Passion for Writing with Danielle Rose: Interview, Excerpt, and Giveaway!

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Danielle Rose is writer of fiction and travel, as well as the owner of Narrative Ink Editing LLC. Danielle currently resides in the Midwest, where she spends her days at a local coffee shop planning her next vacation or plotting her next novel.

Danielle holds a Master of Fine Arts in creative writing from the University of Southern Maine's Stonecoast program. In addition to her Master of Fine Arts, she also holds a Bachelor of Arts in English and certification in professional writing from the University of Wisconsin-Parkside.

When not writing, traveling, or writing about traveling, Danielle enjoys being outdoors, cheering for her favorite football team (Go Packers!), and spending time with her husband and their furbabies: two dogs and a cat. For more information about Danielle Rose, visit her website: www.Danielle-Rose.com.

Places to find Danielle Rose

Website | Blog | Amazon | Goodreads | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest | Google+ | Narrative Ink

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There's no wrath like that of a witch scorned.

Avah Taylor has been given a death sentence: as one of the only spirit users in her coven, Avah has been chosen to wield The Power, the ultimate weapon against the immortal vampire species witches have been at war with for centuries. The Power, given by the gods to one witch of each generation, is considered a great honor, but every witch before has died trying to master this all-too-powerful gift, one that the shell of a mortal can’t contain for long.

On the night of her birth rite, Avah’s coven is attacked, and Avah is left for dead. Confronted with a terrible choice, Avah must decide to either die or save herself by becoming like her enemies. Forced to seek refuge among the very beings she has sworn to kill, Avah vows revenge on those who took her former life from her.

As Avah slowly transitions into a life of blood and war and battles her own feelings for a man she is supposed to hate, she realizes everything she’s been told is a lie.

Purchase your copy of BLOOD ROSE today at Amazon!

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Passion for Writing with Danielle Rose - Interview

Where does your passion for writing come from?
My passion for writing comes from everyday inspiration. I’m awestruck by the simplest things and how they can completely transform my view on the world. This often leads to the creation of a new novel or character.


If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
A deep red. I’ve recently read that the color red is associated with fire, blood, energy, war, danger, strength, power, determination, passion, desire, and love. I think those words completely describe my writing, my style, and my love for my work. I am deeply in love with my craft, and it’s terrifying. It’s an ugly kind of love—the kind where mascara-coated tears are streaming down your face and you just don’t care because you’re THAT into it.


How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
To keep myself motivated, I do so many things: I keep supportive people around me all the time; I use the bribe system and treat myself when I hit my goals; I stay informed by reading craft books and attending writing/signing conventions; and I stay active on social media and interact with everyone. To me, maintaining the passion has never been the hard part.

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Enter the BLOOD ROSE Giveaway for a chance to win a signed copy (1) or one of five eBook copies!

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BLOOD ROSE Excerpt

I closed my eyes and focused on my mother, on her essence. I fought to ignore the overwhelming sensation to reach for Jasik, who lay nude beside me, with only a thin sheet separating him from me. I shivered at the thought of having him touch me again.

I exhaled deeply, focusing.

Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.

My breathing became heavier. Slowly, it became nonexistent. I let go of the human tendencies, the instinctual habits, as my astral self left its binding shell. Soon, I was hovering over my old house, terrified to enter.

Instead, I opted for the front door. We needed their help, and I couldn’t afford to burn bridges.

I floated to the ground, looking around at the outside world. I could see nothing beyond the fog. My legs were heavy as I walked to the door. Slowly, I balled my fist and knocked. I could only lift my arm three times before the weight of my limb overcame me, and it fell limp to my side.

I knew my mother was rejecting me. That was the only reason staying felt physically draining to an astral being. She didn’t want to answer my call, but I couldn’t afford to leave without her help.

“I know you can hear me. I know you know I’m here. Please, Mom. We need you. I need you.” My words were barely above a whisper. It hurt to speak.

My breathing slowed, my body weak. I knew I couldn’t hold on much longer without her.

“I won’t leave. Not without speaking to you,” I said.

The door creaked open. The silhouette of a person stood in the distance. Her back was to me. She was fiddling with a vase of white roses on the table. Even though I didn’t recognize her, couldn’t see her face, I knew it was my mother.

I took a step forward, attempting to enter the house, but I was stopped. With my hand before me, I touched the clear barrier that prevented me from entering my coven’s home. I tried to push against it, silently begging for entrance. It did not give way.

“Why can’t I enter?”

“Your kind is not welcome here,” she said. She didn’t turn toward me. She didn’t look up when she spoke. She simply arranged the flowers. As she moved each rose, petals fell from the buds, drying and turning to dust as they hit the floor.

I tried to push my way into the house. I clenched my fist, brought my arm back, and banged on the barrier. I knocked again, over and over. It took what little strength I had left to not fall, to not return to my shell.

Her head jerked up, and the vase of dead roses fell from her hands, crashing to the ground and shattering into pieces. I blinked, and she disappeared. I blinked again, and she reappeared before me.

“Stop!” she yelled. “Do you really think the power of one vampire can withstand the power of an entire coven? You cannot break our barriers. Now you must leave here!”

“We need your help. Rogues, they’re coming. They’re coming for me.”

“Avah, you know we can’t help you anymore. You need to figure this out on your own. Now please leave.” She paused briefly before adding, “And don’t come back.”

A single tear slid down her cheek, but she turned away. When she faced me again, the tear was gone—replaced by the cold, hard stare with which she had welcomed me.

“I won’t leave. Not until I can speak to the elders. I need to learn about The Power. I think it can help us.”

She laughed. It was abrupt, mean. She stopped herself quickly. “You can’t possibly believe that The Power is still within you. You died, Avah. The Power moves on to the next chosen one. You know the prophecy.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’ve used it. It’s still within me.” I tried to reassure her, but I was losing focus. If she didn’t accept my astral self soon, I’d lose my connection to her.

“That’s not possible…” she said, confused. She turned away from me, lost in her own thoughts.

“I’m still the same. Becoming a vampire didn’t damn my soul. There’s so much we didn’t know—”

“Avah, stop! I can’t help you. Not anymore. You must leave here.”

“Not until I speak with the elders. They must know something. Rogues are coming, Mom. Whether you like it or not.” I was angry, and I was sure it showed. I wouldn’t budge. I’d die before I’d leave without information. I was stubborn, but I was my mother’s daughter.

She sighed, and the barrier lifted. With her acceptance, I was rejuvenated. I felt life flow through me just as it had when I first left to meet her. I stood tall, strong. I inhaled deeply. The feeling of power within me washed over my insecurities, my fears. I smiled and stepped inside.

“You can’t come back here, Avah. They won’t let me help you. Things… things have changed since you’ve left. There are new people in power, and they won’t let me help you.” She ran her hand through my hair, tucking loose strands behind my ear.

“I don’t understand. Are you not the high priestess anymore?”

“They may be listening. You must go!” Tears pooled in her eyes and threatened to spill.

“But we need help!”

“There’s nothing I can do to help you anymore. You must look within yourself.” She placed her hand over my heart and closed her eyes.

Listen, Avah. Listen to your heart. Find the strength within.

“It’s time to go back now. You’ve stayed too long.”

I knew she was right. My astral self had been away from its shell far too long. I never knew what would happen if I stayed in The Beyond longer than necessary, and I didn’t want to find out. I feared so much: The Power, Rogues, The Beyond… There was so much I didn’t know or understand.

“But I still haven’t any answers. I don’t know how to use The Power.”

She began pulling away. The world hazed over again, and through the smoke, I couldn’t see her silhouette any longer.

“No! Not yet! I need to speak with the elders!”

I was hovering over my body. I watched as Jasik lay beside me, whispering into my ear. He told me to be strong, to find my way back to him. Briefly, I wondered how long I had been gone. It seemed like only mere seconds had passed.

My eyes fluttered open as I reentered my body. Jasik leaned over me, running his fingers across my cheek. He smiled at me.

I smiled back and wondered how I’d break the news: the witches weren’t coming.

Purchase your copy of BLOOD ROSE today at Amazon!

Passion for Writing: Interview and More with First Family Secrets Author Makasha Dorsey

Makasha Dorsey is an award-winning author, motivational speaker and public relations professional. Her personal essay "Diary of an Aspie Mom" is included in The Motherhood Diaries (Strebor Books/Simon & Schuster). She blogs about being a writer, mother, wife, woman and Christian over at A Wife in Progress and has written for Absolute Write, The Midwest Book Review, SNAPS: 1000 Words, The Daily Times Leader, and ModVive Magazine. Recently, she was named publicist and contributor to Bridal Tribe Magazine. You can learn more about Makasha by following her at these online outlets: Website, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Amazon author page.

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As a child, Tangela Houston experienced “sanctified” cruelty at the hands of her doctrine driven mother. Had it not been for her father's kind, faithful heart and a desire to find her true self, she would have gladly exchanged Christianity for a pair of designer boots. But when she accepts an invitation from Felecia Williams, her mentor and direct supervisor, to visit Greater Tabernacle Christian Center, Tangela rededicates her life to God at the feet of Pastor Keith Mitchell, a man who would do anything to keep secrets from his past hidden. She even bumps into college crush turned professional football player Eric Parker and rekindles the old flame.

Her confidence in her newfound relationship with the Savior and Eric is shattered when she finds herself accused of murdering Felecia and in the arms of David Moss, the newly appointed minister of music, who is tied to her in a way that will change her life forever.

Pick up your copy of First Family Secrets today at Amazon!

Passion for Writing Interview with Makasha

Where does your passion for writing come from?
My passion for writing is primal, ingrained into my DNA. Writing is as much a part of me as breathing. Simple things like witnessing an ant drag something a thousand times its size across the floor or dust motes dancing in sunlight inspires something deep inside me to create, to write, to share.

I use to think my passion for writing was a result of my passion for learning. I was wrong. They are two sides of the same coin—me. The passion for one could not exist without the other.


If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
It would be indigo because the very heart of me is intuitive. I like to observe and dissect the complexities of people, places, things and ideas in an effort to understand. Because of this I tend to idealize life, seeing both the good and bad in a situation. I carry the good with me and learn from the bad, which leaves a residue of its own.

My personality is also prone to structure and ritualistic behavior. Most of my main characters and personal essay ideas develop from patterns in behavior, ideas and values.


How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
"Try not. Do... or do not. There is no try." – Yoda, Star Wars

When you’re passionate about something or someone, you don’t have to try because the passion becomes a part of you. I don’t have to try to tell my stories, they come when it is time. As much as writers, myself included, blame writer’s block on the inability to get a good start or finish on a story I don’t buy into it. I believe that fear prevents us from hearing what our soul compels us to write.

After deciding to write, I committed to it. Sometimes it will take me an hour to bang out a thousand or more words. Other times nothing comes that is related to what I want to write about. I submit to those feelings and allow whatever that needs to come out to flow. After that current of words moves through, I am free to write what I want. The passion is really submitting to the art and then making the art submit to you—kind of like a marriage. My writing and I are one. If I add the passion for learning, we are a trinity.

Excerpt of First Family Secrets

“Maybe my daddy really isn’t my dad, and it makes Mama upset,” she said to Lily, her pillow baby. Tangela used a small pillow as a baby doll.

“Dolls are not allowed in my home,” her mother told her grandmother, who had purchased Tangela a Cabbage Patch Kid with real hair. “It encourages girls to become unwed mothers.”

“Tangela,” her mother called from the hallway, “get out of that bed.”

Tangela tucked the pillow baby under the other pillows, and jumped out of bed. One foot landed on the light green, shag rug and the other slid into her slippers just before her mother turned on the light. She stood in place and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light beaming from the 100-watt bulb overhead.

“Stop looking crazy! You know that since your daddy has been elected regional superintendent of our church we have to get there on time!” Her mother walked over to the closet, pulled out a long sleeved, ankle length, navy blue sailor girl dress, hung it on the back of the door, and said,

“Make your bed! Only nasty people leave their beds unmade.”

After straightening out the fitted sheet, Tangela crafted perfect hospital corners with the flat one over the mattress at the foot of the bed then made sure it laid smoothly over the fitted sheet. She placed her perfectly-fluffed pillows in front of the headboard before going into her bathroom to wash up.

She took off her pajama top revealing her white spaghetti strapped tank top, turned on her bath water, and drug her step stool over to the sink. Tangela grabbed her toothbrush from the holder and placed it on the counter. Knowing that it would be difficult to get anything out of the flat tube of Crest, she rolled the tube from the bottom and tried to force at least a dab of the green gel onto her toothbrush. Nothing. Tangela turned off the bathtub’s running faucet and headed up the hall to the main linen closet to retrieve a new tube of toothpaste.

“Get back in your room, walking around half-naked,” her mother yelled.

“Momma, I don’t have any tooth…”

Her mother slapped her in the mouth, causing her to fall to the floor. Tangela wailed as her mother hit her repeatedly. “Shut up when I am speaking to you. And do what I tell you.”

“Ruthie!” Tangela’s father grabbed the woman’s arm. “Stop hitting my child.”

“Do you see what she’s walking around the house in, Kevin?” Ruthie said.

“She’s a seven year old wearing pajamas.” He took Tangela’s hand and started walking toward her bathroom.

Tangela sobbed. “I need toothpaste.”

Her father grabbed a new tube of toothpaste for Tangela’s bathroom, took her into her bedroom, and told her to close her eyes. She obeyed and listened to her father’s footsteps fade into the distance and then return.

“Open your eyes,” her father said.

When Tangela opened her eyes, she saw a three ruffle, yellow taffeta dress with a matching purse. She ran over to the garment and caressed the fabric. “Daddy! “It’s so pretty and my favorite color.”

“I know, baby. You look like a ray of sunshine in yellow. Did I ever tell you that your very first dress was yellow?”
“Yeah, Daddy.” Tangela looked at the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Her father picked her up.

“I know why Mommy doesn’t like me.”

“Who said your mother doesn’t like you?”

“No one, but she is always mean to me. I think she knows that you are not my real daddy because I am light-skinned, and you guys are dark. She’s mad about it because you’re going to leave her to take care of me all alone, with no help.”

He stroked Tangela’s long, curly hair, reassuring her in a loving, fatherly tone, “That’s not true.

We are different skin tones because God, our father, made us that way. Your mom has had a lot on her mind lately, but I will have a talk with her.” He kissed Tangela on the forehead and left.

~~~

Tangela heard her parents screaming at each other through the adjoining bedroom’s wall.

“Kevin, you have got to stop spoiling that girl.”

“How is being a good, caring father going to spoil Tangela?” he asked his wife.

“You keep buying her all them colorful dresses. You’re turning her into a Jezebel just like her…”

Tangela’s father interrupted so she did not hear the last part of her mother’s statement.

“Don’t you ever say that again,” Kevin warned. “I treat you so kind. Why can’t you treat Tangela that way? If you didn’t want her, we should have never-”

Tangela ran into the room, completely dressed in the new outfit her father laid out for her, and screamed, “Stop it. Just, stop it. I hate having a momma and a daddy. I saw two girls last week and they were happy with only a momma. I wish I only had a daddy!”

Buy First Family Secrets on Amazon Today!

Passion for Writing: Interview (and More!) with Lady Vice Author Wendy LaCapra

Wendy LaCapra has been reading romance since she sneaked into the adult section at the library and discovered Victoria Holt & Jane Aiken Hodge. From that point on, she dreamed of creating fictional worlds with as much richness, intrigue and passion as she found within those books. Her stories have placed in several contests, including the 2012 Golden Heart®. She lives in NYC with her husband and loves to hear from readers. Connect with Wendy at the following online outlets: website, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Goodreads.

Not every lady plays by the rules.

Lady Lavinia Vaile knows what happens to a woman who puts her faith in society. For her, it was a disastrous marriage to a depraved man-one she threatened to shoot when she left him. Now Lavinia lives outside of society’s strict conventions, hosting private gambling parties. It’s only when her husband is shot dead that Lavinia finds herself in terrible danger…

A former judge in India’s high court, Maximilian Harrison will do anything he can to help Lavinia. In the darkest of times, he held on to thoughts of her and the love they once shared. Now he risks his own position in society―along with his ambitions―in order to clear her name. Yet as desire reignites between them, Lavinia remains caught up in secrets and shame. Her only salvation is to do the unthinkable…and trust in both Maximilian and love.

Lady Vice can be purchased from Amazon, B&N, iTunes, Kobo, and All Romance. Purchase your copy today!

Passion for Writing: Three Questions with Wendy

Where does your passion for writing come from?
Thank you for having me on ChickLitGurrl, Shonell! I’m delighted to take part in your passion for writing series. So, where did my passion for writing come from? My late father used to read my sister and I to sleep. Sometimes, he told stories he made up on the spot. I liked the stories that included fictional versions of my sister and I, my sister…not so much. From the poems and books he read, I learned to love language. From his stories, I learned the power of imagination.

If your passion for writing had a color, what color would it be and why?
Silver-grey—the color of clouds before a storm—because I try and pack as much emotion into every sentence as I can. The Furies series involves a good deal of foreboding and nothing says foreboding like a silvery-grey cloud. (Perhaps this exceptionally grey north-east winter is influencing my response, though!)

How do you keep your passion for writing lit?
By reading as often as I can. I write historical romance. I love historical romance. I love history, passion and language and I think writers of historical romance are some of the best when it comes to evocative prose. Elizabeth Hoyt, Sarah Mclean and Mary Balogh are three that always inspire.

GIVEAWAY!

1 Winner – Will win an eBook copy of The Secrets of a Scoundrel by Gaelen Foley and Watch the Wall My Darling by Jane Aiken Hodge

11 Winners – Will win an eBook copy of ONE of the following books from the ladies from Past Thrills: In Bed With a Spy by Alyssa Alexander, Reckless Wager by Christy Carlyle, Captured Countess by Ann Lethbridge, To Love a Thief by Darcy Burke, My Lady’s Trust by Julia Justiss, Unraveling Secrets by Lana Williams, A Shocking Delight by Jo Beverley, Why Dukes Say I Do by Manda Collins, Secrets in Scarlet by Erica Monroe, An Improper Aristocrat by Deb Marlowe and Night Storm by Tracey Devlyn

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Excerpt from Lady Vice

Beginning

Maximilian Harrison’s heart beat for a single purpose: get to Lavinia.

“You will let me pass.” He trapped the lone man guarding the private gambling salon against Lady Sophia’s garden gate.

“But you do not have an invitation. And Lady Sophia does not allow uninvited—”

“You misunderstand.” Max placed a hand on the guard’s shoulder. “I don’t give a damn about Lady Sophia or her rules. I must speak with Lady Vaile.”

Time was tying a hangman’s noose. Already, dawn cast shadows into the mist.

He’d fought his way to the outskirts of London. He’d scaled the outer wall of Lady Sophia’s infamous mansion. He’d dashed through her courtyard like a hunted thief. He had no desire to hurt the guard but, by God, he would not be turned away.

In the space between their bodies, the guard’s grip on his musket tightened. Chilled air stung Max’s teeth. Firearms didn’t frighten Max. If they did, he would have died in that hell-scented cell in India.

A tremor ran through his fingers. Focus. Thirty seconds, perhaps less, and he could have the guard spitting dirt.

No. Destroying him is not necessary. Nor is breaking his bones.

“Lady Vaile is in danger. Unless I warn her, she, and your mistress, will suffer. Open the gate,” Max ordered. “Now.”

Faint lamplight illuminated the flush spreading up from the guard’s neck as his gaze darted toward the garden.

“Go, then.” He unlatched the gate. “But cause trouble and you will pay.”

Max stilled his curling fist. He stepped inside and, with a calculating gaze, surveyed the garden and the gamers within.

So this was the Furies’ lair.

He’d heard fantastical tales of the private salons hosted by the three ladies collectively known as the Furies—Lavinia, now Lady Vaile, and her friends Lady Sophia and Her Grace, Thea Marie, Duchess of Wynchester.
Marriage-minded misses clamored to obtain Almack’s vouchers, but every aspiring rake coveted an invitation from the Furies. And, clearly, invitations had been sent to every dandy, wastrel, and libertine in London.

Maids, not footmen as custom dictated, served guests in costumes accented by silken wings. Miniature cherubs hung from tree branches.

Angels—he snorted—a clever thumb in the face of the hostesses’ sobriquets: Lady Vice, Lady Scandal, and Duchess Decadence.

Around a nearby table, men chanted in unison. “Place the card, place the card!”

Max shouldered through coats of velvet and caught his first sight of Lavinia in years.

She did not look like a fury—all darkness and fear. Haloed in the pale pink glow of early dawn, she appeared almost as innocent as the girl he had courted all those years ago. She still commanded the colors of autumn. Her skin glowed like ripened wheat and her smoky lashes rimmed eyes as brown as spiced ale. A man could become forever mired in those depths, enraptured and entombed.

He blinked to quell the sudden burn in his eyes, a natural result of coal soot and sleeplessness, undoubtedly.

Lady Vice can be purchased from Amazon, B&N, iTunes, Kobo, and All Romance. Purchase your copy today!

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Marissa Tejada

Marissa Tejada is the author of the chick-lit/women’s fiction novel, Chasing Athens which was recently released as part of the Terpsichore contemporary romance imprint from award-winning digital romance publisher, Musa Publishing. Marissa, an American expat, found herself inspired to write the romantic comedy as she lived abroad.

Born and raised in New York, Marissa now calls Athens, Greece home where she is a full-time freelance writer specializing in food and wine, technology and travel writing. She contributes to numerous publications including Fodor's Travel, Forbes Travel, Wine Enthusiast, Urban Travel Blog, IBM Midsize Insider- Reuters and more. She also enjoys blogging for her travel photography blog, my Greece, my travels.

As an award-winning journalist, Marissa has worked across the United States as a television reporter and anchor in Florida, Washington State and Upstate New York. She has also worked in newsrooms in Los Angeles and London and managed high tech PR in San Francisco. Marissa graduated cum laude from the Roy H. Park School of Communications at Ithaca College in Upstate New York.

Her novel is set in Athens, Greece, the Greek Islands and Ithaca, New York, and follows Ava Martin, a heartbroken American expat, whose new husband unexpectedly ditches her after their move abroad. Instead of returning to the States, she makes an abrupt decision to stay. Despite pressure from her mother, uncertainty over her divorce, and issues with her long-estranged father, she’s determined to make it on her own. With her Greek friends, she laughs and learns while facing culture shock, language barriers and the charm of Mediterranean men, until a life-threatening emergency back home in sleepy Ithaca, N.Y., forces her to confront her disappointing past, and forces her to redefine the meaning of home.

You can learn more about Marissa at/on:

[Her Website] [Facebook] [Twitter][Google +] [Travel Blog] 

The Passion for Writing - From Marissa's Pen

Where does your passion for writing come from?
My passion for writing comes from this love I have to tell stories. I’ve done it one way or another throughout my decade plus career as a journalist and reporter. I’ve learned to tell those stories through various media including newspapers, television and magazines. Each way has its own craft but it starts with my love of meeting people and learning about them.

The process of writing my first novel was one of the best experiences I’ve had to tell a story. You create a whole new world along the way. However, passion for writing, for me, stems from the need to convey a message, a theme, and a feeling about something that others can learn from or relate to. I think that’s what makes women’s fiction so amazing and why I have a passion for it!


If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
Red and yellow. These are my two favorite colors and I think they represent my passion for writing because sometimes I feel incredibly excited and fueled about getting my thoughts out. Other times, I am calm and mellow and can’t bear to think about what’s wrong or what’s next in my story.


How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
I think the passion will always be there because as a writer you can’t help but be observant around you. As an expat and a journalist and travel writer there’s so much to discover all the time, so many notes to write down, and thoughts to convey. For me, my outlet of expression is writing. So as long as I am out there writing, working, traveling and basically living and breathing I believe that passion for storytelling will remain strong.

Buy your copy of Chasing Athens today from one of the following locations: Amazon, BN, and Musa Publishing!

Excerpt from Chasing Athens

Within a minute, I found myself face-to-face with the Greek police. I raised an eyebrow noticing that they also happened to be three handsome twenty-something rookies, each sporting the typical young Greek masculine look: short, dark brown hair, and scruffy, day-old facial hair. Dressed alike in crisp, navy blue uniforms and black combat boots, they stood up at the sight of us. Two had stopped swinging their koumbolois, a string of rosary- like beads that Greek men carry around, oftentimes clicking and petting out of habit. The third police officer put down his iced coffee, which Greeks called a frappe.

The officers eyed me up and down as the ticket officer caught them up on the story of my transgressions. I yearned to catch some meaning, but the Greek sounded like Greek to me and too fast.

“Mr. Panos say you left your wallet at home,” one officer said in perfectly clear English. Finally, there was someone who spoke my language well. Perhaps, there was hope. “You walk in Greece with no diavatirio.” He cleared his throat before he corrected himself. “Passport?”

“All of my ID cards were in my wallet and I was in a rush,” I said, wide- eyed. “Besides, I’ve been living here for seven months now.”

He looked unimpressed. “Name?”

“Ava Martin.”

“Age?”

“Um, thirty.” I bit my lip wondering why that mattered.

“Really?” He narrowed his eyes at me. In my rush out the door, I threw on a pair of baggy jeans, a green T-shirt, and my blue Converse. I looked like a college student; adults my age usually dressed to impress. But I hadn’t been feeling very adult lately, to be honest. It was clear that this officer thought I was a complete liar. My hopes sank.

“Thirty, yes,” I confirmed.

The officer glanced at his two co-workers who gave him a look I didn’t understand. He composed himself to return his attention to me.

“Married?” he asked quite professionally.

Silly question but it was a common inquiry even among Greek strangers, so why not from a police officer?

“Yes, my husband isn’t in Athens this week.” I resisted the urge to add something about the fact that Greg was never home lately. But I had enough sense to realize that airing my marriage’s dirty laundry probably wasn’t going to make the situation any better.

The officer lifted his dark brows with interest. “He is a Greek?” “No, we’re both American. I’m from New York and I’m here with Greg Brown, my husband.” The officer shot me a glance, his lips pressed flat. Did he not believe me?

Then it came to me. “Oh, I never changed my last name. He’s Brown and I’m Martin, but we’re together…together forever,” I heard myself say in a singsongy voice.

He looked at the bus officer then back at me, his face emotionless. I cupped my hands together in front of me. “He’s in Rome, I think.” My voice began to crack. Why did I have to say his name? Why did I have to talk about us? Maybe, I just gave up too much information. I talked too much sometimes. In any case, Greg and I had hardly talked, Skyped, Facebooked, Vibered, Whatsapped, or even e-mailed for the past two weeks. I wished he could’ve helped me but he wouldn’t have even answered his phone if I had called.

“How we know you say the truth?” The officer’s blunt question jolted me back to reality. “I promise,” I said, realizing that it sounded entirely lame. “I swear. I’m American, and lately, I’m behaving like a total moron.” As if promising and swearing to be an American moron could be a legitimate argument. I flinched. Gosh, I’d put me in jail.

Buy your copy of Chasing Athens today from one of the following locations: Amazon, BN, and Musa Publishing!

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Elle Young

Elle Young, born Leslie Leontyne Young, grew up on the south-side of Minneapolis, MN. She was born in Cleveland, TN, to two working class parents who decided to move to Minneapolis when Elle was six months old. Her parents were in hopes of finding a better life for her and her two older brothers. Elle has always had a passion for writing, starting at three years old she would make up song lyrics and ask that her family all gather as she performed them. This passion grew into poetry and short stories, by high school Elle would ghost write love letters for her girlfriends and recite spoken word poetry before its trend. By college she became a self-proclaimed poet but she put her passion for writing and poetry on the back burner as she focused on obtaining her communications degree at St. Cloud State University.

Later, Elle entered the working force as a mortgage banker but could not relinquish her desire to become a published writer. Mortgage banking had made her successful but writing had become her life. Elle says, "I want to be able to do what I love in my lifetime, to wake up every morning fulfilled because I'm living my life by design." With that in mind she took a summer off from work to complete her first book, one that she had given birth to a few years prior but knew that she had to wait until the time was right to finish.

Elle completed her first book, I'm Raising My Husband, the summer of 2013 and is currently working on its sequel.

You can learn more about Elle, I'm Raising My Husband, and Elle's other pursuits at the following online outlets: Elle's website, Facebook. Twitter, LinkedIn, and Google+.

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I'm Raising My Husband is a collection of journal entries over a five year marriage. The inner-most thoughts of a woman struggling with keeping her marriage together and watching her sanity fall apart. It's the truth about what often goes on behind closed doors, the desperation to find help and what most are afraid to say out loud about it.

Revealing and honest, this tell-all starts at the core of the real matter. A husband never taught to do better, a wife too proud to leave and a family broken to pieces. The voice of this story is all too familiar to too many families facing separation and divorce. It has become the proclamation of this country’s cry.

Uncover the truth about pain, real life and testimony. Understand why you may think or react the way that you do in love. Find your purpose and power through discovery of who you are today as you work toward who you want to become tomorrow.

I'm Raising My Husband can be purchased in [paperback] and [Ebook] from Amazon!

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The Passion for Writing - From Elle's Pen

Where does your passion for writing come from?
I love writing because I am able to journey through and to someone/someplace else. Even when I’m writing about myself, which is what I did in my book, I was able to journey back to those places in time that had so much meaning for me. I could see them objectively and was able to learn and heal from the experience. Writing offers so many open doors to escape through, you can creatively take your reader wherever they are willing to go!


If your passion for writing could be a color, what color would it be, and why?
My passion for writing would be a deep purple. A rich combination of blue and red! Sometimes my writing is sad or deep in thought and spirituality while other times it is hot like fire. When they come together; all the emotion, passion, creativity and desire, there’s this fusion of deep purple.


How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
I like to tell the story like the story is. In non-fiction this is a natural feat. In fiction storytelling the “telling it like it is” comes through your knowledge of what you are talking about and truly committing to “keeping it real” as you possibly can. No need to over express the meaning of chocolate, everyone knows how sweet chocolate can be and we also know how bitter it can be, say it without over-laying it. My readers are committed to my writing style because I say it like their homegirl would, you know the one that tells you the truth no matter what (but without the overly done cliché voice we often hear African-American women expressed in). I keep the relationship alive because I’m invested in my writing, my story must be everything I have or it’s not worth it to me. I think my readers connect well with that and because of it they want more.

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Excerpt

Vengeance

∞∞∞

Vengeance was not mine while in Las Vegas, nor any other day thereafter. I remained married to my husband four years after that first anniversary spent in Sin City. What happened in the bathroom there was the prerequisite for the rest of my term. I had many classes to take and credits to earn. Las Vegas was simply the beginning of my journey. I had and still have more work to do.

When I left the bathroom I was emotionally drained. I had a hard time focusing on what was in front of me. My reality was more devastating in those next few hours than they had ever been. My ears kept ringing, my throat was hot and sore, and my head hurt something terrible. I had never felt so much pain. My body was manifesting the emotions I was feeling internally, physically. I was sick. I had an emotional pneumonia filling up in my lungs. It was hard to breathe. Hard to see. Hard to hear. I had to surrender all. In order to take another breath or step toward my next life, I had to surrender all to God.

This is a collection of journal entries that tells a story about how I surrendered the life I was living to get to the life I am now leading. How failed love almost took control of me. How I learned to understand what I was experiencing through emotional intelligence and intuition. How God spread seeds in me and encouraged me to grow where I had been planted. It took faith, it took strength, it took prayer, but above it all, it took time. I had to allow myself to be processed so that I could hear, see, and understand. I was challenged by others’ judgments and rules against me but I learned to let go and let God in. I learned to love the man I was married to for who he was and not for whom I wanted or even needed him to be. I learned to let go of what I wanted so that I could receive what God had designed for me. I had no idea then that what God had planned for me through this process would make me a virtuous woman. A powerful vessel. A better mother. A

better friend. A better person overall. But the lesson that I received that was most impactful was this: I learned through countless study hours, heart pain and disappointment that raising my husband was more about me and less about him, that this process was about me understanding him to understand how he was drawn into me. That he was a demonstration of what I was already experiencing internally long before he entered my life. That he did not do anything to me; I relinquished my power to him at will then I blamed him for it. That he was and is who he is, and that I always had a choice in the matter. There were many points of contention during this process. The human side of me wanted to strike back and sometimes I did, but the spirit continued to guide me through to the end.

I knew eventually there would be an end—an end to our marriage, our discord, and our suffering. The demise of our marriage was always apparent to me, but I did not step out of it until God deemed me ready. Christians often ask me what makes me think that God would say to divorce my husband. My response to that question is easy: God never said to divorce my husband, nor did he say to marry him. Both of those things were my choice. My husband and I were never equally yoked, there was no truss between us; we had not vowed with our spirits in marriage, only with our mouths. What we performed was a motion and it did not involve God. We left Him out of our marriage and because of that I feel we were never truly tied. God’s guidance steered me through a crash course of lessons in self-love, identity, and progression. At the end of those lessons, physical separation was my remuneration.

Vengeance was never mine and will forever be the Lord’s! What belongs to me now is reparation. An atonement of self-quantified love. I made it through the valley but have many mountains yet to climb.

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Lorie Hardy

Lorie Hardy, is CEO/Founder of Empowerment4life.com, an organization focusing on the four main aspects of life; finance, health, employment and love, with an emphasis on love. Blessed with a genuine love for humanity, a positive outlook on life, she believes there is someone for each of us and desires to see everyone in happy and healthy relationships.

Lorie works as a Compliance Manager for the County, but has a passion for writing. She is the mother of three beautiful children, Amanda, Shannon, and Houston who were partially responsible for the completion of her first published book There Are No Good Men, Because There Are No Good Women. Her goal was to take what she’d learned through her troubling relationship experiences and share it with them to ensure that they would be better equipped to understand and to deal with the complexities of similar problems that might arise in their futures.

During her life journey, Lorie experienced things that would cause her to question God, "Why am I going through all of this grief?" She was a good person and didn't think she deserved being treated in such an extremely undesirable way. We always think we know what is best for us. I had to learn that God was in control and knew what was best for me and mainly to seek Him before we make decisions.

Without pointing the finger at anyone else, she learned from a previous involvement, that you can’t always put the entire blame on the other person when your relationship isn’t working. “Even if you’re not causing the friction, you are equally as responsible if you’re not holding the other person accountable for the friction they’re causing.” It took 17 years for Lorie to understand and acquire the knowledge to pen her first book.

Once out of the storm, she realized that what she had experienced, wasn’t just for her personal growth and benefit. She had a testimony and a duty to share her story to empower every woman she encountered. She slowly began the task of writing her book, but it wasn't until random women, strangers with similar plights, began to share their personal stories with her that she really became driven to complete her book.

Listening to the women, she began to realize that at some point in time, women had lost their self-esteem, their self-worth, and their power. “We as women have so much power, but we have relinquished it just to say that we have a man or simply because we don't wish to be alone.”

There Are No Good Men, Because There Are No Good Women is geared toward single women, single men and married couples who desire to be in healthy, successful, and loving relationships.

Lorie is currently a Board of Director for Praying Single Mothers and is a weekly guest on the “Straight Talk” show broadcasting on starplanettv.com.

Lorie also is currently working on her second book and a play that will coincide with her first book. Lorie can be booked for speaking engagements through her website, www.empowerment4life.com, Twitter, Facebook, and e-mail.

[Buy your copy of There Are No Good Men because There Are No Good Women today from The Empowerment 4 Life Website!]
This book is about situations and actions that women accept from men who continually treats the women badly; and the advice and solutions women can use to gain back their power.

The Passion for Writing - From Lorie's Pen

Where does your passion for writing come from?
My passion for writing comes from my life experiences. I used to be such an introvert and didn't feel I belong with any group of people that I encountered. So I would be by myself a lot and write. But I didn't bring my passion to fruition until about 10 years ago. Little by little I would get these ideas and write them down and that lead to plays then to my book ideas and to my first publish book.


If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
If my passion were a color it would be purple. I love purple and purple is royalty. Purple is passionate to me and I'm a firm believer you have to be passionate about anything that you desire to achieve in life or you are wasting your time on that project.


How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
Well this is my first published book and it's about relationships, but there is no real storytelling in my book. Mostly information for the individual looking to acquire a healthy and successful relationship. I do tell some stories, not that aren't untrue, just the names have been changed to protect the innocent...or guilty, however you view it...lol.

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Kai Leakes

From Iowa, but later relocating to Alton, IL and St. Louis, MO, Kai Leakes was a multifaceted Midwestern child, who gained an addiction to books at an early age. Sharing stories with her cousins as a teen, writing books didn't seem like something she would pursue until one day in college. Storytelling continues to be a major part of her very DNA, with the goal of sharing tales that entertain and add color to a gray literary world.

In her spare time she likes to cook, dabble in photography, and assists with an internet/social networking group online. Loving to feed her book addiction, romance, fantasy and fiction novels are her world. Reading those particular genres help guide her as she finds the time to write and study for school.


You can learn more about Kai at/on: [Her Website] [Facebook] [Twitter] [Tumbler] [Freado]


The Passion for Writing - From Kai's Pen
Where does your passion for writing come from?
Ever since my mother indoctrinated in me the love for reading, the passion to create my own world of stories, filled with fairy tales, mermaids, and later as I got older, superheroes, magic, vampires, romance, and more, I believe that passion had always been there. It was encoded in my DNA from a family who loved to read. The craving to actually sit and write out that passion only sparked later when I was in college and later after I had graduated, but before that, the oral storytelling started in my teens when I would create my cousins stories at our sleep overs.


If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
My favorite colors are always purple, and sometimes red. If you think on a color wheel, in order to create purple, you need two colors, red and blue.  They say blue is a calming color and red is a passionate color, I think it's perfect that I have the equal balance of both. I am a Libra so, for me, writing gives me the chance to balance out my desires to just disappear into my own mind, yet still be in the present. This is why I overall chose purple for my writing color.


How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
Now this is a slightly difficult question.  For me writing and storytelling are two completely different things. I call myself a storyteller before a writer. So, for me, in order to keep my passion burning with both, I oftentimes find myself either reading other books when I have the time, or watch a good movie or television show. I also enjoy being a procrastinator which lets me just sit and be in my own mind, telling myself various storylines, that I may or may not use in the future. I also have conversations with one of my muses in the flesh, which helps me divvy out the clutter in my mind, that may be holding back a great story, plot idea, or character. Otherwise, you can find me nose deep in a book or watching a great show or movie.

Buy your copy of Sin Eaters today from one of the following locations: [Amazon] [BN.com] [Apple] [Google Play] [Walmart] [International Purchases]

Khamun Cross was born to do one thing and that was to watch Sanna Steele, a woman so unique and special he would risk his all to have her. So what, that in his job of watching her, he happens to prowl the streets, hunting the very things that go bump in the night. Even monsters or everyday looking people that steal humans' souls become Khamun's victims, and he brings with him a power, a vampirism, that would send one straight to the dark.

Khamun craves the darkness in his victims as if it were his own personal dinner, but not as much as he craves the very woman he has been ordained to watch over as her Guardian Angel. Sanna Steele is just your average twenty-seven year old, with your everyday hopes, dreams and insecurities. She is clueless about the war that is secretly raging around her in the streets of St. Louis. A war she will soon become a part of. But what is so special about Sanna that the very things that go bump in the night, seeks to snatch her from her very existence in life?

Excerpt from Sin Eaters

Chapter One

Today…

Metallic, sweet and mind intense flavor filled the air. The quiet that floated around made the hairs on passerby’s in the night to stand up as if the already chill filled wind wasn’t enough to have them shivering. Rich, black ebon swallowed the alleyway keeping the individuals who occupied it secured and sequestered away from all who dared peek down the tight tunnel. Water idly sliding down the asphalted street, mixed with oil and idle trash skating against the cracked surface, cushioned midnight colored Timberland’s as the flash of twinkling light cascaded in a flash like a pulse near the booted body.

Inhaling even shallow breaths, the individual listened as all sound seemed to be absorbed away as if in a tornado. This silence triggered the timed attack, which had the anticipation in the individual’s body expand with power, velocity, speed and well checked strength.

If one was to be one of the many idle flies which hovered in the nearby dumpster, they would be amazed at the sight of the super human individual running in an almost flying position and landing on the second hulking form in the alley.

The rise of a scent that had cats meowing and arched in defense on the railings of a window and under a parked car filled the air again as the crisp white flash of light slashed in the night air, landing against the second balked individual as the attacker hissed.

In a fraction of a blink, claws the size of an oversized lion slashed in the air as tentacles dipped out near the blind spot of the attacker, making the being jump in the air. Bringing down a flashing light of metal unto the second balked former human looking being but now entity of horrendous looks, the precise slash against the entities flesh caused the now familiar smell to fill the air once more.

The attacker crouched low in a resting battle position, taking in shallow calm breaths as the thing turn to attack again, running full speed. Its Italian leather wing tipped shoes creating a rhythm of tapping song on the alleyway floor, causing the attacker to hum, throwing the entity off its thoughts.
Light sheen of perspiration kissed the attacker’s forehead with each calm inhale. The attacker lived for this, loved it and desired the hunt of creatures such as this.

Strategizing the next move, the attacker thought back to how this prey was hunted. A quiet smile flashed across the attackers lips. It wasn’t hard to get to the sick bastard, the attacker posed as the entities preferred targets, an angry teenager, who wanted nothing but to get away from their parent. It made the attacker clutch the blade that nestled comfortably against his palm, in anger at the obscene and pornographic discussions that would occur with the demon.

It made it even easier to identify that this monster wasn’t the shrewd Italian entrepreneur he portrayed to be, but was in fact a succubae level soul polluter demon. These breed of evil were the most degenerate of demons, they enjoyed feasting off the pain of the victims through lewd sexual means, physical decapitating torture and flesh eating.

Knowing this, it silently pleased the attacker to stalk and mentally threaten the demon’s territory by baiting it, since these demons were known for their territorial nature.

Allowing the demon to believe they were to meet up outside of a popular artist’s concert, the attacker led the demon to the alleyway through simple mind manipulation and the rest is history. Shuddering with a lethal dose of pleasure and battle tactics, the attacker’s body tightened with the wait as the breeze in the alley lightly brushed against skin.

Side stepping within the low crouch, the attacker pivoted and flipped forward with the lithe agility of a panther producing a silver gun. Suddenly as if time stopped, bullets exploded in the air as the glimmering and glowing objects penetrated the thrown back body of the beast, causing it to howl in pain.

The attacker ran full speed, watching the bullets hit each expertly calculated point on the beast’s body. Landing a blow to the entities ribcage; the muscles in the attacker’s bicep tightening with the impact of breaking bones and tearing flesh.

Seething in anger, contempt, disbelief and hate, the monster attempted to slash at the attacker with its claws, its teeth dripping with a mixture of its own blood and a liquid miasma. The beast successfully slammed the attacker into the side of a building, breaking bricks and creating a crater in the wall, rushing like a bull to launch another attack of teeth and claws. Pivoting out of the way with a deep guttural grunt, the attacker let another round of bullets to release and absorb into the slashing and bleeding beast, watching him fall.

High pitched human screams burst from the beast as it lay on the cold glistening wet pavement, its twisted and contorted body writhing as the attacker casually walked over it kneeling down and grabbing it by its neck.

Watching slowly as the entity howled, hissing and fighting back, its eyes begged to be left alone as its tentacles and claws melted away into a very human hand. As the once beastly thing revealed itself during its cries, a disheveled looking handsome muscular man, dressed in an Italian designed straight from the runway suit, coughed up spewing blood and wheezed in agony. The clawing man, murmured in unintelligible sentences, his sun kissed olive skin, slowly fading into a murky grey.

Wrinkles of decay and diseases, emitting from his once handsome frame, seemed to slosh away with every scream of pain and anger. Flowing oak colored hair, drifted away as if it was dust in the wind. The man reached out attempting to tear at the attacker’s throat as flashes of the demon’s past life of darkness flowed into his vision through the eyes and briefly flashed smile of the attacker’s photogenic face.

Hunching over in a swift movement that would rival and shame a snake, if a snake could be shamed, the attacker hissed, claw palmed the man in the chest clutching at his engorged heart to pull it to its surface, beating against rapidly thinning skin, as the man screamed in garbled terror.

“Ashes to ashes…”, was whispered in the air as the attacker pulled the heart from the man’s cavity and ferociously bit into the side of the screaming man’s neck tearing and cavernously biting until the attacker’s mouth seemed to fuse with the writhing man’s jugular, as rivers of blood fluidly glided everywhere.
-Sin Eaters by Kai Leakes ©copyright 2012-

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Stacy-Deanne

Stacy-Deanne (Dee-Anne) is a novelist of mysteries and interracial romantic suspense. She started writing professionally in 1997 when she was nineteen years old. Stacy grew up loving the suspense genre. Her idols are Edgar Allan Poe and Alfred Hitchcock. Her love for Psycho and many of Hitchcock's movies fueled her fire for suspense. Stacy´s books include Everlasting (Simon and Schuster, 2007), Melody (Simon and Schuster, 2008), Giving up the Ghost (Peace in the Storm Publishing, 2011) and The Season of Sin (Peace in the Storm Publishing, 2012). She was born, raised and currently resides in Houston, Texas.


You can learn more about Stacy-Deanne at/on: [Her Website] [Facebook] [Twitter] [Mailing List]


The Passion for Writing - From Stacy-Deanne's Pen
Where does your passion for writing come from?
Writing is a huge part of my life. It makes me happy, keeps me satisfied, and even grounded. I’ve always struggled with horrible anxiety since childhood, and when I got older, I realized I had anxiety disorder. It is incredibly hard to live with anxiety disorder. It's almost like living in a prison at times because you're paralyzed about the simplest and most common things. It can become crippling at times, and writing is one of few things that calms me and relaxes me. Due to my disorder, I struggle with stress, which can take a toll on my health. Writing rescues me from succumbing to my nerves, and it actually gives me a sense of purpose. I don’t know what I would do if I wasn’t a writer. I'd probably be in a state of depression or so full of anxiety I'd be in a constant panic. I couldn’t see myself without the craft. My passion comes from the hope and comfort writing gives me. It’s not just something I do; it's a necessity to live.

If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
It would be every single color of the rainbow. For me there are just so many sides to writing and how I feel about it. Writing is such a versatile craft, and it deeply impacts my emotions. It can bring out many sides to how I feel. I think of colors as being mirrors to our emotions, and since my emotions during writing changes from time to time, it can be any and every color to me.

How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
Easy because without writing I'd be a basket case. Seriously. I'd be a complete wreck. I might be an alcoholic or pill popper if I didn't have writing to stimulate me and keep me calm. Like I said, writing fulfills me unbelievably. I feel like I was put on earth to do this. I didn’t know where I belonged or what I should do before becoming a writer. I had other dreams, but once I ventured into writing, I fell in love. I love storytelling because it allows me to live through my characters. I’m not outgoing; in fact, I consider myself reclusive. I don’t live my life through the outside, but I live it through the inside, which is my imagination. Ever since I was a child, I imagined things and pretended to be other people. Through storytelling I’m in control of other people (characters) and that’s the most exciting part. I also love the fact that something stems from my mind and others wanna read it. LOL! That’s just too cool.

[Buy your copy of The Wild Life today from the publisher's site!]
When Albany Detective Brianna “Bree” Morris learns that Cuban crime lord Milan Varela wants her estranged father dead, she heads off to Miami to find out why. With Homicide Detective Jayce Matthews and her ex-lover Detective Steven Kemp she devises a plot to get close to the Varela organization.

Brianna finds herself attracted to the older Milan and falls deep into his web of seduction while fighting to keep her mind on her mission. Milan is equally drawn to Brianna and vows to win her trust and her heart.

Is Milan really the villain when it comes to Brianna’s father? Or is he the victim?

Is Brianna’s father really in danger or is there more to the story than anyone could ever imagine?

Brianna risks her life to save her father’s but will she end up losing her own?

The steamy, explosive, and super-hot new installment in the Bree and Steven Series!

Excerpt from The Wild Life

“What do you expect me to say, Steve?” Brianna sat beside Jayce. “I don’t even know what’s going on.”

He bent over her. “Can’t anything go well for you, woman? Why do you keep getting yourself in these predicaments?”

“Oh excuse me for coming home and finding a man in my kitchen!”

Jersey tugged on her ears. “I have a huge headache and one of my officers has just been attacked. The last thing I need is for you two to argue.”

Steven and Brianna made faces at each other.

“We’re worried about you, Morris. Tell us what’s going on so we can help.”

“I don’t know if you can help.”

Davis slunk into the room and rested at Brianna’s feet. She scooped up the brown feline.

“The guy that tried to kill me…” She scratched Davis’ ear. “Well he worked for Milan Varela.”

Steven gaped. “What the f*** did you just say?”

Brianna shrugged.

“Are you f***** kidding me? A man who worked for the head of the Southern Cuban Mafia was here? Here?”

“I was telling Bree that a friend of mine in the FBI might be able to help her,” Jayce said. “It’s about her father. They’re looking for him.”

“George?” Jersey’s green eyes beamed from behind her glasses. “What the hell would the Cuban Mafia want with George?”

“No telling. You know the life my father lives. It’s full of risks and he makes no apologies for it.”

Jersey touched the back of her neck. “How the hell could he even get close to Milan Varela in the first place?”

“So this is the type of stuff your father’s always into?”

“Jayce my father has never been a father to me. He stays gone for decades at a time and pops up probably once every ten or fifteen years when he wants something. I wonder if he even remembers he has a
daughter half the time.” She kissed Davis’ head. “Right now what’s important is this mess he’s got going with Milan. Why would he want my dad dead?”

“I just can’t believe this. I mean your dad has been involved in some shady things during his life but nothing like this. What are you gonna do, Morris?”

“As much as I hate him, I can’t let anything happen to him. I gotta find out where he is.”

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Jacqueline D. Moore

Jacqueline Moore is a Christian author who offers spiritual words of encouragement daily on her website at http://www.jacquelinedmoore.com. She resides in Detroit, Michigan with her two sons, James and Joseph. Jackie has taken courses towards an undergraduate degree in religion and has served as a Deaconess, as well as served on various boards and committees at her church.

She is the author of "Serving Justice" which won an award for 2009 African American Literary Show romance author of the year, and "Caught in the Middle under the Peace in the Storm Publishing Company imprint. Her third novel "Chains of Deception" is now available at the publisher's site, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.

Jackie is also a contributing author to several anthologies including releases, "Triumph of my Soul, Stories of Hope, Triumph and Inspiration" "Journeys of Love, Voices of the Heart" and "Gumbo for the Soul, Here's our Child Where is the Village."


You can learn more about Jacqueline at/on: [Her Website] [Facebook] [Twitter] [Publisher] [Barnes & Noble]


The Passion for Writing - From Jacqueline's Pen
Where does your passion for writing come from?
My passion for writing comes from my love of books. Growing up, I always had a book in my hands even when I wasn't supposed to. The stories captivated me and wouldn't let me go until they were finished. A really good story would keep me up late into the nights and even now, when I am caught up in a story, I find it hard to put it down until it is finished. That's what I strife for. To create stories that readers have a hard time putting down.


If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
My passion for writing would be Gold. Gold is a color that is hard not to notice. It shines brightly even when the world around it might be dark. Gold is a color of hope and illumination. As a Christian author, I strive to show hope in my stories even when the world around my characters grows dark. Sometimes, we have to be the light that leads the way out of a situation and we might find it necessary to shine the light on a situation so that you can see how wrong it truly can be for you and the ones you love.


How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
I love to observe the world around me, ask questions and play the what if game. By looking at various situations that may be going on around me and constantly asking what if, I find the opportunity to come up with an abundance of things to write about. In addition to writing fiction, I also write daily devotionals. I love taking the scriptures and creating real life situations that allow others to see Gods word in action. As a writer, all one has to do is open their eyes and look around them to tell a story. After all, everyone and everything has a story to tell.

[Buy your copy of Chains of Deception today from one of the following locations: publisher's site, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble!]

“What Happens in this house, stays in this house.”

Renee was a woman who seemed to have it all; a wonderful husband, loving family, wonderful church family, great job and the house of her dreams. She and her husband Gary have a very loving relationship. Or do they?

From the outside, Renee’s world gives the appearance of perfection. That is until a mysterious new broker by the name of Stephen Morretti begins working at the same firm with Renee. He is very charismatic and there is definite sexual tension between him and Renee.
He will become the catalyst for Renee’s voyage into a world of addiction.

Regina and Joseph Michaels are Renee’s doting parents. They are pillars of the church and looked up to in their community. They were always an integral part of Renee, who was their only child’s life. Or were they? They know the truth behind the veil of lies that
Renee has created for her survival.

Aunt Lucinda is not only Renee’s shelter in the storm; she holds the secrets of the past in her memories. She is who Renee turns to when her life starts to unravel; she will become the balm that allows her to begin to heal from the wounds of her present and her past.

Uncle Larry is Lucinda’s husband and her grandfather, Marcus Caine’s, brother. He holds three generations of guilt and will try to make amends to his family for all the pain and grief that his brother has inflicted upon the three generations of women.

Chains of Deception will take you on a journey of family secrets, betrayal, lust and lies.
Generational curses and soul ties abound in this story of learning to heal from the wounds of our past and learning to forgive others as well as ourselves for the mistakes of our present.

Excerpt from Chains of Deception

Journal Entry - Broken

The pain that one feels when the world around them has been totally and utterly destroyed can never truly be described. The simple act of breathing takes indescribable effort. One has to make a conscious decision to inhale and exhale in order to sustain life. One who has been broken feels an undeniable urge to simply cease to be.

I have been broken most of my life. At least as far back as I can remember. I don’t ever remember what it must feel like to be whole. There was always something missing. Beauty and confidence are two attributes that have never belonged to me. I was always that little girl standing at the back of the room no one seemed to notice unless she was the object of someone’s anger and wrath; tormented by teachers and bullies alike.

I felt lucky when a man actually wanted to marry me. You see, as one who has never found anything attractive about themselves, marriage seemed to be one of those unobtainable goals that most young women hope and dream of. I had never even been on a date before I met my future husband. And then, when I met that man who let my soul feel, for the first time in my life, I felt pretty. Then one day he too looked at me and realized I was still broken, no matter how much I tried to pretend I was not.

How does one repair the brokenness that permeates every single aspect of who they are? How does one continue to function when the world around them never lets them forget that they are damaged? How does one recover when life once again allows a few moments of happiness before tearing down their façade of happiness?

Yes, I am broken. It will take everything within me to suppress this undeniable urge within me to simply cease to be.