Friday, April 26, 2013

Marci Boudreaux

Me, Myself and I

One question I am asked quite frequently is why I use various names instead of just sticking with one. I think my reasoning reflects that of many author’s so I thought I’d share. When my first book, The Rebound, was purchased, it was completely unexpected; it was awesome, but unexpected. I was a non-traditional student (that’s nice speak for old person in college) and working as a journalist/editor, yet I’d just sold an erotic novella. Did I really want my fellow students, most of whom were a dozen or more years my junior, reading a sex book with my name on it? If someone liked my article in the magazine I write for and decided to look me up to see my other work, did I really want them to immediately find The Rebound and forever associate my journalistic work with sex? Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t in the least bit embarrassed. In fact, I was and am very proud of my first release. The problem was what others would think about it and how it would impact my career, volunteer work, and the work my husband does. So I thought long and hard as I stared at the pseudonym line on my contract. Before the papers were signed Emilia Mancini, my erotic writing sidekick, was born.
When Musa contracted Unforgettable You, a sweet romance, I again had to decide if the name I was making as a journalist was going to be tied to my fiction writing or if I was going to give Emilia credit for this one as well. I considered several pros and cons, including the fact that I’d already started building an identity for Emilia and that my lifelong dream was to see my name on the cover of the book. While Emilia was me, it just isn’t the same as seeing my name on there. In the end I decided to use my maiden name, Marci Boudreaux, for romance. This would serve several purposes; fulfilling that dream of seeing my name on a cover, letting people know it was not an erotic work like what Emilia would write, and keeping my day job separate from it all. I put everything in its own little box on the professional shelf; erotica, romance, and day job. I have three names, three genres, three personas that have completely different reasons for existing. I also have three work e-mails, Facebooks (plus two author pages), Twitters, websites, and three different sets of people I network with. It is confusing, insane, and sometimes overwhelming, but it helps me keep my head on what I’m doing without worrying who is going to see it. My alter egos and I can all be tied together because, in the end, we are all public figures in different areas. We’re all proud of the other’s work and more than happy to tell anyone who will listen. We all help each other out when we can. I cross promote my authors so if you see Marci you will probably find Emilia not far behind and vice versa, but you will know what you are getting into depending on the primary persona. The real me, however, is a bit more hidden in the shadows, never completely in the dark and always happy to take credit for the hard work of the other two.

To read an excerpt from Marci Boudreaux’s latest release Unforgettable You, please click HERE.

Check out the trailer for Unforgettable You HERE.

Learn more about Marci Boudreaux on her website.
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Thursday, April 18, 2013

E. Rose Sabin

My full name is Elenora Rose Sabin. I chose to write as E. Rose Sabin because Elenora is so frequently misspelled.  My family and nonwriter friends call me Elenora, but my writer friends and acquaintances call me Rose. I live in Pinellas County, Florida, and share my home with two dogs: Kira, a beagle, and Juliet, a pit bull mix. I retired from teaching Spanish and English to middle school students to become a professional writer of fantasy and science fiction. I've had many short stories published and have won several awards, including, in 1992, Andre Norton’s Gryphon Award for the then-unpublished manuscript of A School for Sorcery, a novel inspired by my teaching career.

Stay connected through my website , Facebook and blog
I am on Twitter , Goodreads, and LinkedIn
My book covers are all posted on Pinterest

My most recent book is the fantasy novel Mistress of the Wind, set in the same world as my earlier Young Adult books published by Tor. Mistress, however, is aimed more at adults or that recently added category "new adults" rather than being YA.

Mistress of the Wind is the story of Windspeaker Kyla Cren, who gathers news from the wind and passes on to her village its warnings about mindstealers, creatures that rob human minds and leave their victims insensible and helpless. Because Kyla’s parents were victims of mindstealers, the need for revenge consumes her. She attacks two mindstealers and rescues their victim, but gets no satisfaction from the act. The ungrateful victim, a powerful mage, thrusts upon her the care of Claid, who appears to be an appealing young child. He’s not a child, the Mage Alair declares, and challenges her to discover what Claid really is. That challenge sends her from her native village on a journey of discovery that takes her into the wider world beyond her isolated valley, a world in which machines have replaced magic. Harrowing experiences teach her more about herself than about Claid and eventually bring her back to Mage Alair, whom she joins in a scheme to destroy the mindstealers, a plan which might result in tragedy but which could also lead Kyla to the full truth about Claid’s nature and her own.

Here is an excerpt from Mistress of the Wind, from just after Kyla has restored the mind of the mindstealers' victim:

Kyla knelt beside him. "Good sir, are you well?"
At the tentative query he lowered his hands and glanced frantically from side to side. "Claid? What—? Where—?"
His gaze fixed on Kyla. "You—you're not Claid."
He stood with a look so wild Kyla rose and backed away. "Please," she said. "You should rest."
"Who are you? What's happened?" He ran his palms over his wet clothes. An angry crease deepened between his eyes. "Where's Claid?"
"I'm Kyla." She edged farther back, poised to run if he headed toward her. "I saved you from the mindstealers. I don't know who Claid is."
"Saved me from the mindstealers!" His roar made it sound like a crime. "What about Claid?"
His mind was still unsettled, no doubt of it. Kyla spoke in a slow and soothing voice. "Mindstealers caught you. I killed one and declawed the other. It promised to restore your mind in exchange for its freedom. It tried to trap me, but I got the brainstone with your mind in it. The mindstealer got away before I could bring you around."
As she spoke, he grew calmer, and the gaze he turned on her seemed more focused. "Tell me your name again?"
His eyes widened as if in recognition, though she was positive they'd never met. He regarded her thoughtfully and said, "Kyla, eh? And Kyla traded my life for that of a single mindstealer—a maimed one." She couldn't tell whether the glint in his eyes signaled anger or amusement.
He gathered the brainstone fragments and regarded them curiously. "So my mind shattered the stone, did it? It couldn't withstand the power of a mage mind."
"Mage!" Had she heard correctly? "You're a mage?"
"Mage Alair." He dropped the fragments and dusted his hands.
"Mage Alair!" Kyla's shocked outcry caused the man to stare at her.
"You didn't know?" he asked as though his identity should have been obvious.
Too awed to speak, she could only shake her head. The villagers spun tales of Mage Alair of Starwind Peak, northeast of Nine Falls. Folks whispered of a tropical garden on the summit above the snowline. Of white birds fashioned of snow and sent forth to fly errands. Of sticks shaped into men and animated to be his servants. It was even rumored that he could bend Dire Lords to his bidding.
But this tall, attractive man was too young to be the legendary Mage Alair. No one had ever described his physical appearance; she'd pictured an old white-beard with wrinkled face and ancient eyes. This man must be mad from the shock of having his mind stolen.
"You've been through a terrible ordeal," she said. "Please sit and rest awhile."
"No time." He shook out his cloak and stared in consternation at the ragged edge of the damp and muddy garment. "My cloak! What happened to my cloak?"
"I cut a strip off it to bind the mindstealer's hands after I chopped off its claws."
"You cut— Woman, youYOU tore a mage's cloak for wound bindings?" He made it sound like a crime that she in particular should have avoided.
"It was all I had. I didn't think you'd need it again."
"You didn't think! You should know a mage's cloak is a reservoir of power. You could have— Never mind. We must find Claid." He caught her wrist and, giving her just enough time to snatch up her pack, dragged her roughly after him.
She tried to pull free. "Let me go. I need to get back to my village."
His grip tightened. "Sorry, but saving a man's life puts you forever in his debt."
Mad. No doubt about it. She raised her knife. "I owe you nothing. Let me go."
He laughed, a rich, warm laugh she might have enjoyed under other circumstances. "Feisty, aren't you? Come on. We'll search Martyr's Pass." He strode on, yanking her with him.
She drove her knife at his wrist.
The steel blade crumpled like paper. His swift steps never faltered. "Foolish to try that on a mage," he said, not sparing her a glance. "Hurry, can't you?"
"No, I can't! Slow down. Tell me who Claid is."
 "Claid is…" He hesitated, finished with, "my familiar."
The rocky entrance to the pass loomed ahead. Kyla had to run to keep up with Alair's long strides. Angry tears blurred her vision. This won't do. Blubbering like a child because of this ungrateful wretch. Call the wind.
The mage pulled her after him into the pass. The wind sharpened its claws like an angry cat and roared through the narrow passage, a wild beast caged between high slick walls of banded rock. She had only to sing it to her bidding.
Alair pushed ahead, shouting, "Claid, you traitor, where are you?"
Panting with the effort of keeping up, she had only enough breath for a brief wind call, scarcely audible above his shouts.
Yet he heard it. He halted so suddenly that she plowed into him, stubbing her nose on his outthrust elbow.
"You windspeak," he said. "Excellent. What else?"
She dropped her ruined knife and rubbed her nose. "What do you mean, 'What else'?"
"What powers? What magic do you have?" His voice was eager, his attention finally focused wholly on her.
"Magic? None. I'm a windspeaker, not a mage. And you might remember you have me in tow and be a little considerate."
"Sorry." He tendered the offhand apology while continuing to regard her thoughtfully. "Wasn't thinking. Not a mage, eh? No magic? But you're a windspeaker."
Puzzled by his odd reaction, she said, "A windspeaker isn't any kind of magician. Windspeaking's a talent, developed through training."
"And your parents trained you only in windspeaking?"
"My parents were victims of mindstealers when I was twelve," she said curtly. "I was trained by Mistress Forythe, the Weaversville windspeaker."
"Ah, I see. Well, then …" He turned back to scanning the rocks and high walls of the narrow passage. "I've got to find Claid."
The object of his search must be dead, slain by the mindstealers, but it would be unwise to point that out. That he didn't realize it himself was added evidence of his disordered reason.
She needed to get away. The wind should sense her plight even without a windsong. But the wind had no word for her as it rushed past, tugging at her clothing, chilling her flesh. After all the help it had given earlier, it now blew against her with no touch of recognition.
Still holding her wrist, Alair shaded his eyes and surveyed the area where they stood. Perhaps his distraction would give her a chance to free herself. She looked for a rock she could reach. She would have to strike quickly, before he had time to neutralize the weapon.
"Claid! Show yourself. I know you're near," he shouted.
She spied a stone that might serve her purpose. About the size of her fist, rounded on one side but broken and jagged on the other. Alair was scrutinizing the rock wall beside them. She gauged the distance to the stone. Watching Alair from the corner of her eye, she extended her foot, worked the rock loose with the toe of her boot, and flipped it toward her.
Where the rock had been, a snail-sized object uncurled, sprang to its feet, and expanded to the size and form of a young boy.
In terror Kyla jumped back against Alair, who swung around and roared, "Claid! So there you are, you rogue!"
The slender lad leaped away from the mage, hands raised as if to ward off a blow. "I was trapped, master, truly." He spoke fast, his voice high, a child's piping. "I'd have answered if I could. I was following you as we planned. I shrank so the uglies wouldn't see me, and they smashed that stone down on top of me. Lucky they didn't kill me."
The Mage scowled. "You can't be killed, you scapegrace."
"I can be caught. You know that. I couldn't get out from under the stone until this fair lady so kindly moved it off me." He bowed to Kyla.
In her amazement she could think of nothing to say. She caught herself massaging her wrist. Alair had released her. Fascinated by the strange, boyish creature, she made no effort to flee.
"You're lying, of course," Alair said, then turned toward her. "I was right, you see? This ingrate had no doubt set a spell to hide himself from me, but the spell wasn't designed to protect against you."
The mage gathered the torn fringe of his cloak over one arm and took a menacing step toward Claid. "Wicked, Claid, to break your word and take advantage of my helplessness."
The willowy lad vaulted away. "Save me," he begged, sheltering behind Kyla.
She thrust her hands out in front of her to halt Alair's advance. "Leave this poor child alone!"
The mage stopped and burst into laughter.
Claid crept out from behind Kyla and looked up at her with an engaging grin.
Still chuckling, Alair said, "Claid's no child. And in no sense is he poor."
"No matter what he is, he doesn't deserve to be punished for hiding from mindstealers."
"Ah, but he does," Alair insisted, keeping his gaze fixed on Claid. "My plan was to let myself be captured and my mind stolen while Claid watched and kept my body safe. He was to rescue my mind and restore it to my body after I accomplished my purpose. Instead, when I was taken, he hid and abandoned me."
"I don't blame him." Kyla stared at the mage in disbelief. "What could you hope to accomplish with that harebrained scheme?"
Beside her Claid gave a little gasp. His deep blue eyes widened with admiration.
Alair's eyes narrowed. "It was no harebrained scheme. It was a way of locating the mindstealers' hive. If this ne'er-do-well had done as instructed, I'd have been safe enough." He reached for Claid.
The boy jumped back behind Kyla. "Please, master," his high voice quavered, "I couldn't help it. I told you, I was trapped."
Alair circled Kyla, his hand poised to grab Claid. Kyla pivoted, keeping herself between the mage and his familiar. "Whatever he did, you ought to forgive him. Mindstealers are terrifying creatures. I don't know what you thought you could do when they'd taken your mind."
"I'm telling you, Claid was supposed to keep me safe." He lunged, but she was quicker.
"That was too much to expect of him. You'd have died if I hadn't restored you. For which you haven't bothered to thank me."
Alair halted and studied her speculatively. "So!" he said. "You want gratitude, do you? And no punishment for this miscreant. Hah!" He lifted both arms. "I'll show my gratitude. You may return to your home, and I give you a gift to take with you."
Suddenly remembering the reputed powers of this man, Kyla shrank back. The mage raised his hand and traced an invisible sign in the air. Behind her Claid whimpered.
Alair pointed a finger at the cringing boy. "False one, I bind you to this woman. Until I revoke that binding, you may not leave her side."
"Woman," he said, aiming his finger at Kyla, "I give you this being whom you have called a child. Learn what he really is. If you can teach him to do your bidding, you will find your good deed bountifully repaid."
He raised his arms over his head and brought his palms together in a resounding clap. His cloak swirled about him.
Claid's wailing cry went unanswered. The mage vanished.
High overhead a large crow flapped away from the pass.


My books are available in e-book or trade paper formats from Amazon and Barnes & Noble. 

-Elenora Sabin 

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Virginnia de Parté

by Virginnia de Parté

His talent is jumping between locations. Her talent is moving objects with her mind. Can they share their secrets and develop a talent for loving? 

Talents come in many guises.

William and Belinda, two genetically altered individuals meet years after leaving the government-rearing nursery for genetically altered infants. Their late development allowed them to escape a life devoted to the government's defence departments. If their skills are now discovered they are in danger of conscription by the government.

William, whose talent is to move through space between locations in the blink of an eye, has devoted his life to protecting other ex-nursery adults. Belinda occasionally uses her talent, lifting objects of great weight with her thoughts. Their meeting leads to love and a raft of problems both struggle to overcome.

Can they trust each other enough to allow love to bloom? Can they risk the renewed attention of the Defence Department?

A Talent for Loving explores an alternate reality and discovers the one talent neither Belinda nor William can control - love.


There it was again.

That tickling on the edge of her safety net. She always put her confusion barrier up when in the city.  Anyone wanting to approach her would be stifled at five paces away, their decision to approach would waver and hopefully they would give up their effort.  Any other pedestrian, not concerned or not noticing her would walk right on through it.  It was a handy device that kept her safe and a secret she shared that put her mother’s mind at rest.

Besides, you never knew when someone from the ‘Nursery’ might be checking up on your life.  Cursed people.  Thank God she’d escaped, been adopted by loving indulgent parents and was managing to live her life to the fullest

The sensation tickled her back again and she stopped mid-stride, turned and looked down the street.  There he was again, the same young man who’d stared at her in the supermarket the other day while she’d been shopping with her mother. He had to be about her own age - too young to be a government agent. What did he want from her?  Probably some creep who stalked people, unless it was a co-incidence? Could he be g-altered too?

Did he recognize her from the Nursery?  The children had mixed socially when they were growing up until the magic age of seven. Any friendships formed were then split asunder as some stayed, some were adopted and some seemed to vanish overnight. His face didn’t ring any bells in her memory. Had he been adopted as well? To be out in the world he must have. Those ‘conscripted’ didn’t enjoy the luxury of free will.

She ran her gaze slowly over him, taking in his tall frame, broad shoulders and thick, dark hair.  He met her gaze with equal interest before she turned and walked on. She could feel his indecision prickling again behind her. If he really wanted to talk to her then her confusion barrier would be stopping him.  A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She could feel his puzzled thoughts bouncing off her barrier, as other pedestrians streamed past close to her and wove between them. No doubt he couldn’t work out how they could get close to her and he couldn’t. 

She wondered if he’d work out how break through the barrier. No one else had so far. It wasn’t that she was against men or found the opposite sex unattractive. It was simply a matter of safety first. On reaching the corner she took the steps into the train station at a run, glad to be out of the wind and stopped to read the digital notice board’s moving message.  There was a ten minute wait till her next train on Platform three. Should she get a coffee to sip on the train?  She checked her barrier, no tickling, no irritation. He must have given up, or moved away.  Pity, obviously no stickability. He’d looked rather nice too. Ah well, he might try again and she just might let him approach next time.

by Virginnia De Parte

In the near future genetically altered individuals live among the wider population, not always trusted, wanted or even accepted. Jill Corban, a nurse from a  g-altered family is  looking for ways to control her chameleon genes. A vacation in to visit her family teaches her these skills and a meeting with Dr. Michael Scott offers her a chance at the kind of love she’s given up hope of ever finding.
Their romance takes a dusty trip through the heartland of Australia, blending tales of the Dream Time with adventure. Is their attraction to each other strong enough to survive the challenges of prejudice, a time stopping rescue, and challenges to Michaels research programme?

Can their desire survive these events and grow into love?      

Discover the beauty of the Red Desert and how the power of love can change a life, for Love’s Red Heart beats within us all.


That night, as she did every night, she polished her memories of the day and stored them away for the future. Every detail recorded and filed, she silently called to Michael. I’m safe. Charlie will take me home. She hoped he heard her. Somewhere, out there under the same sky, slept the handsome Maori healer who’d stolen her heart. Would he get back to Alice Springs before she left? She wanted to tell him she didn’t care if he only wanted Maori genes, he might have to make do with chameleon ones instead because that’s what she had to offer...

She’d needed the time to think and the last ten days had convinced her. Whatever the risk; however much heartache it might cause, she had to give her heart the freedom it demanded to fall in love, or to simply fall. Above her, slipping through the stars, their longing for each other joined in the night sky, like two ribbons entwined a purple trail through the deep indigo blue.

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Ari Harper

Witchling-Curse of Kin
by Ari Harper

Book Blurb:

Nera is an average teenage girl, or so she thinks.
When the dreams that have plagued her nights suddenly start to encroach on her waking hours, Nera knows she has to do something before she loses her mind.
Jasper her favorite uncle is the person to go to for anything out of the ordinary. He is a history professor, lives in a castle on the wild Irish East Coast and has a library that most people would die for.
But things are not as they seem.
He is the subject of an 800 year old curse that only certain people can break. So far they have all failed.
Does Nera even stand a chance of coming close? Especially when all of her energies go into fighting the one man that has been sent to help her.


Ari Harper never wanted to grow up.

To offset the limitations of aging ungracefully, she created her own set of unique worlds where she can be and do anything she wants.
Gods, witches and demons surround Ari while she spins her magic, doing mainly what they tell her to do. Given a chance she prefers to work amongst chaos which is good because she is constantly surrounded my children all clamoring for her attention.  Some end up in her stories, some even get to die grisly deaths or be cast away to another realm.
Her favorite pet is a big black dog called Hugo. You will find him as himself in the Curse Of Kin series as Nera's faithful hound.

Author website