It was the Season of Darkness in New Orleans ... when the Forgotten preyed on humans lest they somehow disturb their habits, which were bad, but not to be changed by mere mortals.
Think WUTHERING HEIGHTS meets TRUE BLOOD where supernatural jealousy and vengefulness meets its match in friendship and love.
Sometimes when all is Darkness,
the only Light comes from Within.
REVIEWS:
"Was it the words themselves or the voice enacting them? This, The End of Days,
made me sigh as I heard the last words of the novel. Roland has a unique way of drawing you into his world and Francene perfectly
embraced his picture bringing it all to life."
- Shelly Freedman
"The End of Days by Roland Yeomans is a story for all ages. Yeomans is a fabulous
writer and the voice narrations by Francene Lockett are superb. This is a great story to read and re-read for many generations."
- Diane Hourany
"Roland Yeomans takes the reader to a unusual school run by the Sidhe in the
hurricane Katrina devastated french quarter of New Orleans. Mythology and
Folklore set in the Gothic stained pages of this Urban Fantasy is a true
pleasure to read. An epic tale of love and friendship in a fight for survival against all
odds."
- Siv Maria Ottem
As a counselor, I have seen too many doughnut burns -- when a child is shoved into a tub of scalding water, the anus tightens in response so that the burn is round with a ring of unburned skin in the center. I have counseled too many daughters of sexually abusing fathers whose scars, though invisible, will never completely heal. Single mother households are unfortunately becoming the new “norm.” There are a total of 15 million children living without a father in the US alone.
Inspite of that, many fatherless children are still succeeding with the help of their mothers.
Many of the hollow-eyed waitresses and sales clerks you meet will be heroic single mothers attempting what sometimes feels to be an impossible task.
According to the 2013 census, 84% of custodial parents are mothers whereas fathers are 15%.
It is my feeling that Single Mothers deserve presents on Father’s Day. Ladies, you are a gift to society.
Without your courageous characteristics to take on the responsibilities of your own and others, where would many of us be?
My last memory of my own father is his receding car speeding down the street Mother called Skid Row in Detroit after he abandoned me there. I can still remember running after his car, screaming, "Daddy, Daddy!" A street person, Maude, and her little dog, Tufts, took mercy on me for six weeks until she conjured the courage to bring me to the Salvation Army outpost (she had a paranoid fear of uniforms.) In FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE and END OF DAYS, you will find my tipping my Stetson to their memory.
My mother was a single mother, and she handled Father's Day creatively: She pointed out the verse in Psalm 68:5 - A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. So I have always thought of Father's Day as Holy and God as The Father.
But what about other single mothers? How do they handle Father's Day do you think? Do they have a unique way of celebrating it? Does it make them sad? Angry? Some mothers get mad at others thinking they should get a nod at Father's Day, saying "I am a woman not a man! I am a mother not a father!" This extreme reaction says to me they obviously have unresolved issues concerning being a single mother.
Mr. Berlitz unintentionally made a day that is often sour for struggling single mothers and lonely children. And the questions come murmuring in the night: “Why don’t my children have the loving father they deserve?” “Why do I have to do everything and he does nothing?”
“Why must I struggle financially, because he chooses to pay no child support?”
And a guilty pleasure genre from any of the three categories!
“The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for.” ― Bob Marley
“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” ― Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934
“The magic in this world seems to work in whispers and small kindnesses.” ― Charles de Lint
What do those quotes have to do with Alex Cavanaugh’s Genre Blogfest?
In mulling over my favorite genres in movies and books, I looked at the autographed movie posters lining my walls and realized
they had something in common although most would say they came from different genres:
FRIENDSHIP/MAGIC.
And that unique genre is reflected in my choice of favorite ...
MOVIE:
THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING -
Friendship was a theme of The Lord of the Rings and was something that Tolkien was very influenced by.
The answer to the riddle, 'Speak Friend and Enter' to open the gates of Moria was "Mellon", which is elvish for friend.
MUSIC:
SOUNDTRACKS such as Howard Shore’s work on LOTR: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING or John Williams’ work on the Harry Potter movies (the friendship between the 3 young students made the movies for me.)
Then, there is James Horner’s work on THE WRATH OF KHAN – action and the friendship between Spock and Kirk and Bones.
BOOKS:
DUMA KEY –
Yes, it has horror but what brings me back again and again to King’s book is the friendship and banter between Edgar Freemantle and Jerome Wireman. “When it comes to memory, we always stack the deck – that’s what Wireman says.”
GUILTY PLEASURE:
DOG SOLDIERS -
A routine military exercise turns into a nightmare in the Scotland wilderness.
What began as what they thought was a training mission turns into a battle for their lives against the most unlikely enemies they would have expected - werewolves.
Yes, it is supernatural, but it is the friendship between the outmatched soldiers that brings me back to this movie over and over again.
NOTE FOR DUMA KEY FANS:
Perse: the evil force manifested on Duma Key -
full name, Persephone and her description and place are all generally influenced and taken from the Greek Goddess Persephone, the Queen of the Underworld
(although, like many of King's entities, she is also decidedly Lovecraftian). Perse's ghost ship (The Persephone) resembles the Caleuche, a ghost ship from Chilote legends.
NOTE TO THOSE WONDERING ABOUT BEST OF ENEMIES COVER:
END OF DAYS started out as BEST OF ENEMIES,
a tale of Ragnarok averted by seven young girls –
starting out first as enemies then growing into friends who will give up their lives for one another … and the world.
I received so much hate email over the cover, I changed both the cover and the title.
Your character is trapped in a space (of your choice). All they have with them is a broken coffee mug, an unlit candle and a cell phone with a dead battery. What happens?
Your entry cannot be longer than 400 words and we won't be taking entries after midnight on the 15th EST.
wanted to see another story of Maxine, the Goblin Princess, from END OF DAYS. So, Christine, here is Maxine in a Toy Store of the damned in the haunted French Quarter:
I ALWAYS WANTED A DOLLIE (400 words):
Genesis backwards: first light, now darkness. It sprang at me like a nebulous panther. I dropped the coffee mug I was going to buy.
A hollow tinny laughter echoed from all around me. Though it was August in New Orleans, winter visited my blood.
A demon child giggled to my left. Swift movement. My cell phone was snatched off my belt. I snarled as it was flung back into my face.
I caught it in mid-air. The battery was missing. Something didn’t want me calling for help.
As if.
The demon girl’s voice tittered from the toy shelves above me. “Aren’t you big to be visiting the doll section?”
A human would have been blind. I saw the fragments of the mug. It had read: I RATHER BE BARBIE.
I wanted to buy it. I was going to tell Higgins, Trish, Becca, and Alice I bought it as a joke. But the joke was on me. I would have given the soul I did not have to be Barbie.
“I always wanted a dollie,” I murmured, pulling the unlit candle from under my belt.
The demon girl’s voice now came to my left. “Aw, Mommie wouldn’t buy you one?”
“Mother took one look at me at birth, saw I looked like Father, and deserted the both of us.”
Demon Girl was right behind me. “Daddy that ugly?”
I flowed forward in the Parkour roll Victor taught me. The razor swipe would have sheared off a lock of my hair if my head weren’t shaved.
I laughed bitterly. “No, Father was that … human.”
The Victorian doll, with the deadly razor in its porcelain hand, stepped back in shock. “Human?”
I gathered the darkness to me like a lover. Now, Demon Girl was blind. I touched Mother’s spirit within the marrow of my bones. The candle started to melt at its end. I traced Mother’s symbol on the floor.
No, not a pentagram. You’re thinking Hollywood. The doll slashed wildly this way and that. I grinned cold as my soul.
I always wanted a doll. If you are lonely enough, you can convince yourself the sparkling eyes hold real love, the painted lips smile in true friendship.
has done a really entertaining review of END OF DAYS that is fun, witty, and filled with wry humor in its own right.
It is her very first review. Yet, she wrote it as if a seasoned professional. She is dubious of how well it will be received.
You've been there, haven't you? Given a piece of prose all you had and feared how it would be received.
So come on, friends, visit her blog and tell her how great she wrote the review. Alice Wentworth is asking, too. And you do NOT want to disappoint a ghoul!
I talk a bit how music plays a part in my END OF DAYS and
how it really plays a part in all of my writing.
Alex was gracious enough to be a good host and patiently listen.
Visit Alex yourselves so my presence won't cause a slump in his comments!
This is another Friday Challenge too: THE PERFECT EX from END OF DAYS ...
{A continuation from the last challenge}
Alice Wentworth and the shade of Victor Standish have been grudgingly allowed one last dance before the warriors of High Fae Queen, Oyggia, sweep down upon them.
Sinend turned to her liege. “What harm could granting them a last dance do, Your Majesty?”
Her winter frost eyes grew contemplative. “None. And there actually may be profit for me in it.”
Victor snorted, “Well, we’ll dance anyway.”
“How, Victor?” I husked. “We cannot touch and there is no music.”
He winked. “No music? With me in your head, au contraire.”
A melodic, bitter-sweet waltz sang in my head with the sighing of violins, and I knew it was echoed in Victor’s as well.
“And touching?” I asked. “What shall we do about that?”
He smiled as sad as the tune in our heads.
“What we’ve done since we first met, Alice. We mirror one another, moving in sync one with the other, heart to heart, movement for movement.”
He held out his hand. I placed my hand above his misty one. We began to dance slowly and gracefully. Hot tears blinded me and hid his face from me. And yet, they did not, for I had his eyes ever before me, whether awake or asleep.
Our last dance was much like our whole love affair. We were so close, yet so far apart. Mirroring each other in step and heart, but forever separated by our very natures. Still, we moved as one, fluid and sweeping. The melancholy tune tugged at me soul-deep.
We danced in sweeping steps that took us all along the circle of hilt-clenching warriors. Victor ignored them. He studied me as if trying to memorize each gesture I made, every word I spoke. We whirled and twirled in a dance of love unlike the one of death Skeggjold and I had taken but moments before.
I drew in a breath I did not need as I swung in circles in our last waltz.
“Are you dead? Are you a ghost? Oh, I must know, Victor, what are you?”
“In love with you, Alice. Leave it at that.”
“No, I simply cannot die without knowing.”
His wavering form kept dancing but his face grew grim.
“You will weep bitter tears at the price of knowing, Alice. Do you still want me to tell you?”
“Yes! I will not die without knowing just how you come to be dancing with me, to have helped me these past days though all say you are dead.”
He and I danced as one, our feet seemingly floating above the still smoldering grass. He brushed my lips with his.
They tingled upon mine. There were tears of farewell in his eyes.
“I can see where you would have to know before you died.”
He closed his dark eyes for the briefest of moments, opened them, and then looked so sad into mine. “Remember those painful adjustments Magda gave you?”
I nodded, “Yes, when she mysteriously said they had made me into what I needed to be. But to be what, Victor?’
He sighed, “To be able to see the me that was within you.”
I almost sobbed, “I do not understand.”
He smiled as if the act hurt him. “Remember when to fight Abigail Adams, you became mist within me?”
“Yes, and I took on a part of your memories, your skills ….”
Victor interrupted, “ … took on a part of me, Alice. I’m the part of Victor you took with you that day. I stayed with you all this time.”
Oyggia cried out, “Yes! I can kill a soul echo!”
Victor spun from me in the flow of the music. I saw his intent. He was standing far from me so he alone would be hit by the queen’s savage energy blast.
His eyes. Oh, God, his eyes.
He was not afraid, not a bit. He knew Oyggia would do this. And yet, he told me anyway … because I asked him to.
Victor was calmly looking at me with all the love in his spectral heart. I was blown to the ground by Oyggia’s attack. The world became one enormous explosion.
When I opened my eyes, Victor was gone. Not even a flicker of a wavering image. He was gone not just from in front of me.
I – I could no longer feel any trace of Victor within me. None at all. My heart felt cold stone. My chest, my soul was empty, alone.
Victor, my love, was truly dead. Dead.
I heard an animal wailing in pain. I went stiff with a sick realization. That was no animal. It was me.
Me.
Oyggia crowed in triumph as I wailed on my knees.
She sang the words, “We come to it at last. The End has come!”
I rose slowly to my feet.
“Oyggia, do you have the steel to fight someone who is looking you in the face?”
(Yes, Hell is about to be unleashed ... just not in the way anyone expects.}
It is about wavering in coming to a decision and the consequences. My entry is from END OF DAYS. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0082ZJD08 Alice Wentworth and the spectral Victor Standish are the only "survivors" in a violent quest to save the planet from an extra-dimensional invasion by beings much older than Earth. Now, with all of Earth's champions dead, the way is clear for the fae High Queen, Oyggia, to lead her forces to conquer the mortal plane.
Victor shook his head.
“We saved your realm.And unless you want to show your elite killers by your lack of gratitude how little you think of your realm, you owe us a debt.
And you will pay up, bitch!”
Her words were a throbbing husk, “I do not owe you your lives, whelp!”
He made a face.“Ah, actually you do.”
He held up a restraining hand at her outraged face.“But we won’t act like you’re sane or anything like that and open to simple reason.”
Oyggia rasped, “For what are you asking, Standish?”
Victor snorted, “Oh, I’m not asking you for anything.But a last dance with Alice would be a nice touch to the end of the tales told of this night, don’t you think, Sinend?”
Sinend turned to her liege.“What harm could granting them a last dance do, Your Majesty?”
Her winter frost eyes grew contemplative.“None.And there actually may be profit for me in it.”
Victor snorted, “Well, we’ll dance anyway.”
“How, Victor?” I husked.“We cannot touch and there is no music.”
He winked.“No music?With me in your head, au contraire.”
A melodic, bitter-sweet waltz sang in my head with the sighing of violins, and I knew it was echoed in Victor’s as well.
“And touching?” I asked.“What shall we do about that?”
He smiled as sad as the tune in our heads.“What we’ve done since we first met, Alice.We mirror one another, moving in sync one with the other, heart to heart, movement for movement.”
He held out his hand.I placed my hand above his misty one.We began to dance slowly and gracefully.Hot tears blinded me and hid his face from me.
And yet, they did not, for I had his eyes ever before me, whether awake or asleep.As the Sidhe watched on, we danced.Some were openly grieved.Most were bored, ready to slay us at their queen’s command.
Our last dance was much like our whole love affair.We were so close, yet so far apart.Mirroring each other in step and heart, but forever separated by our very natures.Still, we moved as one, fluid and sweeping.The melancholy tune tugged at me soul-deep.
“What is this beautiful tune?”
Victor smiled, “It’s from a movie, BROTHER’S KEEPER.I thought it fit me since I am Death’s son.”
“How so?”
“With Death as my mother, isn’t everyone my brother and sister in a way?And didn’t you bleed and suffer for the whole world, Alice?”
“I fought for those I loved.To die for an abstraction is beyond me, Victor.”
We danced in sweeping steps that took us all along the circle of hilt-clenching warriors.Victor ignored them.
He studied me as if trying to memorize each gesture I made, every word I spoke.We whirled and twirled in a dance of love unlike the one of death Skeggjold and I had taken but moments before.
He murmured,“I love you, Alice.”
I smiled evilly.“I know.”
He winced.“Does that make me Han Solo or Princess Leia?”
“Oh, the dashing Han Solo, of course.”
I fought the urge to nuzzle my head on his shoulder.Oh, it was so hard to dance like this. But then had not our whole love been an affair of maddening abstinence?
“Victor, do tell me what is the name of this tune done so hauntingly by these violins?”
He smiled wickedly.“It’s called COWS ON THE HILL.”
“You jest!Whatever made you think of this as the music for our last dance?”
He winked.“As we waltz this tune, the transformed Queen Meropis is grazing contentedly in the Elysian Fields.”
I giggled,“Even now, with the rest of our lives measured in but heartbeats, still you can make me laugh.”
I drew in a breath I did not need as I swung in circles in our last waltz.“Are you dead?Are you a ghost?Oh, I must know, Victor, what are you?”
“In love with you, Alice.Leave it at that.”
“No, I simply cannot die without knowing.”
His wavering form kept dancing but his face grew grim.“You will weep bitter tears at the price of knowing, Alice.Do you still want me to tell you?”
“Yes!I will not die without knowing just how you come to be dancing with me, to have helped me these past days though all say you are dead.”
He and I danced as one, our feet seemingly floating above the still smoldering grass.He brushed my lips with his.They tingled.There were tears of farewell in his eyes.
“I can see where you would have to know before you died.”
It is about wavering in coming to a decision and the consequences. My entry is from END OF DAYS. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0082ZJD08 Alice Wentworth and the spectral Victor Standish are the only "survivors" in a violent quest to save the planet from an extra-dimensional invasion by beings much older than Earth. Now, with all of Earth's champions dead, the way is clear for the fae High Queen, Oyggia, to lead her forces to conquer the mortal plane.
Victor
shook his head.“We saved your
realm.And unless you want to show your
elite killers by your lack of gratitude how little you think of your realm, you
owe us a debt.And you will pay up,
bitch!”
Her words
were a throbbing husk, “I do not owe you your lives, whelp!”
He made a
face.“Ah, actually you do.”
He held up
a restraining hand at her outraged face.“But we won’t act like you’re sane or anything like that and open to
simple reason.”
Oyggia
rasped, “For what are you asking, Standish?”
Victor
snorted, “Oh, I’m not asking you for anything.But a last dance with Alice would be a nice touch to the end of the
tales told of this night, don’t you think, Sinend?”
Sinend
turned to her liege.“What harm could
granting them a last dance do, Your Majesty?”
Her winter
frost eyes grew contemplative.“None.And there actually may be
profit for me in it.”
Victor
snorted, “Well, we’ll dance anyway.”
“How,
Victor?” I husked.“We cannot touch and
there is no music.”
He
winked.“No music?With me in your head, au contraire.”
A melodic,
bitter-sweet waltz sang in my head with the sighing of violins, and I knew it
was echoed in Victor’s as well.
“And
touching?” I asked.“What shall we do
about that?”
He smiled
as sad as the tune in our heads.“What
we’ve done since we first met, Alice.We
mirror one another, moving in sync one with the other, heart to heart, movement
for movement.”
He held out
his hand.I placed my hand above his
misty one.We began to dance slowly and
gracefully.Hot tears blinded me and hid
his face from me.And yet, they did not,
for I had his eyes ever before me, whether awake or asleep.As the Sidhe watched on, we danced.Some were openly grieved.Most were bored, ready to slay us at their
queen’s command.
Our last
dance was much like our whole love affair.We were so close, yet so far apart.Mirroring each other in step and heart, but forever separated by our
very natures.Still, we moved as one,
fluid and sweeping.The melancholy tune
tugged at me soul-deep.
“What is
this beautiful tune?”
Victor
smiled, “It’s from a movie, BROTHER’S
KEEPER.I thought it fit me since I
am Death’s son.”
“How so?”
“With Death
as my mother, isn’t everyone my brother and sister in a way?And didn’t you bleed and suffer for the whole
world, Alice?”
“I fought
for those I loved.To die for an
abstraction is beyond me, Victor.”
We danced
in sweeping steps that took us all along the circle of hilt-clenching
warriors.Victor ignored them.
He studied me as if trying to memorize each
gesture I made, every word I spoke.We
whirled and twirled in a dance of love unlike the one of death Skeggjold and I
had taken but moments before.
He murmured,
“I love you, Alice.”
I smiled
evilly.“I know.”
He
winced.“Does that make me Han Solo or
Princess Leia?”
“Oh, the
dashing Han Solo, of course.”
I fought
the urge to nuzzle my head on his shoulder.Oh, it was so hard to dance like this. But then had not our whole love been an affair
of maddening abstinence?
“Victor, do
tell me what is the name of this tune done so hauntingly by these violins?”
He smiled
wickedly.“It’s called COWS ON THE HILLS.”
“You
jest!Whatever made you think of this as
the music for our last dance?”
He
winked.“As we waltz this tune, the
transformed Queen Meropis is grazing contentedly in the Elysian Fields.”
I giggled,
“Even now, with the rest of our lives measured in but heartbeats, still you can
make me laugh.”
I drew in a
breath I did not need as I swung in circles in our last waltz.“Are you dead?Are you a ghost?Oh, I must know, Victor, what are you?”
“In love
with you, Alice.Leave it at that.”
“No, I
simply cannot die without knowing.”
His
wavering form kept dancing but his face grew grim.“You will weep bitter tears at the price of
knowing, Alice.Do you still want me to
tell you?”
“Yes!I will not die without knowing just how you
come to be dancing with me, to have helped me these past days though all say
you are dead.”
He and I
danced as one, our feet seemingly floating above the still smoldering
grass.He brushed my lips with his.They tingled.There were tears of farewell in his eyes.
“I can see
where you would have to know before you died.”
Dreamer. Writer. Believer in the worth of each soul I meet.
It is not so bad a thing to have been born with the gift of laughter and the knowledge that the world is mad.
Book 4: Victor Standish risks all reality to bring back from the dead those he loves.
WOLF HOWL HAS HIS OWN BLOG!
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THE LAST SHAMAN AUDIO BOOK!
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Sometimes it is death, not life, that brings us love
A GHOSTLY WRITING MANUAL
Twain, Hemingway, Lovecraft & More!
An Age Is Ending & Ancient Evil Returning
Like PENNY DREADFUL? This is for you.
A SUPERNATURAL LONGMIRE
In Egypt, the dead never rest easy
NO ONE HEARS THE SCREAMS IN SILENT FILMS
An isolated Hollywood film crew is hunted by Nightmare
A SAMPLER OF MY HEROES
Mysteries Explained, Secrets Exposed
The Origin of Toomey Starks!
Hellhounds were never this much fun! Only $4!
VOODOO & LOVE IN THE FRENCH QUARTER
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FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE AUDIO BOOK!
The supernatural predators come out after Katrina. Can two undead legends stop them?
AFTER KATRINA, THERE IS NONE BUT TWO TO STOP THE UNDEAD
ONLY $1.99 WHEN YOU BUY THE KINDLE BOOK!
LISTEN to GHOST OF A CHANCE
Can an author be drawn into his own fictional world and killed by his own characters?
HIBBS HAS FOUND HIS VOICE!
A tale of enchantment
Souls At The Crossroads
Where do you need to be?
THE DEADLIEST ENEMY IS WITHIN
What if Stephen King wrote of the life of a blood courier?
Listen to this haunting tale of horror and love
It is 1853. An undead Texas Ranger is on board a cursed ship in search of a murderer who is wearing the face of her last victim as a mask.
Listen to the LAST FAE
When the world is mad, there is little else to do but show them what true insanity is!
Can a man marry both the moon and the sun?
In the eclipse of myth, he can
What Defense is an innocent soul against the Powers of Darkness?
Let Hibbs, the cub with no clue, show you
Before Indiana Jones or Allan Quartermain
There was Sam McCord and his doomed love for Meilori Shinseen
Alice and Victor in 1834 New Orleans
Do a review and have a 1 in 13 chance to win a Johnny Depp autograph!
Buy_FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE
Hurricane Katrina has cast New Orleans into darkness. Predators, living and undead, close in on the helpless survivors. Can Samuel McCord and a vampire priest keep the French Quarter from being drowned in blood?
Buy_LET THE WIND BLOW THROUGH YOU
Enter the dangerous world of a Native American Noir thriller where forbidden love clashes with the politics of crime
You will never see the end coming
In his beginning is his end
My 1st SERIAL TRILOGY continues
There are none so lost as those who refuse to see
The 1st SERIAL TRILOGY!
In the dark, we are all orphans
In Memoriam - Maukie my cyber friend
RITES OF PASSAGE link
The earliest Samuel McCord adventure: Dare to board a fantasy Titanic as it sails into the Bermuda Triangle
VICTOR'S HERE!
BOOK 1: No one talks openly of the misty figures seen walking along New Orleans' iron-laced terraces, casting no shadow. Of the shapes seen rising from sewer grates. And no one willingly visits the crypt of Marie Laveau at midnight. Into this strange world arrives the street orphan, Victor Standish, from Charon's Greyhound. Charon has to keep up with the times ... the End Times. And the teen destined to be called the "Ulysses of the French Quarter" has come just in time for Hurricane Katrina, the End of All Things ... and the deadly love of the Victorian ghoul, Alice Wentworth.
VICTOR AND ALICE ARE BACK!
BOOK 2: Victor's a street kid. Alice is a Victorian ghoul Their love breaks the chain of reason. Their new adventures bring the French Quarter back from the brink of nightmare.
THE RIVAL
BOOK 3: Victor & Alice are in the French Quarter of 1834. Voodoo. Demigods. Revenants. And the hilarious Menage a Trois of Death! Oh, and someone we love dies at the end.
END OF DAYS is here!
St. Marrok's. The most eerie high school in which you will ever die. Its curriculum? The End of Days. Alice Wentworth plans to get an A+.
ADRIFT IN THE TIME STREAM link
SEQUEL to RITES OF PASSAGE: Come aboard the doomed DEMETER with undead Texas Ranger, Sam McCord, and sail with her into the depths of madness in ADRIFT IN THE TIME STREAM.
Buy_CREOLE KNIGHTS
SEQUEL to FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE: The dead rise. Elder Beings strain to enter our world through Katrina devastated New Orleans. And the Angel of Death is kidnapped to clear their way. Can Sam McCord stem the tide of madness in time?
Buy_THE LAST FAE
Once there was an age undreamed where legends walked this earth … and nightmares, too. Terrible were the battles, tragic the outcome of the wars. Until finally there were only two survivors : the nightmare and one bruised legend. These are the legend’s stories, each one a different facet of the same priceless gem – a jewel that has come to believe herself worthless. So come. Listen to her. Listen to THE LAST FAE.
GHOST OF A CHANCE
What if what you wrote became real?
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Journey with the last Lakota shaman, Wolf Howl. The white govenments call him Drew August. Those who hunt him call him Death. The last day of Man has dawned. Watch as Wolf Howl turns to meet his human hunters. Shadow, the love of his life, returns to aid his hunters. Then, Mankind's death descends. Can he save Shadow before the world's time runs out?
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GHOST WRITERS IN THE SKY
LEARN TO WRITE BETTER AND LAUGH ALONG THE WAY
LAST EXIT TO BABYLON
At the dawn of the End of All Things, the Last Fae finds there is no hope ... but love.
IT'S HERE TO BUY!!
The trilogy concludes. Not even the eclipse of myth is forever. But love is. And eclipses return. Listen. The voice of Blake, son of Man, is calling across the night skies.
Buy THE PATH BACK TO DAWN
Only in the eclipse of myth can a young man find himself with both the Moon and the Sun as his brides. Can he survive what follows?
Buy_LOVE LIKE DEATH
From the pages of THE LAST FAE springs this paranormal romance/thriller. Fallen, the last fae, discovers the name of the young teenager to whom she lost her heart : Blake Adamson.But she also discovers what happens when you believe your fears over your love : heartache and loss. And so Blake Adamson finds himself torn between two loves : one fae, the other an alien drinker of souls. Their love is deadly, but love, like death, will have its way.
THE BEAR WITH 2 SHAD0WS link
Based on the stories my Lakota mother told me as a child when I was deathly ill in a freezing Detroit basement apartment. Think a Native American LORD OF THE RINGS.
FROM THE GREAT BEYOND HOP!
You dare not miss it!!
ZOMBIE PREPAREDNESS!
LISTEN TO THE CDC
Thanks, Alex!
THE WORLDS OF ROLAND YEOMANS
Donna Hole astonishes with her insights on my linked worlds
FANTASTIC REVIEW OF THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH
Michael Di Gesu does a masterful review. I am honored by his friendship
LIFE LESSONS taught me by GYPSY
Dedicated to GYPSY
PAPYRUS PRODUCTIONS
Have Wendy make your book into a trailer that wows the reader!
HELP THE HURTING
100% of the profits for ALL my books this FEBRUARY are going to THE SALVATION ARMY. My Valentine's gift to the hurting.
Buy_BLOOD WILL TELL
One lone telepath finds himself a helpless spectator as the race of Man is subjugated into mindless drones by the very blood within their bodies.When the war is over, and he finds himself totally alone ... How can he go on and why?
CALL ME TOMBS
The last Lakota Heyoka faces voodoo and ultimate evil in the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania with his Hellhound, Puppy
CATCH FIRE!
BLOG TOUR FOR ALEX J, CAVANAUGH'S NEWEST NOVEL
SIV'S BLOGFEST!
The Norse Gods Are Watching You!
NERDY IS THE NEW SEXY!
BECOME A JEDI KNIGHT FOR TEENS
THE SECRET OF SPRUCE KNOLL
Help save the endangered species of Earth by buying THE SECRET OF SPRUCE KNOLL!
AMAZON KEEPS SELLING OUT!
Written by the author who could very well turn out to be the new William Faulkner, Elliot Grace
FABULOSITY GALORE bookstore
Visit an online bookstore and help a blogging friend!!
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