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Saturday, 10 November 2007
A Lifetime of Words--excerpt
Topic: First Chapter

The following is an excerpt from the wonderful book:

A Lifetime of Words 

written by Robin Gorley

for more on Robin and her writing, please visit

More Than We Can Bear  It has been a known thought To many of us,That God does not send More than we can bear.Our hearts will mend After the storm has passed,As long as we keep God in our heart. God holds us in His palm.Love, faith and trust make us one,Even though there are days that Bring pain and The burden of life's trials,We must have faith in His ways.We will triumph once the fear has passed. God tells us to pray and to remember to love,Because it will make us stronger To know that God is always near,To help us,To guide us,To give us strength whenever we are weak.


Music of Angels A choir singer I may be,Struggling to find theDifficult note. A human voiceThat fails more than prevails.Will I ever have a voice worthyTo reach Heaven's gates?To join the music of AngelsIn the strains of eternal love?

Posted by joyceanthony at 1:09 AM EST
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Friday, 9 November 2007
The Haunting by: Ayn Hunt (First Chapter)
Topic: First Chapter

The Haunting (ISBN 1-59088-748-4)


Also available on &

Formats: Paperback &

E-Book (ISBN 1-59088-306-3)

            I ran down the long, dark, narrow hall in the old haunted Harding mansion with ghosts chasing me, quickly gaining ground. Frantic, I reached out and tried each door I passed, but they were all locked. Then suddenly, I was backed up against the window overlooking the gardens far below, and one of the larger ghosts started touching me. Terrified of his icy embrace, I turned and hurled myself out of the plate glass window, sending crackling shards of shattering glass into the air as I plunged to my death.

            Abruptly, I bolted upright in my bed and realized where I was – in Aunt Alice’s spacious home. My heart was beating out of control, my breath ragged as I struggled to take air into my lungs.

            With shaking hands, I pushed back my short unruly hair as I nervously glanced around. My dark purple quilted bedspread was a jumbled, twisted mess, entwined with my pristine white cotton sheets. The short, mauve curtains at the windows billowed gently in the damp, early morning breeze. Outside, I saw the tips of Alice’s prize-winning roses under a stormy predawn sky. And there, beside my bed, was the large armchair with the clothes I’d chosen to wear today…to go to the monstrously huge, reputedly haunted Harding mansion for clues, God help me, to the murderer of the wealthy late owner.

            Had I just had a realistic dream? Or was it a portent of things to come?  

            “Jessica?” whispered the sweet familiar voice of Emily as she knocked on my door then, slowly opening it, quietly eased inside. “Are you awake, dear? You wanted me to make sure you got up at five-thirty, remember?”

            “Thanks, Em.” I felt exhausted, but forced a smile as I slipped on my old, navy blue, baggy sweatshirt. “But I’m already up. I didn’t sleep well. I know it’s foolish at my age to have nightmares, but I did. And it was so realistic! I could’ve sworn I witnessed my own death at the Harding mansion just before I woke up.”

God, that sounded strange. “I was being chased by ghosts over there.”

            To any other person, I’d never have admitted such a thing. But Emily wasn’t just another person. She was like my second mother, taking me under her wing after my parents died. “But it wasn’t like a dream I’ve ever had before. I felt myself running. I felt the floor shudder as I ran. I smelled the decay and dust of the old house. I even felt one of the ghosts touch me. His fingers were like icicles, and blowing around him was a strong, continuous icy gust of wind.  And I felt his anger too. And his rage!” Nervously I swallowed. “I don’t think it was a dream, Emily. It was more of a portent, a warning, of things to come.”

             Raising her white neatly plucked eyebrows, Emily solemnly nodded as she perched on the edge of my bed, then sympathetically smiled. “It’s no wonder you’re having forebodings, dear, what with that house’s terrible reputation and all the murders and things that have taken place there. Mrs. Smythe, who lives across the street from there, told me herself she’s seen strange lights going on and off in there at all hours. And Mr. Evans claims he always hears strange, loud, pitiful moans

coming from there when he walks by, going to the store. Even the mere thought of going near that house, let alone actually going in, is enough to give anyone strange, um, let’s just call them dreams. Your reaction is perfectly understandable.”

            “You think so? Really?”

            “Absolutely. Anyone in your position would feel the same way.”

            I relaxed a little. “I’m so glad you understand! I knew you would though. I just hope I can find something we need over there, for Alice’s sake. It’s been such a long time since her fiancée’s murder. And there’ve been a lot of people traipsing in and out since the old housekeeper died and the county seized it and sold it at auction. I hope no one’s disturbed anything I can use to lead us to the identity of the horrible person who murdered him. Alice’s sure the housekeeper kept a journal describing that terrible night, including the name of the murderer. She claims that if anyone knew who murdered him, it was Mrs. Johnson.”

            “Oh, absolutely. I agree. Mrs. Johnson knew everything that went on over there. I seriously doubt if anyone has bothered her stuff, dear. Don’t forget, she lived down in the basement despite her mysteriously inheriting the house years ago from Mr. Harding. From what I’ve heard, it’s a dreary gray cement area. Chances are, not many people would go down there for more than a cursory look. And that inheritance of hers was so strange! Why he left her the entire house and the furnishings is anyone’s guess. But people do all sorts of things that others don’t understand. Mrs. Johnson herself was an enigma too. Most people around here thought she was just plain insane, and insanity carries its own stigma, which kept

people away. I’m sure her things are all there and still intact, just the way she left them.

            Stuffing my cold feet into the warmest, thickest pair of athletic socks I owned, I slipped on my tennis shoes and absently tied them, listening to the rumble

of thunder of an impending storm. “I hope you’re right. I want to solve this thing so badly I can taste it. Alice deserves to find out who killed Mr. Harding.  It would mean closure for her and the chance to bring a murderer to justice.

            “Yes, well, it might take some time to find those things so just be patient when you search. Very few people saw any of them, and Lord knew, as reclusive as she was, she never confided anything to anyone about them.

Personally though, I never did like the brash Mr. Harding, and I told Alice how I felt years ago, trying to dissuade her from going through with the marriage. I still remember him coming over to her house, all smiles, bringing her expensive gifts all the time, courting her – that’s the expression we used back them. She was only seventeen, and I always thought there was something odd about a man nearly forty wanting such a young girl for his wife. But he was wealthy, well educated, and Alice’s parents, God rest their souls, were as pleased at such a match as Alice. Everyone, with the exception of me, was very impressed with him.”

I nodded. Alice had told me basically the same thing. But I was mystified why she’d disregarded her friend’s advice. Emily was a renowned psychic and very astute about human nature. She always had been, and her wise counsel had safely guided me through what could’ve been turbulent relationships if I’d relied only on my own instincts. It’d gotten to the point where I’d refuse to even date anyone until Emily had met the man first and gave me her opinion.

            Sudden lightening flashed brightly, illuminating my dim room like a neon bulb, spurring me to hurry. “I hope I don’t get caught in the storm,” I said as I quickly got my bright pink umbrella from its hook on the back of my closet door. “And hopefully, I won’t have to use this”, I continued, stuffing my pink-handled, custom-made derringer from the drawer of the bed stand table into my large canvas bag. Although I was trying hard to be blasé, inwardly I was puzzled by Emily’s neutral face. I’d expected her to be surprised…to be agitated…to warn me against taking my gun – but she wasn’t. Meaning what? That she expects me to have trouble over there?

            Emily glanced at her diamond watch. “I wonder why Mrs. Tremble’s not her yet? I told her six on the dot, and usually she’s early.”

            “Mrs. Tremble? Why’s she coming over? Are you going someplace too?”

            “Didn’t I tell you? I guess it slipped my mind, what with writing down the directions of what pill to give Alice at what time and all.” She smiled innocently as she carefully smoothed her newly permed curls. “I’m going with you.”

            Grabbing my large white canvas bag stuffed with everything I needed to do a thorough search in a dark old house without power, I froze. “Excuse me?”

            Emily glanced out the window, her face void of expression. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you, dear,” she said, turning around to face me. “I guess it just slipped my mind.”

            “Have you forgotten about your arthritis? Your rheumatism? Your own pills you need to take? You know how your joints are aggravated by dampness and low-pressure systems. The way it’s starting to storm, you’ll be in so much pain you’ll barely be able to walk, let alone traipse up and down the stairs of that high porch and the one leading down to the basement.”

            A dreamy, far-away look lit her green eyes. “Don’t worry! None of that will bother me. I’ve heard so much about that grand old house all of my life. But I never got to see the inside. It used to be known as a real showplace.  The marble of all eight fireplaces was rumored to match the décor of each room, and the hand-painted exotic mural on the dining room wall won several prizes. This is my golden opportunity. I’m not going to let it pass me by.”

            I was sure that was the truth as far as it went. But I also knew how she still worried about me, seeing me as the orphaned twelve-year-old when I first came to live with Alice, instead of the thirty-one-year-old woman I’d become. “The house now though is old and decayed. It’s very run down, looking nothing like it once did. It’s much too dangerous for you to go. I don’t know what I’ll find, and neither do you. There could be a tramp camped in there and God alone knows what kind of bugs and snakes will be lurking around. Besides, you’ve got to stay here and take care of Alice. I don’t trust Mrs. Temble, and that new medicine the doctor prescribed for Alice isn’t doing her any good. Someone has to call and get him to change it again.”

            “I’ve already talked to Mrs. Tremble about it. Besides, there are ghosts

reputed to be in that house, and I know how to deal with them. If that house is as haunted as everyone now claims, I can be of help to you.”

            I sighed, studying her. I didn’t believe in ghosts despite my strange foreboding and she knew it. But she was nothing if not stubborn, and didn’t realize the physical hazards an decaying house like that could harbor. Not only could there by structural damage, there could be problems with one of the many homeless people that wandered on and off the trains. One of them could’ve decided the house was the perfect home and set up housekeeping.  While I’d never personally encountered danger of any kind, I’d heard plenty from my late husband, a homicide detective of Houston p.d. Crime was rampant all over and that included small towns. Thanks to the bustling tourist trade, Galveston had more than its share.   

            Sitting down beside her, I patted her little jean clad knees. “Be reasonable, Emily. I’m licensed to carry a gun. Rob made sure I knew how to protect myself. I’m not about to expose you to the possibility of danger.”

            Emily tossed her head, her white curls bobbing. “Very nice speech, dear, very well done. But I’m not impressed. It just so happens I can protect myself just fine. I too, have a gun. I’ve started carrying a specially ordered Glock 9 millimeter, semi-automatic which shoots off nine rounds without having to stop and reload. It fits perfectly into my purse.” She smiled proudly. “So you see? I’m as prepared as you are. Maybe even more so.”

            All prepared? A near-sighted, eighty-four-year-old carrying a gun which could blow an entire army contingent away with just one blast was being all prepared?

            “Where did you get a gun like that? I’m sure you don’t have a license for it. That’s a powerful weapon! Only cops should carry them, and even then, only when they’re on duty.”

            “I never said I was licensed. Only that I have it. I got it out of a gun catalogue at one of those mail order places. I bought it when Alice told me what she wanted you to do. I know better than you how dangerous that house is.” She leaned forward. “Oh, come on, Jessica. Let me come with you. I think I can shoot fairly straight with my glasses on. That’ll take care of any human intruders we encounter. Unfortunately though,” she lowered her voice, “I’m pretty sure we’ll be dialing mostly with the non-human kind over there, and that’s what worries me. If you’ll stop overreacting and calm down, you’ll realize I can be of help.”

            I studied her dear old wrinkled face. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But I had to stop her somehow. She was just too tiny, too frail to go through with the kind of search I was sure I’d have to conduct and I loved her too much to put her through it. “As much as I’d love the company, I can’t let you come, Emily! Think about it. It might be necessary to defend ourselves at a moment’s notice. And there might be holes in the stairs or floor or something. Don’t forget the power there’s been turned off. It’s going to be awfully hard to see anything with just my little flashlight. Not only that, there’s no running water to help you swallow your pills. And with this storm, it’s bound to be damp and chilly over there too.”

            Getting up, I shook my head. “So the answer is no. I love you too much to subject you to all the possible danger and discomfort.”

            Crossing her arms, Emily theatrically sighed. “Very well then. I’ll follow you in my own car. That way, technically, we won’t be going together and you  won’t be exposing me to danger. I’ll be doing it to myself.

            Shaking my head, I smiled ruefully, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Not only was Emily not licensed to carry a gun, she wasn’t licensed to drive either.  Her driving permit had expired years ago when she’d failed her eye test. Why couldn’t she realize I was trying to protect her? Bless her heart, her intentions were good. But I had bad feelings about this. Not concerning any ghosts, of course, but about the house itself. A lot of murders and unexplained accidents had taken place there. The building had an evil history, and there was an evil atmosphere around it. That’s why it was going to be torn down.

            But Emily was not about to be dissuaded. “I’ll wait outside in my own car, Jessica. That way I’ll be close by, just in case.”

            Staring into her mesmerizing large green eyes, I felt chilled to the bone. Emily had the eyes of an old soul, with so much knowledge revealed there, it was often painful to look at them, and I felt myself weakening. Am I being too practical, too overly protective? Will it hurt to have her come and wait outside? Surely, she’ll be safe in the broad daylight.

            “Oh, all right,” I sighed, quickly turning away, running my brush through my hair. “You can come but we’ll both go in my car. And you have to promise me you’ll stay in it.” I smiled at her. “Okay? Promise?”

            With her eyes shining with her eager enthusiasm, Emily made an X over her heart. “I promise.”

            I studied her, hoping I was doing the right thing. But a rumble of thunder shook the entire house, interrupting my thoughts. Quickly I checked the canvas bag I was taking. I had my old, sturdy red flashlight and two white candles and matches in case my flashlight didn’t work. And my new cell phone, which I’d charged the night before was in there, as well as tissues for the runny nose I’d be sure to have in an empty house loaded with dust. I had my two bottles of expensive, imported water, and also a credit card with my driver’s license, along with two twenty-dollar bills. And last but not least, I had the pack of metal lock tools my late husband had given me years ago in case I ever got locked out of my house or car.

            I sighed, thinking of what I was about to do. This time I wasn’t going to use the tools because I’d forgotten my key. This time, I was going to use them, God help me, for breaking and entering and which would have Rob spinning in his grave.

            Looks like we’re all set,” I said. “As soon as we get some coffee, we’ll hit the road. There’s no time breakfast, I’m afraid. I’d like to get this over with and be back here before the storm breaks much more if we can.”

            Emily glanced at her watch as we left my room, gently closing the door behind us. “Maybe we will. I’m sure Mrs. Tremble will be along shortly. At least I hope so. I told her six on the dot.”

            I nodded as I softly padded across the vase house to the kitchen in the back. As long as Emily stays in the car, she’ll be safe. She gave me her word she’d stay there.

But why, I wondered, wouldn’t the feeling of dread go away? It was so palpable, like

energy waves crashing over me again and again. Did its strength mean something bad was going to happen? But what? I’ve prepared for every eventuality.

            Helping myself to the ever-present pot of coffee Emily always kept at the ready, I sat down at the small wooden table. Maybe Mrs. Tremble won’t show up. What a godsend that’d be. It’d keep Emily, at least, out of the path of danger. She’s have to stay home if Mrs. Tremble didn’t come. She’d have to choice. No way would we leave my sick aunt all alone. Despite Emily’s promise she’d stay in the car, I had an uneasy feeling she wouldn’t. Sitting idly by while someone else was busily engaged in something she considered interesting wasn’t Emily’s style.

            Filling her large mug with coffee, she sat down beside me. “Before we go, I want you to promise me something,” she said. “I want you to trust your instincts. You have good hunches about things. Don’t ignore them.  But don’t get carried away either. Sometimes your imagination goes hog-wild. You can’t afford that right now. You must relax as much as you can, and think logically. Our thinking has ways of creating whatever we fear, so you mustn’t give into it.”

            My heart skipped a beat. “Meaning what? Exactly?”

            “I know you sense danger. I sense it too. That’s way I’m going with you. I sense a very powerful, intelligent force in that house. I know you and Alice don’t believe in ghosts. But I firmly believe that vision you had last night was a warning. It wasn’t a dream. And while you should take heed of it, don’t let the fear you felt while having it have power over you. If you believe the worst, Jessica, it will happen. But if you think pragmatically, if you calmly consider all your options today, you

have the ability to change your future.” She stared hard at me. “Use your innate ability. Promise me you will!”

            Shivering, I nodded, quickly taking a large swallow of my steaming coffee to ward off the chill of terror. She’d just unwittingly confirmed my worst fear. If she sensed danger, then it was real.

            Very gently, she took hold of my ice-cold hand with her freckled, bony one and squeezed it hard, staring me in the eye. “You’ve got strength in you, kiddo. You just don’t know it yet.” With a faraway look in her eyes, she turned and stared out the window in the direction of the Harding mansion. “I have the strongest feeling you’re going to be tested for all you’re worth today.”

            Getting up, she patted my shoulder. Then she quickly opened the back door for Mrs. Tremble who was loudly thumping up the stairs.

Posted by joyceanthony at 1:27 AM EST
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Thursday, 8 November 2007
Looking Glass Portal by Larriane Barnard --First Chapter
Topic: First Chapter

Addition information and ordering links at my site:


Looking Glass Portal

Swimming Kangaroo Books, January 2007


Swimming Kangaroo Books

Arlington, Texas


ISBN: Paperback: 1-934041-18-1

MS Reader 1-934041-17-3

Other formats available: Mobi, PDF, HTML (no ISBN's are assigned)


LCCN: 2006940765


Looking Glass Portal © 2007 Larriane Barnard

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.


Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.


This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental. They are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.






The staple gun popped, sinking the metal bracket into the fence post and pinning the twisted strands of barbwire. Done was the last post, the last piece of wire, and the last staple needed to repair a short section of a long line of fence, but it would only be good for a time. Tomorrow or the next week, or next month another post would rot or another staple would rust through to loosen another strand of wire or two, or three. The job finding and tightening those loose wires or felled posts was endless. When the man doing it was in pain, it seemed all the more futile. He wondered again what the hell he was doing as he straightened, the simple movement causing him to grimace and flinch.

"I ought to give it up, Boss," he said to the big, bay gelding that was ground reined and waiting for him.

He crossed to the horse, whose ears pricked up to listen. Garrett Maniam chuckled softly. He dropped the staple gun into a pouch on his tool belt and unfastened the belt from his narrow hips to put in his saddlebags.

"But you and I know I lack good sense."

His shadow stretched out in front of him when he turned from the horse. The dark shape mocked him with no indication in the silhouette of the weakness eating away at his strongly built body. The only reason he was still working at even so minimal a job was because his condition wasn't visible. The first time any employer knew of the constant pain in what appeared to be a strong back and muscular legs or saw those legs crumble uselessly under him, for no matter how brief a time, Garrett would be fired. Six feet plus of solid muscle at one hundred and ninety pounds, he still looked fit and strong at what Garrett called the way wrong side of forty, though he knew the years of constant pain had etched lines in his face to make him look older. The body, however strong, was useless when the lower half suddenly went numb and lifeless. No employer wanted a possible liability like that around.

With a rock for a seat Garrett stretched his right leg out to dig into the thigh pocket of his chaps for a cigarette and matches. The first heavy draw of smoke was held in his lungs as he flipped the match out but not away. Years of habit had him hold the match to cool first while his slate blue eyes stared out over the hills of scrub oak and juniper of the high mountain desert. He exhaled slowly, pushed the worn and stained hat back from his brown, gray-streaked hair, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. A nerve played in jerks along the edge of his strong jaw before he spoke to the horse again.

"Been thinking, Boss, I ought to take that pistol out and strap it on my hip." The horse nickered at him. "Could be anytime," he went on conversationally. "Hate to be caught down on the ground where I couldn't do anything about it."

He drew deeply and the smoke drifted out of his thin lips. Garrett didn't expect anyone to grieve over his death. He'd made sure during the last twelve years of his life that there was no one to care, no one but the horse that stood a few feet away.

Boss moved closer to Garrett, knowing the man was through working. Being of a herd nature, the horse sought companionship. Garrett, a man with natural herding instincts as well, had forced himself to be a loner. Over the years the bond between animal and man had grown strong.

The horse played at the rolled-up sleeve of Garrett's faded denim work shirt with his upper lip. The attention drew Garrett away from his pensive thoughts and brought a full smile to his lips. "You're damn near worthless," he told Boss with an affectionate slap on the neck. "And quit slobbering on my shirt."

Boss sucked in air, swelled his chest. A neighing followed, complete with a spray of saliva while Boss swung his head up and down in acknowledgement of the conversation. Garrett stood quickly to avoid what he knew was coming. When Garrett grabbed for the saddle horn to keep from falling the horse understood the sudden need to stand still and steady. The quick movement had caused an onslaught of intense pain through Garrett's back and down his legs, taking his breath away. He hung there waiting for normal breathing to return and the pain to lessen.

"It's getting bad," he gasped when the horse turned his head to nuzzle at his shoulder. His jaw clinched while he pulled up and got his legs back under him. He was covered in sweat as he put his full weight back on his legs. The pain told him his legs weren't at the stage of giving out completely, not if he lessened the strain, and he eased down to the rock. With his breathing almost back to normal, he talked with a sardonic half-smile.

"What am I going to do with you, huh? You're too old to make a decent cowpony." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "No one wants a cripple in a wheelchair and a broken down old horse. Think there's going to be a miracle come along and save us?" Boss snorted and shook his head. Garrett laughed again. "Me neither. So what do you think? I can just turn you loose out here and bang." He imitated pulling the trigger with his finger pointed at his temple. "No more problems."

Boss tossed and shook his head, making Garrett smile crookedly at him. "Okay, I'm not quite ready to give it up, but I don't know why." He stood and grimaced, caught and held his breath briefly. "There isn't anything around the corner up here I haven't already seen, and I'm not going anywhere else."

He looked for the cigarette he had dropped and crushed it out with the high heel of his riding boot. Just as his hand closed on the nearest rein, Boss threw his head and backed, yanking Garrett off his feet. The smell hit Garrett as he landed on his knees. It wasn't like anything he had ever smelled before, and as a working cowboy he had smelled some of the worst. The odor was like something between a skunk and a rotted carcass. The stench drove Boss wild, and made Garrett sick. He held his breath and crawled in a desperate attempt for the reins.

"No, Boss," he cried out.

The fence with its flesh tearing barbs was behind them, and Boss was too panicked to see it as he whirled and lunged. Garrett got one foot under him only to go down when something hit him in the back. He saw Boss hit the wire as he fell. He saw the wire snap and whip as the ground rushed up to slam him in the face. He heard Boss's screams of pain and terror. His own terror began.

Garrett couldn't move.

The source of the smell was like nothing he had ever seen, fact or fiction, and it wasn't dead. A man, almost as wide as he was tall and about four feet in height, stood before him. He had the face of a Neanderthal and was dressed in furs. The stench from him gagged Garrett as the creature flipped him to his back. Garrett's stomach heaved, and he felt as though he would vomit while he lay flat on his back unable to move with the foul-smelling creature leaning over him and grunting like a pig.

Garrett's mind fractured as the smell nearly suffocating him . One part of his mind thought he would vomit and drown in his own puke, which was an absurd worry when a few minutes before he had been calmly contemplating blowing his own brains out. The other part of his mind screamed in an effort to will the pig-grunting man to hear and help Boss. Neither part of Garrett's mind understood why he couldn't move. He couldn't even close his eyes and, to judge from what followed, that was just how the pig-man wanted him.

The creature dragged Garrett by his hair to the rock where he had sat moments before and propped him against it like a floppy, rag doll. The thing backed off and grunted while blunt, square-shaped hands dug through its fur covering to pull out a slim, narrow box. What looked to be no more than a spot of light shot out, and a rapid succession of grunts followed as the thing leaned down to lift Garrett's arm for Garrett to see what it had done.

This can't be real. He must be delirious, or in the grip of a nightmare. No spot of light could punch through flesh and bone leaving his arm hanging, bloodlessly, attached below the elbow by only a thin string of flesh. That was something straight out of Star Wars, and he wasn't in any movie. It couldn't be real. He had to wake up. Boss's screams were real. They had fallen. That had to be what had happened. He was unconscious, and Boss was hurt. He had to wake up.

The thing stepped back, pointed the box, and a second spot of light shot out. The same succession of grunts sounded as it moved back. Garrett decided it had to be a sick laugh as the thing grabbed him by the hair and pushed his head down to see the bigger hole neatly punched through the right side of his chest.

"Let me wake up!" Garrett's mind screamed as his head fell back, and the thing moved off again. "I've got to help Boss!"

The thing jumped, squealed, and shoved its hands into the fur wrappings. Its stance changed to defensive, as stiff and as straight as its height would allow.

A girl, as beautiful as the man was ugly, moved into Garrett's line of vision. Corn-silk hair hung down to her waist, and a full billowing gown of pure white covered her from her neck to the ground. She floated rather than walked toward the creature, holding out her hand. The thing protested the obvious demand with squeals and grunts. The girl sang. It wasn't words, but musical notes that alternated with the sounds the thing made until it gave her the box it had so quickly hidden.

When she turned to face him, Garrett wanted to smile. She was a woman actually, not a girl, probably in her early twenties, and her eyes were the color of wild Bachelor Buttons, a brilliant blue violet. She was a dream as lovely as the creature was grotesque, but more importantly, she only looked to where Boss screamed and thrashed for the tormenting sounds to stop.

"Thank you," Garrett thought, knowing without seeing that she had helped Boss. ‘Thank you," he thought again, when she sank down beside him and with a brush of her hand closed his eyes.



Posted by joyceanthony at 1:06 AM EST
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Wednesday, 7 November 2007
Alison's Journey--A Review
Topic: Book Review

Alison's Journey

A review

Money and marriage don't always go hand in hand. Many marriages have failed when it was marrying for money and others were shattered when the love of money was stronger than the love of spouse. Alison's Journey is an example of the second case with the added twist of the innate need for perfection.

These two materialistic and unrealistic loves drove a jealous monster into fits of rage. Alison, the petite victim, finally had enough. Everybody has his or her breaking point. Amey S. Tippet sets a solid foundation prior to the point of no return. This allows the readers to understand Alison's desire, no, need, to leave. By laying the proper groundwork, one can and will sense the fear. The ringing of a phone, is it a friend, or HIM? What nasty items are in that box by the door? All of this and much more will be discovered.

Alison travels from Los Angeles, California to anywhere a long distance away. Engine trouble finds her in a small town in Ohio. This was not the kind of place she intended for her new home, but until the car repairs are done, she had little choice. Let's face it, a big city girl in small town Hicksville is just too much to expect.

Alison was stuck, albeit temporarily so might as well make the best of it. Besides, a small burg like Hicksville might be the last place her ogre of a husband would look. It was a good plan except for two things.

The first fly in the ointment developed after Alison put in a phone and called her parents. Eric, Alison's poor excuse for a husband, was a friend of her parents! Although she knew this, she certainly did not expect him to be at her parents when she called. He was. That is when the nightmares, phone calls, and unexpected packages started.

Fly number two was falling in love with the town, its people and overall ambience. Discovering one special man and his daughter didn't hurt either. So how does a big city girl fit into rural America? Does she ‘stick out like a sore thumb', or is she accepted as one of their own? Where does Alison's journey take you? You start in L.A. but is the trip to Ohio one way or round trip? Does Eric's perfect life reclaim Alison, or is she absorbed into Hicksville? Buy, and read, Amey S. Tippett's marvelous book, ‘Alison's Journey' and discover for yourself.

For more information on Amey and her writing, please visit her at:


Posted by joyceanthony at 12:01 AM EST
Updated: Thursday, 8 November 2007 1:16 AM EST
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Tuesday, 6 November 2007
Naked in Haiti by Dan King--A Review
Topic: Book Review

Naked in Haiti

A Review

Haiti, an island resort, tourist trap, and maybe a sex haven. From the beginning one realizes this is not a children's book. It is, at the very least, R rated. Reader's beware, Naked in Haiti is as erotic as it sounds.

This book is well written. The content is risqué, but conceptually well done. The concept is that the author travels to Haiti to be a sex tourist. Shortly after arriving, he meets Ingrid, a long time visitor who speaks English and Creole. She teams up with him to show him why his views on casual, paid sex is wrong.

If you like books that may have a plot but deal mostly with sex, then ‘Naked in Haiti' by Dan King is a book you will want in your collection.

To purchase Naked in Haiti, visit:

Posted by joyceanthony at 12:01 AM EST
Updated: Tuesday, 6 November 2007 11:10 AM EST
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Monday, 5 November 2007
Dreamsbane of Tamalor--A Review

Dreamsbane of Tamalor

A Review


 For more information on Bradley and his writing, please visit:

Every once in awhile a fantasy book comes along that hooks you from the first page. Bradley James Simpson's ‘Dreamsbane of Tamalor' is one such book. Leaving the ship anchored offshore, Sunray uses a rune carved stick and a mystic phrase to transport her husband Mirin and herself, to Wildgrove. It is here that all the fun and action takes place.

One would expect the rest of the crew to travel in a similar fashion, but instead they arrive via wagons. The opening pages describe everyone wearing armor and full battledress with weapons. Yet one does not find page after page of fighting. We learn of the dark riders and of the many dimensions.

Linda rides off, finds and banishes the demons. A spy is found out as a magic rose appears. Within this land of lore, dreams and dream travel weave a secondary thread. The reader is held fast and prepares for the worse. While there is trouble and occasional battles, the where and how is left to the readers imagination.

Romance is in the air. Food and fun liven up the town. Overshadowing the festivities are black clouds of impending doom and destruction. Do the black riders prevail? Do Mirin and Sunray along with the newlyweds throw rays of brightness to dispel the bearers of trouble? Read ‘Dreamsbane of Tamalor' and follow Mirin and his friends through their exciting adventure.

Posted by joyceanthony at 12:01 AM EST
Updated: Monday, 5 November 2007 2:18 AM EST
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Sunday, 4 November 2007
A Lifetime of Words -by Robin Gorley -- A Review
Topic: Book Review

For More information on Robin Gorley and her writing, please visit her website at


There are a lot of prayer books on the market. Many of them are quite well written. However, A Lifetime of Words is written in freeform verse. Robin Gorley has used her penchant for poetry to enlighten us spiritually. No poem is longer than two pages thus making this an easy to read book. Although these are spiritual poems, they are non denominational.

As you read through these, you can find a poem to cover almost any event in your life. As your life seems to be heading downhill, check out Ms Gorley's advice. There are many uplifting words that can transform your life. Looking to make a change but are a bit nervous? A Lifetime of Words has a poem to help guide you. There are poems that can be used for special occasions such as dinner parties or even as invocations for meetings.

Buy the book, get a drink and sit down to enjoy a well-written set of poems. Keep the book handy, either on a nightstand or use it as the centerpiece of the coffee table because you'll want to refer back to it often.

Posted by joyceanthony at 12:01 AM EDT
Updated: Sunday, 4 November 2007 1:03 PM EDT
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Saturday, 3 November 2007
Ladies: A Conjecture of Personalities--A Review
Topic: Book Review

Ladies:  A Conjecture of Personalities  -- A Review

I had the pleasure of reading Ladies: A Conjecture of Personalities by Feather Schwartz Foster recently, and would love to share my thoughts on this book.

Starting with the Introduction by Lucy Hayes, you know this is no ordinary book.  Ms. Foster allows each First Lady between Martha Washington and Mamie Eisenhower a chapter to tell us their story-in their own words. These ladies are charming to listen to.  Not allowing themselves to be ignored, the more recent First Ladies pop in and out, giving us their comments.

As I read, I totally forgot at times that these were not actual diary entries by these women.  Feather Schwartz Foster has researched enough to be able to bring these women to life.  She weaves actual historical events throughout the narratives and has done enough research on each personality to make one think these could very well be the words each First lady would use.

You feel as though you have landed in a parlor large enough to hold these women.  The style is down-to-earth and chatty (okay, and catty at times!).  I found myself laughing, crying and cheering with these women.  You will close this book feeling as though you traveled to time and truly had a chance to get to know the women who stood beside our nation's Presidents.

For more information on Ms. Foster and her writings please visit her website at:


Posted by joyceanthony at 12:01 AM EDT
Updated: Saturday, 3 November 2007 12:34 AM EDT
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Friday, 2 November 2007
Owen Fiddler--A Review
Topic: Book Review

Owen Fiddler

A Review

Owen Fiddler is the summation of every loser there is. For him, Murphy's Law is good news. At least he'd have someone to blame. Life treated Owen bad from day one. Even good fortune frowned on him.

His first unlucky break was the bicycle that was ‘waiting' for him. Owen should have seen this as an omen of his future. He didn't. To accept this incident as a portent of his future meant accepting blame, but Owen Fiddler never accepted blame.

Marvin Wilson has again done an excellent job. His book, Owen Fiddler, grabs your attention right away. It does not take long before the reader feels pity for the main character. However, it isn't likely anyone will feel sorry for him because he does cause his own problems. In his opinion, the world owes him. Owen Fiddler is the grasshopper in Aesop's tale about the grasshopper and the ant.

Owen does change. He learned how to put on a good front. He holds this pose long enough to get married; even in that he fails, but not before becoming a father. The good news is that she does not go in her fathers footsteps.

Owen continues through life, making one bad choice after another. In the end, is redemption truly possible? Can one really offer forgiveness to someone like Owen Fiddler? Pick up your copy of Owen Fiddler today and discover Marvin Wilson's surprising answer.

For more information on Owen Fiddler and Marvin Wilson, please visit:


Posted by joyceanthony at 12:01 AM EDT
Updated: Friday, 2 November 2007 12:31 AM EDT
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Thursday, 1 November 2007
The Knowing--First Chapter --Larriane Wills, Author
Topic: First Chapter

All ordering information and links are easily found on my site:

Also available at

The Knowing by Larriane Wills

Swimming Kangaroo Books, September 2006

Swimming Kangaroo Books

Arlington, Texas


ISBN: MS Reader 1-934041-11-4

[Other formats available: Mobi, PDF, HTML (no ISBN's are assigned)

Paperback: 1-934041-12-2]


The Knowing © 2006 Larriane Wills

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.


This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental. They are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.




Chapter 1

The rider was in dark clothes on a dark horse on a dark and rainy night. Not one condition was an accidental circumstance, but each well planned to fit with the other.  Even still, he knew a chance of fate could undo him and on seeing the struggling figure ahead he slowed his hasty travel to covertly watch. He was curious but not alarmed until, between flashes of lightning, the figure disappeared. He knew death could come in small packages as well as large, and though he believed the one ahead to be no more than a child who was not aware of him, he proceeded with caution. He dismounted and drew his sword. Crouching to lessen his own bulky size he moved slowly, stopping between each step to peer hard ahead and listen while he waited for the next flash of light before moving again. Rain fell and splattered around him and dripped from the leaves of trees beside the track to distort sound, but he thought he heard a rustling of leaves and drew his knife as well. Nothing came at him. Knowing it may well be a lengthy pursuit he returned to his horse to lead it from the muddy track. He had no desire to be caught by surprise. With a bandana around the mount's nose to prevent it from answering or calling to any horse that might pass by, he returned to remove all signs of his horse leaving the track. Unlike his quarry he also erased the evidence of the trail going into the woods. The rider took the time to do so to prevent any other from following him, not the quarry.

The hunted, for the rider was not sure then that only he followed the slight figure, had collapsed and crawled into the forest. The rider found him under a log, buried in wet leaves, most likely waiting for death to find him. Fever raged through the frail body, and the boy did not stir when examined by match light. His feet were raw from walking without shoes; his hands and knees were scraped, cut, and held both scabs and fresh bleeding from falls and from crawling for an extended time. The worst of the injuries was a large, ugly burn, putrefied and oozing, high on the back over the left shoulder blade.

He was a puzzle, this boy. Long for his age it appeared, for his size suggested an age of thirteen or fourteen years, yet there were no signs of a boy changing to a man. More puzzling, he wore a cassock, and the garment was torn to rags. The man knew what the cassock and the wound on his shoulder meant for the man was of Ives and knew of the Priests of Oldspushner, but it made no sense on one so young. In addition to everything else, the boy looked starved.

While the rider pondered this puzzle, he lifted his head to listen. He could hear the sound of horses being driven hard for the conditions of the night. Now he was being hunted. With a muttered curse he rose to leave. By his personal code any kindness was weakness. To help a dying child would be an act of kindness, and he would not permit himself such weakness. Then a self-serving reason occurred to him. He returned to heft the child to his shoulder.

Who would suspect a man traveling with a sick child to be an assassin? Not the troops he met on the road later.

"I am Lockmer. This be my son Garran," he stated in a voice that sounded like a rake being dragged over gravel. In the saddle in front of him he held the unconscious child, wrapped tightly in a blanket. "I go to the nearest village in search of a healer."

The night was miserable, wet and cold. The small force of Ives troopers had sought shelter under a canopy of trees. The leader did not wish to leave the partial dryness to ask questions, to the assassin's benefit.

"A fever," the assassin continued. He knew even the bravest and strongest of men feared the deadliness of unknown fever. "Came upon him sudden last eve."

As expected, the trooper backed away. "We search for a boy of twelve, with dark hair and eyes. Have you seen such?"

Surprised that it was the boy the troopers searched for, not him, the assassin did well to hide it. "I have seen many boys in my travel with dark hair and eyes. This be Ives. Otherwise would be not common."

"He has a burn on his back shoulder."

 "I've seen none without a shirt to know this."

 "In cassock and alone?" the trooper retorted angrily.

 "Nay, none alone and none in skirt. Why do you search for him?"

 "For murder."

 "A child?" the assassin asked with his disbelief in his voice.

The trooper did not answer, saying, "If you see such a child, report it to the nearest trooper. A reward is offered. Now pass and stay wide."

It was a night of surprises for the man. The next he did not care for. The boy stirred, having given no indication till then he was awake and aware. He had fooled him, which annoyed the assassin.

"Why did you not give me over?" the boy asked weakly.

The assassin grunted and then said gruffly, "It benefits me at current time for me to be a father with a son. When the time comes it does not, make no mistake, I will leave you quickly behind."




Before the boy was strong enough to sit without assistance, he crawled from the camp into the forest to find plants and herbs to treat himself. Though amazed, the assassin did not show it. The knowledge of plants and herbs was not consistent with the tattered cassock of the priests the boy wore, for the priests scorned the healing teachings of the Sisters of Treach, yet the man made use of the child's knowledge. While the child healed, the assassin taught the boy the arts of disguise, more for his benefit than the boy's. He taught the boy how to lighten his hair, how to darken it by degrees from white to brown, to red, and back to dark till his hair was again as black as it had been the night the man had found him. The man altered his own hair in length and style as well as his beard and mustache. At times he fashioned false hair from a horse's tail or mane and tree gum. Never did a description that may have been given of the two in one village match their appearance when they arrived in the next.

As well as the art of disguise the man taught the boy to avoid  detection, the skills of stealth, and how to use a sword and knife. From the boy, the man learned to recognize leaves that relieved pain, plants to heal, herbs that stimulated, flowers to help one sleep, and even plants to bring death.

For two years they held together, the boy often left alone while the man went off in secret. Not one kind word was ever given to the boy by the man, and any gifts he gave to the boy, just as the lessons he taught, were given more to benefit the man than the boy, until the last. The man tossed a small purse to the boy after setting him on the ground at a crossroads.

"We've been together too long," the man grumbled. "You've size enough to pass for ten and six. Go lose yourself by enlisting as apprentice in the army of Amor. Sign yourself as orphan of Ives. They'll not be able to verify even if they've a mind to with all those fleeing from Ives. The killing there will serve well as reason for the hate in your eyes that you care not to disguise."

The man pulled his horse around and trotted off; leading the horse the boy had ridden.  No good-bye came from him and no thank you from the boy who was quickly growing into a man. The dark eyes the man had spoken of held no tears, only the anger and hatred that never left them. The boy watched the man until he was out of sight. While he watched, he took two coins from the purse for his pocket. The purse he hid in his boot; then he took up his pack and began to walk.

Because two names were required for enlisting, he became Garran of Lockmer.


Posted by joyceanthony at 12:17 AM EDT
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