I love it when interests come together.

Three of my loves (opera, learning about African-American women, and writing) came together as I wrestled with how to adapt Richard Wagner’s Die Valkyrie, the second opera of his Ring Cycle, to a Reconstruction/Gilded Age New York setting with African-American characters.

In Act III of Wagner’s opera, the Valkyrie are nine sisters who bring dead heroes from the battlefield to defend Valhalla — the hall of the Gods — for Wotan who is their father and the king of the gods. Fixed in my mind were images from productions showing the sisters all the same age. Check out this youtube video of the Royal Danish Opera’s production to see what I mean: https://youtu.be/FPcrqkViZKw. My Valkyrie are not immortals who never aged. Unless I made them nonuplets, I had to figure a way around the birth order problem.

Then it hit me. My Valkyrie didn’t have to be blood-related sisters. They could be sisters of a sorority. Women’s literary societies of the nineteenth century were places where women escaped the limitations placed on them by society. They could exercise their intellect and share their opinions freely without fear of ridicule or contempt. My Valkyries’ common bond wasn’t to be in service to a man’s goals as depicted in Die Valkyrie, but the pursuit of their own self-actualization as warrior women — artistic warrior women. This is where love number two came into play.

In a previous post on this blog, I shared how disappointed I was that in a box of thirty-six famous African Americans, only six were women. With my idea of creating a sorority, I decided I could base my Valkyrie on the women of the Harlem Renaissance.

I knew already of Zora Neale Hurston, Nella Larsen, Jessie Redmon Fauset and Dorothy West. I went in search of five more and came across this fantastic list of twenty-seven fabulous women (of whom I’d only known about thirteen): https://www.thoughtco.com/women-of-the-harlem-renaissance-3529259.

Now before you object, I know that the Harlem Renaissance took place in the 1920s and early 30’s. Originally, I had thought of basing my Valkyrie on African-American women who participated and battled white racism in the suffrage movement in the 1890’s, but once I latched onto the creative energy generated by the Harlem Renaissance women, everything clicked. So much so I’m having a hard time keeping my story to its original time period.

Anyway, this list gave me twenty-seven heroines from which to draw my nine Valkyrie. Should I base Brunhilda, the defiant Valkyrie who dominates Acts II and III of this opera on Zora Neale Hurston or Josephine Baker, both defiant trailblazing rule breakers? I’m leaning toward the remarkable Jessie Redmon Fauset. Langston Hughes called her “the midwife of the Harlem Renaissance” because as literary editor of the NAACP’s The Crisis magazine from 1919 to 1926 she helped birth the writing careers of many writers and poets of the Harlem Renaissance. Which of the remaining women should I use to round out my sisterhood of warrior women? What new women might I find to use instead? As my research continues, the possibilities stretch before me endlessly. I’m having so much fun learning about these women I have to fight to stay out of the research abyss and move into love number three: writing.

The images and herstories of these women continue to fuel my imagination. I’ve already outlined one of their gatherings. They’re enjoying their exploits, sharing how they’re mentoring women as protégés and men to be true allies. I’m looking forward to writing the confrontation between Brunhilde and Wotan. If you’d like a summary of Wagner’s story, check out this link: https://www.britannica.com/topic/Der-Ring-des-Nibelungen/Story-summary-of-Die-Walkure.

My adaptation of Wagner’s Die Valkyrie is a story of women’s empowerment and agency. With the artistic warrior women of the Harlem Renaissance as my guides, I’m hoping my version of the story will be a source of empowerment and agency for all its readers.

Better To Marry Than To Burn

Freed Man seeking woman to partner in marriage for at least two years in the black township of Douglass, Texas. Must be willing and able to help establish a legacy. Marital relations as necessary. Love neither required nor sought.

Caesar King’s ad for a mail-order bride is an answer to Queen Esther Payne’s prayer. Her family expects her to adhere to society’s traditional conventions of submissive wife and mother, but Queen refuses. She is not the weaker sex and will not allow herself to be used, abused or turned into a baby-making machine under the sanctity of matrimony. Grateful that love is neither required nor sought, she accepts the ex-slave’s offer and heads West for marriage on her terms. Her education and breeding will see to that. However, once she meets Caesar, his unexpected allure and intriguing wit makes it hard to keep love at bay. How can she hope to remain her own woman when victory may be synonymous with surrender?

Excerpt:

She pulled the wagon to a stop. “Care to take over?”

She held the reins before him. He nodded. She handed over the reins, crossed her arms and stared at him. “Tell me more about Emma.”

He shrugged. That kind of detail hadn’t been part of the bargain, but…

“Not much to tell. She used to teach us slaves in secret, then openly when Union forces secured our town. I was her star pupil. We married and came West for a fresh start. She died giving birth to twin boys soon after we arrived. They followed her within a few hours.”

A soft light shone at him from her eyes. “Sorry for your loss.”

“None needed. Good comes from bad. Death, not slavery, took my boys from me. They never had to live as someone’s property.” He sat a little straighter. “Our children will never have to worry about that.”

“Our children?” She swiveled in her seat. “You made no mention of wanting children, just marital relations as necessary. I understood that to mean intercourse.”

“I wrote I wanted to leave a legacy.”

“A legacy. Not a dynasty.”

“Legacy. Dynasty. Is there really so sharp a distinction?”

“To my mind there is. I understood you meant to affect future generations—endow schools, found churches, create civic associations. I didn’t realize that meant children. I agreed to having sex, not having children.”

“Of course I want children.” His brows grew heavy as he frowned. “Doesn’t having sex lead to having children?”

“Not with the right precautions.”

His frown deepened. “Precautions?”

“There are many ways to prevent your seed from taking root, Mr. King.”

“I want children, Mrs. King.”

Her lips twisted and her brow furrowed, but she kept her silence.

“All right,” she said. “You can have children with any woman you like. I won’t stop you. I free you from any claim to fidelity.”

“Legacy—or dynasty if you will—means legitimacy. No bastard will carry my name, not when I have a wife to bear me children.”

“I see.”

Her tone signaled she didn’t.

Buylinks:
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2KTaGPH
Wild Rose Press: https://www.thewildrosepress.com/books/better-to-marry-than-to-burn

Find out more about Michal here:
Website: https://michalscott.webs.com/
Twitter: @mscottauthor1

When trying to decide what to write about for this blog post, Halloween kept jumping to the forefront of my noggin. Because October equals Halloween, right?

What do you think of when you think of Halloween? Is it all the yummy candy? The pumpkin carving? The dressing up and being anyone or anything you want for one day with no judgement? The ghosts, goblins, demons, witches, and zombies you might see? Is it simply the spooky energy of the holiday that you enjoy?

Or, is Halloween a night you use to curl up and read a spooky tale?

If you are the type to curl up with a Halloweeny-read, I have a fun, weirdo, and sexy zombie for you!

Wait. What, you say? A sexy zombie? No way.

Yes way!

One day, I was inspired to write a different take on zombies. They weren’t rotting, shambling corpses. They were infected and they did crave flesh—in more ways than one (wink, wink)—but they could be rehabilitated with time and effort.

The title of that story is A Zombie Ate My Panties. Obviously, by the title, you can tell it wasn’t supposed to be taken too seriously. It was supposed to be a fun, short, one-off, goofy, and sexy tale. Something to make people laugh and maybe even make them a little hot…in the pants…in a weird way.

But, it was such fun to write, I had to make it into a series. The second is My Zombie Valentine, and the third is Trick or Zombie—a funny Halloween-themed zombie story.

Trick or Zombie

When Trista takes her zombie trick-or-treating, will he make a snack of one of the kids? Or will he resist temptation and snack on something better when they get home?

https://www.jocelyndex.com/zombie-shorts.html

What should you know before reading the Trick or Zombie excerpt?
Zeek is a zombie. Trista is his caretaker. Oh, and Zeek loves boobs!

Excerpt

“We’re going trick-or-treating tonight!” Trista said. When Zeek looked at her blankly, she asked, “Do you know what trick-or-treating is? Do you remember ever doing that as a kid?”

“Kid. Snack.” He clicked his teeth together in a chomping motion.

“No. Kids are not snacks…not eat.” She implored him with her eyes, but he kept clicking his teeth. “Halloween, Zeek. Don’t you remember at all? You get dressed up like a witch, or a cat, or Superman, or something. Then you knock on doors, say trick-or-treat, and they give you candy. Remember?”

He screwed up his face, his red-ringed eyes rolling back in his head as if in deep concentration. Actually, it looked like he was about to have a seizure. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumped, and she felt bad for pushing him even though it was necessary.

“Hey. It’s okay.” She squeezed his shoulder in attempt to console him, but when the sullen look remained, she upped the game to put him back in a good mood. A sour-pussed zombie was no fun for anyone. She lifted her shirt and flashed him.

His eyes widened, and he licked his lips as he reached out and gave her breasts a squeeze. “Boooobs!”

Halloween-Themed Giveaway

I’m hosting a Halloween giveaway on my website. Please go forth and enter. Good luck!
https://www.jocelyndex.com/giveaway.html

What are your Halloween plans?

Happy Halloween to All!

About the Author

Jocelyn writes paranormal and contemporary romances that include humor, lust, love, and four-letter words on the way to a Happily-Ever-After. You can check out all of her books @ www.JocelynDex.com.

As an author, I’ve had the privilege of being part of several anthologies. All of them had a theme. In some, the authors worked closely with each other and in others we had no idea what the others were writing. All of them have been fun.

What’s the reason for being part of an anthology? The immediate benefit is pretty obvious—you get your name into the public arena just as you would with a single book, but you stand with other authors who might bring in readers you wouldn’t normally get. In other words, Author A writes romance, but with a new twist, and she/he has their followers. You write romance, too, with your own readers. Author A’s readers and yours will all buy the new book, and hopefully will discover new authors they might not have tried before. A side benefit of being part of an anthology is the camaraderie that forms between writers. You’re part of one effort and you all promote and fight for the anthology’s success. Also, the writing effort is less than for a whole book, from very short stories (10K words or less) to novellas (25K words or less).

Here are a few examples of the types of anthologies I’ve been part of. In Ain’t Your Mama’s Bedtime Stories (which sadly is no longer available for purchase), there were (I think) 10 authors who wrote individual stories based on fairy tales. We kind of coordinated with each other in that we shared the fairy tales we were going to turn into their adult versions. We kept track of our progress and did initial proofreading for each other before submitting the book to the publisher. It was fun to see the take on the different stories.

In Resolutions, the interaction was far greater. There were four of us (I said that we were four friends writing about four friends), and the theme was how four women fulfilled their New Year’s resolutions for the year. We had a single setting—a restaurant where the women were meeting for a New Year’s Eve dinner. As each course progressed, a woman told her tale. The ending of one story laid the dinner setting for the next story. We had to stay in touch with each other to make sure the opening and closing of each story meshed. In addition, we edited each other so that when the book was turned in, it was virtually ready to publish. I especially loved this book because I love the women I worked with. It’s quite a treat to collaborate with friends!

My latest anthology adventure is Mystic Desire. For this anthology, each author worked totally independently. The theme was the supernatural or paranormal, and other than establishing that, we had no other contact. We each sent our work to the publisher and didn’t know what the stories were, except for short blurbs that were shared at pre-release on September 1. It wasn’t until the book launch on October 1 that we were able to read everyone’s stories. This was the easiest anthology to be part of because there were no schedules to mesh or keep up with, and no editing duties. And you know what? It still was fun to be part of a successful whole, finished product. This anthology has some great writing in it!

If you are offered the opportunity to be part of a collaborative writing effort, I recommend you take the chance. The royalties are often not that great—whatever money comes from sales is divided among many people—but the fun of collegial sharing with other writers is worth it. Plus, who knows? You might be discovered by new readers!

*~*~*

Mystic Desire, Black Velvet Seduction’s anthology of paranormal romance tales is available now!

Mystic Desire is a collection of short paranormal romance stories. This is a chance to read and discover the work of a diverse group of very talented authors.

The themes in this book are varied, as are the collection of characters and artifacts, including Native American dream catchers, mystical jewelry, and characters such as lustful vampires, hot warlocks, a grumpy leprechaun, a ghostly terrier, a zombie apocalypse and things that go bump in the night.

From soft and tender love to hot passionate, kinky sex, there is something for everyone in this anthology.

Read stories by your favorite BVS authors: Alice, Renaud, Dee S. Knight, Anne Krist, Callie Carmen, Jan Selbourne, Suzanne Smith, Richard Savage, Zia Westfield, Lora Logan, Patricia Elliott, Carol Schoenig, R.M. Olivia, and Breanna Hayes.

Buy links:
Amazon: https://amzn.to/322Ziq3Uni
Universal link: https://books2read.com/u/4j1AD2

“An Awareness of Evil”, from Mystic Desire

Amanda McMasters is a psychic living in small town, Idaho. Far from the usual episodes where she can sense a person needing help, Amanda is suddenly thrown into full-blown visions of a little girl who feels threatened. She feels the girl’s terror, sees the poor state of her home, and smells strange and awful things—like the blood pooled around her mother and the faint whiff of a body beginning to decompose. With the help of her visions and Detective Brendan Gilchrist, Amanda races to save the little girl before she meets her mother’s fate.

Excerpt:

With a start, Amanda looked at the floor. The razor-sharp chef’s knife she had been using to slice onions lay within a millimeter of her bare feet. “That would have been bad,” she murmured.

Her hand shook as she bent to retrieve the knife and place it in the sink. The onions could wait a few minutes. She reached blindly for a chair at her kitchen table and collapsed onto it. She had never had an episode like this, in the middle of doing something else. Normally, she meditated, relaxed, let her mind open itself to the ether. This… This had come at her like a tornado, invading her vision and taking control. And it was so clear, so vivid. This was not the misty, uncertain sensation she’d gone to the police with. She actually saw the child.

The girl no longer heard her parent crying—her mother, Amanda sensed—but she was even more frightened than ever. The girl’s back was to her but there was no mistaking the trembling in her shoulders and the short, shallow breaths she took. A coppery smell filled Amanda’s nostrils and she had recoiled. That probably caused her to drop the knife. She felt the same fear as the girl and everything in her urged her to run.

Never, never tell.

The words came from a man but seemed to echo in the girl’s mind. They became part of her being, her mantra. Never, never tell.

I won’t.

That was the girl’s answer. Then the vision ended, throwing Amanda back into the reality of her kitchen and a nearly severed toe.

“My God. Who is this child? Where in hell is she?” Using two hands because using one shook the bottle so badly she feared she’d miss her glass, Amanda poured herself a healthy portion of wine. After a good gulp, she felt steadier.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed her cell phone and the detective’s card from her purse. He answered after only two rings.

“This is Gilchrist.”

“Detective, I’m sorry to bother you but I want to pass on any information I have no matter how small. Oh. Sorry. This is Amanda McMasters.”

“Yes, I recognized your voice.”

His voice seemed to hold a smile that Amanda liked very much. But now was not the time to ponder the man. At the moment, she was more interested in his status in the police department than the fact he was deliciously handsome and seemed open to what she tried to do.

“I had another sense of the girl. This time I actually saw her. There might be something that could help.”

To her relief, he didn’t hesitate. “Where are you? I’ll come by.”

About the Author

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex. Writing was so much fun Dee decided to keep at it. That’s how she spends her days. Her nights? Well, she’s lucky that her dream man, childhood sweetheart, and long-time hubby are all the same guy, and nights are their secret. For romance ranging from sweet to historical, contemporary to paranormal and more join Dee on Nomad Authors. Contact Dee at dsknight@deesknight.com.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: https://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: https://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: https://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749

Disclaimer: There are some great guides out there as to how to write paranormal romances. This is by no means meant to replace the advice or experience of authors in the genre. This is just how I write a paranormal romance.

*coughs*

1: First, decide on your shifters. Honestly, that’s the best part of the process as far as I’m concerned. I’m a biologist, so I love putting my knowledge of different animals to use when selecting shifters for my characters. To a certain extent, the choice I make becomes incorporated into the character’s personality and physique as well. A bear shifter might be a big burly guy, or a cheetah shifter may also be a runner in human form.

Because opposites attract is so much fun, I enjoy making my pairings different shifter species as well. A panther and a dragon, or a hawk and a raccoon. The dichotomy between the animal shifters and the human personalities is meat and drink to me.

2: Decide if your shifters are comfortable with their inner beast. There’s SO much scope for storytelling if one of your characters is on the outs with his or her shifter. I love stories about self-acceptance and empowerment, so this is a big one for me.

3: Pick your setting. Location can be almost as much as a character as anyone else, particularly when it comes to shifters. Are your characters able to shift whenever they want or are they constrained by society to stay in hiding and only shift when they are alone in the woods? In the Redclaw Universe, shifters keep their identities secret because of public hostility and fear toward shifters, which means many long for a private, safe place they can truly be themselves. There’s a lot of built-in tension and potential plot material right there!

4: Figure out what the heck you’re going to do about clothing. Because while having to strip down before shifting can lead to some fun, sexy times, it can also be a big pain in the storytelling patootie. Where did they leave their clothes? Can they get back to them? Are they just going to walk around naked now? *sigh* That’s why I invented the very rare, much-prized shifter clothing—made by special tailors out of cloth only dragons can produce, it has the ability to shift with the shifter. Ergo, no more inconveniently naked people when you’ve had your Redclaw agent shift into a tiger to chase down a bad guy. *buffs nails against shirt in fake humility*

5: Liberally add tropes to the mix. Fated mates? That’s always a good one. Snowed-in at a remote location? Love it! Duking it out for a joint inheritance? Sign me up! Pretend relationship while undercover? Yes, please! You don’t have to stick with just one, either. Mix and match!

6: Turn those tropes on their heads. Say what? You heard me. Have one character scoff at the idea of fated mates. Make the heroine the more powerful shifter. Have a real boyfriend/husband waiting in the background. Make one of your characters ignorant of their shifter background. Offer the formula but change it up just enough that your reader is breathless trying to race to the end to find out what happens.

7: Give them a common/enemy to face together. Someone trying to kill them is always good. Someone trying to stop a witness from testifying, or an heiress from coming forward. Create a dangerous situation and throw them in the middle of it. I like putting my characters in hot water to see how strong they are. Like tea bags, only sexier.

8: Speaking of which—sexy times! That fated mate thing can come in handy here. So can surviving something terrible together. MAKE THEM KISS. And whatever else they feel like doing.

9: Make them fall in love. Passionately, fiercely. Willing-to-die-for-each-other love. This is above and beyond the sexy times. This is TRUE LOVE. It can come before the sexy times, during the sexy times, or after—it can come after much trials, tribulations, and misunderstandings but it must come!

10: Figure out how you can turn the whole thing into a series and start all over again with the next installment. Because by this point, you’re invested in this universe, and you want to see more of it yourself.

Bishop Takes Knight

Destitute after her father gambles away the family fortune and commits suicide, former socialite Henrietta (“Rhett”) Bishop takes a job at Redclaw Security in NYC in the spring of 1955. It’s not long before she realizes there is something very odd about the place: Redclaw is an agency that investigates matters concerning an emerging world of shifters and some strange alien artifacts that have appeared since the advent of global nuclear technology.

Peter Knight is a nuclear scientist shattered by the murder of his wife. Blacklisted by the government and scientific organizations, he drowns his sorrows while searching for the people behind his wife’s death.

When Rhett is assigned to recruit Knight to work for Redclaw, their meeting is more than they bargained for. Someone out there doesn’t want Knight to work for anyone—and a missing cache of alien technology has all parties scrambling to be the first to secure it. Investigating a hunch throws Rhett back into her former life, with Knight as a pretend boyfriend. But when someone from the past turns up to start a bidding war on the artifacts, Bishop and Knight wind up in a fight for their lives.

Get your copy here!

Excerpt

I couldn’t decide if he’d insulted or flattered me, so I said nothing, but took two bowls down from the cabinet. Regardless of my earlier snack, the soup smelled good as he ladled it into the bowls.

He just shook his head when I added crumbled saltine crackers to my portion as we sat at the table. “Why don’t you just open the shaker and pour salt directly into your mouth?”

“I like crackers with my soup.”

He stabbed at my bowl with his spoon. “That’s more like you enjoy a little soup with your crackers. It looks revolting. Like chicken-flavored porridge.”

Put that way, it did sound disgusting. As I eyed the sodden mess, I changed the subject. “You never said how it is you’re able to leave Redclaw with no one being the wiser.”

Especially in view of the added security.

He must not have been all that hungry, for he pushed the bowl of soup aside and fished something out of one of his pockets. After placing it on the table in front of him, he gave it a gentle push in my direction.

I didn’t reach for it. Much like the previous devices I’d seen, this one had that same dull metallic casing, with odd markings carved on the sides. Unlike anything else I’d seen before, however, it had a raised ring in the center that cast a warm yellow glow. “What’s that?”

An infectious grin lit up his face. “I call it an image-projector. I think about what I want to look like in great detail, and it projects that image over me. I’m still wearing the same clothes and everything, but if I can imagine it, I can look like it.” He swept the device back toward him when I would have picked it up. “Few people question the boss when he’s leaving the building.”

“What if you run into the boss? That could be awkward.”

He didn’t seem concerned. “The odds are low. Besides, I can just as easily be an anonymous lab tech. Have you been downstairs? There’s a lot going on, and as I said the other day, they’re more worried about unauthorized people getting in than paying attention to who’s getting out.”

“But to what purpose?” His attitude made little sense. “You’re safer inside Redclaw. Why leave?”

“Boredom.” He shrugged when I raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Okay, then. The desire for decent food.”

My eyebrow went even higher as I stared pointedly at the cooling soup in front of him.

“Fine. I don’t like being caged. Is that answer enough for you?”

I could see his point. And since I had him here, I asked about something that had been on my mind since the day of the mechanical spider. “What do you think is the purpose behind these artifacts?”

He leaned back in his chair to the point he risked toppling it over backward. The front legs lifted until he settled the chair back in place with a thump. “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it?” His raised eyebrow implied both curiosity and concern. The combination was frankly compelling. “Where do they come from? Who or what is behind the technology? It’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen, and I’ve worked on some top-secret projects. My guess? It’s not from this planet.”

My mouth dropped open. “You mean… alien?” I sputtered.

He nodded in all seriousness.

“You seriously believe Martians or Moon Men or something like that is seeding our plant with their gizmos?” The shock of his statement having worn off, scorn now laced my voice.

His shrug was eloquent. “Maybe. I think it more likely an advanced race implanted these devices millennia ago, knowing at some point we’d develop nuclear technology, hence the activation of said devices now.”

“But why?”

He shook his head. “A test? A trap? Who knows? Maybe the awakening tech triggered some kind of signal to the developers and even now, they’re on their way to greet us.”

I wondered if we would disappoint them. It was a distinctly disturbing thought. “Is this a working theory or are you just blowing smoke?”

His devilish smile made an appearance. The way it peeped out of hiding, combined with the fall of that rebellious lock of hair over his intense eyes when he leaned forward, would have charmed the pants off most women I know.

I don’t charm that easily.

“My dear, I just tinker with the gizmos.” He leaned back in his seat once more, his clever fingers toying with his spoon as he spoke. “I’ll leave winkling out the motives of the artifact-builders to the scary people, like you and Ryker.”

I straightened. “Me? Scary? What on earth have I done to give you that impression?” Ryker, I could understand. We knew so little about the shifters, how they lived, and what they could do. The way Ryker had tossed Billy around that day in the office was a fair indication he was stronger than most men, and of course, there was the rapid healing thing as well. More than that, I didn’t know.

“Scarily competent.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Am I supposed to thank you? That makes me sound like every other woman in the workplace. Standing behind the boss and making him look good.”

His laugh caught me off guard. “No, you have it all wrong. The smart man stands behind the girl with the ray gun.”

Okay. Perhaps I could be charmed a little.

About the Author

McKenna Dean has been an actress, a vet tech, a singer, a teacher, a biologist, and a dog trainer. She’s worked in a genetics lab, at the stockyard, behind the scenes as a props manager, and at a pizza parlor slinging dough. Finally she realized all these jobs were just a preparation for what she really wanted to be: a writer.

She lives on a small farm in North Carolina with her family, as well as the assorted dogs, cats, and various livestock.
She likes putting her characters in hot water to see how strong they are. Like tea bags, only sexier.

Links:
Newsletter: https://eepurl.com/c8GDYX
Website: https://mckennadeanromance.com/
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B075CRHQ7B/
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/McKenna-Dean-Author-262328784224302/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/McKennaDeanFic
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mckennadeanromance/?hl=en
Tumblr: https://mckennadeanromance.tumblr.com/
Email: mckennadeanromance@gmail.com

“Darling it’s better, down where it’s wetter, take it from me.”
–Sebastian the Crab, “The Little Mermaid”

Those innocuous words from an animated children’s movie were the inspiration for my newest release: A 16K-word mermaid short story entitled (wait for it) Better Where it’s Wetter.

(It’s safe to say I went there: it’s definitely sexy under the sea, and you’ll no longer wonder what’s a fire and why does it—what’s the word?—burn. 🙂

My story doesn’t have an Ariel, but it does have an Alana who has dreamed of being a mermaid.

It has a Prince Eric, but he doesn’t hesitate to kiss the girl.

There’s no sea witch, but there is an impressive sea snake.

Sorry, no impromptu song & dance numbers, just my interpretation of mer-sex.

Basically, I had fun with it and hope you’ll also enjoy my quick little roll in the seaweed. It was originally published as part of a now-defunct anthology, so I added several thousand words and a love scene to it and have an awesome new cover to show here (made by Fiona Jayde Media… LOVE her work!).

And, because Delilah let me announce my new release on her blog today, I’m going to offer a FREE Kindle version of it to anyone who comments below between now and Friday, October 5^th!

Better Where it’s Wetter

Alana LaRue assumes the sexy merman pictured on the lake house wall is “just art.” Then a violent storm topples her into his arms and she discovers the ocean isn’t the only thing that gets her wet.

Excerpt:

He flashed me a smile that would have made my knees go weak. If I had knees.

“With legs, perhaps. But this takes a different skill-set. Trust me.” He pulled me forward. I tried to kick, to undulate in an amateurish butterfly stroke. I only succeeded in convulsing and rolling to the side. His hand on my waist stopped my efforts. I gulped at how his warm hands practically spanned my width. “You don’t have hip or knee joints anymore. Our lower skeleton is strongest in a side-to-side motion. Pretend you’re parading through a crowded bar trying to catch someone’s eye.”

“You want me to walk through a bar? With no legs?”

“Yeah. You know. Strut your stuff. Swing your hips.” He leaned close enough to whisper in my ear. “Make every man want you.”

The mental image of his words and the warmth of his breath against my neck washed another shiver of need over me. My nipples puckered, and I couldn’t blame the room’s ambient temperature this time. My merman—the one whose image had inspired all manner of fantasies these past weeks—was now within arms’ reach, urging me to make him want me.

Hell yeah, I could do this.

*~*~*~*

My release is so fresh, I don’t even have buy links yet! But check out my webpage for links when I get them (https://avacuvay.com/books/) or look me up on your favorite purchasing site. E-book now available, and print version coming very soon! “Thanks!!” to Delilah and all of you for letting me announce my new release here today!

Note: As of today, there is at least one link—on Amazon. Click the pretty cover to see!

Fall is here and with October close, that means Halloween will soon be here. And with Halloween, comes the thought of ghosts. Though with paranormal reality shows, phantoms are thought about the rest of the year, too. They haunt right alongside us, around us, and in places you never think would be haunted. They can be where the least you expect them. And spirits are not “trick ponies,” they will not perform on cue every night or day, so invisible, they might still be there, leaving you a feeling of being watched or even dread. Though the dread may be unintentional, as the phantom may not be evil (though there are times a bad one may be there), but your own psychic attention will hit you like that.

What are spirits? Where did the words come from?

In traditional belief, a ghost is the soul of a deceased person or animal that can appear, in visible form or other manifestations, to the living. Descriptions of the apparition of ghosts vary widely: The mode of manifestation in photos or seen by the living’s eyes can range from an invisible presence, shadow people, translucent or wispy shapes, and orbs, to realistic, life-like visions—solids. The deliberate attempt to contact the spirit of a deceased person is known as a séance. Paranormal investigators use equipment to find proof of paranormal activity and to contact phantoms. In other words, find proof of life after death.

The belief in manifestations of the spirits of the dead is widespread, dating back to animism or ancestor worship in pre-literate cultures. Certain religious practices—funeral rites, exorcisms, and some practices of spiritualism and ritual magic—are specifically designed to appease the spirits of the dead. Ghosts are generally described as solitary essences that haunt locations, objects, or people they were associated with in life, though stories of phantom armies, ghost trains, phantom ships, and even ghost animals have also been recounted.

The English word ghost continues Old English gást, from a hypothetical Common Germanic *gaistaz. It is common to West Germanic, but lacking in North and East Germanic.The pre-Germanic form was *ghoisdo-s, apparently from a root denoting “fury, anger” reflected in Old Norse geisa “to rage.” The Germanic word is recorded as masculine only, but likely continues a neuter s-stem. The original meaning of the Germanic word would have been an animating principle of the mind, capable of excitation and fury. In Germanic paganism, “Germanic Mercury,” and the later Odin, was at the same time the conductor of the dead and the “lord of fury” leading the Wild Hunt.

The synonym “spook” is a Dutch loanword, akin to Low German spôk. It entered the English language via the United States in the 19th century. Alternative modern words included “spectre” (from Latin spectrum), the Scottish “wraith” (of obscure origin), “phantom” (via French ultimately from Greek phantasma, compare fantasy) and “apparition”. The term “shade” in classical mythology translates Greek σκιά, or Latin umbra—in reference to the notion of spirits in the Greek underworld. And “haint” is a synonym for ghost used in regional English of the southern United States, and the “haint tale” is a common feature of southern oral and literary tradition. As for “poltergeist”, that is the term for a German word, literally a “noisy ghost,” for a spirit said to manifest itself by invisibly moving and influencing objects.

Another widespread belief concerning ghosts is that they are composed of a misty, airy, or subtle material. Early beliefs were that ghosts were the person within the person (the person’s spirit), most noticeable in ancient cultures as a person’s breath, which upon exhaling in colder climates appears visibly as a white mist. This belief may have also fostered the metaphorical meaning of “breath” in certain languages, such as the Latin spiritus and the Greek pneuma, which by analogy became extended to mean the soul. In the Bible, God is depicted as animating Adam with a breath.

In many tales, ghosts were often thought to be deceased people looking for vengeance or imprisoned on earth for bad things they did during life. The appearance of a ghost has often been regarded as an omen or portent of death. Seeing one’s own ghostly double or “fetch” is a related omen of death.

“White ladies” were reported to appear in many rural areas and supposed to have died tragically or suffered trauma in life. White Lady legends are found around the world. Common to many of them is the theme of losing or being betrayed by a husband or fiancé. They are often associated with an individual family line, as a harbinger of death. When one of these ghosts is seen it indicates that someone in the family is going to die, like a banshee.

The stories of ghost ships have existed since the 18th century. The most notable of these is the Flying Dutchman.

Ghosts can also be angels and demons. In some paranormal circles, it is believed that demons are non-human, while other spirits who did terrible things (like murder) but human and passed on without benefit of being forgiven, are not.

With a new ghost book released last month in August, Virginia’s Haunted Historic Triangle 2nd Edition: Williamsburg, Yorktown, Jamestown, and Other Haunted Locations, in which the first edition sold 5,000 books, enabling this to not only go into a second printing, but letting me add new stories and ten new photos of ghostly images to the original stories (plus a new cover), it is clear ghosts are a hot item nowadays. Plus, Williamsburg has become synonymous with not just history (particularly, Colonial, Revolutionary, and Civil War), but haunting. There is even a hashtag, #hauntedwilliamsburg on Instagram and Twitter for it, connecting to many, many posts and photos! If that isn’t enough, there are many ghost tours, from those by Colonial Williamsburg itself, t those by various companies. Two mentioned in my book, is the Colonial Williamsburg Shields ghost tour (I am not sure this one still exists) and one of my new stories has the oldest ghost tour in Williamsburg, The Original Ghost Tour of Williamsburg, which also now has a tour in Historic Yorktown, along with an extreme murder pubs tour and the Haunted River Cruise of Jamestown Island.

The most haunted house in Colonial Williamsburg is the Peyton Randolph House. This is one of the few original buildings still standing when Colonial Williamsburg took over the area.

Several accounts of phenomena at the Peyton Randolph House includes the shattering of a mirror and the sound of heavy footsteps. The first haunting is that of a young soldier who stayed in the structure when the Peachy family owned it. At the time of his stay, he attended college to advance in his studies.

Unfortunately, he fell ill. When this occurred, he was cared for the best that he could be, but he eventually died because of the devastating illness. Today, several accounts attest to the fact that the spirit of the young man still lingers in the structure. Many have stated that they have seen the apparition of a male, while others have said they have heard footsteps that seem to be quite heavy. Another ghost seen is an older woman who is dressed in a white, flowing gown. Then, there is a little girl who was thrown down the stairs and killed after her ghostly best friend, Elizabeth, grew angry with her. Doctors claimed that superhuman force would have been required to cause such a death. Another ghost supposedly hangs around in the upstairs bedroom.

Another story is told of a ghost of a woman who seemed very agitated and wanted to warn guests of impending danger. A woman named Helen Hall Mason stayed for a friend’s wedding at the house in 1962. She stayed as a guest of its owner at the time in the oak-paneled room, which was on the second floor toward the back of the house. Sometime during the night, Mrs. Mason woke up and saw a woman standing at the foot of the bed, appearing very nervous and wringing her hands. At first, Mrs. Mason thought that it was the hostess of the house . . . until she noticed that the woman’s dress wasn’t modern. A scarier thing—moonbeams went right through the woman. Mrs. Mason mentioned what happened the next morning. She didn’t feel threatened by this woman but felt that the woman was trying to give a message of warning to her. The hosts said that Mrs. Mason’s story matched that of other stories over the years. Not much is known about this ghost, except that she might have been a servant.

Other tales of hauntings permeate this place. One of them concerned a two-year-old girl who was sleeping in an upstairs bedroom. She woke up screaming for her mother. The child mumbled about a man in white standing in a corner, but the mother saw no one there. Some years later, a man sleeping in the same bedchamber saw a transparent male form standing in a corner.

Another story tells of Williamsburg employees who saw a man in blue Colonial attire. Thinking he was one of them, they went to talk to him. He vanished when they approached.

An interpreter was alone in the house when she felt something trying to push her down the stairs. It terrified her, as she felt it was evil. There was also the tale about what happened to security guard Pedro Jones. He was getting ready to leave when he heard groans emanating from the basement. He went down to investigate. The door slammed shut on him, locking him in. He couldn’t get out and suffered being down there until his boss knocked on the door. That’s when the door mysteriously unlocked and Jones was able to get out.

Have you a true ghost story to tell? What kinds of fictional or nonfiction ghost stories do you like to read this time of year?

Virginia’s Haunted Historic Triangle

In this 2nd edition, go deeper into ghostly history as you tour Williamsburg, Yorktown, and Jamestown in the Historic Triangle. Visit haunted Jamestown Island, where Captain John Smith and the first English colonists settled. Stroll around Williamsburg and follow the same footsteps of Thomas Jefferson and George Washington as they walked along Duke of Gloucester Street. Tour ghostly historic Yorktown from the colonial era through the Civil War. Take side trips to the towns and counties nearby that put the finishing touches to the history of the whole area. You’ll hear odd noises and see apparitions, but above all, be prepared to get to know the ghosts of the Historic Triangle and its surrounding areas. They’re dying for you to hear their stories.

Buy Links:
Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Books a Million, Schiffer Publishing, Indiebound , Target, WalMart.

An excerpt from the “National Ghost Hunting Day 2017” from the Peyton Randolph House chapter in the book:

While the tour guide told some of the ghostly stories to the group, things began to go crazy. The filming and the tour stopping allowing us to investigate each spot had turned what is usually a two-hour tour into a much longer one. As one of the tour guides told stories about the house, I wandered over to the front lawn. I began getting the feeling someone wanted me to draw closer to the home; however, we weren’t allowed to do so on the tour. The medium told me she felt frightened, that someone didn’t want her there. That’s when I saw the dark clouds on top of the left side of the roof, below the chimney. Not in the air, but on the roof itself! The thing grew thicker and more abundant.

I said, “Does anyone see that dark smoke on the roof?”

Carol peered from behind me and said, “I don’t see anything.”

But the medium turned to me. “You’re not going crazy, Pam. I see it, too.”

Not long after that, it vanished. I did shoot several pictures, hoping that it might appear in one of them. It never did. I got orbs in some of the images and what I called the weird purple paranormal lines in one. These only appeared in a few photos I’d taken with this camera over the years. This night, I got three, and even something in a lower window of the house lit up.

The guides led us around to the left side of the house, where one of them told a few stories to the group. I stayed on the street and took a few more pictures. Another guide remained with me. In one photo, I caught something in the second-floor window by the tree to the right. I asked the man if there was anything in the hallway near the window. He looked at me and said, “No, you got something.” Later, at home and on my laptop, I enlarged it until I saw with excitement that a woman with a long nose and her hair up stood at the right side of the window. It was obvious that she wore a colonial gown only rich white women wore during the 1700s. There was another figure on the left side, wearing what I think might be another dress, but it had no head! The woman on the right did not look happy and looked down on the group. I wondered if she was Elizabeth “Betty” Harrison Randolph, as she’d been in the photos of others who had taken pictures of the house. Later, Carol had made a closer photo of the image for me and sent me a link to a portrait of Betty Randolph twenty years before she died. My ghost appears to look just like the woman.

About the Author

Author Pamela K. Kinney gave up long ago trying not to listen to the voices in her head and has written award-winning, bestselling horror, fantasy. science fiction, poetry, along with five nonfiction ghost books ever since. Three of her nonfiction ghost books garnered Library of Virginia nominations. Her newest ghost book release is Virginia’s Haunted Historic Triangle 2nd Edition: Williamsburg, Yorkton, Jamestown, and Other Haunted Locations, with extra new stories and ten new ghostly images added then was in the first edition. She is working on a seventh ghost book set in the Surry to Suffolk area of Virginia for Anubis Press. Her horror short story, “Bottled Spirits,” was runner-up for the 2013 WSFA Small Press Award and is considered one of the seven best genre short fiction for that year. Her latest novel was her first self-published venture, an urban fantasy, How the Vortex Changed My Life, and in the future she will have a science fiction novella released from Dreampunk Press, Maverick Heart, plus a true ghost story of her, “Cavalier Hotel,” in the true ghost anthology, Handbook for the Dead, published by Anubis Press. Pamela and her husband live with one crazy black cat (who thinks she should take precedence over her mistress’s writing most days). Along with writing, Pamela has acted on stage and film and investigates the paranormal for episodes of Paranormal World Seekers for AVA Productions. She is a member of both Horror Writers Association and Virginia Writers Club.

Connect with Pamela K. Kinney on her Website, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Goodreads.

I’m not a real opera buff, but there are certain operas I listen to over and over. I love Carmen because that’s all we studied in my fourth year high school French class. Tosca is near and dear to my heart because a co-worker who was an opera fanatic walked me through the elements of the libretto and score. Die Fledermaus is light and fun and Willie Stark an awesome three dimensional examination of a flawed conflicted man. Because of my fascination with myths and legends, the four operas in Richard Wagner’s Ring Cycle are particular favorites.

This past summer, I listened to Live at the Met performances of the entire Ring. In one of the between act discussions I learned of a contemporary African-American adaptation of the first opera, Das Rheingold. In that version of the opera, the sought-after gold is James Brown’s first gold record. This inspired me to try my hand at an adaptation of my own. My version would be set during the Reconstruction/Gilded Age.

Imagine my surprise and dismay as I grappled with the issue of incest in the second opera, Die Walkure/Die Valkyrie. Incest? Really? Yikes. But how on earth could I have been surprised after all the times I’ve listened to or seen this work performed? Had the beauty of the music and the splendid interpretations of the artists somehow pushed the issue to the background? Or had my attention instead been focused not on the taboo, but on an injustice highlighted in the story?

I read an article that explained Wagner intended to set true love in the taboo of incest against the immortality of society’s support of loveless arranged and abusive marriages. How could I not side with Sieglinde’s search for true love? How could I condemn her for finding it with her brother Siegmund when her husband Hundig is such a pig? Wagner’s critics and audience agreed. Die Walkure/Die Valkyrie met with tremendous approval when it premiered in 1870 with only one contemporary critic insulted by the absence of morality in the storyline.

The Merriam Webster dictionary defines a taboo as “a prohibition imposed by social custom or as a protective measure,” “something that is not acceptable to say, mention, or do,” and “a prohibition against touching, saying, or doing something for fear of immediate harm from a supernatural force.”

As noble as Wagner’s intent is/was, I couldn’t bring myself to emulate it in my story. I’m not saying Wagner felt incest shouldn’t be taboo. Come on. Who of you out there isn’t creeped out any time you hear Donald Trump’s quote about Ivanka, “If she wasn’t my daughter, I’d date her” or that picture of teenaged Ivanka sitting on daddy’s lap? Shudder. Double ick.

I admire Wagner using his art to force his audience to think about why they railed against incest but didn’t have an equal amount of outrage about marriage as a tool of oppression. No guts, no glory, right?

Using a taboo to throw a spotlight on the hypocrisy of a societal practice is an integral part of Die Valkyrie‘s story. If I want to craft an adaptation worth telling, worth reading, I had to find a way to use a taboo to focus on an issue of injustice. I found my answer in my setting. The taboo in my story wouldn’t be incest but miscegenation.

Anti-miscegenation laws were only one of the vehicles used to control non-Whites everywhere in the United States — and especially the newly freed Blacks — during the Reconstruction/Gilded Era years. It wasn’t until 1948 that a ban on interracial marriage was struck down for the first by the California Supreme Court (Perez v. Sharp) and not until 1967 were bans on interracial marriage declared unconstitutional by the U.S. Supreme Court (Loving v. Virginia). Miscegenation would be the perfect taboo to use in my story about the struggle of African-Americans to survive and thrive in the latter half of the nineteenth century.

I don’t know if my story will have the power and beauty of Wagner’s or any of the works other artists have crafted to enlighten as well as entertain, but at the very least I hope my story will celebrate the triumphs of former slaves and African-Americans born free who claimed their share of the American dream.

One Breath Away

Sentenced to hang for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. She’s never been courted, cuddled or spooned, and now no man could want her, not when sexual satisfaction comes only with the thought of asphyxiation. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more.

Wealthy, freeborn-Black, Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing the mysteriously exotic woman is his mate foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex.

Hope ignites along with lust until the past threatens to keep them one breath away from love…

Excerpt

Pastor Morton’s wagon pulled away from Harvest Home’s front porch only after Mary bolted her cabin door.

She lit the kerosene lamp then waved goodbye to him and his passengers through the window. The lamp remained on the sill, not in welcome but in warning.

Its glow flickered over the revolver she kept nearby. She’d been taken by surprise in Weston. She’d never be taken without a fight again.

She gave the gun barrel a pat then skipped toward the kitchen, a spring in her step. A hope in her heart. The refrain of Good Night Ladies played happily in her mind.

Good night ladies. Good night ladies. Good night ladies, we have to leave you now.

Home at last, she’d see if meeting Eban meant this night would be good.

Since her ordeal, her sex rivaled the Chihuahuan Desert in dryness. Yet Eban’s gaze had summoned the fragrant flow that even now moistened her core. Could it be her body had finally healed? She swayed, dizzy with expectation.

Buy Links:
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