She’ll be fine.” Or at least I’ll be, if I can have some quiet to think.
”What ‘bout Lenore? She pass through the gates?”
Everyone began speaking at once, like a gathering of Lower younglings after a sweet. They had no regard for his orders. Such disrespect was unacceptable. He had to get this under control.
”Go,” he roared, silencing the room.
The crowd shuffled down the hall and disappeared behind different doors. Bits of conversation-- “Can’t believe Lenore’s gone,” and “who could do such a thing?” --floated back to him.
Who indeed? The fae were peaceful caretakers for the dragons. Murder didn’t happen among them. It was a coarse crime of the mortals--until three moons ago. And now, it had happened again--to another messenger and another whore-maid.
And if you're in the mood for something different: Goddess On The Run
by Marne Ann KirkPurchase e-Book Purchase Print
Cover art by Taria Reed
All Fomorian Hells are about to break loose on earth, making human souls the daily special, if the Tuatha de Danaan can’t stop it.
Teagan, a Celtic demi-goddess hiding from her destiny in small-town Colorado, wants nothing to do with her mother’s forgotten realm or the drama of a battle of the gods. And Merric is forbidden fruit she’s too smart to taste.
Merric, leader of the Tuatha de Danaan warriors, has other plans. Teagan holds the key to salvation, for both him and their worlds, whether she wants to or not. He’ll do whatever it takes to convince her of her duty.
But can he find the key to her heart?
Reviews Goddess On the Run has everything a reader could ask for—Teagan, a heroine gutsy yet vulnerable, Merric, a hero willing to die for his soulmate and their child, and a High Deamon threatening to destroy the thing they hold most dear. Kirk has fashioned a story both action-packed and romantic with characters that will stay with you long after their adventure is over.
NYT Best Selling author of the Urban Fantasy series, the Anna Strong ChroniclesHere's a glass of wine, three books, and a bar of DARK chocolate. Enjoy your weekend. (((hugs)))Louann
It's Thursday and today is the best I've felt in years.
OK, that's a lie. I spent the entire morning spreading that lie. I'm thinking, if I think positive, positive things will happen. Of course, you have to believe in the positivity you are thinking about. When you're in a lot of pain it's hard to believe you are not in pain. But if the create your own reality people are right, I have to ignore the pain.
This is so not doable. Where's that Tramadol?
I DID feel good--almost normal--for three days last week. Then, just when I was thinking remission was possible, maybe even probable, my hopes were dashed.
Life with Crohn's has its ups and downs. Hell, life has its up and downs. I know people are working on cures. There's the hookworm thing, the bone marrow transplant thing, the pro and pre-biotics thing. There's the alkaline--acidic balance, the yeast balance, the....
I could go on.
I will not eat worms and have yet to discover one single person who has been cured by eating worms. *talk to the hand* No worms!
Bone marrow sounds like the best option. 100% cure, but very very dangerous. My grandchildren won't forgive me if I leave the planet so soon. They like me. I don't know why, but they do. I like them, too. I sometimes get too involved in their lives, but they are loved. *big squeezes* And that is the most important part.
I did the caveman diet. Lost some weight. Got sick.
I am a positive person. Crohn's makes it difficult to stay that way. This flare is almost nine years old. The longest my other one lasted was two years. Otherwise, it was a month or two then gone for a year or so.
I am contemplating the unthinkable. Surgery.
Maybe the family will bring me presents. I know my husband will never leave the hospital room. I mean, I love the guy, but when I'm in hospital, he's there at 8am and doesn't leave until 10pm. Can't bear to hurt his feelings and kick him out. That's a good reason not to have surgery.
Things I wonder, but refuse to ask the doctor, because then he'll know just how bad I am:
1. Will the Crohn's arthritis go away, too?
2. With the Erthema Nodosum go away?
3. Will the ankylosing spondylitis go away?
Because if not, I might as well keep my colon. What's one more painful condition? They say you can only feel one pain at a time.
I guess if I'm still thinking about surgery, I'm not there yet. It was the blood this morning. I got scared.
Oh, poof. Suck it up, Lucy.
Just my thoughts for today.
<---- Why is it little kids can make themselves comfortable no matter where they are? This is Dylan munching on a bag of corn chips. Fire roasted corn chips. He's giving me the wave. Which is what I get when I ask for something I can't eat. Sheesh, even the grandkids know about Crohn's.
The other day, I walked into the kitchen to find Dylan checking out the bottoms of his feet.
Large almond-shaped eyes looked up at me. His mother is Chinese and he has the most beautiful features. "I got flat feet."
I bent down. "Oh, my. So you do. Just like Papa's."
He nodded wisely. "I'm gonna be a cop."
"How do you know?"
"I'm Irish and I have flat feet."
I nearly passed out laughing.
Now, my husband has decided, since Dylan is a genius and will certainly grow up to be a successful CEO, I should write a crime novel and call it Flatfoot. He even has the premise fleshed out. The story will be based upon my Irish/Chinese grandson, Dylan Carroll, who will stop and solve a terrorist attack. You see, Dylan's father is wealthy and moved to Hong Kong where he met his Asian wife. Of course, Dylan's father wants his son to grow up to be a great financier, but Dylan wants to be a New York police officer just like his grandfather.
After I lectured my husband on the beauty of China and its history, AND suggested he spend some time on the boy's Chinese heritage, he said, "What wrong with being Irish?"
I answered, "They boil their meat."
He nearly died laughing. Still, the book is a novel idea.
No pun intended.
I so totally have Spring fever.
Last weekend it was nearly ninety degrees. We went swimming, fishing, and ate barbequed chicken accompanied by macaroni salad and chili. Me and the grandkids sat in the swing on my deck and sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
. Then we had cake and ice cream for my son's birthday. I didn't check my e-mail, or blog, or even write. I didn't think about Facebook, LinkedIn, or Twitter. I just reveled in being a grandmother and having the little ones around me. We played countless games of Rummy, Go Fish, and Crazy Eights, though I admit to not remembering the rules of Crazy Eights.
In any case, we, ah, I, made it work. (heh heh) I had a bit of trouble with Crohn's disease, but not enough to ruin my weekend.
Except for the part when I had to leave the multitude of garage sales and run home. If you read my blog from last week, you'll know that I LOVE Lake Wildwood's Annual Garage Sale weekend. (Our homeowners association does not permit garage sales the rest of the year.) You never know what you're going to find. I bought two oil paintings, a signed lithograph, and some candles. For the grandkids, I bought Pokemon cards and guy guys. Those little Pokemon creatures my little Dylan refers to as guy guys.
Now, there had to be over one hundred in the bag and Joshua, my eleven year-old, could name every one. I know because I had to listen to him recite their names. How's that for memorization. For my Katelynn it was a purse, white leather and trimmed in pink. For the youngest, my toe dancer Allie, it was a pink and black snake, and a beautiful American Girl doll with the same curls Allie has. After my Crohn's attack and the garage sale, we headed home to bask in the sun. I couldn't utilize my phone as much as I wanted, because I had to capture who caught the bigger fish. My son, Dennis, or my other son, Ryan. This weekend, Ryan won.
On the following day, the weather changed. Now, it's about fifty degrees and raining. My Spring fever has been cured by a walloping cloud burst. Branches are blown from the trees with sweet young leaves abounding, making my deer happy with a feast beyond their expectations. They say it will be eighty again by the weekend.
Go figure. Mother Nature is in need of some Prozac. This week's read is Interrupt, by Jeff Carlson. It's an Advanced Readers Copy and the book I have doesn't have the finished cover. I went cruising Amazon and found it. The eye is really disturbing. So far, the book is entirely enjoyable, even if the characters are a little shallow. I love apocalyptic novels and I can see this weekend coming up as one spent on the beach with a damn good book. Now, back to work. Happy reading!(((hugs)))Louann