Weekend Reads Presents Wanted: One Ghost

Wanted: One Ghost was one of the fastest reads of my life. Not only because I was just able to download it, but because I'm a lover of a good ghost story.

Loni Lynne does not disappoint.

The ghost of James Addison is brought back to life when Dr. April Branford, historical researcher, is assigned to discover his past. Using her psychometric skills, she discovers a reason to doubt the conviction of Addison for treason.

Alone in a graveyard with her trusty pencil and paper, April readies herself to capture an inscription on a tombstone. Out of nowhere James Addison, a 200+ year-old ghost strikes up a conversation. Frightened and in complete denial, it takes time for her to realize that James Addison is not only a ghost, but her soul-mate, the one she is certain to remain with forever.

Together, April and James set out on a journey to discover the past and perhaps, James' innocence. But will James stay with April forever? Or will her heart be broken when he is finally able to put his past to rest?

The ending will capture your heart. Sweet and innocent, and full of heat, Ms Lynn has come up with a WONDERFUL ghost story, rife with compelling characters and dynamic challenges.

Wanted: One Ghost is a winner.

Mini-Interview


Yay! Congratulations on Wanted: One Ghost. Tell me, how long does it take you to write a novel?

It takes me anywhere from a month (if doing NaNoWriMo) to a couple depending on timing of other things in my life.  I try to write a little every day but like to challenge myself with sprints or 1k 1h’s (1,000 words an hour).

Do you work with an outline, or just write?

Oh, I am a bona-fide pantser! That is why I love NaNoWriMo and sprints.  I let my characters tell their story and then worry about the details after I’ve seen where they go.  I do try to write a bit of a synopsis to give me an idea, but if I hash it out too much, I get bored because then I feel the story is all ready told.

What is your work schedule like when you're writing?

I’m an early riser. I will wake up anywhere between 0400-0530 in the morning to sit and type out a couple thousand words, get the family off to work/school, and then return for another hour or two at least. If I am in the ‘mode’ then sometimes I forget to take breaks.  I don’t recommend it—numb bottoms and aches from sitting at the computer for too long are not conducive to good health.

What do you do when you are not writing?

I’m usually running errands or volunteering for my local writing chapters, blogging or spending time with my daughters before they leave the nest.

What does your family think of your writing?

My husband is very supportive (even more so knowing I have a contract). He’s the one who originally encouraged me to write a few years back.  My daughters are all for it and my oldest helps me in the mechanics of settings and actions in a scene or plot.

Once again, congratulations. Wanted: One Ghost, is a great ghost story.


Blurb

Stuck in ghostly limbo for 238 years, James Addison can't move on to an afterlife. After being falsely accused of treason and executed, fate's cursed him to remain an earth-bound specter until he meets a historian sent to research his past.

Distrustful of fate, Dr. April Branford wants to be taken seriously, but her unique ability to divine history by touching objects seriously compromises her credibility. Her latest assignment? James Addison, a legendary colonial ladies' man with a shadowy past. Without much to go on, she doesn't hold out much hope to discover the man behind the legend until the day she accidentally touches him and brings him back to life.

With the help of family and ghosts from James's past, they unravel the truth. But after falling in love and with time running out, it's hard for April to believe in fate and a future where forever is now.

Biography

Loni Lynne believes fate determines our lives and we are just along for the ride. Holding on tight, she's managed an eclectic life of moving all over the country in her youth, seeing sights and places her dreams still take her to every now and again. Writing stories since she was thirteen and dreaming of actually writing a book since that time, fate took over, giving her a chance to find material and experiences to write about.

Upon graduating high school, she served her country in the United States Navy where she met her United States Army hero/husband in his hometown of Annapolis, Maryland. After being stationed in Hawaii for their first four years together, they returned to settle in Maryland where they still live, Happily Ever After with their two princesses, who prefer to play with dragons instead of running from them.

Four years ago, as a birthday gift, her husband gave her a portable hard drive, a membership to Romance Writers of America, and the challenge to have a completed manuscript by her next birthday. She did it and then some. Now, she can't stop writing.


Excerpt Copyright © 2012 Loni Lynne
All rights reserved — a Crescent Moon Press publication

April peered up the small hill to see the stark white obelisk standing very pronounced against the black, moonless sky. At the moment, it seemed to be the focal point in the cemetery. Even from here she could see the intricate designs etched into the old marble. She would love to get a rubbing of it perhaps before they left. Besides, Henry Samuel’s grave was the closest thing to her research she had to go on right now. His reference to a connection with James Addison was all she had—that and she was staying in his historical home.

“Tony,” she spoke up, making her voice sound weak and stuffy. “I think I’m going to head out. My allergies are really kicking my butt, and I’m all congested.”

“Are you sure? We’re just about done, only a few more graves to see.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Thanks for the tour and Happy Halloween everyone.” She began to walk backwards away from the group as they waved good-bye.

She stayed in the shadows and watched the rest of the group move on, until they rounded the bend of the path. Once she was out of their sight, she reached into her large bag, retrieved her small sketchbook, pencil, and mini flashlight. Double checking to make sure the coast was clear, she made her way up the small dirt path to Henry Samuels’s monument.

The roots of the firs were tangled and exposed in areas, moss and lichen grew around the bottom of the obelisk grave marker, a layer of dead branches and fan-like fir needles surrounded the base. She could read the month and year of his death but the date was a bit obscure.

She buried her nose into a fresh tissue as she held back a sneeze so she didn’t alert the rest of the group of her whereabouts.

Wiping her nose she knelt in front of the tombstone and placed the end of the flashlight between her teeth to give her direct light on what she was doing. The soggy ground soaked into the knees of her jeans. She could hear the faint voices of the group from just over the rise, yet she felt a prickling of unease. Glancing around, she didn’t see anything.

She wiped moisture from the front of the headstone with her scarf, revealing the blackened embossing on the aged marble. Angling the paper over part of the intricate design, she fumbled with the pencil in her gloved hand. The cumbersome gloves had to go. Removing the offending obstacles and tossing them to the side, April rubbed her pencil over the markings, steadying herself against the marble with her other hand.

A jolt of heat coursed from her palm to her shoulder and she jerked back. Falling onto her bottom, she dropped the pencil and paper. Nearly choking on the flashlight, she threw the light to the side and fought to catch her breath. Still tingling from the shock, she shook her arm to relieve the pain.

She picked up the flashlight again and slowly approached the gravestone. Her heart thudded in her ears. Reaching out for the paper and pencil she had dropped, she kept her eye on the stone as if waiting for it to move. Cautiously, she leaned forward and touched it. The marble was as cold and even-surfaced as an old tombstone in late October should be.

Confused, she inched away on her knees, backing away from the headstone, a frightening wariness settling over her as she slowly stood up and continued moving cautiously away from the monument.

“Henry Samuel is not worthy of your fascination, Dr. Branford.”

April gasped and whirled, shining the flashlight into the night. There, mere inches in front of her, stood her mysterious tour guide. A moment of relief caused her to catch her breath before the toe of her boot caught on a loose tree root, sending her falling through a chilly mist of air. She landed on her hands and knees.

Quickly, she turned over and stared up at her re-enactor, who stood between her and Henry Samuel’s grave. So close she should have fallen into him. And then the truth of the situation hit her. She crab crawled away from him and the tombstone, her eyes wide with horror.

She couldn’t think. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Her voice shook with the only words she could say.

He smiled down at her, tilting his tricorne back on his head, revealing those damn hypnotic eyes.

“I haven’t heard a lady say that to me for some time. Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch,” he preened.

“You’re…not…real,” April gasped, holding her chest as she tried desperately to find her footing. “You’re…a…ghost. You really are a ghost!”

He shrugged. “I suppose so. No one has told me any differently. But then no one has been able to talk to me in two hundred and thirty-eight years. You’re the first.” With an elegant flourish, he bowed to her.

“Oh my God!” She was shaking so badly she couldn’t move. Her muscles had frozen. The seat of her jeans was wet but she wasn’t sure if she had peed herself or the damp ground had soaked into them.

He extended his hand in a gentlemanly fashion to help her up, but she only stared at the proffered limb. He sighed.

“Of course. It would do me no good to try and help you up since I’m…”

“…not real. You’re not real. This isn’t happening to me.” April closed her eyes and tried to repeat the mantra over and over again, hoping her mental state would finally sort out the situation and thrust her back into reality. She opened her eyes. He was still there, his infuriatingly charming smile, just short of a laugh, etched into one devilishly handsome face.

Scrambling for purchase she grabbed her articles, keeping a close eye on her specter and quickly walked backwards down the knoll until she was on the cobblestone path. She had to get out of here. Where was the damn exit!

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