Welcome to Day 5 of the #HauntedShoresMysteries Series Blog Tour! @OverbeckRandy @4WillsPub 4WP11 @RRBC_Org

Dr. Randy Overbeck’s Haunted Shores Mystery Series, ghost mysteries with a meaningful twist, hooked me from the first words! Enjoy his amazing blog tour stop today, and leave a comment for a chance to win one of the great…

#GIVEAWAYS!

“So-o-o atmospheric. Cape May, with its history and Victorian mansions, has no end of ghostly stories. And the Haunted Bride is a doozy.”—V. Williams, Rosepoint Publishing

In deciding on the locations for the novels in my Haunted Shores Mysteries series, I’ve put as much effort into selecting the perfect setting as I do crafting the puzzling whodunit or creating credible characters. I do a good deal of research to seek out lesser known gems of romantic, resort locations readers will find memorable. No place like Myrtle Beach or Malibu or Ft. Lauderdale will do.  (This research is a tough job, but somebody has to do it.) I want readers, when they read each entry, to say, “I didn’t know about this place. What an intriguing little town. I think I’ll put this on my ‘to visit’ list.” 

            That’s exactly how I felt when I “discovered” Cape May. (I’d never been to this charming town and stumbled upon Cape May when I attended a family wedding up the shore a few years ago.) After some extensive research, I decided it was the exactly the right locale to set the second entry in my series. 

What made Cape May so perfect and memorable for my ghost story/mystery? I’ll share just five reasons and I think you’ll get it.

  • Cape May is the nation’s oldest seaport resort. Vacationers and tourists have been flocking to Cape May since the early 1800’s. Back then, big city dwellers from Philadelphia and New York would head to this shore town in the summer to escape the heat and foul air. Today, visitors come from all over the northeast US and Canada to enjoy the sun and sights of this remarkable little town. 
  • Cape May has one of the premier beaches in the U.S. With thirty miles of beautiful white sand beaches, Cape May is ranked as one of the top ten beaches in the country by the Travel Channel. Since “the shore” part of my series is critical to my narratives, this beach makes for some delightful scenes in the novel.
  • Cape May has a rich history which helps to shape the unique destination it is today. A large fire in 1879 destroyed almost the entire town requiring the rebuilding of most of the homes and businesses. They were rebuilt in the latest style at the time, which we now call Victorian. The rest, as they say, is history.
  •  Cape May has one of the largest collections of Victorian architecture in the country (second only to San Francisco). Over 600 mansions and Bed and Breakfasts, each painted and detailed in the unique Victorian style, made the perfect romantic backdrop for Darrell and Erin’s reconciliation—not to mention the perfect atmosphere for an old time ghost story. Speaking of which— 

 

  • Cape May is famous as the most haunted seaport on the East coast. It’s hard to walk down any street in Cape May and not run into a house, hotel or store where a ghost encounter has been documented, some sightings going back centuries. Craig McManus, famed Cape May ghost hunter, has documented over fifty different spirits in his series, The Ghosts of Cape May. I even decided to include a few of these documented ghosts in my ghost story/mystery about the Haunted Bride, a young woman murdered on her wedding night. 

Check out the newest installment in my series, CRIMSON AT CAPE MAY, for both an exploration of the incredible resort town and a peek at its wonderfully eerie history.

Incredible sale on the entire Haunted Shores Mysteries series!
BLOOD ON THE CHESAPEAKE-$.99, CRIMSON AT CAPE MAY–$1.99, SCARLET AT CRYSTAL RIVER (pre-publication price)—$2.99. 

Dr. Randy Overbeck is an award-winning educator, author and speaker. As an educator, he served children for more than three decades in a range of roles captured in his novels, from teacher and coach to principal and superintendent. His thriller, Leave No Child Behind (2012) and his recent mysteries, the Amazon and B & N No. 1 Best Seller, Blood on the Chesapeake and Crimson at Cape May have earned five star reviews and garnered national awards including “Thriller of the Year–ReadersFavorite.com, “Gold Award”—Literary Titan, “Mystery of the Year”—ReadersView.com and “Crowned Heart of Excellence”—InD’Tale Magazine. As a member of the Mystery Writers of America, Dr. Overbeck is an active member of the literary community, contributing to a writers’ critique group, serving as a mentor to emerging writers and participating in writing conferences such as Sleuthfest, Killer Nashville and the Midwest Writers Workshop. When he’s not writing or researching his next exciting novel or sharing his presentation “Things Still Go Bump in the Night,” he’s spending time with his incredible family of wife, three children (and their spouses) and seven wonderful grandchildren.

BLURB—CRIMSON AT CAPE MAY

No matter how far you run, you can never really escape a haunted past. 

Darrell Henshaw—teacher, coach, and paranormal sensitive—learned this lesson the hard way. With his job gone and few options, he heads for Cape May to coach a summer football camp. The resort town, with gorgeous beaches, rich history and famous Victorian mansions, might just be the getaway he needs. Only, no one told him Cape May is the most haunted seaport on the East Coast. One resident ghost, the Haunted Bride, stalks Darrell, begging for his help.

He can’t refuse. Joining forces with Cassie, a street-wise teen and another sensitive, he investigates the bride’s death and discovers her murder is connected to a far greater horror. But can Darrell and Cassie expose those behind the crimes before they end up being the killer’s next victims? 

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT CRIMSON AT CAPE MAY

“With both elements of mystery and suspense, readers across genres will find this second book about Darrell Henshaw intriguing…I highly recommend it.” ★★★★★Literary Titan

“It’s a ghost/mystery story filled with suspense and action. The plot is so engrossing it had me hooked from the very first page.” ★★★★★—Nana’s Reviews, Greece

“An exciting paranormal mystery I couldn’t put down… A great read. Highly recommend!” ★★★★★N.N. Light’s BookHeaven

“Rollicking good…Darrell is a wonderful protagonist, an ordinary man put into extraordinary situations and rising to the challenge..” ★★★★★ —Over My Dead Body magazine

“I loved everything about this book. As a ghost story combined with a mystery, a romance, a social injustice and stunning historical details, Crimson at Cape May has something for everyone.” ★★★★★—ReaderViews 

“Masterly spooky adventure…an accomplished work of haunting mystery fiction that fans of the genre won’t want to miss out on. Highly Recommend.” ★★★★★—ReadersFavorite.com

BOOK TRAILER—CRIMSON AT CAPE MAY

Connect with Randy Overbeck

EMail

Author Website

RRBC Author Page

Twitter: @OverbeckRandy

FB: Author Randy Overbeck

PURCHASE LINKS—CRIMSON AT CAPE MAY

Barnes & Noble

BookBub

SOCIAL MEDIA

Twitter

Facebook

Instagram

YouTube

Tik Tok

To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the authors’ tour page on the 4WillsPublishing site.  If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please click HEREThanks for supporting this author and his work!

Don’t forget to leave a comment below for a chance at a cool #GIVEAWAY!

#RRBC’s 6th Annual Writers’ Conference & Book Expo

Hello, followers and friends!

RRBC’s 6th Annual Writers’  Conference & Book Expo is LIVE, and we’d like to invite you to drop by! It’s open to everyone!

We have games, prizes, surprises and other goodies, so be sure to visit each Author Booth, take a look around, then leave a comment for your chance to win each Author Booth’s door prize!  

There is a Scavenger Hunt Game to play, a 2 Truths & a Lie Game to play and more!  In each Author Booth, you will find a clue, and if you find the correct answer to all the clues and are the first to submit your answers, you could be the winner of an awesome prize!  

Of course, we’ll have our READING ROOM open and one of our members is going to blow you away showcasing their talent!  

If you’re into BINGO, purchase your BINGO cards and join us for a game or two!

And what we all wait for every year – our RAFFLE!  Yes, each year we raffle off (7) $100 Amazon gift cards and this is open to the public so go on and snag your tickets today!  Raffle tickets are only $5!  How awesome would that prize be?  Some of them also include additional goodies like other gift certificates, ebooks, and more!  Enter for your chance to win one or more of these $100 Amazon gift card gift baskets.  The more tickets you buy, the greater your chances of winning.  (Please do not purchase more than 7 tickets).

This year for the first time ever, we’ve added our BEST BOOK COVER CONTEST!  This contest is open to the general public so go ahead and enter your book cover(s) now!  Share your comments with us and let us know which one you think is best!

Click for a full ITINERARY OF EVENTS!  

We hope to see you there!  In the event of minor time delays, please check the sidebar of the RRBC website for updates.

Welcome to Day 7 of the “SIR CHOC” Book Tour! @bakeandwrite @4WillsPub @4WP11 @RRBC_Org #RRBC @ptlperrin

Thank you for visiting my site today, where you’ll discover my friend Robbie Cheadle and an especially sweet treat!

Robbie is giving away:

(7) Paperback copies / 1 of ea book in the series

(2) 15 Amazon gift cards

Please leave Robbie a comment anywhere along the tour for your chance to win one of these awesome prizes.

Sir Chocolate and the Ice Cream Rainbow Fairies story and cookbook by Robbie and Michael Cheadle

Join Sir Chocolate and Lady Sweet on a fun adventure to discover why the milkshake rain is pale and white. Includes five delicious recipes to make with children.

How to make a fairy out of fondant

Step 1 – Mix a quantity of flesh coloured fondant. Roll a small quantity into a ball for the head. Gently roll the lower half of the head between you fingers to narrow it. Use a small ball tool to make the eye sockets. Dab the sockets with edible sugar glue and insert two green or blue pearl delight cake decorations into the sockets to make the eyes. Use a half a straw to make the smiling mouth. Roll a tiny ball of flesh coloured fondant for the nose and attach with edible sugar glue. Leave the head to dry.

Step 2 – roll a larger oval shape for the fairy’s body. I used purple but you can use any colour you like. Insert a toothpick through the centre of the body and snip the top, leaving approximately 1 centimetre standing up.

Step 3 – Roll a long tube of flesh coloured fondant for the legs. Fold the tube in half to make two legs and slightly flatten the joined area to form a base for the fairy’s body. Slightly narrow the ankles by rolling them between your fingers. Role two triangular shaped pieces of purple fondant for the shoes and attach them to the ankles using edible sugar glue. Roll out some purple fondant using cornflour to prevent sticking and cut out a star shape for the skirt. Attach the skirt to the legs.

Step 4 – Roll out some white fondant and cut out a butterfly shape with a cutter. Gently bend in the middle and leave between a loosely folded piece of cardboard to dry into a wings shape overnight.

Step 5 – Leave the pieces to dry overnight.

Step 6 – Use edible glue to attach the body to the legs and the head to the body. Make the arms by rolling two narrow tubes of flesh coloured fondant. Flatten the shoulder slightly using your fingers. Roll the wrists between your fingers to indent them. Use your fingers to lengthen and flatten the hands. Attach the arms to the body using edible sugar glue. 

Step 7 – Roll a long purple tube and wind it in a steadily narrowing circular shape to from the fairy cap as per the picture. Attach to the head using edible sugar glue.

Step 8 – Attach the wings using edible sugar glue. Decorate with edible glitter if desired.

Robbie Cheadle is a children’s author and poet.

The Sir Chocolate children’s picture books, co-authored by Robbie and Michael Cheadle, are written in sweet, short rhymes which are easy for young children to follow and are illustrated with pictures of delicious cakes and cake decorations. Each book also includes simple recipes or biscuit art directions which children can make under adult supervision.

Robbie has also published books for older children which incorporate recipes that are relevant to the storylines.

How to connect with Robbie Cheadle:

WEBSITE

BLOG

TSL BOOKS AUTHOR PAGE

GOODREADS

TWITTER

Where to Find Robbie Cheadle’s Books:

TSL Publications (paper back is available at a discounted price)

Lulu.com (ebook)

Amazon (paper back)

To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the author’s tour page on the 4WillsPublishing site. If you’d like to schedule your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please click HERE. Thanks for supporting this author and her work!

Don’t forget to leave a comment for you chance to win one of Robbie’s amazing giveaways!

Welcome to #RRBC’s February “SPOTLIGHT” Author Blog Tour for #RRBCAuthor @kirazian! #RRBC_Org @Tweets4RWISA @RRBC_RWISA #RRBCSA #RWISA

Thank you for stopping by! I’m honored to welcome  #RWISA Author, Lisa Kirazian to my blog today. Lisa is the RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB’S first “SPOTLIGHT” Author of 2021, and she has a new book out,  CADENZA! It is my pleasure to introduce you to Lisa Kirazian. Welcome, Lisa!

 

Where did this idea come from?

Lisa Kirazian’s Cadenza and 

“The Music We Made” series

It’s an honor to write this guest post — and to be RRBC’s Spotlight Author for February!

I’ve blogged about this in the past but that was before I wrote Cadenza and completed “The Music We Made” series. Now that I’ve finished it, I see this writing journey in a new light – the whole trajectory of it.

I first got the idea at age 14 standing in the driveway of my violin teacher’s home, waiting for my mom to pick me up. The story started brewing of a violinist and her conservatory instructor and the awkwardness of their working relationship (because I had a drama teacher at the time who was awkward that way.) The idea kept brewing for the next few years.

Then in college at age 18, I started writing the script — a screenplay. First called The Last Ovation, it was totally melodramatic and over the top. But the start was there — sister and brother musicians leaving a tough family situation to study in London in the late 1950’s and early 1960s, meeting their lifelong friends, enemies and loves along the way. 

But it was still not all the way there yet.

At age 24, I went on a summer mission program in Armenia, teaching English and engaging with students in my homeland, post-Communism, during the war with Azerbaijan. You’d think that all my journals and notebooks would be filled with the awakening that came from being in my ancestral land for the first time. But they didn’t (that would come later). What did come is the outline for a six-hour miniseries, newly-titled, The Conservatory. When I got home, and for the next few years, including a research stint in London, I wrote the six one-hour scripts. Then upon realizing I had to rename the work (because a conservatory in London is a greenhouse!), it became The Music We Made.  

Shopping the script around (long before Downton Abbey and other innovative series), I was told by producers, “You can’t have a miniseries that’s not based on a book or a famous person. You can’t have an original miniseries!!” Now, of course, they are all over the place.  But at that time, because of that feedback, and to have an extra layer of story protection, I took the challenge and wrote it as a book, now around age 30. And that six-part miniseries became the novel Bravura. I worked and worked on it and then put it down for a while, during playwriting stints, and of course having kids. It was published 14 years later, in 2014. 

Writing the novel Bravura filled out the experience of the story for me. While on camera I could explore the audio-visual whirlwind of a musical performance with a soloist and orchestra etc., in a novel I could explore the inner narrative going on inside a musician’s mind and heart when they prepare and play. And I found new scenes emerging that I had to get down. Before I knew it, I realized that I had to keep writing this story and continue to the next generation of the Driscoll family of musicians.

So, then I wrote Appassionato, the first book written as a book first, not as a script. I continued the next generation, focusing on composer/conductor Jenny Driscoll, who appears briefly but memorably at the end of Bravura. I drafted it during National Novel Writing Month (NANOWRIMO) in 2014-5. It was published in 2018.

I did the same in drafting Cadenza in 2016, through NANOWRIMO. And it was just published in 2020, the year I turned 50. The trajectory of this writing journey has gone from age 14 to 50.

And just when you think you’re done, and there’s no more story to tell, and no one knows better than you do, a reader comes along, like a friend of mine just did to me, and says, “I hope you’re working on the next one.”

Onward!

Featured Title: CADENZA

In CADENZA, the final book of “The Music We Made” series, the young tenor Brian Martin finds himself on the cusp of superstardom and marriage, until he is compelled to leave behind his distinguished musical family, and his fiancé, in London, to visit the U.S. to see where his famous late grandmother, Maggie Crawford, the only other opera singer in the family, grew up. His journey takes him to Marshall, Minnesota, and Maggie’s hometown high school, where he meets the music teacher, Laura Jones, who helps him with his family history in more ways than he could have imagined.

Author Bio:

Lisa Kirazian writes fiction, plays, screenplays, and also directs for stage and screen. Her writing has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, Performing Arts Magazine, San Diego Union Tribune and many other publications. She is in demand as a speaker and has been a guest on KPBS Public Radio and at various conferences. Lisa is a graduate of Stanford University.

Several of her screenplays have placed in major competitions and festivals. Twelve of her stage plays have been produced across the U.S. and have won numerous awards, including a few publications. She also directed and wrote the adapted screenplay of the short film, “Reflection Day.”

Her novels include BRAVURA, APPASSIONATO, and now CADENZA, the three books of “The Music We Made” series, following three generations in the Driscoll family of musicians and inspired by her experience as a violinist. The series is also being developed for television. 

Lisa lives in San Diego with her husband and two daughters and is involved in the Armenian community locally, nationally and abroad.

Connect with Lisa:

Twitter: @kirazian and @TheMusicWeMade

Facebook: @TheMusicWeMade

Website: https://www.lisakirazian.com

Blog: https://lisakirazian.wordpress.com/

Instagram: @lisakirazian

Cadenza on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08QDLVSKL/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_0RSS8DZMN3R1SYCXG1TQ


Thank you so much for dropping by today to show your support of RRBC’s February “SPOTLIGHT” Author, Lisa Kirazian! To follow along with the rest of her tour, please visit the “SPOTLIGHT” AUTHOR forum on the RRBC site.  And please, take your support two steps further by leaving her a comment below and also picking up a copy of any or all of her books!

Welcome to Day 2 of THE MEMOIRS Blog Tour! @fredsdiary1981 @4WillsPub @4WP11 @RRBC_Org @Tweets4RWISA

SPECIAL PRICING ON AMAZON US AND AMAZON UK

COMMENT BELOW TO BE ENTERED IN A DRAWING FOR

(1) $10 Amazon gift card

Thanks for stopping by!

Please help me welcome our guest blogger, Robert Fear. I have enjoyed getting to know Robert through #RWISA and through his entertaining memoir SUMMER OF ’77. He has much to share with us!

Welcome, Robert. We’re so glad to have you with us today!

Robert Fear

Welcome to the second day of my 4WillsPub 3-day blog tour. 

During this tour, I am sharing with you some background to the three memoirs that I have self-published. As a special offer to readers of the tour, I have reduced the Kindle price on each book to 99c/99p (RRP $4.99/£3.99) on Amazon US and UK.

Here are the links to the memoirs that are being featured:

Fred’s Diary 1981: Travels in Asia – getbook.at/FredsDiary1981

Exclusive Pedigree: My life in and out of the Brethren – getbook.at/ExclusivePedigree

Summer of ’77: Beaches, bars and boogie nights in Ibiza – getbook.at/Summerof77

Exclusive Pedigree: My life in and out of the Brethren

Background

After publishing Fred’s Diary 1981, I devoted a lot of my spare time over the following year to make my father’s dream come true.

It started for me back in 1992 when my father, John, became frail and was confined to bed most of the time. Visits to the hospital became more frequent, and the doctors were talking about months, not years.

John had been working on his memoirs for several years and had already typed up many of the chapters. He also had plans in place for finishing the remaining chapters of his book. Now he could not continue, and my mother called me to see if I could help. I was more than happy to get involved.

In the evenings and at weekends I sat at my computer and transcribed the chapters that John had finished. I printed these off and sent them back to him. It was a period of reconciliation between father and eldest son as we discussed changes and planned for the missing chapters.

During the months following his death, I continued working on John’s memoirs with the help of my mother and brother. In 1994 we printed a limited-edition under the title Exclusive Pedigree. If it had not been for a chance remark, the life of the book could have ended there.

Towards the end of 2015, I was visiting my mother for a few days and gave her a paperback copy of the second edition of Fred’s Diary 1981, which she wanted to read. Our conversation turned to self-publishing, and we started talking about John’s memoirs. Then came the bombshell from my mother, “Did you know Rob, that John always wanted to have his book professionally published?” I had another challenge ahead.

My father’s memoirs were published in July 2016. I think John would have been proud of the finished result, a fabulous tribute to his life entitled Exclusive Pedigree: My life in and out of the Brethren.

Favourite Review 

To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the authors’ tour page on the 4WillsPublishing site.  If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please click HEREThanks for supporting this author and his work!

Join in the celebration of #RRBCAuthor @sharrislaughter, #RRBC’s November “SPOTLIGHT” Author! #Author of #OurLadyOfVictory

Blurb:  This is a second edition with updates on the state of this historic church. In the original publication files were lost then resurfaced with content altered along with missing photos during transition from one publisher to another. Such is the fate of an Independent Author.

This book evolved out of years of frustration at the total disregard and lack of respect for the contributions of Black Catholics in the city of Detroit. The author says, “We are not mentioned in the pages of history along with the other Catholic churches that sprung up during the World War II era, and that needed to be corrected.” The author did fulfill one dream since publication … that this church can now be found on the web even though it has merged with another church. It is now called Presentation-Our Lady of Victory Catholic Church.

Pick up your copy today!

Welcome to Day 10 of the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! @jinlobify @RRBC_Org #RRBC #RWISA #RWISAWRW

IROKO

by Joy Nwosu Lo Bamijoko

In the past, nobody would have taken notice of Iroko, the biggest and tallest tree in the forest. But then, cities started to grow and to eat into the forests. Trees were cut to make way for the growing cities. But the Iroko tree resisted being cut down. Any time an axe cut the tree, the axe either broke or the cut bled, real blood., and cries, ear piercing cries, like human cries were heard coming from the tree.

In the forest, next to Iroko, lived an old woman in a tiny mud hut. Bent by age, she diligently cared for the tree. She was known as the eyes and the mouth of the tree. She listened to the tree, when the leaves rustled and interpreted the language of the tree to outsiders. She was called Nne Oji. Oji is the Igbo name for Iroko, and Nne Oji means Iroko’s mother. Iroko was as tall as a skyscraper, about one hundred and seventy feet high, and the width was as wide as fifty men surrounding the tree with outstretched hands, fingertips touching. Iroko was huge, towering and intimidating!

The stories surrounding Iroko were such that settlers decided to let it stand and the town grew all around and away from it. Things went on peacefully for a while, but soon it became clear that Iroko did not like the exposure it was getting from the people surrounding it. After all, this tree was the king of the forest, where both trees and animals revered it. Now,standing in the midst of humans, with no one paying it any heed, all of this would change very rapidly.

People, especially those living close to where Iroko stood, started reporting strange happenings around Iroko in the dead of night. Those who were bold enough to come out and watch these happenings, reported seeing dancing and merrymaking around Iroko by people they believed were spirit people. These spirit people went in and out of Iroko as if they were walking in and out of their homes. They sang and danced in merriment from twelve midnight until two in the morning, after which they packed up and walked back into the tree. Those who observed these goings-on, did so from afar and in hiding. 

The story was told of a young boy who had the misfortune of being seen by these spirit people. He was taken and was never seen again. He had heard the stories of the happenings around Iroko, so that night he snuck out of his house and walked toward Iroko to take a closer look. Voices were heard warning him not to come closer, but he continued walking toward Iroko until he entered the sphere of the tree where everything turned grey. At that point, the boy lost control of himself and was pulled along until he disappeared in the mist and was seen no more.

The mother watched everything in hiding in paralyzed shock. The other people who watched in hiding were also mystified. They couldn’t believe their eyes, but they dared not allow themselves to be seen.

The next morning, the mother saw a huge striped cow tied to an orange tree in front of her house. The cow was chewing cud. The woman walked around the cow trying to understand how it came to be there. The town people also took notice and started gathering and questioning the presence of the cow. Out of nowhere, a young boy with only a loin cloth around his waist appeared and spoke to the onlookers.

“Mama, Iroko says you should take the cow in exchange for your son. Iroko says you should not kill the cow. You should sell it and use the money to take care of yourself.” With that, the boy turned and walked through the crowd and disappeared. 

Everyone there was seized with shock and they quickly dispersed. The woman cut the cow loose and started shooing it off from the front of her house, but the cow would not budge. 

The woman started to weep and pleaded with Iroko to return her son and take back the cow.

“Iroko give me back my son and take your cow!” she implored. “I don’t want your cow!”

The next day, the woman saw the cow at the back of her house, peacefully lying down near her hearth and chewing cud. She ran out toward Iroko.

“If you won’t give me back my son, Iroko, take me too!” she screamed at the top of her voice. Iroko’s leaves started to rustle. Suddenly, the old woman in the hut materialized and stood between the woman and Iroko.

“Go back, Mama!” the old woman said. “What you seek cannot be done. Your son is gone, dead and Iroko has paid you in exchange for him. Go back or you will meet the same fate!”

The woman refused to be stopped. She pushed the old woman down, walked over her and continued to approach Iroko. By this time, people had started to gather and were watching. The woman threw herself at Iroko and just like magic, the onlookers saw sparks of light, like fireworks, all around the woman. They heard her screaming and shouting like someone roasting on a stake. When everything died down and the sparks were no more, the people saw that the woman had metamorphosed. The woman had changed into an animal, something that looked like a dog, or a goat. No one could really tell. The people dispersed but this time they all had one thought in their minds – that Iroko must go.

Iroko’s fame continued to grow even beyond the immediate town. The townspeople also became bolder. They consulted with diviner after diviner to find out how to get rid of Iroko. They tried everything, without any success … one attempt took the lives of twelve men. They tried to burn Iroko down, but the fire turned against them and burned them to death. One diviner suggested that the spirit of Iroko resided in the old woman who tended it, and that if the old woman was killed, Iroko would quietly and slowly die. 

The townspeople burned the old woman’s hut down with the old woman in it. The next day, Iroko started taking souls. People started disappearing from their homes, both in broad daylight and at night while they slept. 

Finally, an Iroko priest from a distant land told the people how to destroy Iroko. 

“Humans should not fight Iroko,” he said. “They should appease Iroko. Iroko trees do not live amongst humans. Before you people started building your town, you should have appeased and pleaded with Iroko to leave your town. As you can see, Iroko was simply minding its own business, when you people decided to invade its privacy. Now you have to sacrifice to Iroko to appease it.” 

The townspeople had to pay this priest to come to their town to perform all that was needed to appease Iroko. There is no need to list here all that Iroko demanded, which included the blood of virgins, before it was appeased. The morning after the ceremony by this priest was concluded, the people came out and watched as the inhabitants of Iroko exited one after the other and disappeared; the birds of various families, the giant ants, red and black, dark dangerous black snakes – all came out of Iroko hissing, grumbling, and then poof,like smoke disappeared. But the king of all the animals, a giant Eke python, refused to be dislodged. The people had to pump inflammatory liquid into Iroko and set the python on fire,to dislodge it. It came out rumbling, twisting, and floundering, until it, too, disappeared.

Finally, Iroko was cut down. Mystery upon mystery, not one single hole existed in the cut tree. It was intact with rings showing how many hundreds of years it had stood there.

~~~~~

Thank you for supporting Joy Nwosu Lo Bamijoko along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed her writing, please visit her Author Profile on the RWISA site, where you can find more of her writing, along with her contact and social media links, if she’s turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out her books in the RWISA catalog.  Thanks, again, for your support and we hope that you will follow along each day of this amazing tour of talent by visiting the tour home page!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about today’s profiled author:

Joy Nwosu Lo Bamijoko‘s RWISA Author Profile

Welcome to Day 9 of the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! @wendyjaynescott @RRBC_Org #RRBC #RWISA #RWISAWRW


The Crystal Tavern by Wendy Scott

This piece is in remembrance of my Creative Writing student, Gill Pontin, who suddenly passed away in October 2020. Gill was an artistic dynamo whose enthusiasm, creativity and laughter will be dearly missed. She was a key participant when our group developed a new world, Creedland, and this story is set in Vape Town.

“Whoa, boy.” Blade Driscoll tugged on the reins and pulled his destrier to a halt. He surveyed the outskirts of Vape Town, unsurprised by the ramshackle buildings and pock-marked roads. The air reeked of burnt sugar and the back of Blade’s throat tingled. Between his thighs, Stormbolt shifted, wrinkling his equine nose and shaking his head from side to side. The horse’s plated armour clinked together destroying any attempt at stealth. Blade nudged his mount towards the main street, the sooner he finished his business in this cesspit the better for his sanity.

Pink-eyed townsfolk slunk away from the war horse’s hoof spikes. Pastel smoke billowed from a series of chimney stacks and led him to the front steps of the Crystal Tavern. Scantily clad fairies with tattered wings slouched against the verandah railings. Out of habit, Blade scanned their faces but didn’t recognise any familiar features. He didn’t waste his breath asking after his friend as their vacant stares and pink-tinted irises indicated their minds were lost in a kaleidoscopic haze.

Crystal Pink was manufactured from bog flowers and utterly irresistible to fairies. Its euphoric buzz leached away their magic, attacked the delicate blood vessels in their wings, rendering them flightless, before their bodies swelled to human size. The only way to gain their fix was to enslave themselves to Gurezil Flintsunder, owner of the Crystal Tavern, the unofficial mayor of Vape Town, and the largest whore-master this side of the Despicables. Lowlifes flocked from every dark corner of Creedland to sample the unique fairy delights.

Blade dismounted and left Stormbolt’s reins dangling, ready for a speedy exit. Anyone foolhardy enough to try to steal the stallion would learn how hard the war horse could bite.

Blade checked his weapon inventory. If blood flowed today, he didn’t intend any of it to be his.

Before the saloon doors swung shut behind him Blade tugged a bandanna over his mouth and nose. Steam laced with cotton candy sweetness curled through the dimness. Chunks of crystals simmered in heated ceramic bowls, producing bubbles and sickly fumes. Each table featured glass paraphernalia plugged with multiple hoses. Tendrils of pink smoke escaped from the pipe tips.

Pain pulsed in Blade’s forehead and his eyes watered. He sipped shallow breaths as he scanned the front parlour, counting four patrons slumped in the booths. Their hands grasped the tubes as if they were lifelines. Fools; it was death they courted.

A month ago, he’d rescued Maie Quickthistle from Gurezil’s clutches, sneaking her away while the tavern slumbered. When she’d surfaced from the drug’s grip she’d attacked him like a demented harpy, begging for her next fix. He responded by locking her inside a rented room, but she’d broken out the window and hightailed it back to the Crystal Tavern. After that failure, he decided to change his tactics.

A bartender slumped across the bar and ignored Blade as he slid into an empty booth and shuffled into the shadows. From here he had an unobstructed view of Gurezil’s office door and a ringside seat to the drama he knew was about to unfold. The next bog flower shipment was due within the hour, and he wanted to witness Gurezil Flintsunder’s reaction when he learned his entire crop had been destroyed. The poison had cost Blade his life’s savings but the wizard assured him that this would taint the bog for generations. With one application he’d wiped out the only source of Crystal Pink.

Half an hour later, boots thundered along the passageway and a man hammered his fists on the office door. “Boss, there’s a problem with the latest shipment.”

Gurezil flung the door open and stomped into the hallway. “If those imbeciles have stolen as much as one flower I’ll strip the flesh from their hides and feed it to the fairies.”

“There are no flowers.” The man held out a limp vine. “Something’s wrong with the whole patch.”

Gurezil snatched the vegetation out of the man’s hand, lifted it above his nose, and sniffed it. The blood vessels on his cheeks blazed beetroot. “Stinks of spoiled magic. There’s no time to waste, saddle up the horses and the wagons, we need to salvage what’s left.”

Blade stayed in the shadows until they disappeared outside. Whistling, he ascended the stairs two at a time before gently opening every door along the top corridor. A rush of stale air tainted with the drug’s signature sweetness filtered into the passage. Fairies dozed on bunks, oblivious to his presence as their minds languished in a hypnotic blur. He didn’t desire to be anywhere near Vape Town when their mass withdrawal kicked in. Dealing with one psychotic fairy was enough to test a man’s mettle.

He counted his blessing when he found Maie Quickthistle out cold, making it easier to transfer her onto Stormbolt’s saddle. As a precaution, he bound her hands together and checked her pockets for hidden daggers. Earlier, he’d prepared a campsite in the surrounding woods as he understood the next two days were going to be tough on the both of them.

If he’d known how sharp fairy teeth were he might have reconsidered this rescue plan. Bloody bite marks and grazes marred his forearm and face, and he was sure he was missing a piece of his ear. His ears throbbed from Maie’s constant shrieking, and he hoped she’d have no memory of all the things she’d offered him in exchange for a fix.

After a sleepless 48 hours, his eyes were redder than an addict’s and his thoughts foggy. Maie’s limbs contorted into a fetal knot and whimpers escaped her throat. She was quieter than earlier, but he kept his distance as she’d lured him into striking range before. He yawned and struggled to keep awake. Perhaps he’d snatch a moment’s rest.

Something fluttered against his cheek and Blade wrenched his eyes open. Tiny fairy wings whirred close to his face. He held still as Maie planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. “You saved me.”

Lightness flooded Blade’s soul. “Of course, that’s what friends do.”

~~~~~

Thank you for supporting Wendy Scott along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed her writing, please visit her Author Profile on the RWISA site, where you can find more of her writing, along with her contact and social media links, if she’s turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out her books in the RWISA catalog.  Thanks, again, for your support and we hope that you will follow along each day of this amazing tour of talent by visiting the tour home page!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about today’s profiled author:

Wendy Scott’s RWISA Author Profile

Welcome to Day 8 of the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! @ptlperrin @RRBC_Org #RRBC #RWISA #RWISAWRW

SUNSET

By P.T.L. Perrin

Eden backed her Boston Whaler, Eden’s End, away from the dock, swung her nose into the current and gave the outboard a little gas. Still in the no-wake zone, her granddaughter hung over the side near the stern and trailed her hand in the water.

“Leigh, a shark’s gonna bite that thing right off.”

“No, it won’t. See the dolphins alongside?” She pointed her dripping finger at a pair of breeching dolphins. “Everyone knows they protect folks from sharks.”

Eden shook her head, grinned, and watched the sleek bodies leap through gray water until the pod outdistanced them. She’d never heard of a shark this far up the intracoastal, but she enjoyed teasing Leigh, even if the girl didn’t like it much. Besides, she wouldn’t have to put up with it after tonight. Her heart dropped at the thought.

Right now, they needed to get into the channel where she could open the throttle and let her fly. They’d need a bit of speed to get through the chop at the inlet’s mouth.

“Where’d you stash the drinks, baby girl? I’m thirsty.”

“Coke or ginger ale?” Leigh reached into the cooler behind the captain’s bench and waited for Eden’s answer.

“We have any bottled water?”

“Yuck.” Leigh wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out. At thirteen, she didn’t care for plain water. She grabbed a coke for herself and tossed the water toward the captain’s bench, where her grandma easily caught it.

“Come up here with me.” Eden scooted over, but Leigh grabbed the canopy support bar and stood next to her to wave to passing vessels.

They entered the main channel and accelerated. “Look at them all!” Leigh held tight to the support with one hand and with the other, pointed out small boats like theirs, yachts and excursion ships heading out to sea. “I’ve never seen so many in the channel all at once. Is all this for the sunset?”

Eden didn’t answer. She glanced at her granddaughter and wished she could keep this moment forever. Evening light bathed Leigh’s face in a gentle glow, the pink in her cheeks showing through the Florida tan she wore summer and winter. Her luminous eyes, the same amber as the natural streaks in her sun-bleached hair, crinkled at the corners as she squinted at the water. She’d be a beauty in a couple years and Eden had looked forward to scaring the sin out of any boys with the wrong idea. Just another thing she’d never get to do.

The chop demanded her attention, so she drove while Leigh held on and whooped every time their bow hit another wave. The sea calmed when they reached the Gulf of Mexico, and they found a spot to drift about a hundred yards out, away from other vessels. The current turned the stern toward the northwest, where they had a perfect view of the horizon to the west and the inlet to the east.

Eden moved to the cushioned top of the cooler in the aft cockpit. Leigh joined her, pretended to push her off with her hip, and settled close. She sipped her coke while her grandma threw an arm around her in a hug. 

The ocean breeze played with Eden’s short hair and blew tendrils of Leigh’s long hair across her chest. Eden reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a hair tie.

“Turn around, baby girl. You don’t want hair in your eyes just as the sun sinks, do you?” Leigh leaned forward while her grandma caught her hair back in a tail. She reached for a blanket bunched on a corner seat. 

“Here, Grandma. The breeze is a little cool.” Leigh pulled it over their laps.

A bank of cumulous clouds towered to the east, each layer a living painting, shifting through pink, purple, orange, and salmon in majestic slow motion. A low swell slapped against the hull, a rhythmic percussion to the visual symphony.

Eden took several deep breaths, enjoying the tang of salt air with a hint of seaweed. The scent of grilling fish tickled her nose. Her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled. They’d eat with Leigh’s parents later, at one of the seafood places on the main dock. A special treat.

Leigh snuggled close to Eden, who pulled the lightweight blanket up to cover her girl’s shoulders. 

“Are all endings sad?”

Eden swallowed hard before she could answer. “Not all.”

“Like what? Name some happy endings.”

Eden dug past the lump in her heart to find one or two. “When the prince kisses the princess and they live happily ever after. When the hero escapes from the dungeon.”

Leigh slapped her arm. “I mean for real.” She turned her gaze toward the setting sun, now barely touching the horizon’s edge. “I can think of lots of sad endings. Like when we had to leave our friends in Minnesota. And when Scruffy ran away. And when…”

Eden interrupted. “Farmers are happy when a drought ends. And what about the end of an icy cold winter? You had those in Minnesota, remember.”

“Oh, yeah. But the end of snow wasn’t so happy.”

Eden grabbed her granddaughter’s hand and pointed toward the sun, now a half-circle sitting on a dark line.

“Every ending starts a new beginning.” Just saying it lifted her own spirits a tiny bit.

Leigh picked up on it. “School starts at the end of summer. I like school.”

“And cooler weather,” Eden reminded her.

“Morning comes when night ends. I’ll be fourteen when thirteen ends.”

“And we’ll meet in heaven when life ends.” Eden wanted to take back the words as soon as they left her mouth. She sucked air in thick gulps to keep from bursting into tears. She felt her granddaughter tremble.

Eden turned Leigh’s face toward her and kissed her forehead. She kissed each precious cheek and wiped her tears away with her thumbs. “You know I’ll always love you, don’t you? Everything I have is yours, and no matter what, we’ll see each other again.”

“Death is a sad ending, Grandma. I don’t care what the next beginning is. I don’t want you to go.” Leigh covered her face with her hands, bent over her grandma’s lap and sobbed, shudders racking her body and tearing the heart out of Eden. 

“Watch, Leigh. Sunset isn’t over yet.”

Leigh sat up, wiped her eyes, and took a shuddering breath. Eden’s heart swelled with love and pride at her granddaughter’s courage as the ocean swallowed the last sliver of sun, leaving the eastern clouds a gray canvas. There should have been more drama.

Eden returned to the console and started the engine.

“Wait, Grandma. Can’t we wait for the stars to come out? I need more time.”

Eden turned the key off and wrapped her arms around Leigh’s slender body. They sank to the deck, neither trying to control the eruption of grief tearing at their cores.

When their sobs turned to hiccups and they let each other go, Eden lifted Leigh’s chin and pointed to the sky. “Look at that magnificence, baby girl. God’s story written in the stars. You’re there, and so am I.”

“What do you mean, Grandma?”

“Our last sunset is an ending, but tomorrow’s a new day for both of us. I’m going home very soon, and you have a long life ahead with happy endings and beautiful beginnings.

Leigh sighed and snuggled close. “And we’ll meet again. In heaven, right?”

“That’s right.” Eden returned to her bench and turned on the engine. “I’m hungry and your parents must be starving. How about you?”

Leigh nodded, stood, and held on to the support. “I love you, Grandma.”

*****

Leigh backed her whaler, Eden’s Dawn, from the dock and headed to the channel where she joined a smattering of fishing boats, her lights joining theirs on the way to the Gulf. Her daughter snored softly, asleep beside her on the bench. Leigh tapped her shoulder to wake her.

“Faith, we’re getting to the chop.”

The child stretched and yawned, jumped to the deck, held on to the support, and whooped at every wave they hit until they reached calm water.

“Now, Mommy?” Faith pointed at the pretty box on the console that held Grandma’s ashes.

“Soon.” Leigh headed out until land was a smudge to the east and cut the engine. “Now, Sweetie.”

Leigh and Faith held the box over the stern together. Leigh kissed it, and they dropped it into the ocean while the sun rose behind a cloud bank, its golden rays streaming out to paint the morning sky pink and orange.

Leigh hugged her daughter as the box sank beneath the waves. “Goodbye, Grandma. We love you.”

Faith reached up and held her mother’s face between her small hands. “Are you sad, Mommy?”

“A little. But every ending starts a new beginning.”

Leigh lifted Faith to the bench, kissed her, and turned Eden’s Dawn toward home. 

~~~~~

Thank you for supporting P.T.L. Perrin along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed her writing, please visit her Author Profile on the RWISA site, where you can find more of her writing, along with her contact and social media links, if she’s turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out her books in the RWISA catalog.  Thanks, again, for your support and we hope that you will follow along each day of this amazing tour of talent by visiting the tour home page!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about today’s profiled author:

PTL Perrin’s RWISA Author Profile

Welcome to Day 7 of the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! @Maurabeth2014 @RRBC_Org #RRBC #RWISA #RWISAWRW

Maura Beth Brennan

CHRISTMAS WITH AUNT ALICE AND THE PINEAPPLE

You could say the trajectory to that strange Christmas Eve began on the Saturday before, when Mother and Father took us to Wanamaker’s in Philadelphia. There were five of us, counting my two little brothers and me, and we were there on our yearly trek to see the renowned Wanamaker’s Christmas tree and hear Christmas music played by a live orchestra.  

After the concert, we wandered around the store, admiring the decorations. Mother was especially taken by the centerpiece on one of the tables in the furniture department. There, a pineapple, resplendent in a coating of golden spray paint, nestled on a platter filled with fresh pine boughs and sparkling ornaments.

“Oh, isn’t that lovely,” exclaimed Mother.

“I think it’s stupid,” said Father. Father was usually a cheerful person, full of jokes and funny stories, but that day he was grumpy, facing the prospect of having to eat lunch in Wanamaker’s Mezzanine Restaurant, where, as he put it, “They only have lady food.” 

Mother rolled her eyes at me like she did sometimes, now that I was thirteen, and apparently had been admitted into the Sisterhood of Aren’t Men Silly. I rolled my eyes back at her, straightened my shoulders, and stood straight and proud. 

Mother worked feverishly all that week to prepare for the holiday and finally, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, we all decorated the tree. In those days in our house, the tree was brought into the house on Christmas Eve and not a day before. Father would spend hours groaning, shouting, and trying not to curse as he secured the tree to the walls. You read that correctly. Father was sure that the tree would escape its confines when left to its own devices, wreaking havoc, and so would place it in a corner and tether it to each wall with nails and the thickest string he could find. Only then could our tree, safely restrained, be adorned. 

The tradition was that we would listen to Christmas carols as we all performed our assigned decorating duties. Finally, Father would finish with gobs of silver tinsel and, with a flourish, turn on the lights. After the “oohs” and “aahs” died down, we would head to the dining room for Christmas Eve dinner.

That’s how things usually went. On this particular Christmas Eve, though, as we were filing into the dining room, a loud shriek emanated from the direction of the kitchen. 

“Oh, SSSSSHIP!” 

Mother shot Father a look. “Aunt Alice.” she said.

I should have mentioned that my Great Aunt Alice was visiting. She was extremely old and, on holidays, came to stay with us. We kids loved Aunt Alice. She was funny, though not always intentionally so, told us fabulous stories which she made up herself, and she loved to curse. This was a great learning experience as I saw it. However, my parents had recently had a discussion with Aunt Alice about this behavior. I listened in, rooting for Aunt Alice, and it went like this:

Father said, “There are children here, Aunt Alice. Think of the children.”

“But you curse, and you’re my favorite nephew,” Aunt Alice replied.

Father countered with, “Look, Aunt Alice, that’s different. I’m a man, and I was in the Navy during the War.”

Aunt Alice, voice rising, shot back, “Oh, come on. What a crock of—”

“Stop!” yelled Father.

“POOP,” Aunt Alice screamed. “I was going to say POOP.”

Mother chimed in, “That was better, Alice. Crude, but better.” Then she swooped in for the finish.  “Alice, Dear, you are so creative! Why, all those stories you tell, I’m sure you will have no trouble coming up with interesting things to say when you’re upset. If you want to keep coming here to be with us and the children, that is. It’s completely up to you.”

“Dag blig it,” said Aunt Alice.

So on that night, hearing that strange cry, Father rushed in the direction of the sound and we all followed. I, for one, hoped it meant a ship was visible from our kitchen window, though we lived nowhere near a body of water. That would have been a treat.

But there was Aunt Alice in the kitchen, crawling along one of the counters and opening and closing the cabinets, a fairly tricky situation. Father caught her just as she was tumbling from the counter, having been pushed off by the cabinet door she was trying to open.

“Aunt Alice, what are you doing?” Father shouted. “You could have broken your hip.” 

“Forget my bleeping hip,” Aunt Alice shouted back. “Where did you people hide my flipping glasses?”

Father pointed to the glasses dangling from the ribbon around her neck.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, it’s about frogging time.” 

Finally at the table, all proceeded well, although Mother seemed distracted. She cleared the dishes and started toward the table with our desert, at which point Aunt Alice laid her head on the table and moaned, “Oh, why won’t they let me have a beer?”

“You know why, Aunt Alice,” Father said. “You’re on that new heart medication and the doctor said you can’t drink.”

“But you’re drinking,” she said, pointing to Father’s glass of wine.

“Now, look Aunt Alice,” Father began, but Mother interrupted him.

“Don’t worry, dear, I’ll get you something,” she said, patting Aunt Alice on the shoulder,  and winking at Father. She signaled to me to follow her into the kitchen.

“She’s been so good, with the non-cursing,” Mother said. “I better come up with something. Do you think we could fool her with some grape juice?” 

I was honored to be included in this weighty decision and offered my solution. “Let’s add vinegar,” I said. That will make it taste like wine, I bet.”

“Hmmm,” said Mother. “Well, I don’t drink, because I think it tastes terrible, so I’m not sure . . .”

She filled a crystal goblet with grape juice and topped it off with a splash of white vinegar. She handed the glass to me. “How does it taste?” she asked.

I took a sip and immediately spit it out. “Yuck!” I said. “It tastes terrible.”

“Well then, that should do,” said Mother.

She took the glass to the dining room and handed it to Aunt Alice, who brightened up and took a sip.

“Ah,” she said. “Now that’s more like it.”

After we settled again, I noticed that Mother still seemed distracted, which I attributed to all the work she had been doing the past week. But suddenly, after desert, she threw her hands to her face and cried out, “Oh, no! I forgot to spray a pineapple!”

Father sat back, threw his napkin on the table, and burst into hearty guffaws. “Oh, Mary,” he said, “now that’s a good one. A pineapple! Heh, heh, heh, like that silly thing we saw last week?” He shook his head. “Mary, I have to say, every once and a while you come out with a good one.” He wiped his eyes and grinned in Mother’s direction, then stopped cold when he saw her face. “You were kidding, Mary, right? Kidding about that funny pineapple thing? Mary? Sweetheart?”

But Mother rushed from the room and we could hear the sounds of things being thrown around in our pantry closet—pots clanging, wrappers rustling, cans and boxes colliding. Before long, Mother emerged, a look of relief on her face, displaying the elusive fruit—one glorious pineapple. We all applauded, and Father sprang from his chair to escort her back into the room. But Mother glared at him. “I have things to do,” she said.

Father looked like he wanted to go after her, but Aunt Alice tugged on his sleeve. “Can I have more of this wine?” she asked. “It’s delicious.”

I washed and dried the dishes, and soon it was time for my brothers and me to go to bed. I heard Father call to Mother once, asking if he could help, but she shouted back, “You just leave me a-lone.” I imagine after that he kept what is known as a low profile.

On Christmas morning everyone jumped out of bed, eyes shining, faces bright with smiles, even Mother. 

And what a beautiful sight lay before us. The Christmas tree glimmered in the darkened living room, surrounded by gaily wrapped gifts. And visible through the archway was the dining room table, draped with a golden cloth and graced with an arrangement of fragrant pine boughs and glittering gold Christmas ornaments. Nestled in the greenery sat the singular, spectacular, gilded pineapple.

“Oh, Mary,” said Father. His face flushed and his eyes looked a little watery. “It looks beautiful.”

“Well, I’ll be a son of a—,” began Aunt Alice, but Mother grabbed her elbow.

“Don’t even think it,” she whispered. Then she smiled her lovely smile and said, “Let’s all just wish each other” and we all chimed in—

“Merry Christmas!”

~~~~~

Thank you for supporting Maura Beth Brennan along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed her writing, please visit her Author Profile on the RWISA site, where you can find more of her writing, along with her contact and social media links, if she’s turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out her books in the RWISA catalog.  Thanks, again, for your support and we hope that you will follow along each day of this amazing tour of talent by visiting the tour home page!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about today’s profiled author:

Maura Beth Brennan’s RWISA Author Profile