I found a Serbian artist who somehow created a photograph that was straight out of my current YA Fantasy, which will be releasing this spring.
The image was so much like the scene I associate it with that I nearly cried when I saw it.
Stay tuned for more about Echo, a minstrel who is more than she seems, and her story.
LOVE my cover!!!
This necklace is a genuine seed pearl choker with a genuine hand-carved cameo of a muse dancing. Set in Sterling, with a hallmark on the reverse bearing ITALY and the silver content, it is around 50 years old and absolutely darling. Rope detailing, plus the carver included a frame right in the detailed, tiny carving. Incredibly delicate and simply sweet! Cameo is about the size of a penny and the pearls are really quite tiny. Ideal sweet sixteen, first communion, or for a bride going the traditional route. The entire setting on the cameo is Sterling, but the clasp on the pearls is nickel-free stainless—this protects both the pearls and delicate skin or fabric from tarnish marks.
Starting bid at $45.00 – a STEAL! CLICK HERE TO BID
If I had known how simple it would be to format a book for Kindle using any HTML editor, I would have several nights of my life back.
Hindsight… 20/20… you know the drill. Anyhooters, I created a template for Dreamweaver—or any HTML editor—and put it up on my Websong site for freebies. It has the forced page break before chapters, link-jumps in the index, and removes the spaces between paragraphs.
I found this online and may be forced to order it simply because it’s so beautiful it breaks my heart.
My Boyfriend's Back
A Short, Sweet Romance
by Chrissy Olinger
Paranormal/Fantasy Romance only .99
15,826 words
Available on Kindle from Amazon.com -- BUY IT NOW
"Fear not! I bring you tidings of... DAMMIT!"
With those few words, Jack Lynch's world was turned upside-down. Once the nerd everyone loved to torment, he has returned to his home town for his twentieth reunion. Now a multimillionaire, Jack has everything but the one thing that matters: his true love. Twenty years ago he let her slip away. Now he's back, and determined to win her heart.
But screeching tires on an icy road change everything. If being temporarily dead weren't bad enough, Norman— an angel in training— returns Jack's spirit to the wrong body— the class bully, John Lydon.
With the rockin' hot bod of his former nemesis, the help of a nerdy angel, and his own wits, Jack has to get Rori to see him, love him, and bring about a miracle... without revealing this true identity. The clock is ticking, and he only has three days.
Jack's got the brains; his new body has the brawn; and Norman's got his back. What could possibly go wrong?
*This book contains some mild language, no strong sexual content, and an excessive amount of silliness.
Recently I came upon a conversation involving reactions to mortality. Basically it was “what would you do if you knew you were dying?”
I opted not to participate. The conversation was taking place on a forum I no longer post to (I occasionally lurk in silence to read, but very rarely). And I’ve learned that this is one of those “no talking to people” topics.
What I always find interesting is that mortality discussions take on a flavor very much like “if I won the lottery,” which is mind-bogglingly naïve. Trust me, even under the best of circumstances you don’t get to be both incredibly active and terminally ill at the same time. These folks who think it’s a Tim McGraw song are in a bit of denial.
But if you ARE healthy and think that’s a great philosophy, I DO recommend you “live like you were dying.” Do it, if you can.
I beat cancer, and later found out that I had a terminal illness. The interesting thing about diagnosis like mine is that they can only estimate life span. I have had pulmonary fibrosis for five years now, which is dead-center on the life expectancy. In other words, I am only supposed to live three to five years past diagnosis, and seven at the most. Yet I am not only still alive, I live reasonably well in spite of things. There is no cure, and so far no treatment that allows us to live indefinitely with the disease, so all PF patients are dying, most likely within five years of discovering we have it. Yet I’m only on oxygen as needed, still remain active, and recently found that while my body is damaged forever, the destruction of lung capacity has, apparently, halted. So who knows? I could live a long time with lots of annoying issues, none of them I would not gladly face to keep living.
I can’t climb mountains or fly at high altitudes or run marathons. People almost always say “I would travel.” No, most likely, you wouldn’t. Dying people—and I am among the most active and able of the group—can’t usually travel. That’s a nice movie plot—but there is also a reason most of those movies end with “it wasn’t a brain tumor after all!”
But being limited doesn’t mean being DONE. And while I find the naiveté amusing, perhaps occasionally insulting, the flip side is I am walking that walk without freaking out—or giving up. And here’s where I can actually, perhaps, offer some sage advice.
