Author: Ellwyn

I live with my loving husband, two children and dog in Philadelphia, PA. I discovered my passion for writing in second grade when I had to write a book report for school. I was so excited to write the report, until my mother told me that I had to write about someone else's book and not my own story. I became indignant and decided that once I finished the book report I would most certainly write my own original story. I have been writing ever since! My self-published book Chris Kringle's Cops was a Finalist in The Reader's Favorite Book Contest for 2016. I am so happy to share this story with you. My picture book Kamyla Chung and the Creepy Crawlies was given a 5 Star rating by Reader's Favorite Book Reviews in 2017.

A Family With The Cowboy Book Tour

When a single dad and his son’s teacher clash, sparks fly and it’s not only because his son is neglecting his chores to read.

A Family With the Cowboy

The Westons of Montana Book 1

by Elsa Winckler

Genre: Contemporary Small-Town Romance

Widowed rancher Hayden Weston knows what it means to be responsible for his siblings, his eight-year-old son, and the running of the huge family cattle ranch. Some even call him a stern and grumpy taskmaster and they’re not exactly wrong. So when Hayden discovers his son reading a storybook instead of doing chores, he calls on Luke’s teacher to talk about priorities.

School teacher Laura Anderson is new to Marietta, Montana, and has never—until now—been reprimanded for encouraging a child to read. It doesn’t help that sweet Luke’s father is the handsome cowboy with the amber eyes that she met in Grey’s Saloon, or that she’s wildly attracted to him.

Sparks keep flying as their paths keep crossing, but Hayden is determined not to give in to his incomprehensible need to have, hold, and protect Laura from any type of harm. He’s the one who’ll hurt her if he lets her stray too close. He’s not ready to admit his feelings or commit to sharing his life with her.

Even if love comes tumbling in.

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Book Links:
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A family with the cowboy

Book in the series The Westons of Montana

Elsa Winckler

Excerpt:

Getting tingles down her back because a cowboy was looking at her was so not something she had time for right now. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the bathroom door. As she stepped out, she bumped into a solid body. Earthy tones of man and musk swirled around her. Immediately, all her senses jumped to attention.

“Sorry,” she muttered, and tried to escape, but the person in front of her wasn’t moving.

“Excuse me,” she tried again and, irritated, she pushed against him. Big mistake. Her hands landed on a warm, muscled torso. They both froze. She looked up. It was the same cowboy she’d caught staring at her minutes earlier.

Those whiskey-colored eyes didn’t blink. “You passing through town?” a deep voice rumbled.

She shook her head.

One side of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “Pity.” His head dropped. “Something tells me you may not be so averse to sweaty cowboys as you think.”

Before she could catch her breath, he’d turned away and was walking through the swinging doors into the night.

Blinking, she steadied herself against the wall. Oh, my. If the first cowboy she met in town had this effect on her, it was a good thing she was living and working in town and would hopefully not run into any on a daily basis.

About the Author

I have been reading love stories for as long as I can remember and when I ‘met’ the classic authors like Jane Austen, Elizabeth Gaskell, Henry James The Brontë sisters, etc. during my Honours studies, I was hooked for life.

I married my college boyfriend and soul mate and after 47 years, 3 interesting and wonderful children and 4 beautiful grandchildren, he still makes me weak in the knees.

We are fortunate to live in the picturesque little seaside village of Betty’s Bay, South Africa with the ocean a block away and a beautiful mountain right behind us. And although life so far has not always been an easy ride, it has always been an exciting and interesting one!

I like the heroines in my stories to be beautiful, feisty, independent and headstrong. And the heroes must be strong but possess a generous amount of sensitivity. They are of course, also gorgeous! My stories typically incorporate the family background of the characters to better understand where they come from and who they are when we meet them in the story.

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Fairies Don’t Forgive Book Tour

When truths uncovered cannot be forgotten. Or forgiven.

Faeries Don’t Forgive

Heart of the Worlds Book 2

by TF Burke

Genre: YA Epic Fantasy

Returning to Nonderu, the underworld court, to rescue her dad should have been simple after the malevolent soul-sucking Boggleman fell to his presumable demise. They just need to find a way in. And get past the Mockmen trolls.

Instead, Aunia is attacked by a fanatical soldier cult that seeks to kill or capture her. Plus, her unmanageable magic notifies deadly wererats of her location. It also hurls her into an evil sorceress’ study. If all this wasn’t enough, she’s fighting a different battle with Mathias, her pegasus-riding love. His insistence to keep her hidden is more infuriating than any of their enemies. It leaves her determined to kick anyone who says first love is easy.

Worst of all are the truths she’s uncovering. Truths that can’t be forgotten. Or forgiven.

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Book Links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Faeries-Dont-Forgive-Heart-Worlds-ebook/dp/B0D18DHBN7

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Book Trailer:

Fairies Don’t Forgive Chapter Seventeen TF Burke

Clurichauns

What makes a man something worth admiring and when will you doubt his worth? — Queen Didianne, in the reign of the mad queen

A buzzing brushed Aunia’s skin like a hive of bees as she lurched in a mad attempt to keep her footing. The smell of woods, perfumes, and herbs had disappeared and in its place was the stench of waste, unfamiliar food, and burning metal.

A village-full of voices swirled within the buzzing . . . one pulled at her plaintively, though she couldn’t make out the words. Dust skated over Aunia’s feet as she appeared in a long boxed-in area surrounded by bulging timber buildings covered in faded paint and smeared pitch. And pressed within this area were more people than she had seen in her entire life.

“I said let the child go,” a gruff voice said from behind her.

Aunia swiveled.

An older man with a broken-nose, well-muscled and tall, like Oskan from her village, stood in front of two men in red cloaks.

“We don’t take orders from you, Mason,” the shorter of the two red-cloaked men said. He yanked a small boy towards him by the arm and the child’s sandy-haired head bounced off his chest.

“He’s hungry is all,” the broken-nose man said. “I’ll pay for him.”

“Bugger off,” the red cloak said.

Aunia stepped forward. “You can’t let a child go hungry.”

Several of the people glared at her.

“Shut your mouth, rover,” said a pillar-built woman with a messy bun, brown hair streaked in gray. She stood in front of a building with large windows and a swinging sign, which read ‘Forged Tankard.’ “Ain’t no food he stole.”

“Brana,” the broken-nosed man growled.

The woman rolled her eyes and pushed past him, holding up a small ring with two finger-length keys. “Missing these?”

The larger of the two red-cloaked men reached under his cloak patted his side, and his face turned red. “It’s the stocks for ye, boy.”

The boy dropped to the cobblestones and the shorter, red-cloaked man yanked him back one-handed. Held his other hand high to strike.

“Stop it,” Aunia yelled.

The larger of the red-cloaked men turned in her direction.

“Not the stocks.” A bearded man in a long-sleeved patchwork tunic, white powder streaks along his sleeves, stepped forward. “You’ve the boy’s mother in custody already. She was an unbraceleted faeblood. He’d be the same. You know it. It’s prison he should go.”

Faces pressed against the glass windows of the Forged Tankard’s tavern. Some folk stepped forward. Others melted back, including the broken-nosed man.

Aunia shook. Taya was indeed right of cities being dangerous. If this was how they treated small children . . . but what could she do? She was only one in a crowd.

“Stop,” she slid back, beseeching the broken-nose man. “You have to help. He’s just a boy.”

But the man slid into a narrow alleyway between the tavern and another building, and past a pig rooting in a pile of broken barrels, jugs, food scraps, and rags.

“She ain’t my mom,” the child screamed. “Not my real one. She picked me out of the garbage. I was just a slave to her.”

The taller, red-cloaked man yanked the child’s sleeve up. “Unbraceleted. You. Run to the Yanna’s forge. Grab a cuff. Now.”

“Don’t be thinking of calling on any magic,” the shorter, red-cloaked man said, bending to sneer those words in the child’s face.

“I’m . . . not a faeblood.” The child stopped his struggling and with his wrist in the guard’s grip, pointed in Aunia’s direction. “That’s the one you want. A real faeblood. Didn’t you see? She just skipped out of nowhere.”

The larger man straightened. “You. Rover.”

Aunia backed away, nearly colliding with a press of people guarding her back. Rover? But of course, she was wearing their garb. And by their expression and harsh tone, they did not like rovers.

“Don’t think you’re going anywhere,” one woman in a dark gray gown said.

Faeblood . . . this is how the people saw Reina. “I’ve . . . I’m looking for flyers,” Aunia said. “I flew with them over the Grashbear. Mathias. Keston. Fallo. You’ve had to have seen them. This is Dalin, isn’t it?”

The scowls of the people deepened. They shuffled closer. People in front of her and behind her, but the alleyway . . . could she flee with that pig in the way? Pig. She blinked. It had a quilted cloth saddle fastened around its girth with knotted cloth straps. And stitched cloth saddlebags hanging along the pig’s side. Who would be riding a pig?

Faeries Don’t Lie

Heart of the Worlds Book 1

Can Two Worlds Survive an Augury?

Releasing a Chandarion’s god-like magic into the world isn’t what sixteen-year-old Aunia, the village’s outcast, intends. She only wants to impress Mathias, a visiting seventeen-year-old pegasus flyer, who fiercely believes the choice—either Faery or Mortal world surviving—has come.

Her action calls forth the Boggleman, a soul-sucking ghoul, who abducts her dad, eats her faery friends, and sets Dagel demons on her isolated village. And worse.

The worlds of Ahnu-Endynia are full of faeries, pegasi flyers, myths, secrets, and themes of belonging, despite being misunderstood. And if you don’t watch carefully . . . You might be pulled into the Betwixt. . . the space between the worlds.

**On Sale for Only .99cents!**

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Book Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Faeries-Dont-Lie-TF-Burke-ebook/dp/B0CWB6HGZ7

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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/210304578-faeries-don-t-lie

Book trailer:

Excerpt 1 – FAERIES DON’T LIE – TF Burke

Explaining true love to a garden faery wasn’t easy. Aunia tapped her pitchfork against the stone-slabbed floor and wrinkled her nose against the golden dust while her faery friend, Jennium, landed between a nanny goat’s ears. The escaped animal froze in place in front of the long wooden goat pens while the faery sat cross-legged on her furry perch, folding her iridescent wings, purples, blues, and yellows.

Another of Jennium’s mind-pictures arose in Aunia’s head. This one was of the villagers, old and young, dancing arm-in-arm in twisting steps around a bonfire—fiery sparks rising to the stars.

“That’s the party afterwards. True love is how you feel. How your heart would give away every constellation to see your beloved smile.” Aunia flipped her blond braid over her shoulder and wished she could disappear into the slithering crack along the stable’s high-vaulted ceiling—or, better yet, fly away to the faery world . . .if that doorway wasn’t watched. “But like I said, there’s no one here for me.”

Unlike the two lovers exchanging mating beads this night, she would stand in the shadows as an outcast, too different to be accepted. At sixteen years of age, she needed to accept this would be her life. She scooped another pitchfork of dirty hay onto the dung heap.

Jennium propelled another image—Aunia’s father standing, back turned and shoulders slumped, at his favorite fishpond. The faery tipped her raven-haired head as if to ask, “And where’s your father’s true love?”

Aunia’s hands slid on the pitchfork. She couldn’t answer that. Her father refused to talk about her. But it was obvious he clung to her memory—whoever she was. And he had to have loved her real mom desperately. Why else would he have treated Nehla like a sister. A sister he couldn’t save from being skewered by a wild boar. An accident. An awful, terrible accident.

Stomping, Aunia passed the long pen of bleating goats and turned up the middle junction of horse stalls to the quadruple-sized hay-less stall that had been Nehla’s pottery work area. She frowned at the grain buckets lining the shoulder-high wall where clay boards used to stand. She padded to Nehla’s pottery wheel, draped with a green and yellow blanket, and pressed her knuckles against the scratchy wool. Three years later and it still hurt.

With a light jingle, Jennium landed on Aunia’s head and projected another image—a woman’s silhouette, but not Nehla.

Aunia pulled her hand away from the pottery wheel. For a moment, she made out the curve of the woman’s left cheek, so like her own. Then, the silhouette was gone.

“I don’t remember my mother,” Aunia said. “But she probably had faery sight like me. Maybe she could even see people’s glows.”

A whiny buzz brushed against Aunia’s hair and a shiny green bug dove behind the stall’s black walnut wood.

Jennium launched up, and Aunia winced at the tug, reaching to free the faery’s tiny feet from her braid. Jennium yanked through, chittering, and landed on an empty pottery shelf—one that rested on iron spikes nailed into the wall. Those spikes had been made from Nehla’s sacrificed pot hooks to keep faeries from breaking freshly made bowls.

“How are you—”

A screech from the stable’s front door sent Aunia crouching behind the pottery wheel.

“The bottle in the back ought to muffle the evening proper,” said Sigmus with his deep wheezy voice.

Aunia tensed. Her father’s closest friend would still be livid about the faeries shoving tadpoles in his boots from yesterday’s yesterday. But it had been his own fault. He had insulted the water fae.

Aunia tiptoed forward and peeked over the stall’s wall. These two were supposed to be stacking wood for the cooking fires. Her father’s head and shoulders, glowing with his usual brick-red aura, seem to float above the horse pen-wall—or did until he dodged a buzzing insect.

Sigmus swiveled, cracking his hands together, presumably squashing the bug. “Ain’t no grace-fall smushing your own pest.”

Dad jutted his jaw. “I can’t do that.”

“And you get a grumping every beading.”

Dad’s red glow dulled. “I am happy for them.”

“Sure. It makes all the sense you hankering to sneak off to the sheep cave.”

“Fish pond,” Dad clarified.

“Well, I’ve a better idea. Wait here.” Sigmus waddled up the middle aisle toward her.

Aunia ducked, pressing a hand over her mouth. Her sigh filled her palm when his footfalls veered toward the nearby tack and storage room.

Sheep-cave? No one was allowed near them. Dad himself had told her the Boggleman lived there now. She eased to a trousered knee and considered. Sigmus was probably just saying that for shock and her father was looking to wander off to be alone.

She had wanted to sneak away earlier, too. Sneak past the gate-minders to the woods for a game of tag with the moss-gnomes or maybe cajole a dryad into playing a whistle-tune. She had almost made it through the gate but got caught, so she ran and hid in the stable.

Aunia leaned against the chest-high wall. It would be better to stay with faery friends instead of being in the village.

The tack room door grumbled open, followed with chalky scuffles from dried leather and thud-clack of ceramics. Sigmus hooted. He probably stashed another bottle of the apothecary’s cider brandy.

Sigmus exited the tack room, popped the bottle, and shouted, “Figure you’ll get a fair healing, spilling out your sorrows.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” her father called back.

Stars. How long am I going to need to hide while they drink?

Sigmus pranced past her stall. Aunia inched forward. Her father stood about ten yards from her in the middle aisle and close to the dung heap.

“Ah, so you say,” Sigmus said. “But I knows these beading ceremonies remind you of yer Tamorian lady wife.”

Tamorian? Lightning crackled in Aunia’s belly and erupted against the back of her throat. “You’ll tell him about my mother but not me.”

Dad whirled in her direction, his glow retreating to a scant fingers-width around his head. She marched out of the pen while Sigmus stepped in her way.

“Move, Sigmus,” she said. “I’m talking to my father. My dad, not yours.”

Sigmus raised his hand. “You’re supposed to be stirring them stew pots.”

“Like you gathering wood?” Aunia tried sidestepping him but Sigmus’ elbow clipped the side of her head. She hunched-over, wishing she could melt Sigmus “Sourling-Beast” into pudding ash.

About the Author

TF Burke currently works with NYT David Farland’s Apex-Writers as an admin and marketing specialist, where she schedules industry leaders for weekly multi-Zoom calls, provides content for social posts, and hosts several writer-focused Zooms.

Her published works includes hundreds of newspaper articles, blog posts across various platforms, anthologies, including MURDERBUGS, the second volume of the Unhelpful Encyclopediam a collection of short stories in WHIRL OF THE FAE, and the first book of the Heart of the Worlds Series, FAERIES DON’T LIE.

When not writing or wearing other hats, she can be found with a sword and a dagger in her hands for medieval-style fencing tournaments and melees, something she’s been doing since 2010.

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Author Links

Website: https://tfburkeauthor.com/

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Diversity, Equity & Inclusion

As a retired Pre-K Head Start/Kindergarten Teacher, I understand the power of diversity, equity, and inclusion. For over twenty years, I taught and modeled how to implement these three simple words in my classroom every day.

I’m not trying to cheapen these three powerful words by using the word ‘simple’. My aim is to draw attention to how such a simple concept has become corrupted by extremists. Why is treating others with human dignity ‘woke’?

I just don’t understand and I know youngsters feel the same way. Woke is fair, and every child knows when they’re not being treated fairly. “That’s not fair!” is a common exclamation among children. I’m sure you said it when you were a kid. I know I did.

Robert Flughum summarized how to be a decent human being in his book All I Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten.

Here is a list of the key concepts from the book:

Share everything.
Play Fair.
Don’t hit people.
Put things back where you found them.
Clean up your own mess.
Don’t take things that aren’t yours.
Say you’re SORRY when you HURT somebody.
Wash your hands before you eat.
Flush.
Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
Live a balanced life- learn some and drink some and draw some and paint some and sing and dance and play and work every day some.
Take a nap every afternoon.
When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.
Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup: The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
Goldfish and hamster and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup – they all die. So do we.
And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned – the biggest word of all – “LOOK!”

How I wish people, myself included, would remember these tenets when they grow up and realize their actions or lack thereof have far-reaching consequences.

I’m outraged that MAGA removed DEI from federal institutions. We’ve already seen the effects on the mainstream media. Joy Reid’s departure from MSNBC is one example of an ever-growing ocean of disparity toward people of color and women.

We must hold fast to our core American principle: Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all!

The sentence doesn’t say for the few, for the ultra-rich, for white people only. It says FOR ALL!

Janet & Chris Morris Guest Post

What is something unique/quirky about you?

Together we breed Morgan horses. We consult with Morgan breeders to help them choose crosses to their stock to achieve a desired result.

We are also musicians; Janet plays bass guitar, Chris sings and plays guitar. We have an album on MCA records. Look for Christopher Crosby Morris on Soundcloud or N1M.com

Can you, for those who don’t know you already, tell something about yourself and how you became an author?

Janet wrote her first novel, High Couch of Silistrain 1975; a friend sent it to an agent who chose to represent her; she had already written the second book in the Silistra Quartet and her agent told her not to disclose that until they finalized the contract for the first one.

When the publisher learned of the others, Bantam Books bought the succeeding three. When the fourth book was published, the series already had four million copies in print.

Suddenly Janet was a novelist specializing in environmental, gender, historical and political subjects. In the process, Chris started as her editor and ultimately a co-writer. Since then, she and Chris have co-authored many books.

Who is your hero and why?

Heraclitus of Ephesus, a pre-socratic philosopher, whose Cosmic Fragments foreshadow our knowledge of reality and how to perceive it. Among his precepts is the statement that change alone is unchanging. We’ve worked Heraclitus’ fragments in here and there throughout our books.

Which of your novels can you imagine being made into a movie?

All of them. We write cinematically, our books are vivid adventures we undertake without knowing the destination. I, the Sun, The Sacred Band, and Outpassage are particularly suited to film. The Threshold Series is a feast of opportunities for today’s special effects creators.

Advice to writers?

As for advice to writers, here is all we know: write the story you want to read. Start at the beginning, go to the end, and stop.

Seriously. From start to finish you must inhabit the construct in a manner that makes the reader choose to continue; if we as writers can’t feel what it’s like being there, our readers can’t either.

Close your eyes, look at your feet where they are standing on the story’s ground; tell us what you see. Tell us what you hear. Ask at the end of each paragraph ‘what happens next?’.

If you lose touch with it wait until you’re back inside it. Tell the story that comes to you, and from you, to us.

Lovers In Hell Book Tour & Giveaway

Only fools fall in love, and hell is filled with fools.

Lovers in Hell

A Heroes in Hell Anthology

created by Janet Morris

Genre: Dark Fantasy Anthology

Only fools fall in love, and hell is filled with fools.

Our damned lovers include: Christopher Marlowe and Will Shakespeare, Napoleon and Wellington, Orpheus and Eurydice, Hatshepsut and Senenmut, Abelard and Heloise, Helen and Penelope, Saint Teresa and Satan’s Reaper, Madge Kendall and the Elephant Man, and more . . . — all of whom pay a hellish price for indulging their affections.

Shakespeare said “To be wise and love exceeds man’s might,” and in Lovers in Hell, the damned in hell exceed all bounds as they search for their true loves, punish the perfidious, and avoid getting caught up in Satan’s snares. In ten stories of misery and madness, hell’s most loveless seek to slake the thirst that can never be quenched, and find true love amid the lies of ages.

Includes:

Never Doubt I Love – Janet Morris and Chris Morris

Love Interrupted – Nancy Asire

Lovers Sans Phalli – S. E. Lindberg

Fume of Sighs – Janet Morris and Chris Morris

Calamity – Michael E. Dellert

Love Triangle – Michael H. Hanson

A Hand of Four Queens – A. L. Butcher

Devil’s Trull – Andrew P. Weston

Withering Blights – Joe Bonadonna

Wrath of Love – Janet Morris and Chris Morris

Excerpt from Hell Gate – Andrew P. Weston

**On Sale for Only $2.99 until the end of the month!**

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Book Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Lovers-Hell-Heroes-Janet-Morris-ebook/dp/B07H7W58SN

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lovers-in-hell-janet-morris/1129623903?ean=2940161712436

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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/41808739-lovers-in-hell

Excerpt:

Love in the Afterlife, Part I

Never Doubt I Love

Janet and Chris Morris

“Doubt that the stars are fire,

Doubt that the sun doth move,

Doubt truth to be a liar,

But never doubt I love.”

–William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act II

“Love in hell makes beggars of us all!” Cheeks flushed, Shakespeare reproved Kit Marlowe, scorning today’s woes and fears with a paraphrase from Antony and Cleopatra.

“I’m the beggar here, not you. Lest you forget, those words rang truer as first writ: ‘There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned.’ I’ve had my reckoning from your Archfiend while you stood by, besotted.” Kit glowered at Will.

Overhead, Paradise snubbed them, unattainable, smug, as they surveyed Christopher Marlowe’s demolished Rose playhouse. Kit pulled his slashed leather jerkin tight over doublet and linen he’d worn far too long. Ever since flood and tidal wave sent his Bankside audience diving for cover, he’d shirked a codpiece, girding on his stabbing sword instead.

Marlowe meant to wound Shakespeare’s fragile pride, dismiss him and drive him off. Will mustn’t be here—not now, when Kit had an appointment scheduled, one both sensitive and secret. At this most inconvenient time, the Bard of Avon appears, unexpected, unbidden, and unwelcome. Kit must send Will packing well before the rendezvous.

Trembling with ire to his lacy cuffs, Shakespeare waggled a finger at Kit. “You yet think Satan creates your misfortune? ’Tis not the devil but your sylphic savior, the famous J, who turns your fate foul with her Bible verse and her big doe eyes.”

At the mention of J the Yahwist, Kit drew back, boots crunching hazelnut shells on muddy cobbles. Basta. Enough of this. He’d try another tack. “Look you long at my flattened Rose, and tell me how J caused such devastation.” A mere stone’s throw from Shakespeare’s Globe, Kit’s Rose Theatre lay in splinters. Lost to looters were its seats, its every curtain, its rigging, props, and treasures.

The choosy tsunami that destroyed the Rose had preserved Will’s Globe entire. These days in the theatre district only the Globe stood tall by the river, a house owned by Shakespeare, run by Shakespeare, and favored by every fiend and demon in New Hell’s vast domain. For Kit to stage any play henceforth, he must kiss Will’s arse to wheedle a pittance for acting or directing whatever Shakespeare’s patron devil chose.

“Did J not return your words to you, Marley? I liked you better without them. And without her. J stands for jade, that’s certain.”

“Leave off, Will,” Marlowe warned, truth sticking in his craw. “Go home.”

But Shakespeare was yet warming to his subject: “How long didst thou profess to love me, you flesh-monger, committed fornicator, buggle boe, meddler in my doings, before your callet J showed her face? Is it her pie you’d rather eat? Her saddle you’d rather ride? I’ve yet to ask Abbadon to rot that rod right off your crotch.”

Giveaway

Choice of print or ebook of Lovers in Hell,

$10 Amazon giftcard – 1 winner each!

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About the Authors

Best selling author Janet Morris began writing in 1976 and has since published more than 30 novels, many co-authored with her husband Chris Morris or others.

Most of her fiction work has been in the fantasy and science fiction genres, although she has also written historical and other novels. Morris has written, contributed to, or edited several book-length works of non-fiction, as well as papers and articles on nonlethal weapons, developmental military technology and other defense and national security topics.

Christopher Crosby Morris (born 1946) is an American author of fiction and non-fiction, as well as a lyricist, musical composer, and singer-songwriter. He is married to author Janet Morris.

He is a defense policy and strategy analyst and a principal in M2 Technologies, Inc. He writes primarily as Chris Morris, but occasionally uses pseudonyms.

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Author Links

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Barracuda Bay Book Tour & Giveaway

She’s the first female police detective in Acapulco.

Barracuda Bay

Detective Emilia Cruz Book 9

by Carmen Amato

Genre: Mystery, Thriller, Female Detective

Political corruption turns Acapulco’s first female police detective into a fugitive on the run . . . in Washington DC.

“A thrilling series” — National Public Radio

In a derelict building for sale, Acapulco police detective Emilia Cruz stumbles on the body of a woman brutally shot to death. Incredibly, the victim was the sister of Acapulco’s ambitious mayor, who is running for re-election against an opponent with deep pockets.

Emilia’s investigation is immediately under pressure for a fast result. The victim’s ex-boyfriend has a suspiciously weak alibi but is the crime scene the key to finding the murderer? The building was once used for a secret Mexican government operation targeting a ruthless drug lord.

Meanwhile, there’s a conspiracy within the police department to force Emilia out.

Before Emilia can save her job or arrest her prime suspect, she’s sent on an errand of mercy to Washington, DC.

There she becomes a fugitive hunted by killers masquerading as cops. Alone, desperate and on the run, Emilia turns for help to a man she once vowed to murder.

He’s her only chance to survive a deadly game of political intrigue on the wrong side of the border.

From Acapulco’s beaches to the streets of Washington, DC, the stakes couldn’t be higher in this electrifying, page-turning thriller.

2019 and 2020 Poison Cup award, Outstanding Series – CrimeMasters of America

“Emilia is a character who is close to my heart” – MysterySequels

“Amato brings her characters to life with her vivid writing style and sets them on the streets of a Mexico steeped in Catholicism and corruption” – OnlineBookClub.org

With unflinching authenticity from the author’s own espionage and counterdrug experience in Mexico and Central America, this is a female detective mystery series like no other.

The Emilia Cruz series is for fans of international mystery and crime by Ian Rankin, Jo Nesbo, Ann Cleeves, Donna Leon and Liza Marklund, plus the Department Q series by Jussi Adler-Olsen. Fans of Don Winslow’s cartel and border thrillers set in Mexico love the plots torn from the headlines of the Detective Emilia Cruz police series set in Acapulco.

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**Don’t miss the rest of the Detective Emilia Cruz Series!**

Find out more on the Author’s Website!

Detective Emilia Cruz Series

Excerpt from BARRACUDA BAY: A Detective Emilia Cruz Novel by Carmen Amato

Casa de Plata looked just the same except for the yellow crime scene tape proclaiming PROHIBIDO EL PASO zigzagging across the massive front entrance. Emilia peeled it back on one side and unlocked the door.

The huge echoing foyer was the same as well. Emilia didn’t bother to turn on the chandelier. She wasn’t there to gaze upward.

The crime scene techs had come and gone but she combed the entire building, checking for door locks that looked to have been jimmied open and finding nothing. She even studied the balconies from all angles and concluded that the only way someone could have accessed a balcony from the outside would be to swing Tarzan-style over the razor-topped perimeter wall.

Each of the two ground floor apartments had a French door that opened to a patio running the full width of the rear of the building. In Casa de Plata’s heyday, the doors would have allowed for a beautiful view of gracious living. Now all that remained were paving stones choked with weeds, shards of half a dozen terracotta planters, and an abandoned wrought iron table slowly turning into a heap of rust.

She went back inside and unlocked the door to the apartment where Monica had been killed. She stood in the silent dining room. The crime scene techs had taken the armchair away, presumably for forensic study, but Emilia was more interested in the faint streaks it left on the terrazzo floor.

“You were sitting here,” Emilia muttered as she squatted by the chair. Dust motes swirled gently in the air, illuminated by sunlight filtered through the grimy windows. “Eating all sorts of different tapas. There must have been lots of small plates or takeout boxes.”

Certainly Monica had not been there by herself. No, someone else sat across from the woman, sharing an impromptu but elegant picnic complete with linens and champagne.

Until something spooked her. Monica pushed herself away from the table hard enough to leave skid marks on the floor. Raised her hands to ward off danger. The killer had faced her, with the table between them. Two shots, one through each hand.

She straightened up, looking at the clean tabletop and mute row of chairs on the other side. A tablecloth would have prevented fingerprints and made cleanup easy. No extra bullets that missed the target and hit the wall or chair. No wasted energy. The nerve to shoot a defenseless woman while staring straight at her.

“Her date was either lucky or a pro,” Emilia said, thinking aloud. “He shoots her. Takes her purse and cell phone, then gathers up the tablecloth with all the leftovers and walks out.”

Either way, the killer was someone Monica knew and trusted. Was comfortable eating and drinking with them.

But why here? Why Casa de Plata? Was there a federale angle to this? Lieutenant Campos rose up in her mind’s eye. He was slick and trendy. Not at all the somber federale officer of public imagination.

Help me.

An invisible hand touched Emilia’s cheek. She flinched so hard that her feet went out from under her.

Her hip hit the floor first, then her right shoulder. Emilia twisted to keep her head from cracking like an egg against the terrazzo. She was instantly dazzled by sparks of pain shooting from thigh to neck.

Her phone rang. Breathing hard, Emilia managed to roll onto her stomach and extract it from the back pocket of her jeans.

“Where the hell are you?” Silvio thundered. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Never mind. Meet me downtown. We found Monica Montoya’s car.”

Giveaway

Enter to win a Swag Pack with a signed copy of the book, a mini poster with a Frida Kahlo quote, a seasoning mix to make the recipe in the book and a Detective Emilia Cruz book tote! (US only),

OR $15 Amazon giftcard (WW)

– 1 winner each!

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About the author

A 30-year veteran of the Central Intelligence Agency, Carmen Amato writes the contemporary Detective Emilia Cruz series pitting the first female police detective in Acapulco against Mexico’s cartels, corruption, and social inequality.

Beginning with Cliff Diver, it’s a 2-time winner of the Outstanding Series award from CrimeMasters of America and a 4-time finalist for the Silver Falchion award, lauded by Kirkus Reviews as “Danger and betrayal never more than a few pages away.”

Carmen Amato is also the 2023 winner of the Silver Falchion Award for Best Historical for Murder at the Galliano Club, inspired by her grandfather’s experiences as a deputy sheriff during Prohibition.

Her standalone thrillers include The Hidden Light of Mexico City, which was longlisted for the 2020 Millennium Book Award.

Carmen is a recipient of both the National Intelligence Award and the Career Intelligence Medal.

She has been a judge for the BookLife Prize and Killer Nashville’s Claymore Award. Her work has appeared in Huffpost, Criminal Element, Publishers Weekly, and other national publications.

Originally from upstate New York, after years of globe-trotting she and her husband enjoy life in Tennessee.

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First Elite Book Tour & Giveaway

When vengeance becomes your only purpose, how far will you go?

First Elite

Foundra Series Book 3

by Emmanuel M. Arriaga

Genre: Science Fiction, Space Opera

When vengeance becomes your only purpose, how far will you go?

Grief-stricken and betrayed, Neven Kenk embarks on a dangerous mission to avenge his wife, whose life was stolen in a brutal act of violence.

Paired with Tashanira, a fierce Uri warrior, and Ellipse, a sentient AI, they embark on a daring mission to hunt down the killer, Entradis.

But when their mission ends in catastrophe, they are forced to abandon the hunt and are removed from active duty in the Founder’s Elites.

Their quest for redemption takes them to the farthest reaches of the Twin Galaxies, where they uncover fragments of a forgotten history and the veiled truths of their existence.

But their journey leads to a revelation none of them are prepared for. The trio confronts the legendary First Elite and faces the harrowing cost of service to the immortal Founders of the Huzien Empire.

Blending rich world-building, emotional depth, and epic adventure, First Elite explores the strength it takes to rebuild after loss and the unyielding price of loyalty in a galaxy teeming with intrigue and high-stakes politics.

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Pride of Ashna

Foundra Series Book 2

In the Outer Rim, a lawless region of space filled with violence, a young girl vows vengeance against the marauding pirate bands who brutally murdered her family.

After enlisting with the zealous matriarchal Ashna Maidens who attempt to police the Outer Rim, Serah’Elax quickly becomes a powerful weapon.

Meanwhile, a ruthless pirate band has taken over a cruise ship deep within Alliance space.

They run into unexpected trouble when they encounter a few members of the highly trained force of military specialists known as the Founder’s Elites, who happened to be vacationing on the vessel.

Disturbed by the boldness of the pirates, the Alliance tasks the rest of the Founder’s Elites with dealing a powerful blow to the marauders, who normally operate in the Outer Rim, once and for all.

However, they quickly discover that things in the Outer Rim are not as expected.

The young warrior and Founder’s Elites must come together to face an extradimensional threat left over from the Rift War that seeks to turn the last bastion of safety in the Outer Rim into something that could threaten the entire Twin Galaxies.

Will the new allies have the cunning necessary to defeat this insidious threat or will it tear the Ashna Maidens apart from the inside?

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Foundra

Foundra Series Book 1

A powerful force known as the Enesmic permeates every aspect of the universe. It powers the mystical art of Cihphism which allows a gifted few to manipulate the very world around them. But something has gone terribly wrong.

When the flow of the Enesmic shifts, the most powerful Cihphist in the galaxy, Soahc, can sense that something is coming.

Unable to convince other Cihphists to act, Soahc takes his apprentice and sets out to find the source of the disturbance.

As colonies across the Huzien Alliance are attacked by terrifying creatures, a prodigy named Neven is recruited to join the Founder’s Elites, a highly skilled squad of specialists from across the galaxy.

Under the direct command of Lanrete, their immortal leader, they join forces with Soahc and set off to discover where the creatures are coming from.

The Founder’s Elites uncover an ancient threat from another plane of existence that threatens life as they know it.

With a race against the clock and a terrifying war machine from eons past churning once more, will they be able to stop the engine of death, or will they be consumed by it?

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First Elite

Emmanuel M Arriaga

The effects of the Enesmic Shipyards erected by Sagren during the Rift War appear non-reversable. Life will never again flourish here.

-FROM “ENESMIC SHIPYARD EFFECTS ON TRICA VII”

MINSCI METABASE

1.- Neven Kenk

80123 FA (Present Day)

Foundra Ascension orbiting the Paradise Planet Genmatha, Huzien Alliance space

The steady, monotone beeping of the heart monitor blared across the medical deck.

Zun Shan’s unmoving body was suspended in a complex surgical station and cordoned off behind a stasis field.

Her neck was at an odd angle, and her hazelnut brown, angular eyes were lifeless and hollow. Her chest wasn’t rising or falling in the universal life-signaling act of breathing known to most species across the galaxy.

Instead, a drone was busy at work rapidly rebuilding the fist-sized hole in her chest.

The one where her heart should have been.

Jenshi Runso, chief medical officer aboard the Foundra Ascension, was methodically commanding the army of drones.

His face was hard. Emotionless. Jenshi was known for his intense focus—that uncanny ability to shut everything out.

Neven Kenk, a Human pressed against the field surrounding Zun, wished Jenshi wasn’t quite so skilled at ignoring him.

Neven’s jade-green eyes trailed over Zun’s tanned form, slowly tracing the light black esha marks running the length of her body.

He remembered her touch and the warmth of her skin as they held hands on the beach, both finding the mix of her tanned skin tone and his dark olive a thing of beauty.

He recalled how her smile lit up his life every time she ran her fingers across his muscular chest—molded to perfection over two years of grueling sparring sessions with merciless combat trainers.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe. But behind his lids, the cold blue eyes and wicked grin of Zun’s attacker stared back at him.

Entradis.

Neven, move! Ellipse, his personal Synaptic Systems Intelligence, or SSI, shouted in his mind. He’s going to kill you!

Neven was frozen, his body numb. His eyes hung on Zun’s lifeless form as her blood changed the white sand to a dark shade of red. The soft hues of the setting sun were replaced by blinding lights all around him, and the intensity of it caused him to shield his eyes. The light was replaced by a wall of power armors jutted up out of the white sand of the beach, many of them closing instantly upon materializing, except for one directly in front of him.

Get in! Ellipse urged Neven forward. Acting without conscious thought, he lunged, pulling himself into the back of the power armor.

As it sealed around him, unseen forces knocked many of the other power armors away. It was the unmistakable work of Enesmic weaving—the powerful ability only usable by Cihphists. It was a power Neven had never had.

The freshly cleared path established a line of sight between Neven and Entradis.

“Beginning spinal realignment and neurological repair.” Jenshi’s words snapped Neven back to reality.

He watched as another drone finished connecting a series of tiny thin nanotubes along the back of her skull, down her neck, and most of her back. A loud crack echoed throughout the deck as her head shifted, becoming less macabre in angle.

Many of the tubes exited her body, while the remaining ones moved rapidly in and out of her skin around the central part of her neck and across her skull, quickly working to rebuild the tendons, nerve endings, and grey matter. Another drone moved to assist, rebuilding the tissue in tandem with the other machines.

“Sweet irony.” Entradis reached out and clenched his fist. The area around them trembled at the terrible swirling of Enesmic energy.

A hum sounded from the primary power core as Neven’s power armor flared to life, and its innate defenses held the crushing Enesmic force at bay. Neven’s power armor glowed bright blue, and the cooling system let off a hiss as Entradis ceased his attack.

“Not this time, monster,” Neven broadcasted from his armor. “The Yuvan system I created will prevent you from killing any more Secnics in their power armors.”

A neural interface link slapped against the back of Neven’s neck, locking in place. He winced; the emergency link was less comfortable than his standard interface suit. A tingling sensation ran down his spine, signaling his nervous system syncing with the control interface.

Neven growled, rage blurring his vision. The power armor lunged forward with incredible speed.

Entradis shifted out of the way, using Enesmic forces to accelerate his body to inhuman speeds. Even with the boost, he only narrowly avoided a crazed Neven.

No! Neven, we must flee! Ellipse shouted.

“He just killed Zun, Ellipse.” Neven’s tone was cold.

Then we fight to the end, Ellipse said.

There was sadness in her voice. The other power armors came to life under her control. Dual Fephonic shoulder cannons emerged from their dens, unleashing blasts of energized plasma at Entradis.

Entradis was knocked to the ground. The blasts impacted his barrier with devastating effectiveness. Scrambling up, Entradis shaped some Enesmic power into a rope and pulled it taut. “Let’s dance.” He grinned.

“Cardiovascular system reconstruction complete,” intoned the soft SI voice of the medical deck.

Jenshi didn’t respond, his eyes glued to one of the many holodisplays around him. A holographic representation of Zun’s spinal system appeared outside of her body. He walked over to the display and tapped a series of sections, immediately sending drones to work on those portions of her body.

He examined another holodisplay, briefly meeting Neven’s gaze along the way. Without acknowledgment, he tapped the screen and sent more drones into action.

Entradis ripped one of the power armors apart, using the powerful Enesmic force to peel back sections of the armor. Once he detected no soft Human center, he abandoned the target and pursued another.

Neven worked with the power armors, each attacking with their entire arsenal as he hid in plain sight, each armor a replica, mimicking his actions.

Entradis lunged into one of the power armors, his hands angled forward like claws as he dug into the machine in a frenzy. He ripped off the chest plate and roared, sending a torrent of Enesmic energy into the armor so it would expand as if hornets were swarming inside. It exploded in a rain of debris as Entradis lunged at the next power armor, tackling it to the ground. He raised his hands, formed fists, and brought them down, releasing a wave of Enesmic energy like a hammer. He repeated that action with inhuman speed.

Neven could hardly discern the movements, even as the power armor flattened under the assault.

Entradis turned his gaze on Neven. The look terrified him deeply.

He smothered that part of himself with burning rage. Raising his arms, Neven pointed them at Entradis as shock blasters rose from his wrists. Each of the remaining power armors around him mirrored the action, all of them firing at the same time.

The intense blasts ripped through Entradis’s barrier. He gasped and flipped backward, quickly dropping behind cover. The continued assault destroyed the barrier, leaving a trail of molten sand in its wake. Entradis reached out and grabbed a large boulder from the water, and launched it into the nearest power armor. The sheer force of the impact punched through the shield, destroying the armor.

Only Neven’s power armor and a final dummy armor remained. Entradis stalked toward them. Neven roared as he and the other armor charged at Entradis in tandem.

A series of small drones appeared and aligned down Zun’s spine, while others came to rest on her new heart and at various points on her head.

“Ready to begin nervous system restart,” the SI voice prompted.

“Initialize,” Jenshi said.

A series of electromagnetic pulses emanated from each of the mini drones. Zun’s body convulsed in the air, and the pulses stopped abruptly.

Nothing.

Jenshi narrowed his eyes, his gaze going to a nearby holodisplay as he analyzed the results. He tapped a few more places on the holodisplay, sending the larger drones quickly back to work.

“I haven’t had this much fun in some time.” Entradis peeled back the broken shell of Neven’s power armor. He grabbed Neven by the neck, lifting him out of the broken shell.

Neven spat in his face as Entradis grinned.

Entradis summoned an energy blade and plunged it forward, but a familiar blade intercepted the Enesmic weapon. A kick to Entradis’s chest quickly separated them.

Neven rolled to his feet, glancing at his savior.

Founder Lanrete of the Huzien Empire stood with his sword, Divinebreath, in his light brown hand. There was murder in his eyes, his long, white mane of hair wild with fury. Jessica Olic was at his side, her silver gaze catching on Zun’s body.

Entradis let out a low whistle. “Wondered when you’d show up.”

Lanrete charged him, their weapons connecting in a flash. Their movements became a blur as Entradis kept up with Lanrete’s speed. Lanrete sought to push Entradis back with his raw strength, but Entradis matched the founder with the same intensity.

Shifting backward, Entradis lifted a few pieces of debris with Enesmic forces and hurled them at Neven.

Jessica Olic tackled Neven out of the way; the debris missed his head by a split second.

Lanrete charged forward, but Entradis clenched his fist, uttering a word of power as he vanished.

Cursing, Lanrete glanced around but to no avail. There was no trace of Entradis.

His eyes caught Zun Shan’s body in the sand, Jenshi already by her side. Lanrete’s gaze went back to meet Neven’s. The profound sadness in Neven’s gaze was mirrored in Lanrete’s weathered expression.

Jenshi initiated another pulse, making Zun’s body convulse again in the air.

The pulse stopped, but her body remained limp.

Jenshi repeated the process six more times before slamming both fists on a nearby table, causing the holodisplay within to flicker.

Neven slumped to the ground, tears in his eyes as he stared helplessly at Jenshi.

Giveaway

$60 Amazon

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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About the Author

Emmanuel Arriaga is a sci-fi author trapped in the body of a Product Manager. With a 14+ year background in engineering, cybersecurity, and infrastructure, Emmanuel received education from Pennsylvania State University and Stanford Graduate School of Business.

He’s held roles building products for people in emerging markets, creating privacy and security safeguards for users on the Android platform, improving core experiences for creators on YouTube, and is currently at Google Play, ensuring the integrity of developers within the Play Ecosystem in Silicon Valley.

When the author occasionally breaks free, he publishes award-winning novels such as Foundra and Elevator Quest.

He is best known for the Foundra Series, a sci-fi space opera and National Indie Excellence Award (NIEA) Finalist.

His rich worlds introduce expansive worldbuilding with innovative technologies and concepts.

He is a bronze winner of the Readers’ Favorite Award for Best Young Adult Action Novel and a TopShelf Book Award winner.

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