Recipe & #Giveaway: Deep in the Hollow by Brandy Nacole @authorbnacole


It’s no secret that Halloween is my favorite holiday. It’s also the most creative, I believe anyway. From the Reese’s Spiders all the way to the Stuffed Skeleton. There are several fun recipe’s out there to give your friends or kids a laugh, while trying to fulfill the Halloween spirit.
The following recipe is one me and my kids made last year and it was a hit, from the beginning until the end. It also makes the best centerpiece.

The Puking Pumpkin

As far as the dip, you can use any recipe you like. The recipe I had originally found was for a guacamole dip, however, there are a lot of my friends that do not like guacamole. I went ahead and made a cheesy dip and used food coloring to make it look gross like real puke. It was quiet interesting watching people try to stomach the idea of eating it. 





Deep in the Hollow
Chindi Series
Brandy Nacole

Genre: Paranormal

Publisher: Brandy Nacole

Date of Publication: September 15, 2016

ASIN: B014U7BMU0

Number of pages: 232
Word Count: 80,000

Cover Artist: The Book Cover Machine

Tagline: Greed has a price, and the dead do not always rest.

Book Description:

Let me share some wisdom with you. There is evil in this world we cannot see, not because it is hidden from us, but because our minds refuse to accept its existence. But once we are able to get past what everyone says should not be, it becomes our responsibility to stop the evil we now see.

This insight wasn’t given to me until a year after I lost the most important person in my life: Bryce Rowan. Now, after another death at the same spot where he died—the overlook, where the mysterious lights dance amongst the trees—I begin to wonder if they were accidents after all.

Lucky for me, I’m not the only curious one in town. Cooper, a ghost hunter (aka chaser), and his sister Jada have moved to town and are starting to ask questions.

But the more we find out about this town and the people who live here, people who I have known my whole life, the more I begin to think there are those who would rather keep the evil secret, even if it means we will never be safe, and that more will die.


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Excerpt:

Prologue
July 11, 1972 

Once again I’ve fallen prey to MaryAnn’s pleading, and I follow her out the window, my stomach churning with dread, a contrast to her excitement. I don’t know why I let her talk me into these things. She’s always getting us into trouble, has been since we were little. Yet, here I am, still following her after seven years of mistake after mistake. There’s something about her I can’t say no to. I’ve always thought of her as my sister, not my cousin, and considering we were born only two days apart, we are more like sisters—look like it too. But still, even sisters tell each other no every once in a while. Not me. This time though, I should have.
Our tiny flashlights give off little light in the dark forest, mine unsteady as it shakes in my hand. Thorns scrape at my skin and I look back, hoping to see a light in the cabin on and my grandfather coming out to see where us girls have run off to. No such luck. The small, two-bedroom cedar cabin is dark, its frame nothing but an outline against the trees around it.
“I think we should go back,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“Will you quit whining, Ester? This is no different than walking through the woods during the daylight.”
I beg to differ. During the day, the green leaves look welcoming, not over-powering and creepy like now. I don’t feel trapped and afraid when walking these familiar woods when the sun is shining bright, but now I do.
“But, MaryAnn, grandpa said—”
“He was just trying to scare you,” she hisses, as she shines her light on a raccoon scavenging for food. It rushes off to hide from what he perceives as danger and we continue on through the thicket.
No matter what MaryAnn says, I know she’s wrong. I saw the fear in our grandfather’s eyes as he told us the story of the thing that haunts these woods. MaryAnn had been enthralled as she sat by the fire, her eyes bright, her body unmoving as she absorbed every word. I had been terrified. Our grandfather has never been a skeptical man, always saying rumors and legends are nonsense. “What you don’t see with your eyes, don’t witness with your mouth.” So to see the fear in his eyes as he witnessed the story he told us tonight is enough to convince me he was telling the truth, and not just some tale to scare his grandchildren.
An owl hoots overhead and a chill slowly creeps up my back, making me shiver.
“I think we should wait. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
MaryAnn ignores my pleas, knowing I won’t go back alone.
The leaves rustle as a slight wind picks up. I can no longer see the outline of the cabin. I don’t know if it’s from my fear, but our lights seem to grow dimmer, making the darkness feel as if it is weighing down on us.
A small clearing comes into view, with timber laying hazardously along the ground.  
“We are almost there,” MaryAnn whispers. “This is where grandpa and his workers have been logging close to the overlook.”
Good. Once we reach the overlook and she sees it is the same during the night as it is during the day, we can go back to the safety of the cabin. I can already feel the relief of being back under my blankets, eagerly waiting for morning, with the fresh smell of biscuits baking in the oven and bacon frying in the pan filling the air.
Whoosh.
“What was that?” I ask, panicked, and spin around in a circle, my flashlight shaking with more force.
“Ester, please stop this nonsense. I’m sure it was nothing.”
Once on the other side of the clearing, we start the mile hike up the incline and once again I wish we had stuck to the main road instead of taking the shorter path through the woods. The ground is slick from the rain we had yesterday, and with every step I take, I lose two as I slide back down.
MaryAnn grabs my hand, steadying me, as we both use our weight to climb the impossible hill.
Whoosh.
“Did you hear that?” she asks, her voice a bit higher than before.
I close my eyes, my stomach tensing. She better not be playing any games with me. I will rat her out in a heartbeat if she is.
“Yes. What do you think it is?”
Before she can answer, a strange mist builds in front of us. I examine it closely and point it out to MaryAnn, but before it takes on a shape, it’s gone.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
A strong wind spins around us, and not caring about what MaryAnn thinks, I let go of her hand and tumble back down the hill, scared for my life. My feet are unsteady as the land levels out again and I fall over a log. Seconds later, MaryAnn lands on top of me.
“Come on!” she screams, terror in her voice. “We have to get back to the cabin.”
“What did you see?” I demand, as I race after her, dodging fallen limbs. But she doesn’t answer. She keeps running, looking back to make sure that I am close behind her.
A strong force comes from behind me and I’m shoved into MaryAnn’s back, making us both lose our footing.
Whoosh.
Tears pour down my face as we scramble to our feet, our flashlights lost in the darkness. We try our hardest to run through the darkness with no light to guide our way. MaryAnn grabs my hand, our sweaty fingers clinging as tightly as they can while we try to make out where we are.
When MaryAnn screams, her body jerked away from me, I feel as if I can’t breathe. Something is trying to take her from me. My grip on her hand tightens, my small twelve year old frame pulling as hard as possible against whatever is trying to tug her away.
A movement behind her catches my eye as we struggle, but I can’t make out who or what it is. It’s shrouded in a black cloak, practically invisible under the blanket of night. I do make out the grey mist behind it, as if it’s drifting and waiting for its prey.
My heart thrums, feeling as if it’s trying to escape out of my chest, and my throat grows tight as I choke on my tears. MaryAnn screams, begging me not to let go of her, as our fingers begin to slip.
Why can no one hear us? We have to be close to the cabin.
A sharp pain explodes in the back of my head, and I pitch forward, disoriented. My legs slip out from beneath me, and I can feel myself losing consciousness. MaryAnn’s fingers slip out of mine as I land against the damp leaves on the ground. The last thing I hear is her pleading for me to save her.



About the Author:

Gemini Brandy Nacole is a writer of urban fantasy and paranormal books published by Ponahakeola Press. A reader from a young age, Brandy has always loved folklore and stories of beings that go bump in the night.

Whenever she’s not reading or writing, Brandy is spending time with her family and friends, throwing around crazy ideas, teaching, and singing like a rock star at a concert for no one else but herself.  She loves plants, but unfortunately is a killer of anything that requires water but can’t voice (scream) their needs. 






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FLASH FICTION: Secret of Souls by Aubrie Nixon @aubriewrites #HalloweenSpooktacular





          The feeling the Iter gives me is unique. I have tried other drugs, of course, but the Iter is specific with its high. I see things that are unexplainable, things that any sane person would call disgusting. But since I am not sane, I continue to crave the dark and disturbing visions that the Iter gives me.
          Some of us don’t survive the Iter. You die flying on a cloud of pure bliss as you fade into oblivion. Those of us who survive our first encounter are treated like kings and queens. We are rich beyond measure and could have anything we could ever dream of. Riches, cars, clothes, mansions, fame–anything we want, it is ours. It is the least they can offer us. But, after having the Iter, we want nothing but to feel the release and music it brings. We are the Iter’s muses, and we need it as much as it needs us. We are one.
          I lie there with black leather pants and a dark lacy bra on. My hair is done in an elegant bun, and I have been painted with enough makeup that I might rival them for their beauty. I cannot feel anything from the neck down. All of the feeling in my body is gone. But for the time being, I can see things as they do. The world is brighter. The colors I can see are vast–more than any human brain can even begin to fathom. The first time I tried the Iter I wanted to cry at the beauty that surrounded me. But of course I couldn’t. I have no control of my body. I can do nothing but stare at the lovely room, and them.
          The room is a garden in a large greenhouse near campus. The grassy ground is the most lovely shade of pure emerald green. I can see dew drops on the flower petals that surround me. I lie on a bed of fresh, blood-red roses on a table in the middle of the garden. The trees are of varying heights and colors. Pinks and reds, shades that I dream about when I am not here. The night sky is a dark purple, and the stars shine brighter than even the sun.
          The mirror on the ceiling shows me the scars on my pale skin. They are of varying colors and age. The ones that mark my stomach are many sizes for different organs. I watch as they place plates and trays around my body, filled with bloodied meats and liquids. I am the main event tonight, the center of everyone’s attention. Therefore, my table is the most exquisite. I watch as the masked ones bring in the guests. They are the Elite, the powerful ones. They have paid more money than I could ever accumulate in a lifetime to be here. They are here to see me, to be able to be next to me. It is the highest honor to be the main event.
          The music starts as the Iter takes hold, and I become its puppet. I am surrounded by a dozen of them. They are dressed in finery and expensive jewels. They whisper excitedly as they take in the spread on of the table, and their eyes rake over me hungrily. The chef welcomes them and introduces me: Elana Arravey, 20, of Norse descent. Diet: Sparkling water, strawberries, pineapples, and low protein. The crowd applauds excitedly. The chef murmurs a few words in their language, and then she cuts into me. Blood trickles down my chest as she cuts open my skin. Servants catch my blood in champagne flutes, and pass it out to the ravenous crowd. I feel the chef’s hand inside of my chest, as she reaches inside me, through my sternum, and grabs my heart. I watch as she pulls it from my chest. It pulses with life, blood squirting from the valves, painting the chef’s pale, white hand like fondue. It’s beautiful. She places my heart in a bowl.
          The bidding starts at 1 million. I watch in the mirror as the heart is bid on by the room. The pulsing never stops, filling the bowl with my blood. The crowd grows frenzied as the bidding war continues. 2 million, 3, 4, 5 million. We are down to three guests left bidding. 6, 7, 8 million. Two guests. 9, 9.5, 10 million. Going once, twice, three times, sold!
          My heart, sold for 10 million dollars. A hush goes over the room. It is rare that a heart goes for 10 million dollars, but it is the first time this organ has been touched. It is a trophy to take someone’s heart for the first time. The one that gets to taste my heart comes to claim his prize. I wish I could see him. I hear the crowd murmur their excitement as the chef takes the bowl from the servers and places my heart on a silver platter. I can hear him lick his lips as he reaches for my heart. I smile as he licks it, the blood dripping from his mouth. Just a taste.
          It is over in mere seconds, as the chef whispers words in their language again and places my heart back into my chest. She positions her fingers over my wound, and my flesh magically closes. She motions for the servers to carry me away, into the kitchens. I want to cry out because I know my time on the Iter is coming to an end. My legs start to tingle as it wears off, and before I can ask for more, my world goes dark.
          I awake in my bedroom, the alarm blaring like a foghorn. I open my eyes, everything around me blurry from the sleep in my eyes. I sigh as I sit up slowly and place my feet on the cold floor. My body is numb except for the dull ache in my chest. I smile at the pain, and start the shower.




Secret of Souls
Age of Endings
Book 1
Aubrie Nixon

Genre: New Adult fantasy

Publisher: Winterwolf Press

Date of Publication: November 24, 2017

ISBN: 978-0988585157

Number of pages: 250
Word Count: 79,000

Cover Artist: Laura C. Cantu
and Andreea Vraciu

Book Description:

The Empire of Lucent has stood for centuries as a beacon of strength and light. But now an otherworldly realm has unleashed an army of nightmarish creatures upon the peaceful empire, spreading a lethal plague called The Decay which consumes its victims mercilessly from the inside out.

The king of the Empire of Lucent calls upon “Lady of Death” Zephera Travelle—an infamous assassin with a weakness for braided cinnamon bread and a striking aptitude for murder and mayhem. He sends her on an impossible quest to find the one person who can concoct a cure and save the realm from total annihilation.

Together with her best friend Zadkiel, mage extraordinaire Brenner, girly city-guard Oriana, and broody warrior Daegan, she embarks on a journey that will test her wits, will, and sanity. Along the way, she discovers that no one—and nothing—is as it seems, including herself.

About the Author:

Aubrie plays mom to the cutest demon topside. When she isn’t writing she is daydreaming about hot brooding anti-heroes and sassy heroines. She loves Dragon Age, Game of Thrones and reading all things fantasy. She runs a local YA/NA bookclub with 3 chapters, and over 200 members. If she could have dinner with anyone living or dead it would be Alan Rickman because his voice is the sexiest sound on earth. He could read the dictionary and she would be enthralled. Her current mission in life is to collect creepy taxidermy animals because she finds them cute and hilarious. She resides just outside of Washington DC.

Guest Blog & #Giveaway: Damned by Alexandrea Weis


There are cities that conjure tingles when referenced for their mystique and romance. London, Paris, and New York all bring a smile to the faces of many, but for me, nothing can compare to the sultry breezes and intriguing architecture of New Orleans. Steeped in history, mystery, and a whole lot of sin, it is one of the most original spots on earth. Where old-world blends with modern day, the people, atmosphere, and culture are like no place else. It’s this exotic blend that makes the town such a worthy backdrop for my novel Blackwell. Despite time and the advent of technology, there is a rhythm in New Orleans that seems impervious to change. What was true in the time of Magnus Blackwell is still true today.
However, it’s the darker side of the Big Easy that makes it a pivotal part of Magnus Blackwell’s world. Ghosts, voodoo, and eclectic people have persisted in New Orleans almost as long as the city has been in existence. Murky myths add to its allure and make it a thrilling spot to set any literary adventure.
Famous as the most haunted destination in the United States, residents of New Orleans are as accustomed to ghosts as those in Los Angeles might be to smog, traffic, and noise. The ethereal is woven into the fabric of the dreamy iron balconies and shuttered doorways. Complaints of unintelligible voices, screams, footsteps, and unexplained knocking are as common in early morning banter between neighbors as cordial greetings. When you live in the French Quarter, hearing, “my ghost kept me up all night,” is the norm. Perhaps this is why spectral visitors are just as much a facet of life as red beans and rice on Mondays. And with the rise of haunted tours, ghosts are now big business. Taking what was once an inconvenience and turning it into a cash cow. But ask any of the locals if they would be happier relieved of their supernatural visitors, every single one of them would say no. New Orleans wouldn’t be the same without its ghosts. For those who love the city, it’s reassuring to know you never have to leave it.
Unlike other cities where the topic of voodoo was spoken in hushed whispers, New Orleans readily embraced the religion. The blending of the African and Catholic customs reached its zenith along the Mississippi River. Because of voodoo’s influence in the Crescent City, words such as gris-gris, ju-ju, and voodoo doll were introduced into the American vocabulary. Even famous practitioners of the art became legends. Marie Laveau is still regarded by many as the queen of voodoo. Her annual St. John’s Eve ritual performed on the banks of Bayou St. John continues to this day. And even though her religion has become more commercial that practical, the essence of it adds an air of enchantment to those tightly packed Creole cottages along St. Anne Street. And some insist, on a cold day when the light is right, you can see the regal figure of Ms. Marie strolling along the cracked sidewalks of The Quarter and keeping an eye on her hometown.
Probably the most memorable part of any visit to The Big Easy is the numerous encounters with its Bohemian inhabitants. Their unique character embodies all that is inviting about New Orleans. From quirky traditions to flamboyant celebrations, everything this town encompasses comes alive in its citizens. When life and death are celebrated with the same exuberance, one can’t help but be enchanted. There is something about the people that gets under your skin. A haven for writers, poets, artists, and musicians, the creative pulse resonates through every cobblestone of Jackson Square. Maybe this is why New Orleans has been the setting for so many great stories. Like a heady gumbo, it stirs the soul. Reason enough to make it one of the settings in my book.

There are many delights and a few dangers in New Orleans, but despite everything, it is a place where the impossible can seem probable. I can think of nowhere else to set the dark and sinister tale of Blackwell. It is a bastion where lost souls can find rest, forbidden religions can influence a culture, and people are encouraged to march to a different drum. All that is extraordinary defines this fabulous city, and all who embrace it are touched by magic. 

Damned
Blackwell Series
Book One
Alexandrea Weis

Release Date October 3, 2017

Genre: Paranormal Romance/ Supernatural Thriller

Word Count: 108,000

Publisher: Vesuvian Books

Book Description:

Over a hundred years after the death of Magnus Blackwell, Altmover Manor sits abandoned.

Lexie Arden and her fiancé, Will Bennet, are determined to rescue the neglected Mount Desert Island landmark. They want to make Altmover Manor their home. But Magnus has other plans.

A spirit bound to his former residence, Magnus finds himself inexplicably drawn to the young woman. She has a supernatural gift; a gift Magnus wants to exploit.
As Lexie and Will settle in, secrets from Magnus’s past begin to surface.

Compelled to learn all she can about the former owner, Lexie becomes immersed in a world of voodoo, curses, and the whereabouts of a mysterious dragon cane.

Magnus’s crimes won’t be so easily forgotten, and what Lexie unearths is going to change the future … for everyone.

Bound to a spirit with a sinister history, a woman with a dark power will battle to rule the realm of the dead…

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Excerpt:

Lexie awoke with a start from a sound sleep. Gaping into the blackness of the strange bedroom, she discovered the storm had abated and she detected the creaks and groans of the old house. Then a crack from the floorboards made her flinch.
It came from Will’s side of the bed. She reached out to shake him, but he didn’t move.
“Will?”
She received a muffled grunt.
Another crack in the floor, but this time it happened right next to her side of the bed. An odor lingered in the air.
Is that coffee?
A column of light glittering to her left made Lexie’s mouth go dry. The oddity soon took on the shape of a man.
His strong frame, long arms, and tapered hands came into view. Good-looking, despite the cruel curl of his lips, his chiseled features, and engaging eyes, made her insides tingle. But when the cut of his old-fashioned red vest, long black coat, and white ascot tie took shape, Lexie understood this wasn’t some hazy fantasy. She didn’t fantasize about men from another century.
Lexie clutched her bedsheet as a fearful scream rose in her throat.
“Please, my dear, don’t bore me with your petty shrieks,” the figure said, his tone condescending.
Like a lightbulb getting enough electricity to reach its wattage, his image brightened, bringing out his details. Lexie scrutinized the buttons on his coat, the fine craftsmanship of his high black boots, and grasped the identity of her visitor.
Then a loud pop rang out, and he was gone. It happened so fast, Lexie questioned if it had happened at all.
“Welcome to Altmover Manor, Ms. Arden.” She recognized the voice of the apparition. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”


This time, Lexie did not hold back her scream, and as she opened her mouth …

About the Author:

From New Orleans, Alexandrea Weis was raised in the motion picture industry and began writing stories at the age of eight. In college, she studied nursing. After finishing her PhD, she decided to pick up the pen once again and begin her first novel. Since that time, she has published many novels and won several national writing awards for fiction. Infusing the rich tapestry of her hometown into her bestselling books, she believes that creating vivid characters makes a story memorable.

Alexandrea Weis is also a certified/permitted wildlife rehabber with the La. Wildlife and Fisheries. When she is not writing, she rescues orphaned and injured wildlife. She is married; they live in New Orleans.






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Guest Blog: Betwixters: Once Upon A Time by Laura C. Cantu #Giveaway





Betwixters:
Once Upon A Time
Betwixters Book One
Laura C. Cantu

Genre: Middle-grade fantasy

Publisher: Winterwolfpress.com

Date of Publication: July 1, 2017

ISBN: 978-0-9885851-9-5
ASIN: B071F5M61D

Number of pages: 288
Word Count: 85,189

Cover Artist: Laura C. Cantu

Tagline: When you believe, magic awakens.

Book Description:

A mysterious forest near the cozy town of Herogate, England is more than what it seems. The gnarled trees appear to breathe, gloomy storms follow you around, and prowling shadows come to life before your very eyes. Referred to as The Dark Wood by the townsfolk, the forest is guarded by a strange old man and creatures not of this world. Even the locals never set foot in the bewitched woodlands, and trespassers have a way of turning up dead.

When Noah Walters moves to town with his parents, his father—a contractor working on a top secret project for a private security firm—makes Noah promise to never enter those woods; but he doesn’t know that Fate has other plans.

Noah and his new best friends, Ethan and Skye, are chased into The Dark Wood by Grucker, a schoolyard bully, and their lives are changed forever. They are forced into the heart of the forest, where they discover a lost fairy who needs their help to find her way back home before it's too late.

Join Noah and his friends on a magical adventure as they race against time and plunge headfirst into the unknown. They are challenged with secrets to keep, a dangerous mission to accomplish, and a test of courage that will bring them face-to-face with magical creatures they thought only existed in fairy tales.

This is more than a tale of discovery, mystery, and excitement; it’s an epic adventure that will usher you into a world where magic is in the air, in the trees, and in every heart.




Meeting a Monster -A True Story

When I was younger, a group of newly acquired friends and I tried to think of something eerie to do on Halloween night. Little did we know, that we would see something truly terrifying that would change our lives forever.
Like many teenagers, we decided that visiting a cemetery was just about the perfect way to give ourselves a good scare. I had just moved to town, and my new friends insisted that there was a glowing tombstone in an old, run down graveyard off a gravel road about thirty miles outside of town. So, we piled in a small, two-door car and drove, excited about the prospects of having some good ghost stories to tell on the way.
The road we were driving on was a narrow, two-lane service road with lots of potholes, hills, and curves. The locals had spread rumors that “devil-worshipers” often held ceremonies along that road, and one of the girls, who was sitting in the back seat, seemed to be enjoying herself as she recounted the spooky stories. She spoke of how the Satanists skinned animals alive, and how there were strange sightings in the area. Her last story was about the glowing gravestone; she claimed it was cursed.
We drove farther and farther from town, well over thirty miles, and I fidgeted in my seat. I was beginning to have second thoughts about going so far out into the night, especially since I hadn’t let my mother know where I was going. Back then, we didn’t have mobile phones. If something unexpected or dreadful happened, there would’ve been no one around to help, and my mother wouldn’t have even known where to look.
I shook my head, trying to shake off my growing apprehension as silence suddenly fell over the car like a soft, suffocating blanket. I cleared my throat to speak up but thought better of it. I didn’t want to be the one who chickened out and insist on turning back.
The car’s headlights pierced the darkness of the night and bugs thumped into the windshield as we continued to drive along. That’s when it happened.
The car came to a screeching halt.
There, in the middle of the road, sat a coyote. The driver of the car, a sixteen-year-old girl with short curly hair named Angie (her name has been changed to protect her identity), honked at the coyote. To our amazement, it didn’t move. Instead, it lazily looked in our direction as if it had nothing better to do than sit in the middle of the road, blocking our way.
She honked again.
The coyote blinked. The lights of the car reflected on its retina, causing its eyes to glow a dull shade of red.
When it did not budge this time, Angie yelled and honked again, but this time she held her hand down so that the horn blared into the night air.
It was then that the coyote stood on its two hind legs and turned toward us, a tall looming monster with sharp teeth and penetrating eyes.
Angie’s hand slid from the steering wheel as we all sat in amazement at this towering beast. It seemed to be looking us over, mulling over what it would do next.  Was he contemplating eating us?
I couldn’t find my voice. All I could do was sit there, slack-jawed and bewildered.
Just when I thought we were going to have to flee for our lives, the creature turned and ran away, its movements akin to that of a running human.
Everyone in the car finally found their voices to scream! Angie whipped a U-turn, and we hightailed it back to town.

Even today, over twenty years later, the vision of that creature is still clearly etched upon my memory. That was the day that I began questioning how magical and mysterious our world truly is.  -Laura C. Cantu

About the Author:

Laura C. Cantu is a multitalented artist, visionary, and humanitarian. Throughout her life, she has felt an overwhelming desire explore the mysteries of the unknown and to expand her awareness and experiences. By allowing her perspective to shift and change, Laura has learned to unleashed her imagination and use it to guide her through creative processes. She passionately follows her dreams and has achieved high levels of success in her various careers. As a professional dancer, Laura won six national titles and placed fourth in the Professional Argentine Tango World Championships. She also stretched her creative muscles as a visual artist with drawings that toured across the globe. Adding to her diverse accomplishments, Laura earned her master’s degree in Oriental Medicine in 2012, which has afforded her opportunities to assist many along their journeys to realizing wellness.

Despite her already jeweled career, there is another passion Laura delights in—the art of storytelling. Her first young adult fantasy novel, Xandria Drake: Ancient Rising, earned rave reviews and a Goodreads' book of the month award. Currently working on The Vathylite Realms, Laura is harnessing and focusing her energies to craft engaging stories that are meant to bring joy, inspiration, and awareness to all who read them.

Laura is on a mission to live a life of inspiration, truth, and empowerment. With future books pending release, she continues to dance as a hobby, study energetics and wellness, and explore her imagination. Laura also enjoys drawing and creating 3D art and animations, hiking, meditation, playing guitar, and spending time with her family, friends, and pets.







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Interview with Paul DeBlassie III, author of Goddess of the Wild Thing @pdeblassieiii


1) What inspired you to write books? 

Books are and always have been my thing. My lovely lady, Kate, kindred soul, wife and mother of our four adult children inspired me to move into dramatic fiction. She said, “You can write visionary thrillers loaded with archetypal gusto just like you write psychology except these’ll be even more compelling, captivating, riveting! Kate’s my inspiration.

2) What do you love about writing in general? 

Words are a psychic narcotic, a real high. When I read good indie writers like Tamara Ferguson, Uvi Poznansky, Luna Saint Claire, Rayna Noire, David P. Permutter, and Lorraine Carey my mind is tuned in and turned on. When I write there’s a sense of being transported to another realm filled with mystery, insight, and age-old wisdom. I love it.

3) What advice can you give aspiring Authors in your genre? 

If you feel it do it. Doubts come, fears abound, but inspiration was there from the beginning, so see it through to the end. You felt what you felt, the need to write, so stay true to that feeling and true to your dream.

4) What’s your favorite part of being an author? 

Along with setting dramatic narrative and white-hot words to the page, a story building, fulminating and completing itself I love meeting wonderful readers who write and tell me of their impressions and emotions while immersed in the tales I’ve woven.

5) What is the worst part about being an author? 

There is no worst part. Writing is about being true to what’s in you to do, and there’s no worst part to that. There’s dark times and light times for sure; but the dark and light are the composites of shading and color and texture that take visual form in the art that is storytelling.

6) What do you do for fun? 

I love it when Kate and I hang together, just the two of us, and see movies, go to lunch and dinner, talk long talks, and come home and nestle into each other. That’s a fine, really fine time.

7) How do you find time to write? 

I write a little each day. Freud wrote a page a day. That’s a good rule of thumb for me. There’s always time for a page, and one page often leads to another and another and another . . ..

8) What is in your WIP or next book you thought about writing? 

After writing The Unholy and Goddess of the Wild Thing I’ve thought about resting; but the resting is in the living and writing that are an everyday experience. The new book The Goddess of Everything is a hottie – there’s a woman who thinks she all that and more to boot - can control, cajole, and bag whomever and whatever her nefarious heart desires. It’s a visionary thriller of mother love gone bad and a son’s desire to break free. There’s twist and turns and an unexpected heroine – The Goddess of Everything!

9) Where do you write? 

Right now I’m downstairs on the oak kitchen table. I used to write only in my study. I like varying it up. It keeps the flow going. The study is good, old gothic masters up there whispering in my ear. On the kitchen table is good too. They follow me down the stairs and whisper their words, dark machinations, and eye-popping revelations. I set these to page and they smile.

10) Are you a fulltime author? 

I am a full-time depth psychologist, therapist and writer. It all comes together in the consultation room in treating traumatized patients and on the page where trauma and despair meet the potential for hope and transformation in a rip-roaring visionary thriller.

Goddess of the Wild Thing
Paul DeBlassie III

Genre: Horror , Sci Fi and Fantasy

Book Description:

Goddess of the Wild Thing is a dramatic tale of one woman’s spiritual journey where magical happenings, unexpected turns of fate, and unseen forces influence her ability to love and be loved.

Eve Sanchez, a middle-aged woman and scholar of esoteric studies, encounters a seductive but frightening man who introduces her to a supernatural world in which the wicked powers of a surrogate mother’s twisted affection threaten love and life.

In the mystic realms of Aztlan del Sur, Eve and three friends struggle with whether bad love is better than no love and discover that love is a wild thing.


About the Author:

Paul DeBlassie III, Ph.D. is a depth psychologist and award-winning writer living in his native New Mexico. He specializes in treating individuals in emotional and spiritual crisis. His novels, visionary thrillers, delve deep into archetypal realities as they play out dramatically in the lives of everyday people. Memberships include the Author’s Guild, the Depth Psychology Alliance, the International Association for Relational Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy, and the International Association for Jungian Studies.






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