Sunday, January 25, 2015

Welcome to the Virtual Book Tour for Disenchanted

the recently released Fantasy novel by Leigh Goff


A dark curse, a forbidden love, 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.

EXCERPT
“You really want to know?” He circled behind me, not touching me, but I could feel him there, just an inch away. He stepped closer, his body heat warming my exposed neck.

I tried to ignore the trembles and craving his alluring voice provoked. Heat and tension continued to roll off him. My breathing quickened. “Secrets never stay secret in Wethersfield. It’s going to slip out eventually.”

He circled around to face me again and nodded. “Your curiosity is inexhaustible.”

I pressed my hand to my forehead, trying to regroup, which was harder than it should have been. “Look. It doesn’t matter. I can handle whatever it is.”

“Zeke will be thrilled if he finds out what I’m about to tell you.” He shook his head, probably imagining the ugly scenario. “I come from a long line of Mathers who have been more than unlucky in love. A staggering number of them, so many that one cannot blame it on misfortune or bad luck. For years, my father thought it was a genetic fluke until he had our ancestor’s DNA tested and, like his own, it showed nothing.” He rolled his sleeve up enough to show me the pinkish birthmark on his wrist. It resembled a small heart broken in two, exactly like Zeke’s. “You see, from my father’s research, every Mather heir for centuries has carried this mark in this spot. It is something passed down in our family, inherited, but not genetic. That leaves only one explanation. Our bloodline is cursed.”

“Are you sure it’s not Karma or bad luck?” We knew Francis had been cursed for his father’s hand in the hangings. But all of them? I didn’t think a generational curse was really possible.

“I don’t believe in bad luck, but I do believe in the power of this curse. It has haunted us through time.”

“How many of you?”

“After they fell in love? Since Francis Mather, the one buried under the tree next to your ancestor, all of them. Not at first. Some of them were able to bear a child or two before their love deepened and the curse took hold of one or both of them. It is why my father used a surrogate rather than risk a relationship. He, Zeke, and I are the last of Rev. Mather’s direct descendants. It’s too many to make sense so all we are left with is the fact that we are cursed to live a life without love or die from it.”

I staggered backward, staring at the trees lining the path, in shock. Elizabeth warned me about a curse living on. The judge even sputtered on about a problem caused by the witches. Did they both mean a generational curse on the Mathers? Generational curses were only heard of in myths because they required great power and a dark heart. Did Rebecca have that much power? “Let’s say that’s even possible.” I could barely grasp the possibility for the irony got in the way. A curse cast by my ancestor meant to punish the Mathers was now threatening not only my happiness, but my life.

BUY LINKS Musa Publishing  -  Amazon


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 was released by Musa Publishing in December 2014. Leigh is currently working on her next novel, The Witch's Ring which is set in Annapolis.

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

Click Here to Follow the Tour

Tour Coordinated by Sapphyria's Book Promotions 

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Ménage à trois with Helen Hardt

Musa Publishing is excited to announce PRIMAL INSTINCT, an erotic short story by multi-published Helen Hardt, is available for purchase.


The scent was unmistakably male...

The Rocky Mountains are the perfect place for Erin Monroe to contemplate life as a permanent single—until she meets Nick Foster and Landon Kay. One dark, one blond, both gorgeous—they saunter toward her as though they're used to getting exactly what they want. And they want Erin. The primal attraction is hard to resist and instinct tells her to let them have their way. But are these sexy creatures truly what they seem?

EXCERPT
Both men rubbed up against her, Nick in front, Landon behind, their bodies hard and ready. She should have been frightened. Freaked.

She wasn’t.

“You’re beautiful.” Landon pulled the band holding her brown hair in a ponytail and let her tresses sift through his fingers. “Like silk,” he said. “Mahogany silk.” He inhaled. “Apples. Tart apples.”

Nick smoothed the strap of her tank top off her shoulder and dropped a light kiss onto her bare skin. The soft whisper of his lips made her quiver.

“Apples,” Nick echoed. “You sure it’s her hair, Lan?” His lips curved against her flesh.

Fresh juice trickled between her thighs. Her panties would be soaked by now. What was she doing here with not one, but two men? Two strange men?

“No.” Landon brushed his lips against Erin’s cheek. “I wasn’t talking about her hair.” He kissed her nose, her other cheek.

Her breath caught. “What am I doing here?”

“Oh, honey,” Nick said. “You’re doing what you were put on earth to do.”

“And that is?” Her voice cracked.

“Making love to us.” Nick’s hand slid up her waist and cupped one breast. He groaned. “Both of us.”

BUY LINK

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.

Friday, January 23, 2015

NEW RELEASE for BRITA ADDAMS

Musa Publishing is excited to announce Her Timeless Obsession, an historical romance by multi-published author Brita Addams, is now available.

A love that transcends time.

Ever the explorer, Honey Danby discovers a treasure trove in her dusty 1910 London attic. Old trunks filled with clothes, journals, and love letters written between two lovers in 1810 entertain her and leave her longing for a time and a man long past. Dressed in an irresistible gown from one of the trunks, Honey discovers a heart-wrenching love story. When she learns that all was cruelly torn asunder, the handsome soldier's loving words written to his H. catapult Honey into an adventure that defies logic.

When, dressed in a crisper version of the gown, Honey inexplicably awakens inside a rumbling horse-drawn carriage, she discovers she shares the antiquated vehicle with the man who tore the lovers apart. Can she convince this stranger to forgo his unreasonable demands, or will history repeat itself on a misty August morn in Green Park?

EXCERPT
October, 1910

Upper Brook Street, Grosvenor Square, London


During a lifetime spent at Danby Terrace, Honoria Danby, Honey to those who knew her best, had excitedly explored the secret passageways and hiding places that made living in the red-bricked townhouse worthwhile. As mistress of the old pile, she intended to restore some of the old charm the place must have once held.

With an autumnal storm blowing sheets of rain against the windows, Honey answered the call of her curiosity, as she had often done on such days during her childhood. She’d spent hours alone amid the relics of years gone by. The high-ceilinged attic beckoned her to poke around amongst paintings by the dozens, statues, and fine china. She had, over the years, restored furniture used by Danby ancestors and filled the rooms downstairs with them.

“Come on, Maizie,” she said to her less than thrilled maid. “Let’s explore that corner with all the trunks.”

“Yes’m. I’ll get the kerosene lamp.”

Honey changed into a work dress and met Maizie at the foot of the stairs. “I’ve been dying to explore those trunks. What about you?”

“I don’t like the dust. Now, you know that.”

“I know, but think of the treasures we might find.”

Maizie grumbled as she lit the lamp, and the dark attic took on light. With the dim recesses lit, Honey strode past covered furniture, rusted rifles, a patinaed garden bench, and an entire dining room set.

“Look here. How have I missed these in all our explorations?” Honey pulled back the sheets that covered paintings of animals, expressionless people, and admirably executed still lifes, “We’ll take some of these down to hang in the dining room.”

While Maizie stacked the paintings by the stairs, Honey delved deeper into the corner. Against the rough-hewn beams rested an age-stained oilcloth-wrapped mystery that had somehow escaped her frequent explorations.

On creaking floorboards, she advanced on the corner, distracted for several moments by copies of old magazines and a marble bust of a bald, bearded man that looked like her grandfather.

She hung the lamp on a nail in the beam. “Maizie, come help me uncover this.”

As they lifted the heavy cloth, dust motes clouded the airless attic as she and a sneezing Maizie unveiled a life-size portrait, well-preserved in a dull gilt frame.

Honoria slid her finger over the textured deep scarlet of the subject’s uniform, over the braided cords at his shoulders, and then higher. She shone the light on his handsome angular face—square jaw with a hint of a shadow. Unsmiling, he stared straight ahead, as though through the painter. “Oh, my, who do we have here?”

She lowered the lamp to the dusty brass plaque at the lower edge of the frame. With a moistened thumb, she cleaned the filthy piece of metal.

Captain Jeremy Saintaubin, Marquess of Galmore, 1803.

Honey stared at the ribbons on the captain’s scarlet coat and imagined his pride as he received them. The hem of his eternally creased black trousers disappeared into his highly polished Wellington boots. His stylish curly black hair, perfectly coifed, did nothing to soften his stiff, broad-shouldered stance.

Honey’s heart skipped a beat when she studied his face. A man’s eyes had always enthralled her, especially those that held a hint of mystery. “He’s handsome, isn’t he, Maizie?”

Her maid held her apron to her face. “Yes’m.” She sneezed again.

Though the captain’s eyes bored through to her soul, Honey tore her gaze from the visage of the handsome Lord Galmore to root amongst the old trunks that lined a darkened wall and peek beneath dust-laden cloths at the discarded remnants of another century.

A swath of blue drew her attention to a blue-and-cream striped Hepplewhite sofa and matching chairs. “Even at a hundred years old, these are in good repair.”

Maizie batted away the dust and mumbled a reply.

“We’ll take these downstairs. We can clean them up, can’t we?”

Maizie coughed. “I suppose we can.”

“You should keep your face covered so the dust doesn’t affect you like that.”

“Yes, miss.”

With Maizie’s help, Honey tugged the furniture out of the way and settled before the first of many trunks that lined the darkest wall. After leveraging one rusted clasp open, she giggled with glee. “Oh look, Maizie. Old clothes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Honey sat on the plain wood floor and pulled dresses and bonnets from the trunk—silks, satins, cambric, and muslins in styles that had long since lost favor. “They are remarkably unspoiled.”

Maizie sneezed several times, but she managed a weak, “That’s nice.”

“We need to get you out of this attic. Will you go get Frederick and Paul, and they can take these trunks and that huge portrait downstairs? I want to see it in a better light”

“Yes, ma’am.”

While Honey dug even deeper in one of the trunks, Frederick and Paul appeared. “I’d like to have these trunks, this beautiful portrait, and the blue Hepplewhite furniture taken downstairs. You can put them in the corridor until I decide what else to do with them.”

Honey supervised the removals, prodding as much as she dared, eager to see everything in the stark light of day and electrical lighting.

“What do we do with the portrait, ma’am?” Frederick asked.

Honey ran her fingers through a thick coating of dust. “After Maizie dusts it, bring it and this trunk into my bedchamber. The furniture goes to my drawing room.”

BUY LINK


To read excerpts from other books by Brita Addams please click a vendor's name
Musa Publishing - Amazon.

Brita Addams was born in Upstate New York, but now makes her home in the sultry south with her real-life hero—her husband, and a fat cat named Stormee. All their children are grown.

Brita and her husband love to travel. They've enjoyed no less than twenty-five cruises and countless long car trips, as well as completed a Civil War battlefield tour, and visits to many sites involved in the American Revolutionary War. Their 2013 anniversary tour of England, Scotland, and Wales gave Brita fodder for many new tales. Given her love of history, Brita writes both het and gay historical romance. Many of her historicals, as well as few contemporaries, have appeared on category bestseller lists at various online retailers.

Learn more about Brita Addams on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

THREE MINUTES with EVA SCOTT

Where did you get the idea for THE MARRIAGE MAKEOVER?
I saw some fabulous hand-crafted furniture at the Eumundi markets and wondered what life might be like if I became a carpenter (yeah, right!). Of course part of that fantasy was living up on the Sunshine Coast, a glorious part of South-East Queensland. Keep day dreaming and suddenly I have a couple of characters who are happy to live out my day dreams between the cover of a book.

How did you develop your lead characters?

I do all the usual stuff – physical description, likes and dislikes. But the thing I find most helpful in fleshing out my characters, making them real, is to get each one to write me a letter. During this process I get to ‘hear’ their voice and learn their side of the story. The results can be surprising as the characters come to life right before my eyes.

What drives you to write romance?
I’m driven to write by natural compulsion, the same thing that drives birds to fly south for the winter. It’s not an intellectual exercise, you’ve just got to do it.

What drives me to write Romance is the belief that everyone deserves a happy ending even if it’s only in books. Romance offers a reader the chance to relax and enjoy the ride knowing they’re going to arrive at destination Happy no matter what happens along the way.

Here is a short intro to the book.

Not only flowers bloom...

Dr Camden James is a rural vet, not a wedding planner, so he quickly feels out of his depth when, in a fit of generosity, he offers to glam up his sister's budget wedding in a secret move designed to surprise her. With only six weeks to make this the wedding of his sister's dreams he needs to move fast.

Stumbling around in the largely female world of weddings he gets a lead on the go-to girl for wedding flowers - Georgiana Mac Intyre. Georgi, reeling from a very public breakup, is not interested in men in anyway shape or form. Not even super-cute vets - even when they are clearly interested in her.

Cam shamelessly uses his story to get her to help. It has all the elements; romance against the odds, true love, orphans (you can't have good story without an orphan or two), and a bride.

To read excerpts from books by Eva Scott, please click a vendor's name Musa Publishing - Amazon

Eva Scott lives on the Sunshine Coast, in Queensland Australia with her fabulous husband and gorgeous little boy. When she's not writing romance, you can find her on the water kayaking, fishing or swimming. When on dry land its all about the shoes and the coffee.

Learn more about Eva Scott on her website. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Love, Life, and the Universe

by Elliott Baker

I’ve been asked the question: How do you juggle being an author, artist, musician, and playwright, and being a good husband?

Sally at Newcastle by Elliott Baker
Let me take the last part first. My wife, Sally Ann, and I have been married for thirty-seven years. I asked Sally Ann to marry me two days after we met and, fortunately for me, (and our children) she said yes. When I tell folks that one, I usually get a moment of stunned silence then “Two days? How’d you know in two days? Two days?” Like maybe I misspoke or forgot. My best answer is always the same. “I recognized her.”

What the hell does that mean? It wasn’t an instantaneous knock you over epiphany, but by the end of the second day, I felt so comfortable with this woman that I knew we had done this before. Spaceship for the next planet leaving… Some things just aren’t explainable in terms that seat easily into our everyday experience. While I was aware of the concept of reincarnation, I hadn’t yet even thought of becoming a certified hypnotherapist. And I hadn’t had any personal experience or encountered the experiences of others yet. Just feelings and familiarities.

Still, I had learned to act on feelings and familiarities. Some call it intuition, some call them hunches. Women are more likely to get away with naming them, but I believe that we all get information all the time. Unfortunately, we ignore most of it. Oh, and I adore my wife and would do anything to make her happy. That probably has something to do with it as well.

As for all the other stuff, it all kind of falls into the same basket. I’m an artist. Took me years to figure that one out, but I think that’s what I’m supposed to be doing. The hardest part of art (such a lyricist) is giving yourself permission to play. And the echo, “ You’re not supposed to play, you’re supposed to work,” said my grandmother. And by extrapolation, “It’s supposed to hurt, not be enjoyable.” Don’t get me wrong. Art’s easy. Art that someone else might enjoy, not so much.

I could play anything I had ever heard on the piano when I was seven. It took me till I was forty-five to give myself permission to write the score for a musical, and then the lyrics, and then the book. Another five years or so to begin to paint, and another ten to attempt a novel. Oprah hasn’t called, but we’re still eating and since Sally Ann is still putting up with me, I guess the universe is okay with it.

~Elliott

When an ancient evil awakens, one young pacifist is all that stands between the world’s freedom and the red tide of slavery.

In 17th century France, a young pacifist kills to protect the woman he loves, unwittingly opening a door for the reincarnation of an ancient Egyptian general determined to continue a reign of terror begun three thousand years ago.

Taking up the sword will not be enough. Rene must reclaim his own ancient past to stop the red tide of slavery from engulfing the world.

Joined by a powerful sheikh, his sword wielding daughter, and a family of Maranos escaping the Spanish Inquisition, they fight their way through pirates, typhoons, and dark assassins to reach Morocco, the home of an occult sect that has waited for Rene through the eons.

EXCERPT:
The boatswain, a large man with scars on his arms and face, walked over to stand in front of René. “Chain him to the mast.”

Their gazes met.

“Don’t look at me, boy,” he said, backhanding René in the face. “Look down at the deck when I talk to you. You’re some over-fed nobleman’s kid thinkin’ you make the rules. I’m surprised you ain’t cryin’ for your mama. You got a mama, boy?” he asked and laughed. When René didn’t answer, he hit him again. “I asked you a question, boy. Don’t try my patience, cause I ain’t got none.”

“My mother died when I was born,” René said, watching the man’s feet to see how he moved. He was cataloging everything he could see out of the corners of his eyes.

“Well, not to worry, you’ll be seeing her soon.” The boatswain turned to walk away and then turned back and hit René again. “I had to do that,” he said, and walked away laughing.

Though they had chained him in a way that didn’t allow him to sit, René had enough slack to turn and see most of the ship. He was aboard an English slave ship. She was an older carrack in design, still with the large forecastle. She had seen better days, though. The fact that she was still on the seas suggested either a cutthroat reputation or an experienced captain. Under the wear, the ship was surprisingly clean, her ropes and sails newly repaired and in good order. Second rate though she might be, she was seaworthy. This was a veteran crew, competent in their tasks. It wouldn’t be easy getting free, and even if he could, where would he escape to in the middle of the ocean? Don’t rush fate. One thing at a time. Do what you can do, he heard the Maestro say. It was clear he would have to pick a fight, and hope he could survive long enough to begin creating allies. The next time the big boatswain walked by, René laughed.

“What are you findin’ so funny, boy?” The boatswain stuck his face within inches of René’s.

René had noticed the boatswain had one leg shorter than the other, and was certain the big man would be touchy on that point. “You walk funny, that’s all,” said René, raising his voice. It was of no use to him if he got beat up and no one knew why.

All work within the sound of René’s voice crashed to a complete stop. Silence reigned. René had guessed right. Now he could only hope he would survive his insight.

The boatswain stood in absolute disbelief, his face turning redder by the moment. “What did you say?” Spittle flew from his mouth.

Even the captain had turned to watch. René counted on the fact Gaspard’s agent had given the captain a great deal of money, along with explicit instructions that didn’t include throwing a dead boy overboard. What he didn’t know was how close to dead the agent considered acceptable.

“I said you walk funny,” René said—louder this time, so there would be no mistaking it.

“Do you know what a cat is, boy?” the boatswain said, clearly beyond rational thought. René could see the veins standing out in his neck and temples, his eyes shot red with blood.

“A small animal?” René asked.

There was a laugh from the men standing around the mast. The boatswain took one look around, and the laugh died.

“You, James, bring me the cat. I don’t think this boy has ever seen a real one. Your education has been sadly incomplete, boy. You’ll be thankin’ me for this. I promise you.” The boatswain’s voice was a rough whisper.

James walked over and handed the Cat-O-Nine-Tails to the boatswain. As he caught René’s eye, he sadly shook his head. The cat had nine long thongs of blood-encrusted leather dangling from a handle, knots tied along the length of each thong.

“This here’s a cat, boy. As you can see, it ain’t no small animal. Now, there’s a skill and a talent to usin’ a cat, both of which I’m proud to say I have. You see, you need to take care the thongs don’t get all stuck together with blood and skin, which they’re wont to do. If that happens, the cat’ll take yer organs right out, and that’s always a bad thing. So you need to run your fingers between the thongs every couple of strokes, to keep ‘em separate. I gotta tell you—as much pride as I take in usin’ the cat, sometimes I’m forgetful. I try to keep count, but before I know it, I plumb forget to clean the damn thing. I surely hope that don’t happen today.”

“I also have a skill and a talent, and I will kill you with it,” René said quietly.

For one second, the boatswain paused, confusion written across his face. “Turn him around, and chain him up. You there, strip off his shirt.”

BUY LINK


Award winning international playwright Elliott B. Baker grew up in Jacksonville, Florida. With four musicals and one play published and done throughout the United States, New Zealand, Portugal, England, and Canada, Elliott is pleased to offer his first novel, The Sun God’s Heir. A member of the Authors Guild and the Dramatists Guild, Elliott lives in New Hampshire with his wife Sally Ann.

Learn more about Elliot Baker on his /">website. Stay connected on Twitter and Facebook.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Vive la French Soup!

by Sharon Ledwith

In my middle grade/young adult time travel books I try to write in a scene where my characters sit down for a meal or share some food together. In The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis, I’ve got a scene where Melody Spencer is dishing out rabbit stew in bread bowls for the kids. In Legend of the Timekeepers, two of the characters—She-Aba and Tau—are introduced to a ‘long yellow fruit’, a.k.a. bananas. Why do I do this? Simply put, so readers can relate to my characters. We all need to eat, and coming together to eat gives my characters a place to talk over their dilemmas, make plans, reassess the situation, and recharge their batteries.

So when I finally got my hands on my grandmother’s coveted French Soup recipe, I thought it fitting to share this fabulous meal. It’s so easy to put together and a bonus for those cool days or evenings. Many a tale has been told digesting this soup around the table, and my hope is that this meal will spark new conversations between you and your loved ones.

Vive la French Soup!
1 lb lean ground beef
2 small cans or 1 large can of tomato soup
1-14 oz can of green wax beans (do not drain)
1-14 oz can of yellow wax beans (do not drain)
1-14 oz can of peas (do not drain)
1 can sliced mushrooms (if desired, drained)
4 medium-large potatoes (cubed)
½ teaspoon of salt
Dash of pepper
Worcestershire sauce or Tabasco sauce to taste (your preference)
Garlic powder to taste (if desired)
Crock pot

Fry the lean ground beef and drain.

Add the canned vegetables, potatoes, tomato soup, drained ground beef, and seasonings into the crock pot.

Cover and cook on slow for approximately 8 hours.

Serve with biscuits or rolls.

NOTE: Please feel free to experiment with this recipe. My mom adds one small can of tomato sauce to add flavor to the soup. The above recipe will serve a family of eight.

Voila. Dinner is done. Now what will you do with all that time on your hands while the soup is cooking in the crock pot? How about indulging in one of my books from The Last Timekeepers series?

There is no moving forward without first going back.

Lilith was a young girl with dreams and a family before the final destruction of Atlantis shattered those dreams and tore her family apart. Now refugees, Lilith and her father make their home in the Black Land. This strange, new country has no place in Lilith’s heart until a beloved high priestess introduces Lilith to her life purpose—to be a Timekeeper and keep time safe.

Summoned through the seventh arch of Atlantis by the Children of the Law of One, Lilith and her newfound friends are sent into Atlantis’s past, and given a task that will ultimately test their courage and try their faith in each other. Can the Timekeepers stop the dark magus Belial before he changes the seers’ prophecy? If they fail, then their future and the earth’s fate will be altered forever.

To read an excerpt from Legend of the Timekeepers please click here.

Legend of the Timekeepers Buy Links:
MUSA PUBLISHING ׀ AMAZON ׀ BARNES & NOBLE ׀ SMASHWORDS ׀ APPLE

If you haven’t already read Sharon Ledwith's novel, The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis, here’s the blurb…

When 13-year-old Amanda Sault and her annoying classmates are caught in a food fight at school, they're given a choice: suspension or yard duty. The decision is a no-brainer. Their two-week crash course in landscaping leads to the discovery of a weathered stone arch in the overgrown back yard. The arch isn't a forgotten lawn ornament but an ancient time portal from the lost continent of Atlantis.

Chosen by an Atlantean Magus to be Timekeepers--legendary time travelers sworn to keep history safe from the evil Belial--Amanda and her classmates are sent on an adventure of a lifetime. Can they find the young Robin Hood and his merry band of teens? If they don't, then history itself may be turned upside down.

To read an excerpt of The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis, please click HERE.

BUY LINKS
Musa Publishing - Amazon Link - Barnes & Noble - Kobo

BONUS: Download the free PDF short story The Terrible, Mighty Crystal HERE.

Check out The Last Timekeepers series Facebook Page.

Sharon Ledwith is the author of the middle-grade/YA time travel series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS, available through Musa Publishing, and is represented by Walden House (Books & Stuff) for her teen psychic series, MYSTERIOUS TALES FROM FAIRY FALLS. When not writing, researching, or revising, she enjoys reading, yoga, anything arcane, and an occasional dram of scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a tourist region of Ontario, Canada, with her hubby, one spoiled yellow Labrador and a moody calico cat.

Learn more about Sharon Ledwith on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.

Monday, January 19, 2015

Stand Up, Ladies. Your Time is Now!

by Jeanne De Vita

More than two years ago, I started Pinterest boards under my pen name for a couple of stories I was working on. I love inspiration boards—I’m dating myself here but in high school we used to cut pictures from magazines and tape them in our lockers. In between Advanced Writing and Spanish IV classes, those rough cut photos reminded me of who I was, what my dreams were. As I drifted along the sea of Catholic school uniform skirts, socks, and sweaters, visions of the clothes I would someday wear, the places I would visit, and the people I would meet helped the exercise of “school” feel as though it had a purpose. Not just a writing class, but preparation for the books I would write someday. Not just a history class, but critical information about the nature humanity… information which I would of course put to use in both books and life.

Fast forward an extremely long time and the magazine photos have been replaced with an infinite number of possible dream/hope/wish/goal boards. I heart Pinterest.

But two years ago for as limitless as the possibilities seemed, I quickly realized how confined the realities were.

Two years ago, a search for lesbian images, for butch images, for—fool that I was—nonwhite lesbian images yielded uncomfortable results. Few results, yes, but even worse—some just plain horrible images and graphics. Could it be true that there were no Asian lesbians being photographed? Being tagged? Being “pinned?” In our culturally diverse world (and really, what CAN’T one find on the internet) where on earth were all the lesbians??

I’m an “out” lesbian writer, editor, and publisher. I write fiction in many subgenres but all with lesbian major characters. How the heck was I supposed to pin my stories! Back to magazines and scissors?

Since then, the diligent efforts of so many people around the world have resulted in concrete CHANGE, as clearly visible as search results. Two years ago: no lesbians. Today: there are entire modeling agencies dedicated to androgynous models. Search for Butch or Lesbian or Dyke or Queer and you will find every color, shape, size represented from the spectrum of the GLBTQ rainbow.

We are not “done,” of course. Lesbian fiction, or female-centric fiction that appeals to women whose sexuality is defined by more than traditional relationships, is in my opinion, like the lesbian searches of two years ago. It’s out there, yes, but we have so much to yet discover, unearth, explore, share. To say that there are no readers for lesbian fiction or that lesbians don’t buy books is like saying there are no Asian lesbians, which is why I couldn’t find any on Pinterest years ago… Guess what? We are here. We buy books. We write books. And men and women who are not lesbians can and do buy and enjoy reading lesbian fiction.

Over the next several weeks, please join Musa Publishing authors, authors from other publishing houses, self-published authors, bloggers, and readers to celebrate Lesbian Fiction. Please visit Babbling About Books, and More to participate in the 2015 Lesbian Fiction Appreciation Event. Meet authors, interact with readers, and if you’re so inclined, cut out this picture and paste it in your virtual locker. This lesbian fiction appreciation badge reminds me of school… high school… of dreams and of the fact that all it takes to accomplish your dreams is a clear picture.

~Jeanne

Jeanne De Vita is the Managing Director of Musa Publishing. She has a B.A. in English from Iowa State University, and the MFA in Creative Writing from The University of Notre Dame. Jeanne has taught writing and rhetoric/composition at the college level as well as corporate courses in written communications. She has worked for a literary journal and spent more than 15 years in private industry before coming to Musa. Jeanne has personally edited and acquired more than 50 books in almost every genre. She has also hired, trained, and mentored several dozen interns and editors and oversees the day to day operations at Musa Publishing.

When she is not editing, Jeanne writes fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, and has published under a pen name. Jeanne has presented at writer’s conferences and participated in panel discussions on various topics related to publishing and writing and is available for in-person speaking engagements, online classes, etc.

Jeanne is also an adamant animal lover, sports fan, and cook. Stay connected with Jeanne on Facebook and Twitter.