Sunday, December 21, 2014


Musa Publishing is excited to announce Cowboy Lust — Bakersville Saga Three and Four, two stories of spicy western romance by Helen Hardt, is now available.

Rodeo Queen

Catie Bay has worshiped much older Chad McCray since she was a child. When she fumbles a seduction attempt after her graduation from high school, she flees to Europe. Four years later, she returns a beautiful, worldly woman, and Chad takes notice. Is the rodeo queen still in love with the sexy cowboy, and is he capable of returning her feelings?

Taming Angelina

Learn to run a ranch? Angelina Bay would rather wear last season’s clothes. But if she doesn’t, her father demands, she can kiss her inheritance goodbye.Teach a spoiled heiress how to ride a horse? Not in this lifetime. Rafe Grayhawk is busy enough as a ranch hand, saving every extra penny to fund his chronically ill father’s move to Arizona—until beautiful Angelina makes him an offer he can’t refuse.Rafe’s rules are simple—show up on time for lessons and do everything he tells her. Angie balks at authority, but soon riding lessons with the handsome hand are the least of her problems. She may lose her ranch anyway, and Rafe is the only person who can help her.


To read excerpts from other books by Helen Hardt please click a vendor's name Musa Publishing - Amazon

Helen Hardt is the Head Line Editor for Musa Publishing and a freelance editor. She is also an award-winning author. Helen writes contemporary, historical, paranormal, and erotic romance for several publishers. Her non-writing interests include Harley rides with her husband, attending her sons’ sports and music performances, traveling, and Taekwondo (she’s a blackbelt).

Learn more about Helen Hardt and her editing service on her website.

Saturday, December 20, 2014


Musa Publishing is happy to announce The Lone and Level Sands by Nyki Blatchley is now available for purchase. Set two hundred years after The Treason of Memory, The Lone and Level Sands is a thrilling fantasy tale of adventure and the supernatural.

The ancient ruins in the desert hide more than just scientific interest—evil lurks there from the dawn of history.

Archaeology students Zadith and Musu thought it would give them valuable experience to spend their summer break on an important dig in the desert with their professor. They didn't expect to be menaced by the local military, a rival expedition with unorthodox methods, or an ancient evil from the dawn of history. But this is no ordinary site. An outpost of the city of Kebash, lost for ten thousand years, it holds terrors worse than death for Zadith and Musu.

It was large, at least thirty yards across and nearly as high, and certainly no primitive cave. The stone walls were straight and smooth, and the paintings that covered every inch only damaged in two or three places that Zadith could see. The colours were faded but still vivid enough to show geometric patterns surrounding panels of the ancient script. Zadith tried to make out what the nearest panel said, but he was too scared to concentrate.

The wall to his left portrayed a scene with stylised figures like the reliefs on the stone: a huge man wearing a tall bejewelled head-dress stood over cringing naked suppliants. Some were trodden under his feet, and one was transfixed by a spear he held. All around, jewel-covered men and women held their arms aloft, as if cheering the scene.

Zadith had seen similar images in pictures from some of the oldest tombs in this part of the world, but none was more than six thousand years old. If this place really was an outpost of Kebash, it must go back at least ten thousand years.

“Kebrai,” breathed Nivehl. “We’ve found it—the Temple of Shetti. This is where offerings were made to the god-king.”

“And that would be where they were given.” NeSholis pointed.

From the farthest wall, beyond the group in the centre of the chamber, a stone head protruded. At least fifteen feet high, it was a hideous demonic form like the one carved at the entrance to the passage, its huge open mouth forming a cavity big enough to take a human between the stone teeth. Zadith tried and failed to convince himself that was coincidental. The mouth was at just the right height to lift a victim inside, and he was glad the cavity was too dark to make out what might have been left inside.

“You can feel his power.” Nivehl turned to Thalidri, a sneer twisting her striking face. “Are you going to try to deny it now, sweetheart?”

He shrugged. “There seems little point.”

He was reacting more calmly than Zadith would have expected. He himself was shivering, and Musu was too. Nivehl was right about feeling the power: for the first time in his life, Zadith knew without question that he was surrounded by evil.

“Kebrai’s rituals demand blood.” NeSholis kept his eyes fixed on the demon face for a moment and then turned to Thalidri, boots snapping on the stone floor. “Have you not wondered why we brought you in?”

The Professor’s eyebrows drew together. “You’re proposing to sacrifice me? I think you might find difficulty fitting me in there.” He pointed at the mouth-cavity, certainly not designed for his bulk.

“Of course we are not,” said neSholis with a crooked smile. “That would be a waste. Any blood will do to summon the power of Kebrai, if the Codex is to believed, but a final gift is needed too. A special gift—a person who means something to the giver. A former lover, perhaps. Or a mentor.”

“Ah.” Thalidri clearly understood, but still seemed unruffled. “You’re speaking of the bargain-seal. Oh, yes, I’ve read that passage too. The bargain-seal must be given living to Kebrai, for him to keep alive in torment. So that’s to be me.”

“Entirely personal, my dear,” commented Nivehl. “I can assure you.”

NeSholis turned to the two students. “Bring the girl.”


To read other books by Nyki Blatchley please click a vendor's name Musa Publishing - Amazon

Nyki Blatchley is a fantasy author and poet and has been writing since early childhood. While in his teens, Nyki created a world that became the backdrop for most of his stories with an immortal character called the Traveller.

His poetry has been published and he has also performed it with his own musical backing in many venues in London and elsewhere. During the 90s, his spiritual home was the legendary Bunjies Coffee House in London, once a haunt of the likes of Bob Dylan, Paul Simon and David Bowie.

To date Nyki has written over forty Traveller stories that have been published in a variety of magazines, webzines and anthologies. His novels and novellas include At An Uncertain Hour, The City of Ferrid and The Temple of Taak-Resh.

Nyki is a graduate from the University of Keele in English and Greek Studies. He currently lives just outside London. His interests include reading, folk music, history (any period, but especially classical Greece and medieval Europe), Doctor Who, cricket (as a viewer only), rock music, historical re-enactment, astronomy, and acquiring general knowledge.

Learn more about Nyki Blatchley on his website and his blog.

Friday, December 19, 2014


Musa Publishing is excited to announce the YA novel Disenchanted by Leigh Goff is now available for purchase.

A forbidden love, a dark curse, an impossible choice.

Orphaned sixteen-year-old Sophie Goodchild is an outcast among the ordinaries and her coven, but not because she’s untalented. Descended from a powerful Wethersfield witch, her spellcasting gift is awkwardly emerging, but that’s the least of her worries. The boy she’s forbidden to fall for, a descendant of the man who condemned her ancestor to hang, carries a dark secret that could destroy them both unless Sophie learns how to tap into the mysterious power of her diamond bloodcharm. Suspenseful, dark, romantic, and brimming with old magic, Disenchanted captures the intrigue of New England’s witchlore.

I sat, soaking wet, shaking from the adrenaline. Whoever he was, he rescued me from the would-be thief who bore the symbol of the Leos, a breath-saving nickname I gave Judge Mather’s Law Enforcement Organization. I strained to see, but the rain drops clinging to my long eyelashes blurred my vision. I wiped them away as my heart settled to an even pace.

With his back to me, he watched the thief disappear into the stormy night. He ran his hands through his thick, wavy, wet hair. His broad shoulders relaxed before he turned to offer me assistance. He extended his long arm to help me to my feet. I hesitated for a second, unsure of him, but as he reached for me, our fingers brushed together. A shock of electricity bolted through my hand. I froze as I caught the surprised reaction on his face, telling me he felt it, too. His fingers clasped firmly around mine and, with no effort, he pulled me to my feet. Unsteady, I pressed my hands against his firm muscled chest that showed through the drenched white shirt. A dizzy, swirly sensation swept through my head as if I were on a merry-go-round spinning around at one hundred miles per hour.

He had to be six feet tall.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a smooth British accent. His deep voice vibrated with tension, sending warm chills inside me.

I balanced myself and brushed my wet hair behind my ears, swallowing hard. A British accent that could make a girl melt if the girl didn’t have alarm bells going off in her head. There were no Brits currently living in our small part of Wethersfield, which meant he had to be one of them. My wide eyes flitted around, looking for a clue to make sense of why the statuesque Mather boy with his soaking wet shirt and black tailored pants left the comfort of his father’s manor house to brave the storm.

He stepped closer, breaching the already slim gap between us and forcing my eyes up. The streetlight illuminated his handsome features. His ivory complexion, dappled with raindrops and a shadow of thick stubble, revealed a hint of blush as if it were wintertime and the cold air had plucked at his cheeks.

I followed the perfect straight line of his nose to his brooding, dark eyes full of mystery. His eyes wandered over the details of my face and settled on my own, waiting for me to reply. A warm, wet breeze swirled up from behind him and wrapped his alluring scent around me; clean, floral and woodsy and thoroughly masculine. I inhaled again and again, unable to exhale. With all the plants and flowers I had smelled in my lifetime, he smelled better than any, alone or in combination. I wavered slightly, side to side, feeling dazed. I gulped a mouthful of air, trying not to breathe him in. What was wrong with me? I shook myself out of the stupor.

“Did you know that man?” he asked.

“Did you?” I said in an accusatory tone, but at that moment, I didn’t care about the attacker.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He drew back like I was crazy for suggesting anything.

He was the enemy. Say something, I thought. “What…what are you doing out here anyway?”

He furrowed his eyebrows inward. “Saving you, obviously.”

I threw my hands on my hips, shocked by the irony. A Mather helping a Greensmith? Hell was freezing over somewhere beneath our feet and every kind of farm animal was sprouting wings to fly. “That’s impossible.”

“And why is that?”

“Because…because you’re a Mather,” I said, not meaning to sound disgusted, but I struggled to contain my feelings. Fact was, the Mathers had Greensmith blood on their hands, as well as my coven’s blood. Through Wethersfield’s history, they were known as witch-hunters and with each generation, they changed only to appear more politically correct, but their intentions remained unchanged.

His eyes tensed at the corners, as if it were possible he didn’t hate me. “And what does that mean?”


Leigh Goff loves writing young adult fiction with elements of magic and romance because it's also what she liked to read. Born and raised on the East Coast, she now lives in Maryland where she enjoys the area's great history and culture.

Leigh is a graduate of the University of Maryland, University College and a member of the Maryland Writers' Association and Romance Writers of America. She is also an approved artist with the Maryland State Arts Council. Her debut novel, Disenchanted, was inspired by the Wethersfield witches of Connecticut and will be released by Musa Publishing in December 2014.

Learn more about Leigh Goff on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and Goodreads.

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Finding Christmas Spirit

by SS Hampton, Sr.

‘Tis the season!

Then again, a few days before Thanksgiving I first heard Christmas music on a local radio station. Stores had already put up Christmas advertisements, stocked decorations, and expanded their toy products. However, some people have yet to fully catch the Christmas spirit, meaning being friendlier and happier. Of course, the Christmas Spirit might be short lived for some as stress sets in when everyone tries to “keep up with the Joneses” in buying the latest and greatest toys for their children. Or expensive gifts for their loved ones.

This year, finally, I have reached a semblance of economic stability that will allow me to purchase gifts—my grandchildren come first, then my children and their spouses. And not exorbitantly expensive gifts because I am not trying to keep up with anyone. As for me, I do not expect nor am I interested in gifts for myself.

Christmas is for children, and that is as it should be.

Yet, all things considered, I find myself lacking the Christmas Spirit this year. It might be a number of things, not the least of which is being “on the outs” with the property manager of the apartments I live in. Fortunately, I am not so poor as in the past and I am able to move, which I intend to do. Nonetheless, this rift has cast a pall over the holiday season for me.

This year, having the financial ability to do so, I funded my three grandchildren (6, 4, and 2 years old) picking Christmas “wish tags” for needy children from the Salvation Army. With help from their mom and dad they each picked a toy that they took to the Salvation Army – their donation to needy children. I want my grandchildren to learn something about giving to others. The youngest ones may not understand, but my 6-year old grandson probably does.

When we saw homeless people camped out recently along a chain link fence my grandson asked what they were doing and I told him they were homeless people with nowhere to go. He replied, “I was homeless.” And he and his siblings were homeless for six weeks this past summer, including camping out in a broken down van for a couple of nights before their mom found a homeless shelter. (My grandchildren, and their mom and dad live with me now.)

Anyway, in my quest to keep my photographic/photojournalism skills fresh, last week I was at a big auditorium, Cashman Field, to photograph Salvation Army volunteers setting up for the big “toy store” that is held every year for needy families. Seeing dozens of tables laid out and filling up with toys, with more unloaded from a truck and more on the way, gave me a good feeling. I went back that afternoon and the next day to photograph the decorating; then on Friday I went back to photograph the briefing for the volunteer “Personal Shoppers” who will help people select toys for their children over the weekend. The picture on the right is not one of mine.

I read once that Americans are a very giving people; the Great Recession has taken a bite out of the giving, yet Americans remain a giving people.

And here in Las Vegas, famous for sin, gambling and sex, there is a percentage of the population who cared enough to dig into their pockets to buy just about anything a child from 1 month to 12 years may want for Christmas. Without the caring of these people, there are many children who would wake up Christmas morning without a present to open.

In closing, whether you are rich or poor, or just keeping your head above water, step back from the holiday rat race. Make the time to turn up the Christmas music and really enjoy your spouse and your children (and grandchildren). And if there is time, donate a toy to a local charity—guaranteed your donation will bring a smile to a child’s face on Christmas morning.

Merry Christmas to you and yours!


Here is a brief intro to one paranormal book by SS Hampton, Sr.

Here's a little from my paranormal book to enjoy while you munch on that fantastic sandwich.

As a result of war, technology often makes great progress by leaps and bounds – but sometimes the progress of technology can bring complications…

Halloween Night, 2006 – a resupply convoy commanded by the Air Force and escorted by Army gun trucks, is leaving Kuwait for Baghdad. The lonely desert highway north is MSR Tampa, a bloody highway along which for years the convoys suffered insurgent attacks. And on MSR Tampa there is a particular wooded bend that no one speaks of, though many know of its haunted reputation, a reputation given new life by a gun truck crew testing a new generation of enhanced night vision goggles…

Sergeant Travis Harland peered through the helmet-mounted, experimental Enhanced Next Generation/Night Vision Goggles, called Cyclops, at the bright, fuzzy, greenish-white glow of the Iraqi desert. Isolated homes and small villages swam out of the darkness before disappearing into greenish-black static that reminded him of a haunted landscape. From time to time he was rudely jolted when the Cyclops bumped against the side ballistic window of his growling HMMWV gun truck that led the supply convoy up Main Supply Route Tampa, bound for Baghdad.

A bright shaft of greenish-white light swept across the dunes and clumps of brush to their right before locking onto a small dusty mound further ahead. A metallic voice sounded in the earphones shoved under Harland’s already tight fitting Kevlar helmet.

“-at the one o’clock, a hundred yards ahead,” the Gunner, Specialist Paul Bonner, said.

Harland sighed. A gun truck wasn’t built for comfort, especially when the Gun Truck Commander was tall and thin, as he was. Being thin didn’t provide much of a cushion for sitting, especially on army seats. And communications glitches didn’t help his mood either.

“Bonner! You hit the off-switch again, you fucking idiot. Say again.”

“Pile of sand and rocks at the two o’clock, fifty yards ahead. Throwing a glo-stick,” Bonner said. A bright fluorescent stick tumbled through the dusty, windy night to land next to the pile that was already so well marked by glo-sticks from previous convoys. Glo-sticks warned of a sometimes suspicious feature for following vehicles.

The driver, Private First Class Lee Stewart, veered into the left lane, away from the pile...

To read more from An Incident on MSR Tampa please click a vendor's name.
Musa Publishing - Amazon

Stan Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, a divorced grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren, and a published photographer and photojournalist. He retired on 1 July 2013 from the Army National Guard with the rank of Sergeant First Class; he previously served in the active duty Army (1974-1985), the Army Individual Ready Reserve (1985-1995) (mobilized for the Persian Gulf War), and enlisted in the Nevada Army National Guard in October 2004, after which he was mobilized for Federal active duty for almost three years. Hampton is a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle (2004-2006) and Iraqi Freedom (2006-2007) with deployment to northern Kuwait and several convoy security missions into Iraq.

His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others.

In May 2014 he graduated from the College of Southern Nevada with an Associate of Applied Science Degree in Photography – Commercial Photography Emphasis. A future goal is to study for a degree in archaeology—hopefully to someday work in and photograph underwater archaeology (and also learning to paint).

Hampton can be found at:
Dark Opus Press - Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy Publishing - Melange Books -
Musa Publishing - MuseItUp Publishing - Goodreads Author Page
Amazon Author Page - Amazon UK

Wednesday, December 17, 2014


by Liese Sherwood-Fabre


The word panicked the US population when the first case appeared in Dallas. I live in the area and happened to be at another event at the hospital when word hit. The media covering the event took up a whole parking lot with their news trucks.

While the disease strikes fear because of its high mortality rate, actually contracting the disease from casual exposure would be practically impossible. Note the cases where someone infected with the virus flew, cruised, or took public transportation without a single diagnosis being reported. A person has to come into direct contact with the individual’s body fluids to put themselves at risk.

But what if the virus could be transmitted through the air, making it easy to pass from person to person? Such a mutation would not only create a world-wide epidemic, it would have potential as a bioweapon. According to Ken Alibek, a former Soviet scientist involved in military bioweapon development, Russia had been involved in splicing the Ebola virus into vaccinia, a nonpathogenic virus related to smallpox with the goal of creating an Ebola-smallpox hybrid—where two diseases hit the infected person at the same time.

Imagine, then, that this hybrid falls into the hands of a country known for supporting terrorist activities.

This is the basis for my book Saving Hope, the story of an unemployed microbiologist (there were many following the fall of the Soviet Union) who happens onto a plot to sell such a virus to the Iranians.

Alexandra Pavlova is in a life-and-death struggle to save her daughter’s life. Born with a heart condition, the only way for little Nadezhda (Hope, in Russian) to survive is for medical care not available in Russia. When Alexandra turns to Vladimir, her oldest friend, for help, she’s drawn into the Russian underworld and a plot to export this very virus from the country. Her association with Vladimir and the Iranians bring her to the attention of Sergei Borisov, an FSB (formerly the KGB) agent, and she finds herself having to trust him in a race to save both her daughter and the world.

I lived in Russia during the time of this story, and so many of the places and events are based on true experiences—either my own or those documented by others such as Ken Alibek.

You can check out an excerpt from Musa’s Bestselling Suspense/Thriller below.

She’d heard nothing, merely became aware of his presence beside her. She flinched, dropped her keys, and bolted toward the stairs. The man picked up her keys and grabbed her arm in one fluid movement.

“Don’t run off, Alexandra Alexandrieva. You won’t get very far without these,” he said in a low voice.

He straightened himself and dangled the ring from one finger in front of her face. He gave her a slight smile, as if amused by her attempt to get away from him. “Besides, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I thought you were someone else,” she said, glancing down at the hand still on her arm.
He released his hold.

“Your acquaintance Kamovski, perhaps? Or maybe Ahmed, Vladimir’s friend?”
She squinted at him, trying to make out his features in the hallway’s half light. “Who are you?”

“So rude of me. Borisov, Sergei Andreivich, at your service,” he said, giving a short bow. “I work for the FSB.”

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her face still and hide her shock. The KGB by any name still made her stomach jerk in fear. “I’ve done nothing.” Her level voice didn’t betray her racing heart. “What interest would federal security have in me?”

“We’ve been watching you for a while.”

“You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“Pavlova, Alexandra Alexandrieva. Born August 16. Widow of Yuri Ivanovich Pavlov. Daughter, Nadezhda Yuriyevna Pavlova, currently spending the night with her grandparents. Shall I continue? We do have the right person. You caught our eye some time ago. As soon as you left your job at the Institute.”

“That was several years ago. Any information I have would be of no use to anyone.”

“We’re not interested in what you used to do. We already know that. We’re interested in what you’re doing now.”

“Typing letters? I’m afraid that’s rather boring.”

A sound from a floor below made the man cock his head. Footsteps clicked on the tile floor and echoed in the stairwell as their owner descended the stairs. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion inside?”

“I have nothing to share with the FSB.”

“Did you know your friends Vladimir and Ahmed have been seen recently in the company of an Iranian?”


“No one has asked you about your work at the vaccine lab?”


“As you can tell, Alexandra Alexandrieva, we know a lot about you and your family. I can assure you we plan to keep our eye on you.”

“The FSB must have nothing to do these days if you’re following me around.”

“Your father died in service to his country. We want to make sure you don’t dishonor his memory.”

“I’ve done nothing to dishonor him. And I resent the implication I have or would.”

“We want to make sure you continue his memory. We’re here to make certain the Motherland he so unselfishly served remains for the future. You do care about the future, if nothing else, for your child?”

To read more work by Liese Sherwood-Fabre, please click a vendor's name.
Musa Publishing - Amazon

Liese Sherwood-Fabre was born and grew-up in Dallas, Texas. She was destined to be a writer when in the second grade she got an “A” for her story about Dick, Jane, and Sally’s Ruined Picnic.

For several years, Liese focused on professional writing as she earned a PhD in Sociology from Indiana University. She learned two valuable lessons during that time: you can’t edit what you don’t have down on paper and the power of keeping things simple.

Liese married and the young couple moved to Washington, D.C. During that time her work was reviewed by skilled professionals who taught her to tighten her writing. From D.C., Liese and her husband moved to Honduras, then Mexico, and finally Moscow, Russia. Her experiences have blessed her with people and places that inspire and populate her books.

Liese and her family are back in the US and living in Dallas.

To learn more about Liese Sherwood-Fabre, please visit her website.

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

To All Our Jewish Friends and Readers

The Musa staff and authors 
you and yours,


Monday, December 15, 2014


by Kate Larkindale

Snow dripping from pine branches. Chestnuts roasting on a fire. Bright red holly berries standing out, stark against dark green leaves.

These are images we associate with Christmas – images of winter.

Image courtesy of the National Archives of Australia
Where I live, Christmas falls just four days after the longest day of the year, in the middle of the summer. Christmas card images of snow-capped trees and sleighs, roaring fireplaces and mistletoe still exist here, and stores still drape their windows with tinsel and spray-on-snow. Yet outside, it’s sunny and hot. Christmas Day is as likely to be spent on the beach as anywhere else. Christmas dinner could be a barbecue in the back yard, not a turkey, groaning with heavy side-dishes.

In many ways if feels wrong to celebrate Christmas in mid-summer. In June I feel like eating turkey with all the trimmings. In December, when so much summer fruit is in season, why should we eat plum pudding and mince pies?

Because those things are traditional.

But why not make new traditions? That’s what my family has done. Not just to adjust to the change of season, but to encompass the diversity of our family.

Christmas Day begins with stockings for the kids. Over the years the stocking stuffers have become more and more practical. Socks and underpants are the big fillers, with a few little toys and other trinkets alongside.

Then it’s breakfast, which pays tribute to the Jewish side of my family: bagels and lox. I remember how hard it was to find bagels in New Zealand when I was younger, and how difficult this breakfast was as a result.

After breakfast comes presents. Then, the dinner preparations. The turkey is usually already in the oven, so we just need to get the veggies done. The kids shell peas while the adults peel potatoes and kumara (sweet potatoes), pumpkin, and parsnips. There is also asparagus to trim. Having asparagus for Christmas dinner is one of the real treats of a summer Christmas.

Christmas dinner is usually eaten around 4pm. Once the turkey and sides have been dispatched, there is always a bowl of fresh strawberries alongside the Christmas pudding and fruitcake.

After dinner, everyone is usually so full of food, a walk down the beach is needed. And if the weather is really hot, a swim might be in order. The kids may want to ride their new bikes or try out a kite or some other outdoor toy. And because daylight lasts until after 9pm, there is plenty of time for all of that.

How would you adapt to a summer Christmas?


Here is a small sample from my YA, An Unstill Life.

Livvie must decide how far she’s willing to go for the people she loves.

Things at home are rough for fifteen-year-old Livvie Quinn. Jules, her beloved older sister is sick again after being cancer free for almost ten years. Her mom becomes more frantic and unapproachable every day. School isn’t much better. Just when she needs them most, her closest friends get boyfriends and have little time for Livvie – except to set her up on a series of disastrous blind dates.

Livvie seeks refuge in the art room and finds Bianca, the school ‘freak’. Free-spirited and confident, Bianca is everything Livvie isn’t. Shaken by her mom’s desperation, her sister’s deteriorating condition, and abandoned by her friends, Livvie finds comfort and an attraction she never felt before with Bianca.

When their relationship is discovered, Livvie and Bianca become victims of persecution and bullying. School authorities won’t help and even forbid the pair to attend the Winter Formal as a couple. If Livvie defies them and goes, she risks expulsion and further ridicule from her classmates. At home, her mother’s behavior escalates to new levels of crazy and Jules is begging for help to end the pain once and for all.

While searching for the strength to make her life her own, Livvie must decide how far she’s willing to go for the people she loves.

To read an excerpt from An Unstill Life please click a vendor's name Musa Publishing - Amazon

Having spent a lifetime traveling the globe, Kate Larkindale is currently residing in Wellington, New Zealand. A cinema manager, film reviewer and mother, she’s surprised she finds any time to write, but she doesn’t sleep much. As a result, she can usually be found hanging out near the espresso machine.

Her short stories have appeared in Halfway Down The Stairs, A Fly in Amber, Daily Flash Anthology, The Barrier Islands Review, Everyday Fiction, Death Rattle, Drastic Measures, Cutlass & Musket and Residential Aliens, among others.

She has written eight contemporary YA novels, five of which other people are allowed to see. She has also written one very bad historical romance. She is currently working on a new YA novel that is still looking for a title other than its Twitter hashtag, #juvvielesbian.

Learn more about Kate on her blog and Goodreads. Stay connected on Twitter.