New Release

I released my Spirit Key Book 1, Painted Girl on March 15th.  I’ve been making videos and ads, and today I’m going to tackle the embedded link so you can get a preview.  Free.

Painted Girl is the beginning of a whole new world, one filled with ancient spirits and love.  My writing captain, Bailie, has compared it to a paranormal YaYa Sisterhood.

My problem?  Figuring out exactly who to market it to.  (One of the first things I should have thought about—writing to market.)  I took my own road, and wrote to what speaks to me.  I should have made it romance, they are so easy to market, but Painted Girl doesn’t contain a happily ever after, it’s the beginning, the long road to love.  A love that sticks with the good and the bad.  One worth fighting for after RedHorse loses his arm, and can’t have children. Real life dilemmas with supernatural elements.

First, I have to tell you that I spent three hours yesterday making a video, one that turned out perfect… and guess whose internet decided to crap-out the second it was finished online?  Yep, mine.


Now, to the sample.  If you’ve read it, leave a review for me.  I’d love to hear your thoughts.

The Spirit Key Book 1, Painted Girl.


Covers, the first shot at selling your ebook.

Today, I’m going to gush.  I found a wonderful designer to do my covers… for 29.99 each.  Yep.  That’s what I said, 29.99 for a professional cover.  He’s my new cover.


Author RA Winter Sparrow's Dream

Author RA Winter Sparrow’s Dream


I just love how the colors melt together, it says everything I need a cover to say about my writing.  Native American, romance, love and a happily ever after.

A cover is the first thing a reader sees.  It must grab them, but also tell a story.  Your story.  If the cover is drab… well, you’re not going to see sales unless you have a huge base of fans.

You must sell your story, and the only way to do that is with a great design.

Covers are hard to find at this price point. At 29.99, everyone can afford these. 

The artist is Kayci Morgan, a lovely lady.  I’m so happy I found her.


Kayci has been self-publishing for the past four years. She uses her experience as a graphic designer and marketer to offer covers that sell books at affordable prices.

If I was you, I’d check out her books too.  Steamy stuff.  Great work.  I just finished one a couple of weeks ago and loved it.  A vampire and werewolf love story.

Some of her premade covers below are for sale. For 29.99! You can find more at  

And while you’re at it, check out Kayci’s author page on Amazon and her wonderful books.


author Kayci morgan, writer, covers, cover artist, blogger

author Kayci Morgan, writer, covers, cover artist, blogger



author Kayci morgan, writer, covers, cover artist, blogger



author Kayci morgan, writer, covers, cover artist, blogger



author Kayci morgan, writer, covers, cover artist, blogger

Each of these covers tells the story that you will find inside.  The old ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’, just isn’t true anymore.  A good designer can bring your book new life.


There are a lot more books on Kayci’s Amazon Author page.  Check her out.  You won’t be sorry!


author Kayci morgan, writer, covers, cover artist, blogger



Tuesday Cross-Of Flesh and Fire Book 1, The First Chapter

Today, I’m posting a very special First Chapter.  Tuesday Cross’s Of Flesh and Fire. This is an excellent fantasy.  I’ve read it twice now…seriously. All the pieces of a fantastic plot come together with mystery,  love, vampires, dragons, and a werewolf best friend!

On Wednesday, I’ll be leaving my review on NakedReviewers..  For now, I’ll leave you with a taste of Tuesday’s writing.  Enjoy!

Of Flesh and Fire - Book I: Everything Will Burn by [Cross, Tuesday]Vampires, werewolves, and dragons… oh my!

Looking for an action packed twist on paranormal fantasy with a touch of romance?

‘Of Flesh and Fire – Book I’ by Tuesday Cross delivers a fast-paced fantasy adventure,
perfect for adults of all ages. If you enjoy vampires, werewolves, and DRAGONS… you’ll love this story.



I lay there, trying my hardest not to choke. The heavy scent of smoke invaded my body, coating my lungs, stifling me. All around me were the sounds of screaming, sobbing, and fire– my body shivered involuntarily. I shifted my focus back to breathing, trying to quiet my body’s urge to stand up and run. I won’t be able to do anything if fear gets the better of me.  Anger flashed hot in my stomach. After everything I’ve done to get my life back, here it is. Ending. The beam overhead groaned like some sort of wounded animal, making me flinch. Clenching my eyes shut, I dove into my memories. Any event of my past was better than what was about to become my last.


I’m six years old, sitting in Ms. Carla’s tidy sun-bleached office. I lightly swing my legs back and forth, listening to the rhythmic ba-bump, ba-bump as my heels bounce off the base of the bench. Behind me, through the door, I can just make out the whispers of my foster parents. They don’t say it outright, but I can tell. They don’t like me. Ms.Carla, lovely as always, encourages them to keep trying. Keep up with the counseling. Every child needs a forever-home after all, and who said adoption was going to be easy?


I’m twelve years old, running through the woods. My foster brother is laughing, but we’re not having fun. I’m frightened because I know how this game ends. Doubling back I head for my secret hiding spot, and while crossing over the rocks I make a stupid mistake. Trying to jump too fast, my shoelace snags on a fallen branch. I try to catch myself, but tumble heavily into the deep crevasse beneath my destination. If I hadn’t had been so afraid, I wouldn’t have rushed. I spent hours fuming and nursing a sprained arm before the fire department found me. Shortly afterwards my foster ‘parents’ shut me in my room as punishment for wasting everyone’s time.


I’m seventeen, crouched in the dusty attic, pouring over my collection of contraband. Wonder Woman and Supergirl– I soaked up the adventures depicted on the black and white pages. My name had been repeated, growing steadily louder and louder for the last five minutes. The heavy footsteps of the man I was supposed to call father reverberated below. It was only a matter of time before he thought to check the attic, and found me and my treasures. Sighing, I carefully tucked three favorites into the bag by my feet. The footsteps halted directly beneath the attic door, but it didn’t matter. I was out the window, down the lattice, and into the night– like the monsters I was leaving behind had never existed at all.


And now I’m here. What a stupid situation. I shouldn’t have come to this town. I shouldn’t have stayed here so long. I’m an idiot for thinking I could make a life here. I opened my eyes and stared into the flames, defiant. If my life’s about to end,  I’m going to watch it go.


Finally, the groaning beam cracked and gave-way.

Delivering me to the darkness.




Dusk came and went, and a dewy midnight settled like a blanket over the grounds of Rowling-Burroughs University. In the Eastern Quarter of the Historic wing, Headmistress Mildred Midwood sat stiffly behind her desk. Her brown eyes focused on the map spread out before her. Her face was calm, but she drummed her nails against the wood of her desk. A light knock at the door pulled her out of concentration, and Midwood’s eyes shot up to meet a gentle gaze she knew well.

“Professor Starling, it’s late you know,” Midwood said quietly.

“Mildred, there’s another fire,” he replied.


“In the village, at a home for young women.”

Midwood’s nostrils flared. She knew exactly which home Starling referred to.

“And you’re here about it in the middle of the night because–”

“It’s happening as we speak,” Starling answered.

Midwood stood and turned, disappearing into the air with a loud crack, leaving only the smell of burning ozone behind.


Midwood reappeared in the shadows, a safe distance from the frantic scene unfolding before her. Even from her position across the street, Midwood felt the searing heat clawing her face. Looking left and right, Midwood observed nothing else out of the ordinary. Silent cars stood sentinel along the street and a cool breeze played through the leaves of the trees.

Everything was as it should be, except for the structure in front of her. It was burning at temperatures so obscene that the flames were a ghostly blue-white. The brave men of Vernon Village’s Fire Department worked diligently, but the fire carried on, unaffected.

Thank the gods this street had been evacuated. The fewer witnesses, the better.

Spreading her arms out by her sides, palms facing the blaze, Midwood hummed low and deep. The sound reverberated through her sternum, growing louder until it matched the cracking and whipping of the flames. A soft grey light emanated from her palms as Midwood took slow steps into the middle of the damp street. One by one the men of VVFD ceased their work, whispering amongst themselves. Midwood did not see them. In fact, she could not see them. Her eyes were rendered useless as her inner eye focused on the fire, seeking its source. It was as if the flames were alive, eluding her efforts to snuff them out.

Fire magic. The thought chilled Midwood to her core, and she redoubled her efforts to douse the flames. Midwood advanced to the sidewalk in front of the building, the ghastly blue flames illuminating her ebony skin. The men of VVFD remained glued to the spot, unable to tear their eyes away. Midwood clasped her hands violently together in front of her heart, snuffing out the raging blaze– the force of her efforts knocking her to the ground.

Stunned, the firefighters looked to the structure, and back to her. A tall, bear of a man came forward to help her to her feet. Midwood was not a frightening woman to behold, yet she saw a glimmer of fear in his eyes as he hoisted her up.

“Chief Johnston, thank you,” Midwood said, brushing off her skirt.

“Well Headmistress, it’s you we ought to thank,” he mumbled.

It was obvious to Midwood that as usual Johnston was polite, but not out of respect.

Whispers from the men rose in the background. (These lot only get involved when something’s wrong) – (I don’t like it, we shouldn’t have to owe them anything.) – (How do we know that she didn’t set the fire to begin with?) She shrugged off their words. If her suspicions were correct, then the current situation was much more important than normal vs supernatural politics.

“If you don’t mind, Chief, I need to inspect the ashes.”

“Ma’am! We’ve been fighting this fire for hours, and the whole time it’s been burning hotter than the bloody sun. You’re not going to find anything in there.”

“All the same, I would like to have a look around.”

“It’s not safe.”

“Chief.” Midwood looked him square in the eye. “I’ll be fine.”

Johnston huffed and stood out of the way, gesturing towards the smoldering remains. Midwood nodded politely, hiked up her skirt, and made her way inside.

The stench of smoke enveloped her as she waded through the destruction. It pained her to know how many people must have died, their bones turned to dust. As she made her way to the center of the cinders, Midwood couldn’t shake the feeling of dread which had taken root within her. She thought back to the orphanage she inspected after it burnt, and then the hostel. No survivors.  Someone is targeting these places. but they wouldn’t continue if they had already found what they were looking for… If I’m right. Stopping for a moment to release her skirt from a piece of twisted steel, something caught Midwood’s eye. Laying under the ashen remains of a structural beam, as if asleep, was a young woman. Her skin smooth and milky white, untouched by the violence.

The gods have mercy!  Bending down, Midwood gathered the naked form in her arms, lifting her up with the strength of a much younger woman. Blocked from the sight of Chief Johnston and his men, Midwood turned on the spot, disappearing with her precious cargo into the heavy night air.  




Bowman’s Inn 2017 Autumn-Winter Anthology

Today, a very special Anthology hit Amazon which I am very proud to be a part of.  The Bowman’s Inn 2017 Autumn-Winter Anthology is live today.  Grab your copy today at



Werewolves, gods, goddesses and the Fates are back!!

The weather may have cooled, but it’s always heating up at The Bowman’s Inn!

This is the final volume from The Bowman’s Collective, but our authors will still be visiting Anteros on their own from time to time.

This is my second go at an anthology short story.  In this anthology, I retrieved two favorite characters and put them in a hilarious situation with steamy consequences.   Han and Ann are back, and at some point, they will have their own novel.

There are some lovely authors snuggled into this book.  I consider every one of them dear friends.  I would like to point out, K. C. Freeman,‎ E.D. Vaughn,‎ Roxanna Haley and  D.L. Hungerford.  Each of them is wonderful.

K.C. and I have been writing together for a while now.  Through a collection of six books, a novella, and two short stories.  Now, we are working on more.  K.C. is fabulous and you’ll love her debut story in the Bowman’s Inn. She’s been a true friend and keeps me on track with my writing.  She’s completed three books which will be published soon, and I hope she will allow me to showcase them on here.  Before writing under her name, she ghostwrote for other authors. Check out her writing style and see if you can guess who it was, because I can’t, and she won’t tell.  (I’ve tried, believe me, I’ve tried.)

E.D. Vaughn is great.  She’s the werewolf among us, the shapeshifting writer who keeps us entertained over many volumes of the Bowman’s Inn.  You can often catch us together on Facebook, having some fun together.  Her stories will keep you entertained and needing more. This book wraps up the series for the werewolves and the ending is fabulous.

I’d also like to thank D. L. Hungerford and Roxanna Haley for their wonderful looks at romance in each novel and for the chance to write for them.  D. L. is a romance writer extraordinaire who mentors lots of new writers.  You can catch her on or on Facebook.

Above all, pick up the new copy and leave your comments.  I’d love to hear them.


Author Showcase-Joshua Tarquinio-Rogue Mountain

This week showcase is a Supernatural Thriller.  A novel set in my neck of the woods, Pittsburgh. Check out the First Chapter.

The Rogue Mountains by [Tarquinio, Joshua]

The end of times hadn’t been the end of times. It wasn’t even the end of Pittsburgh. But what else to call it? Heaven and Hell and all the other planes had opened up on Earth and the battle was fought. But then it ended, and everything was still here, albeit with more than a few new additions to the taxonomy.

If the end of times had come and gone, had God gone too? The Creative had given no sign, renewing the faith of some, destroying that of others. One question prevailed. Whether or not God was still around, what would be the place of mankind in the order of things?

As this story begins, Del Ballantine, monster hunter, arrives in a small mountain town to help with the infestation. He soon learns it won’t be as easy as the last ten or so places. One mountain is home to a witch. Another mountain, home to a primordial beast only one man ever lived to speak of. That man hadn’t been able to say much before he went insane though.

Ariana, Jeremy, and Reggie make up the house band at the Foothill Hotel and Bar. Though Reggie is content to go with the flow, his band mates are becoming frustrated with their situation. Jeremy, too talented to stay where he is, must care for his nightmare plagued mother. Ariana, who hasn’t yet found herself, finds that the thrills she once easily extracted from her middle-of-nowhere town are beginning to lose their luster.

Along the way, Ballantine meets the curmudgeon taxidermist and his uncommonly attractive wife, the no-nonsense hotel owner and her mute husband, a cocksure world traveler come to try his hand at hunting game from Hell, wood devils, shug monkeys, hunner dyers, hellcats, a ghost, and Jessica among many others.

There’s action and suspense, magic and mayhem, sex and violence, mixed emotions and questionable deeds.

Can the people take their mountains back? And whether or not they succeed, will they find their place?


And now

on to

the First Chapter.



The woods were dead silent. Even Tempest’s hoofbeats were muted in the dewy leaves, like she was tiptoeing. She’d been making these treks for about five years, since Ariana Coleman was 16. The human girl had the small town blues, among other things. Got her kicks from ringing death’s doorbell and running. Tempest was used to it, and if she’d been able to talk, would’ve said she enjoyed the thrill too.

The sun, still behind the mountains, lit the sky enough to see, even in those woods where the leaves had begun to change and fall. Ariana preferred the dull blue glow to the contrast of a sunny day. In those woods, where death took many forms, every stark shadow was a potential threat.

Tempest got that feeling—that innate sense of danger animals get when a predator is near—and she stopped. She stopped and gave a stamp, which she and Ariana decided a long time ago was her way of warning her human.

Ariana stroked Tempest’s mane and asked, “Where is it, girl?” The human held her breath and looked around, first for familiar shapes and then for movement…

Nothing yet.

The girl clicked her tongue which was the signal (they had decided) to proceed with caution and be prepared to turn tail. Reins in the left hand, Ariana slid her right hand over the grip of the Smith and Wesson Model 19 on her hip.

Tempest took a few more steps and stopped again. Ariana’s fingers closed on the handle of her sidearm. An alarm went off in her bones.

Ariana drew her gun as a hunner dyer emerged, shrieking, from under a swath of leaves and dirt. Tempest reared, brandishing her hooves.

Hunner dyers most closely resembled carpenter ants, though they were only slightly smaller than men. They had six legs and their bodies were segmented. Their abdomens were proportionally small, allowing them to walk and stand on their hind legs. Their thoraxes appeared to have human-like ribs on the outside. Patches of coarse hair grew randomly. Their heads contained a loose ring of 24 black eyes, a pair of fangs like a tarantula, a long, retractable middle tooth, and a needly tongue for extracting whatever the tooth exposed.

“Hunner dyer” was not the creature’s proper name. It’s just what everyone called it. Ariana and Tempest had seen and killed a ton of them; shriek, click, bang. This time, however, as Tempest’s hooves came back down, Ariana hesitated. This time she felt different. This time she felt like a bully; like she had just walked into the creature’s home with the express purpose of killing it for no reason. That was exactly as it always had been. Why it bothered her now, she didn’t have time to speculate.

The hunner dyer lunged. Tempest turned and ran without a cue from Ariana. They beat a path back across and down the hill. Though the monster gave chase, it couldn’t keep up with the horse. It was far behind by the time they reached the fence.

Ariana’s nerves balanced on a pinhead as she dismounted and opened the gate. She smiled at the feeling as her hand shook on the gate latch. This was what she came for—the adrenaline rush.

The hunner dyer shrieked again. It had cleared the last hump and was on its way down to torture and kill Ariana and her companion.

The girl threw open the gate and led Tempest through. The monster descended, kicking up leaves and shrieking every few breaths. Its movement was sloppy, as if it didn’t know how to run. It was neither a crawl nor a gallop, but something in between. Its clawed forelimbs waved and reached, only touching the ground when it needed the balance.

Ariana slammed the gate closed as the monster slammed into it, giving the girl a good look at about ten of her own reflections in its onyx black eyes. It ran its tooth through the fence, reaching its limit an inch from Ariana’s throat. The girl flinched and fell backward.

This was an unusual situation for Ariana. Typically, she would have shot the monster when it first appeared and left it deeper in the woods. The fence itself was never meant to hold the creatures of the mountains back, only deter them from the areas where people live. Ariana had never seen what would happen if a monster were given incentive to find a way over or through the fence.

She wished the creature away as it rammed and beat at the fence. She wished for it to get tired and go away. Then she thought she might have to kill it anyway, just to make sure it didn’t come back.

The hunner dyer made her decision easy. It looked up, ran its forelimbs along the top of the fence, then began to crawl up. It got one more shriek out before Ariana blew its head off. The gunshot tapered off through the valley, leaving Ariana and Tempest in dead silence once more.

The adrenaline sat in Ariana’s veins like stale coffee in a day-old pot. She wondered if that would be the end of that thrill—one of the few thrills she had in her podunk, one-horse, middle-of-bumfuck-nowhere town.

She opened the gate again and tied a rope from Tempest’s saddle to the carcass. Couldn’t leave chum by the gate. Girl mounted horse and they dragged the dead bug into the woods before heading home.


Away from the scant foothills, an old refrigerator truck puttered up to an old picket fence around an old farmhouse. The truck door slid open and Reggie Adams slid out, drumming a pencil on his clipboard. His curly black hair billowed and bounced as he bobbed to the song in his head. He popped open the side door, hopped in for a moment, and then dropped back out with a small package wrapped in butcher’s paper.

Rick Jenkins greeted Reggie at the door. Rick was one of the old timers. Been living in Brothers since before the whole Pittsburgh thing, before that mess made its way to the country. That was always the way though, Rick knew—everything starts in the cities and works its way out, whether countryfolk like it or not. Though neither Rick, nor anyone else for that matter, expected what they got. He thought the changing times would’ve meant dealing with kids and their long hair and devil music. Instead he had an infestation. It put things in perspective. With monster-infested mountains a stone’s throw away, Reggie’s hair was less of an affront to Rick than it could have been.

“Morning, Rick,” Reggie said with a smile.

“Reggie,” Rick nodded. “I don’t know how you’re so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after playing music all night.”

“I got a little nap. I’ll get the rest when my route is over. I’m used to it.” He handed the package over saying, “Five pounds of ground wood devil, right?”

“Sounds about right to me.”

“Solid. Just sign right here for me.”

Rick signed and handed the clipboard and pencil back to Reggie. “You know,” asked the elder, “I always wondered. How often you attract any them creatures, driving a meat bus around like that?”

Sometimes Reggie wondered that himself. That truck was on its last leg. He, nevertheless, responded as he always did—with confidence and good humor. “Ah! Well… Difficult as it may be to ascertain by the humble exterior of this fine machine, the refrigerator contained within not only keeps the fare fresh, but well sealed. And if all else fails, the exhaust fumes will repel just about anything.” Reggie patted his sidearm and said, “I’ve never even had to draw this thing.”

“Say, that’s pretty—watch out!” Rick pushed Reggie to one side and drew his own gun. He took aim at a hellcat that was sprinting toward them. Reggie covered his ears and watched. The gun wobbled in Rick’s hand. He was getting older, but not too old. And it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d had to deal with a hellcat.

The creatures looked like bobcats, but bigger and mangier. Their eyes glowed and flickered with hellfire whether at night or on a bright sunny day. They made no noise as they ran, creating a sensory dissonance in anyone unfortunate enough to see one bearing down on them.

Rick’s shot rang out and dropped the hellcat 20 feet from the porch. The old timer kept his eyes on the beast as he holstered his weapon. When he was satisfied it wasn’t going to get back up, he turned to Reggie and said, “Never had to draw, huh?”

“That’s right,” Reggie said with a smile and gesture at Rick’s gun. “Plus, most people around these parts don’t like to stand around talking with raw meat in their hands. Did you want me to take that?” He pointed at the hellcat.

“Please,” said Rick.

Reggie flipped the pages on his clipboard to start on a new form. “And do you want to sell it, have it processed, get it mounted?”

“I’ll take five pounds of it. Ground is fine. Make it easy.”

“You sure? The tenderloin on these is almost as good as beef. Just smaller. You can do like little filet mignon medallions. Little butter, little garlic… mmmm, mm!”

“Heh, all right then. I’ll take five pounds ground and a tenderloin. Sell you the rest.”

“Excellent choice, sir!” Reggie said, filling out the order. “Excellent choice, indeed. Here is your receipt. And I’ll bring you the difference on delivery. Sound good?”

“That’ll be fine, Reggie. Thanks.”

“Cool, cool.”

Rick helped Reggie load the carcass into the truck. Once it was closed, Reggie took a spray bottle and spritzed a few blood streaks left on the exterior. He said to Rick, “A little bit of bleach helps keep the monsters away too.”

The truck fought itself awake and backfired its displeasure. Reggie waved to Rick and pulled away. He only had a few more stops before he could head home and sleep.

When the truck had gone, Rick looked to the three mountains in the distance. The overcast sky reached down wisps to stroke them. The mountains used to be beautiful. They used to beckon. Back in the day, Rick’s chief motivation was to give himself as much time as possible to hike or hunt those mountains. They used to be havens for such things. Now they loomed, foreboded, and forbade. They were home to escapees of what everyone thought was the all-time final battle. They were gargoyles, demonic sentinels.

Rick realized he hadn’t looked behind himself lately. He wheeled with a hand on his gun.


A couple of farmhands rode tractors in the field behind the house.


Jeremy Crawford was jarred awake by one of his mother’s nervous tics. He took a deep breath and looked at the clock: 2:30pm. Pretty close to four hours of unbroken sleep. He’d take it. Despite it being upright in a chair, it was a deep and solid sleep. He felt rested and tongued the film out of the corners of his mouth.

Connie, Jeremy’s mother, twitched and chuffed in her bed in a dream state akin to the line between Purgatory and Hell. Whenever Jeremy left the room, the nightmare would return and push Connie’s dreams into torture.

The young man took another deep breath, then moved to the edge of the bed. He took Connie’s hand and said, “Mom. Mom,” startling her awake. Or maybe only half awake. Maybe Connie only feigned half awakeness so as not to have to think or talk or burden Jeremy or herself too much.

“Mom, come on. You should get up and move around a little bit. Get some food.”

Connie stared. Afterimages of her nightmares played on the ceiling; visions of gory death, torture, and loss burned into her memories. Like so many times before, Connie wondered how much more she could take. She didn’t know how she had made it as long as she did.

Jeremy gave her hand a tug and helped her sit up. She shambled to the kitchen while Jeremy went to the bathroom to relieve himself and get a shower.

There wasn’t much in the fridge. There hadn’t been since the nightmare, since the role of caretaker flipped at the Crawford house. Fortunately, Connie and Jeremy were friends with Kelly Karasek, the owner of the nearby Foothill Hotel and Bar. Kelly usually made sure to send some food home with Jeremy at the end of the night.

Connie slouched at the table, thousand-yard stare, turkey club between her hands. With no saliva to help, she chewed her first bite for a few minutes. She heard the water running in the shower—a sign of life in a house, formerly a home, being eaten by time before her eyes. She remembered the day she put up the now-peeling wallpaper with her husband, James. She remembered how they bickered over it. She remembered how he let her have her way and how he said it didn’t look half bad after it was up. She remembered the squeeze and smile he gave her. Then she cried, because she knew the nightmare would ruin that for her next. But as much as it hurt to sleep, it hurt even more to be awake.

Jeremy had barely rinsed the shampoo out of his hair when he heard Connie screaming. He sighed and shut the water off. He pulled on a bathrobe and walked out, cleaning the fog from his glasses with his sleeve. “Twenty minutes!” he said. “Was all I needed.”

Rounding the corner into the kitchen he saw Connie curled up on the floor next to the table, the sandwich a few feet away from her, and the nightmare. The gremlin-like creature sat on Connie and looked up at Jeremy. It was furry, with a pair of short round canines poking out over its lower lip. It turned its bulbous eyes to Jeremy with the ignorance of a house cat as Connie screamed and trembled beneath it.

“Go on!” Jeremy shooed. “Get outta here!”

When it didn’t move, Jeremy stomped toward it. It vanished.

Jeremy cleaned up the sandwich while Connie calmed down. He put the sandwich back in the container and the container back in the fridge. Then he wiped the mayonnaise off the floor with a dish towel and balled it up on the counter.

He woke up Connie again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah I know,” he said, helping her to her feet. “Listen, I gotta get some clothes on. You think you can stay standing here for five minutes? Or even better, walk around a bit?”

Connie’s eyes were closed but she nodded and got out a weak “y-yes” as she held the doorway for support.

She didn’t walk around, but she did manage to stay standing and awake until Jeremy returned. He helped her to the bed, where she fell right back to sleep and right back into the dream state that wasn’t quite Hell and wasn’t quite Purgatory.

Jeremy set up a stool and began to quietly write and practice music with his guitar.

This was the majority of Jeremy’s daily routine.


Contact info:

IG: @the_rogue_mountains

I hope you enjoyed it as much as me!

Launch Party! Amazon Gift Card Giveaways!

Join us tomorrow, 5/11/2017, for the Launch of the Bowman’s Inn Anthology, Spring/Summer Book 5.  No, you don’t have to read books 1-4 to be up to date!  Starting at 4:00 P.M., EST, we’ll be giving away gift cards!  Come join us for some fun and talk to all of the authors!

Our schedule. Have your questions ready!

Bel Cosi 4:00 to 4:30
RA Winter 4:30 to 5:00
ED Vaughn 5:00 to 5:30
Elizabeth Giambrone 5:30 to 6:00
Roxanna Haley 6:00 to 6:30
Renee Grace Thompson 6:30 to 7:00
D.L. Hungerford 7:00 to 7:30
Roxanna Haley 7:30 to 8:00