Wednesday, January 31, 2024

Confronting the Wizards of Erda #MFRWHooks #BWLAuthor #Fantasy #swords #sorcery #Jewels #wizards


Join the authors at MFRWHooks here for some great excerpts. Mine is found at and is from Confronting the Wizards of Erda


Two of the Jewels have no Holders and they must be found. The Brotherhood of Wizards also seeks to find them. Jindera is one of the pair and she must escape her cruel uncle. She wishes to find her twin brother taken by the Wizards who will use him in their attempt to destroy the Jewels of Erda. As twins, they can speak via the Inner Path. The Wizards hope to use this.

Mara, is a clanless desert dweller and faces life as the abused plaything of a future clan leader. She flees into an unknown future. On the winds, the crystals call this pair.


    Jindera left the herb storage hut and strode toward the cottage. Clouds dimmed the morning sun, then slid away. The leaves of the oka trees rustled in the summer breeze and the mingled scents of herbals and seasonings swirled around her. The coming of clouds meant a storm approached, but she felt certain no rain would fall this day.

    Would the medicinals she would brew from the herbals she'd selected be of any help? She could only hope. All night, she'd fought the fever raging through her mother's body and had seen no change.

    Mama, why did you leave the Healers' House? Her mother could have remained and raised her children with the sons and daughters of the other Healers. On his tenth birthday, Jindera's twin would have been sent to his father. But Jindera's mother had chosen to leave. Love for a man had been her reason.

    Tears blurred Jindera's sight. She had loved her father dearly. His death seven lunars before had brought sadness to a home where love had ruled.

    Rays of sunlight glinted on the golden stones of the cottage and brightened the dull yellow of the thatch. Jindera hurried along the garden paths that meandered among the beds of herbals and seasonings.

    The plants flourished. Lajin's touch, she thought. Her brother had only to tend any ailing plant and it thrived. She paused at the cottage door and peered along the road from the village. Her twin should return soon with the staples he'd gone to fetch.

    The stench of illness pervaded the room where her mother lay on a narrow cot. Jindera's breath caught. For a moment, she thought her mother had left this plane without the blessing to release her.

    Holding back a sob, Jindera fled to the kitchen to blend a fever potion. She carried the mug of steaming liquid to the sick room and spooned the medicinal into her mother's mouth. A drop or two fell on the linen sheet and spread like the tears Jindera held inside. She inhaled deeply. She had to hold grief and fear at bay. When the mug was empty, she rested her head on the edge of the mattress and prayed the remedy would work.

    She jerked awake. How long had she slept? The light in the room told her 'twas near midday.

    The rasp of labored breathing filled her ears. She felt her own breaths fall into the same pattern. She raised her head and turned toward the door. Where was Lajin? She tried to reach him on the inner path where they could speak in secret. Flight. Fear. What had happened to him? Her hands and body shook. His fear or hers?

    Jindera rose and looked outside. The fragrant scents of the garden brought a welcome calmness to her troubled spirit. 'Twas a false hope. If Mama dies, what will Lajin and I do? Having but sixteen years, they weren't old enough to hold the land.

    She heard a rasping cough and turned back to the cot. Her mother's eyes were open. A wave of hope spread through Jindera. "Mama."

    "Leave. You. Lajin. Soon. Danger comes."

    "We can't leave you without saying the blessing."

    "Must." Racking spasms shook her mother's body.

    "Mama, don't talk."

    "Must. Once. Three sisters."

    Jindera listened to her mother's halting words. A grandsire who was a Master Mage. Mama born on the desert and leaving with her older sister for a Healers' House. How her two sisters wanted power and schemed to obtain control of others. One who had talent. One who had none. Mama who had talent and wanted love.

    "Ralor. Comes. Hurt. You. Lajin. No Healers' House. Not good."

    "Mama, be still." Jindera pressed her hands against her mother's shoulders.

    "Starflowers. For Ralor. Make tea. He sleep. Then flee. Remember, danger from Healers."

    Jindera chewed on her lower lip to keep from crying. The door opened and for an instant, she feared her father's brother had arrived. The garden, the guardianship, the cottage would pass to him and to the one the Healers sent to tend the garden. The door opened. She turned.

    Lajin stood in the doorway. His flushed face and panting breaths told her he'd been running. "What's wrong?" she asked.

    "Black robes in the village. Taking boys. What will I do if they come here?"

    Jindera shivered. The mages would learn about Lajin's talent for nurturing plants. They would take him. "You must flee to the forest and hide. Go now."

    He knelt on the other side of the cot. "Not until we say the blessing."

    "Son. Daughter. Go."

    Jindera grasped her mother's hand. Lajin took the other. "Mama."

    The heavy breathing slowed, then stopped. Had she willed her death?

    Jindera's voice joined Lajin's. "Fare well, Mother. May the sun shine on your days and the moons light your nights. Let your shade depart and do not hover between this plane and the next."

    Jindera met her brother's gaze. "You must go. I'll follow."

    "The grave must be dug."

    Lajin, why must you linger? You heard Mama. You must go."

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Tuesday, January 30, 2024

Metamorphosis Plot - the Second Phase #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #writing #plot

 The second segment of this plot shows the relation between the two main characters The antagonist resists any reaction to the metamorph but gradually he or she begins to weaken this anger. He or she begins to control the metamorph. There are complications during this phase and often there are escape attempts.

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Monday, January 29, 2024

Meandering on Monday with Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor WReading #Writing #Thoughts

 Meander 1 - Reading - Still reading Temeraire stories. These last ones are ones I never read and am enjoying them. It's now back to China and dreadful events there with attempted assinationof Crown Prince and attempt to put this on the British.

Meander 3 - Thoughts - NH primary finished and Trump won but not by as big a margain as before. Nikki Haile will stay in. I'm sure she won't over take him since he has such a bunch of fools who think his s--- doesn't stink. He is totally unfit to lead the country anywhere but to the depths,

Meander 3 - Writing - Time to stop playing around and get serious. I really must finish Keltoi and decide what to do with it. I'm thinking of pulling the other three books in that series and taking them elsewhere. I will at least bring that up to Jude.

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Sunday, January 28, 2024

The Taurus Scorpio Connection is featured as Sunday's Book #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #Romance #medical #Astrological #Opposites


Her mother was a hired nanny and her father the Mellwood Bank. This is the way Taurus Laurel Richmond describes her family. After burning out as a nurse with an international health agency, she returns to Eastlake, the one place she where she felt connected. She studied nursing here and made a number of friends. Her one problem is her wealth. Soon she will receive a fortune. But money hasn’t given her the things she wants, a home, a family and love. Since a chance visit after summer camp with a friend made there, her idea of a man to love has been Alex Carter.

Alex Carter is a Scorpio, a single dad with a five year old son. He’s a general practitioner at Eastlake Community Hospital. While attracted to Laurel, he has one problem. His ex and now dead wife had a lot of money and little sense. Drugs and her fast friends were her life. She abandoned their son who cried for hours until his father returned. Alex has no love for women with money. Attraction or not he refuses to admit he’s falling for Laurel.

With the help of Alex’s son, Laurel sets out to prove to Alex she’s in town for the long haul and she will make the perfect wife and mother.

Janet Lane Walters has written a charming tale.
As a child, Laurel Richmond was trapped in a car with her dead parents for hours. After losing them, Laurel's next of kin was a bank. Laurel hides her immense wealth, traveling internationally as a nurse, helping the sick. She decides to settle in Eastlake, a small community.

She once summered with her friend Megan, developing a huge crush on Megan's brother, Alex, who is now a divorced doctor raising his young son Johnny. Alex is leary of wealth because his rich ex-wife had no time for him or Johnny, but Johnny takes to Laurel right away.

The glimpses of a family life that Laurel experiences with Johnny and Alex leave her longing for her dreams to become reality. Can she get Alex to realize that money may bring power, but love offers peace?

Rosemary Morris
5.0 out of 5 stars A Wealthy Orphans Need for a Home and Family

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on November 28, 2018

Ms Lane-Walters is conversant with hospitals and hospital procedures. In this interesting medical romance, she returns to Eastlake Community Hospital in which the first of the series was set. Exhausted, Laurel,whose star sign is Taurus, is an heiress orphaned in tragic circumstances when she was three-years-old. She leaves India, where she has been working for International Health Rescue Mission as part of a team following disasters, dispensing care and training health workers. She has fled from Neil Browne who asked her to marry him, but she did not want all he has to offer her, a roving life. When she arrives in America with the hope of finding a permanent home, Alex Carter, her friend Megan’s brother collects her from the airport. Within next to no time she collapses and is admitted to hospital suffering from pneumonia. Alex, a doctor, father of five-year-old Johnny, is still angry after his divorce and his former wife’s death. There is no room in his life for another spoiled, selfish rich woman so it’s useless for Megan to match make. This is an intriguing novel about two characters with problems which need to be resolved, and Alex’s delightful, but insecure young son, who adores his father and is traumatised by the loss of his mother. The Taurus Scorpio Connection is a story to relax with and enjoy it.

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Saturday, January 27, 2024

Three Books by donalee Mouton are featured on Saturday's Blurbs #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #mysteries #Canadian #conflagration



The soldiers are beating a warning on drums that can be heard throughout the streets. Soon troops are running through town with buckets, ladders, shovels. The town crier can be heard in the distance. He says only one word, over and over and over.




My boots are on, and I am heading out the door. It is the law. All able-bodied men must report to the scene of the conflagration to assist. I take a cloth to wrap around my mouth. The smoke is starting to fill the streets, and it will be intense the closer I get to the blaze.


I turn to kiss Madeleine goodbye. She has a shawl on. “Where are you going?”


“With you.”


“Absolutely not. You can’t fight a fire.”


“But I can help those in distress.” With that my wife and my unborn child are out the door and heading down rue Saint-Antoine. I look at her retreating back, proud and perturbed.


We follow the crowd, the drums, and the voice of the town crier to rue Saint-Paul. The street is in flames. The de Béréy house is consumed. It was only yesterday I stood inside that home, admired its design and its furniture, spoke with its owner.


We form a brigade; bucket after bucket after bucket of water is passed and poured on houses that line both sides of the street. To no avail.

In less than three hours it is over. The fire has won. More than forty homes are gone. Gone. Reduced to black ash, burnt stubs of wood, and tar, from the water that was tossed everywhere in a futile attempt to squelch the flames.


Hung Out to Die

Dinner goes much better than I expect. Not only is Tiffany great with small talk, but Raynes is as well. I contribute when the topic seems safe, which turns out to be all of them, and I know my insight and comments will be taken as I intend them. However, one thing is missing from the meal: why is Lin Raynes in my home in the first place?


That tidbit remains until the last mouthful of dessert, a vegan apple crisp that surely comes second only to particle board. I reach for my exquisite organic Ethiopian yirgacheffe coffee when Raynes leans in. I brace.


“Not to cut this delightful dinner short, but I have a favor to ask.” I relax a tinchlet, as the Nova Scotians say to describe something very small. “Faye Bedwell has agreed to talk to me this evening about her son being bullied. Riel, she’d like you to be there.”


The use of my first name takes me aback, but not nearly as much as the request itself. I barely know this woman.


Raynes adroitly answers my unasked questions. “I think she would feel more comfortable if someone she knew was present, and she said you have been there for the family since her husband died.”


I attempt not to gape. I look at Tiffany, who stares at her coffee cup. Ahh, so my wife has been reaching out. God bless her. I nod my acceptance. “Anything I can do.”


“I suggest we get going,” says Raynes. “I told Mrs. Bedwell we’d be there by 8:30.”


Of course, he did.



The Thong Principle: Saying What You Mean and Meaning What You Say

As you sit under a dried palm umbrella, icy marguerita within easy reach, and a best-selling mystery novel in hand, there is little to do but enjoy life, fill your lungs with gratitude, and look up every once in a while to soak in the atmosphere. As I looked up, and walked the beach, it occurred to me that many vacationers were wearing thongs. Yep, the swimsuit with a single string in the rear.


Admittedly, many of them looked good, very good. Of course, when you see enough people opting to wear an outfit with less material than my cat’s harness, it raises a very personal question: Should I wear a thong?


After of week of looking and lounging, I had my answer. No.


Whatever carefree attitude, chutzpah, confidence, or complacency it took to walk up and down a public beach with your ass hanging out, I didn’t have it. (Still don’t.) Initially, that realization surprised me and disappointed me. I wanted to be the lighthearted beach walker who meandered blithely up and down the sand without a care in the world about my bare ass, who was looking, or how I ranked on the thong-wearing scale.


I came to realize, however, that my reluctance to wear a thong was just that. Mine. It’s about comfort, physically and emotionally. I am not a thong wearer. I’ve learned to live with that.

I’ve also come to realize this reality is the foundation of effective communication.



Friday, January 26, 2024

donalee moulton is visiting and talking about Panster or Plotter #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #Panster #Plotter #Writing


Day 1


1.    Are you a panster or a plotter or perhaps a bit of both?


On the spectrum from panster to plotter, I lean left. When I was writing my first mystery Hung Out to Die, I had brief backstories for the main characters. I had an outline of the plot, I knew who the killer was, and why they had committed the crime. Then I dove in.


Writing my second book, Conflagration!, was a slightly different process. I may have leaned a little more to the right. The book is a historical mystery and follows the trial of an enslaved Black women accused of arson in Montreal in 1734. The level of detail in court transcripts and the timelines set by the trial process meant I had a detailed blueprint for the book before I even began.


2.    Which comes first - characters or plot for you?


Characters arrive first. Riel Brava, the main character in Hung Out to Die, appeared out of a lavender cloud of bubble bath one night while I was soaking in the tub. He was not fully formed but tangible enough that I wrote down my ideas before I even moisturized.


Marie-Joseph Angélique, the enslaved Black woman at the heart of Conflagration!, was portrayed in some detail in court transcripts. My fictional court reporter, Philippe Archambeau, and other characters emerged as the writing progressed.


3. What are you working on now? Is this a book in a current series or something totally new?


I have two books in progress. They are part of a new mystery series with new characters. The three main characters meet in a yoga studio and come together to catch a thief. I loved Riel Brava, but he was very much a surprise. Not what I would have picked as a main character emanating from my imagination. The next books, Bind and Melt, sound and feel a little bit more like me. That said, it’s always good to be taken outside your comfort zone.

4.            Do you have some kind of object or place that figures in most of your books? I use gems a lot, hospitals and caves.


It varies from book to book, but food seems to weave its way into my writing uninvited. Riel is a coffee aficionado. I do not know how that happened. I am a tea drinker. Riel also had his first – and second – donair in Hung Out to Die. I have never had one.


Food is the foundation for a friendship that springs up between Philippe and the local jailer in Conflagration!. Lunch becomes a means to extract information, then it becomes much more.


5. Do you write every day or just when the spirit hits?


I am not a marathon writer. I am a sprinter. I can’t sit and write for hours at a time. I break up my writing by taking a yoga class, soaking up some sunshine, checking email, doing some paid work. I do try to write 1,000 fictional words a day. Some days I achieve this. We don’t need to talk about the other days.


6. Where can we find you?


The best place to find me – and to reach out – is my website,


7. Who are your favorite authors? What about a book you’ve enjoyed?


I relish reading. I was a judge in the Crime Writers of Canada’s Awards of Excellence last year, and I got to dive into more than 40 fabulous – and very diverse – books that kept me on my toes and my eyes glued to the page. When I was younger and I was discovering the wonder and wow of the mystery genre, I devoured authors like Tony Hillerman, Martha Grimes, Ruth Rendell. More recently I have discovered writers like Richard Osman. And Delia Owens’s Where the Crawdads Sing was nothing short of joyous.


Day 2:






Amazon Author URL:

Thursday, January 25, 2024

The Aries Libra Connection is featured today with Thursday's Opening Scene #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #romance #medical

 With a flourish, Jenessa signed her name to the nurses’ notes on a fourth chart. She picked up a stack of papers and the brown bag containing the lunch she hadn’t had time to eat. All day, the pace in the Intensive Care unit had been hectic. Two codes. Three admissions in five minutes, all of them critical. Instead of twenty-seven, she felt more like seventy.

She waved at the night nurse. “See you tomorrow.”

“That’s two extras in a row,” one of the women called. “Are you some kind of glutton?”

“Am I?  One more thing and I’m out of here.” She straight-armed the door and headed for the stairs. After stopping on two other units to collect protest forms, she entered the stairwell.

Voices, eerie and distorted, drifted from below. The echo-effect made her wonder if the speakers were male or female. “Don’t worry, if we just push them a little harder, they’ll walk.”

“You’re right. Who could resist…”

Who were they talking about?  She leaned over the railing, but shadows hid the speakers. The voices faded. A door slammed. She frowned and headed to the fifth floor where she entered the Nursing Office.

Lorraine Rodgers, one of the evening supervisors, looked up. “Again? Don’t you get tired of making waves?”

“Is that what I do? I thought I was fulfilling my role as a good union member and a conscientious nurse. The contract gives us the right to protest unsafe working conditions. I just make sure they’re collected.”

The middle-aged woman shook her head. “We all know this is your personal crusade. Can’t you put the past to rest?”

Jenessa’s hands clenched and she felt the muscles in her shoulders tighten. “Could you?” She fought a barrage of memories. “See that Ms. Wallace gets these. Not that she cares.”

“You could give them to her. She’s in the house. The Board’s meeting to select the new Director and we all know who that will be.”

“Maybe they’ll choose someone else.”

Mrs. Rodgers laughed. “Do you really believe that? She’s been angling for the job since she arrived. We’ll have to learn to live with her.”


“Another petition asking for Sandra’s removal?”

Jenessa shrugged. “See you tomorrow.”

“You’re on again? Do you work all these extra shifts just to log complaints?”

“If I don’t, who’d be here for the patients?” Jenessa strode away.

Fifteen minutes later, in her apartment across the street, she stood in the shower. Hot water uncoiled her tight muscles, but not her thoughts. Would the hospital Board really name Sandra Wallace, a woman disliked by most of the nurses, as the new director? With Jim Bishop as Board president, the choice seemed likely.

After pulling on an over-sized blue tee shirt, she headed to the kitchen and zapped the spicy chicken dish she should have eaten for lunch. Though she considered working on her Master’s thesis, she felt too tired to read the stack of articles on the desk.

The apartment door slammed. She looked up and saw her roommate. Megan kicked off her shoes. “Are you ready for a bomb? Guess what the Board has done.”


“Is out.” Megan grinned. “Josh and I were at the Cove for dinner. Sam introduced Eric Bradshaw. Would you believe he’s the new Director of Nursing? And what a hunk he is.”

Jenessa pushed back long strands of dark brown hair that had come loose from her braid. “You’re kidding.”

“Not one bit.”

“It’s a ploy. Can’t you hear Mr. Bishop’s laughter? We’ll give the girls a man to drool over. That’ll shut them up.”

“Come on, Jen. At least they didn’t name Her.” Megan headed across the living room, discarding pieces of clothes as she walked. “He’s every woman’s dream. Tall, blond, broad shoulders. I positively drooled. He’s got the greatest dimples. That’s because he’s a Libra.”

Trust Megan to ask his sun sign, Jenessa thought. Her roommate’s description confirmed her suspicions of the Board’s motives. “Sounds like you’re adding him to your string.”

“Wrong. A Libra and a Pisces. Odd couple material.” Megan’s blonde curls bounced with the force of her denial. “He’s for you, my Aries friend. Remember what I always say. An opposition can be exciting.”

Not again, Jenessa thought. For the past year, Megan’s attempts at matchmaking seemed designed to drive her crazy. “Megan, no.”

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Wednesday, January 24, 2024

Search For The White Jewel #MFRWHooks #BWLAuthor #fantasy #light romance #swords #magic #jewels


Join the authors at MFRWHooks here for some great excerpts. Mine is at from Search for the White Jewel, a multi-character story


When the Holder of the Yellow Jewel dies, her ward Liara believes she will become the new Yellow Holder. The dying word of the elderly woman astonishes the young woman. She will hold the White Jewel. This fabled gem has been lost for years since her mother and her sister fought and her aunt took hold of the Black Jewel.

Liara, accompanied by her foster brother set forth to find the jewel, escaping the soldiers sent by the Queen and Black Jewel Holder. During their escape, Liara meets Valmir who saves her and her foster brother during a shipwreck. During their journey, they meet other holders of the Jewels, including Reena, daughter of the now dead Queen. Though she has the Black Jewel, Reena has no idea how to use the gem.


"Liara, come!"

She lifted the necklace and hurried toward the path. "I'm on my way."

Brader emerged at the edge of the meadow. "Mother said you would be here. She wants you."

A lock of amber hair fell across his forehead and brushed his lighter eyebrows. Amber eyes studied her intently. She felt his leashed anger. With her or with his mother? These days, she barely knew him.

Since she'd begun her intensive studies with Tana, she and Brader had grown apart. Her lessons, his time with the armsmen, and his excursions to the village tavern left them with little in common.

"Have the visitors left?" she asked.

"They didn't stay for the evening meal. They're on their way to Pala. I begged leave to join them but Mother refused to release me." He shoved his hair from his forehead. "I'm tired of being caged here. There's much of Earda I want to see."

"Did Tana say why she wanted me?" She watched the setting sun stain the ocean whitecaps with streaks of orange. "Not for lessons, I hope."

He shrugged shoulders that had grown broader the past year. "You are to sup in her room. Don't stay long. The visitors tired her."

"When has she listened to me?" Liara held up the floral necklace. "Perhaps this will refresh her."

"Maybe. She's worried about something and she won't tell me what."

Liara clasped his arm. "All will be well."

He laughed. "Have you become a Healer making vague and pretty predictions?" His muscles tensed beneath her hand. "All will be well for you. You'll have her Jewel. Why else has she kept you by her side? I'm so tired of the High Sanctuary and of being the Holder's son."

Liara frowned. When had he grown so resentful? Did Tana know about his discontent?

When they reached the postern gate, the armsman stepped aside so they could enter. Never in all her years had there been armsmen at the gates.

Once inside the massive stone tower, she hurried to her foster mother's rooms. At the door, she paused and tucked stray strands of hair beneath the kerchief. Then she opened the carved wooden door and stepped inside.

Tana was abed. Liara crossed the room and kissed the older woman's flushed cheek, then slipped the floral chain over her foster mother's head.

Tana inhaled the blended fragrances. "Ah, Child, you remembered a bit of the Healer's teachings. Sit and eat. There's much I must tell you."

Liara studied her foster mother. Though flushed, there was a translucent quality to Tana's skin. Sunken cheeks, glazed amber eyes. Liara knew Brader thought his mother was tired, but there was more. The scent of death floated above the aroma of the flowers.

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