Versions of Nirvana by H.C. Turk – Spotlight and Giveaway

May 4, 2026 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. H.C. Turk will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

In order to save her family, an 18th-century witch entertains suicide, thereby entering a coma-like trance that lasts 300 years. In this magical state, she reaches into the future to guide other people who long for redemption.

England, 1710. Young Alba knows she is a witch, but the term means nothing until her mother is executed for witchcraft. Then Alba enters a trance that causes everyone around her debilitating emotions, just like Alba’s. The trance, which is Alba’s magic, does not appear again until years later when her mentor is arrested and sentenced to death. Panicked, Alba stabs herself in the heart. Instead of dying, she enters a “false sleep” (coma), a state of spiritual consciousness. Hoping to find peace for others, she seeks similar souls in the future.

Germany, 1942: An American soldier is mortally wounded. In his final moment, he experiences the glory of a beautiful life, if only in his dreams. He enters a spiritual realm filled with warm family adventures, metaphysical escapades that are alternately hilarious and horrific, yet always lead away from anguish. Directed by Alba’s unseen influence, Andrew fights for solace, and wins.

Indonesia, 2003: A young American woman on a Western Pacific island must relive an ancient, tortuous journey through a primitive environment in order to redeem the foreigners in the country. Influenced by a power she can only sense in her heart (Alba), Connie seeks a solution of acceptance instead of rejection.

Told with humor and compassion, the heart of the book is the longing to find peace despite haunting failure, and finding joy in helping others achieve the same.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Though I am obligated to share my story of survival, the forces compelling me to do so are impossible to suss, being infinite and immortal. Hereby accept my testimony, which I create for the benefit of my peers, on behalf of the Creator.

By “Creator,” I do not refer to the deities worshiped by the world’s disparate cultures. Understand that the greatest creative force in the universe is not all gods, but all goodness. My story is additionally difficult to convey because there you are, believing that witches are atheists. You would know more about God if He had given you the power of magic as He did me.

We need not begin with my appearance, though people expect this. What we see of others is the first thing we know of them, prior to grasping their generosity or avarice. Very well, then, I am average in appearance for a British lady in her teens. My mother, even at her end, was average in appearance for a British wench in her eighties, though her true age was half that again.

“At her end.” We are getting to that. Only now can I get away from that, after being blessed with redemption, which is a most holy form of magic.

I was born on Man’s Isle in the Irish Sea, sinners’ names used by witches, who are too naive to invent languages or coffee houses. (“Sinner” is the name witches have for those people of societies and cities.) Witches celebrate neither anniversaries nor holidays, and since our calendar consists of the seasons about us, I know not my date of birth, my numerical age. Suffice to say that the year of our Lord is 1700 and something, the “something” part a variable when the future is no different from today.

About the Author: H. C. Turk is a writer, sound artist, and visual artist. His novels have been published by Villard and Tor. His short fiction, sound pieces, movies, and visual art have appeared in numerous magazines, websites, podcasts, and film festivals. He used to paint houses (not as an art form.)

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Five Summers from Now by Michelle Dayton – Spotlight

April 30, 2026 By 1 Comment

A breakup on the way to a Fourth of July getaway was supposed to be the end for Merritt and Ben until a strange accident sends them five years into a future neither of them remembers. No longer together and surrounded by lives that have shifted in unexpected ways, Merritt and Ben must piece together what went wrong between them and their once-tight friend group. As old feelings reignite and hidden truths are exposed, the past and present collide in ways they never anticipated. Readers who enjoy heartfelt second-chance romances, stories with emotional time slips, and a love that refuses to fade will devour Five Summers from Now, a steamy new romance from Michelle Dayton.

They were supposed to spend the Fourth of July weekend with their closest friends—fireworks, laughter, traditions. Instead, Merritt Sullivan and Ben Samuels broke up on the drive to the lake, before the first spark lit the sky.

But after a strange accident on the dock, they wake up to find that everything’s changed. It’s five years later. They’re no longer a couple. Their friends’ lives have shifted in ways they never saw coming. Careers, relationships, even loyalties have rearranged—some for the better, some painfully worse. And neither of them remembers the years in between.

Forced to navigate a future they don’t recall, Merritt and Ben must work together to understand what fractured not only their relationship, but their entire friend group. The only way back—if going back is even possible—is to face the heartbreak they once tried to outrun.

As old feelings resurface and new truths come to light, they’ll have to decide: is the future worth keeping…or worth rewriting?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Tears formed and slid down my cheeks. I dashed them away with one hand, silent, not wanting to break the spell. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ben’s right hand jerk in my direction as if he wanted to touch me, needed to touch me, but then realized he shouldn’t.

Oh, to hell with it.

I reached over, grabbed his hand, and pulled it to my heart. I bent my head and pressed my lips to it. He’d said his brother’s name to me, for the first time ever.

A broken sound escaped his mouth at the feel of my lips on his skin. The next thing I knew, he was pulling me into his arms, the tight confines of the car be damned.

He pushed the driver’s side seat back, settled me onto his lap sideways, and held on to me for dear life, panting into my neck.

“It’s okay,” I murmured, winding my arms around his neck and stroking through the hair on the back of his head. “It’s okay.”

I closed my eyes and breathed him in, the Downy fabric softener and chlorine scent of my Ben. His arms tightened around my waist, and I let myself luxuriate in his embrace. God, I hadn’t felt this safe in ages. I’d been so angry with him for so long. Even when we hugged, it was perfunctory and quick. I hadn’t let myself cling or need him. Hadn’t let him hold me or need me.

I’d taken his hand because he needed comfort. We both did. This was his body’s response to my earlier apology. He didn’t have the words, so holding me like this was his way of showing me he forgave me.

But now, the embrace was changing for me. It was becoming about need. All about need. I needed to feel his chest expand and contract, needed to feel his breath against my bare neck, needed his hands tugging on the strands of my hair.

I was suddenly hot all over, despite the air-conditioning. It’d been so many months since he’d touched me, and even if this embrace was simply in the spirit of forgiveness and comfort, my body was responding in a very not-PG way.

“Merritt,” Ben whispered.

I pulled my face back, brushing my cheek against his on my way to eye contact.

He stared up at me, at my mouth, his pupils expanding and obliterating the blue. When I sucked in my bottom lip, he groaned in the back of his throat. “If you don’t want to be kissed, you better get the hell off my lap.”

Instead, I gripped the seat behind his shoulders and used it as a brace as I twisted my body upright and carefully brought my right leg over to straddle him.

Later, I’d probably kick myself for this. Escalating things with Ben at this moment made about as much sense as the defeat of the aliens in Independence Day, but common sense didn’t stand a chance against the desire in Ben’s eyes, my racing heart, and the singing sense of rightness in my veins every time his mouth was on mine.

Ben’s body was taut with restraint as he waited for my right knee to find purchase on the seat cushion between him and the door. The very instant my weight stabilized, he cupped the back of my neck and drew my face to his, claiming my mouth.

About the Author: There are only three things Michelle Dayton loves more than sexy and suspenseful novels: her family, the city of Chicago, and Mr. Darcy. Michelle dreams of a year of world travel – as long as the trip would include weeks and weeks of beach time. As a bourbon lover and unabashed wine snob, Michelle thinks heaven is discussing a good book over an adult beverage.

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Fate vs. Free Will in the Iona Stones World by Margaret Izard – Guest Post and Giveaway

February 26, 2026 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Margaret Izard will be awarding a Stone of Destiny Swag Box to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Fate vs. Free Will in the Iona Stones World

From the first book in the Iona Stones series, prophecy shaped the edges of the world. The Stones carried purpose. The guardians carried oaths. The maidens carried power they did not fully understand. Fate moved like a current beneath every choice.

But in Stone of Destiny, that current surged stronger than ever.

The central question sharpened to a blade’s edge: Are we bound to prophecy, or do we fight it?

Ceallach embodied duty. His life revolved around oath and protection. He did not approach the Gathering as a man seeking personal happiness; he approached it as a warrior sworn to defend ancient magic. Every step he took aligned with responsibility. He measured risk through the lens of what safeguarded the Stones—not what soothed his heart.

Kat moved in the opposite direction.

She carried loss. She carried longing. She carried the stubborn refusal to surrender the people she loved to fate’s decree. Where Ceallach honored prophecy, Kat challenged it. She questioned why destiny demanded sacrifice. She refused to stand quietly when magic dictated terms she did not accept.

That tension drove the heart of the story.

I never wanted destiny in this world to feel like a cage. Prophecy did not strip characters of agency. Instead, it pressed them into moments of decision. The Stones did not force Kat to love Ceallach. They did not command Ceallach to step away from her. They placed them in circumstances where every choice carried weight.

Free will emerged in how they responded.

Ceallach could have hidden behind duty and shut his heart. Kat could have protected herself and avoided the risk of loving a Fae warrior bound by ancient vows. Neither path would have broken prophecy outright—but both would have bent it into something smaller.

Instead, they chose to stand inside the storm.

That choice mattered more than the prophecy itself.

In Stone of Destiny, fate functioned as pressure rather than prison. It revealed character. It exposed fear. It demanded courage. When Kat faced the possibility of losing both her brother and the man she loved, she did not bow to inevitability. She acted. When Ceallach realized love might complicate his oath, he did not retreat into silence. He confronted what devotion truly required.

Destiny, in the Iona Stones world, did not remove choice. It tested it.

And in that testing, love either fractured—or proved strong enough to shape fate in return.

Bound by destiny, torn by fate—their love stood unbroken, victorious over all.

Kat MacArthur still feels the loss of her brother to another time. Seeking solace, she stumbles upon Ceallach, a Fae warrior, she’s had feelings for ever since she met him. The emotion grows stronger whenever they are together. Yet he warns her to stay away from the upcoming gathering for the Iona Stones. Kat refuses—she needs to be there to help her family and Ceallach.

Ceallach is torn between duty, magic, and the ache for mortal love. His Fae soul is sworn to protect the Iona Stones during the Gathering, but his heart is lost to Kat. With the prophecy looming, he cannot promise her forever—no matter how much he longs to. The maiden of the Iona Stones now faces sacrifice, and he fears if his beloved gets too close, he cannot save her.

When dark forces rise to take the Iona Stones along with their powers, Ceallach is forced into an impossible decision—to defy destiny or surrender to love?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Still wearing a grin, he strode forward with confidence, and a sensuality Kat had not forgotten. The man still took her breath away with one look. Ceallach arrived before her, a smile playing on his lips. As his eyes swept across her face, the expression faltered. His brows knitted together in a frown, shadowing the sudden tension in his gaze. Reaching with his finger, he lifted a tear from her cheek, gripped his fist hard, and when opened, a small, clear teardrop-shaped gemstone sat in his palm.

“Dry yer tears, sweet Kat. Yer face is much prettier without them.” He took her hand and, with his other placed the gemstone in her palm. “When ye hold the gem, yer tears will fade, and happy thoughts shall fill yer heart.” When the stone touched her skin, her mind cleared, and a sense of ease washed over her.

Ceallach released her hand and strode past her to the doors.

Kat turned, calling after him. “Wait, why are ye here?”

The attractive Fae stopped and turned. “Dagda sent me. I’ve come to meet with the guardian of the stones. All the stones have returned. The gathering and battle of good vs evil is upon us. The gods have called, and we must answer.”

He opened the heavy oak doors without effort and strode through. The doors weight closed them, leaving Kat in the shadows again. She blinked, almost not believing her eyes and the truth before her. Her secret love had just casually strolled back into her life. Gripping the gem, he’d shaped from her tears, warmth washed over her. Ceallach was here. A smile crossed her face.

Ceallach was here.

About the Author: Margaret Izard is an award-winning author of historical fantasy and paranormal romance novels. Her latest awards are 2024 Reader’s Favorite Honorable Mention for Stone of Love and 2024 Spring BookFest Silver Award for the same title. She spent her early years through college to adulthood dedicated to dance, theater, and performing. Over the years, she developed a love for great storytelling in different mediums. She does not waste a good story, be it movement, the spoken, or the written word. She discovered historical romance novels in middle school, which combined her desire for romance, drama, and fantasy. She writes exciting plot lines, steamy love scenes and always falls for a strong male with a soft heart. She lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband and adult triplets.

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Ikona by M.D. Dixon – Spotlight

February 25, 2026 By Leave a Comment

The boundaries between individual lives and the flow of time become increasingly porous within the pages of M.D. Dixon’s IKONA. This story observes the intersection of four disparate paths, each pulled toward a central point of resonance by an object of ancient origin. As their realities shift and converge, the narrative explores the weight of human choice and the persistent echo of memory across different eras.

A gold Russian Orthodox cross, an icon whispered to possess inexplicable healing properties, begins to surface across multiple lifetimes and fractured timelines. Four strangers find themselves pulled into its mysterious field of influence—from the coastal bustle of Sydney and the urban sprawl of Atlanta to the stark, quiet isolation of a post-apocalyptic Siberian tundra. In Georgia, Kate Davies observes the icon’s strange effect on a suffering child, while in Australia, Finley Minor is haunted by visions of potential futures and the heavy consequence of every action. Jia Li MacPherson, a former thief and Shibari performer, carries secrets that powerful forces are desperate to keep buried. Meanwhile, a century ahead, a monk named Wallace Deng Moroz clings to visions of a cure in a world nearly destroyed by a genetic engineering catastrophe and radical political polarization.
Their meeting feels fated, yet it is ultimately shaped by the difficult choices they must make regarding which version of the future they will inhabit and what they are willing to surrender to reach it.

One mysterious icon. Four fractured timelines. A global conspiracy. A leap in consciousness that could heal the world—or end it.

Threads of religion, mysticism, and past lives are woven throughout IKONA, a work of visionary fiction that explores the intersection of ancient mystery and the future of human consciousness.

When a centuries-old Russian Orthodox cross begins to fracture the fabric of linear time, four strangers are pulled into a convergence that spans centuries:

In Atlanta, Kate Davies witnesses the icon’s inexplicable healing power on a dying child.

In Sydney, Finley Minor is haunted by visions of possible futures and the crushing weight of consequence.

In Hong Kong, Jia Li MacPherson—former thief and Shibari performer—holds secrets a shadowy power will kill to keep buried.

In the Future, Wallace Deng Moroz, a monk living a century ahead, clings to a vision of a cure in a world silenced by a genetic engineering catastrophe.

As a global conspiracy unfolds from the neon pulse of the city to the frozen silence of the Siberian tundra, these four souls must confront a terrifying reality: the cross is more than a relic—it is a key to a future they can barely comprehend.

Their convergence is destined, but their choices will shape the final timeline. Merging high-stakes suspense with deep metaphysical inquiry, IKONA is a large-scale exploration of shifting realities, memory, and the ultimate price of healing a broken world.

Which version of the future will you choose to inhabit?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Finley Minor was by his own accounts an empty man, a listless man, spiritually and emotionally sparse. Blink a thousand times and his course in life would not have shifted an inch. He was motionless like a chameleon in the presence of a threat. But this was not fact, only fear, and that of a man who knew that he’d not lived at full throttle and had succumbed to the fate of it —a slow and shallow life. He ruminated on it. He judged himself for it. He laughed at his own expense, without thinking he might ever change a thing.

In the way one always has a beginning, a great excuse, this was Finley’s: at the age of seven, in his native England, he sat on the beach as his stick wove tessellations in the sand (almost of its own accord, it seemed in retrospect), and he looked to the horizon towards France with the open, impressionable curiosity of his young age. He wondered at the sea’s depth, its great distance, how one might (as many had) swim across the channel, what creatures might lurk there, what they might feel like against bare skin. He imagined something slimy and cold, fanged, and slithering. The waves seemed to roar at him, even though they descended in the rockpools with the gentleness of pooling cream.

He stood, determined to satisfy his curiosity. He took halting steps over the rocks and shells, straight ahead, then bearing left around a rock face that jutted into the sea. He sat on a big, flat rock and stared into the gray water. He heard his father calling out his name, but ignored him. The water rushed in again and again, and each time reached further and further, first sucking at his toes, then his heels, then his knees. His curiosity fled; he became afraid, and all sound was magnified, the dull ocean roar, the seagull squawking a few feet away, his heartbeat. He knew he had to go back to shore. He waved to his father, stood, and took a faltering step. There was a low murmur; the water fizzled once more in retreat from the rocky sand like the gasping breath of a dying man. He felt dizzy and fell to his knees. He crouched on all fours and steadied himself as the water swirled and grasped at him, and the sky looped and the clouds fell from the corner of his eyes. He felt his head winched back towards the horizon, and the sea reached for his throat. Blackness.

When he came to, dragged back to shore by his father, he announced that his aunt would never return from her Côte D’Azur holiday. He wagged his finger towards the surf and pulled a face, “Over there, there is smooching.”

The official prognosis was that he’d had an epileptic fit, though none of the tests proved it. He must have passed out, in that case, the doctor pronounced, low blood sugar, a low-level virus, dehydration.

But Finley knew, only he knew.

The ocean had rent a hole in his soul, and let in the future.

About the Author: M.D. Dixon is a novelist, somatic therapist, and explorer of the intersections between the psyche and the sacred, science and mysticism, trauma and transformation. Holding a Ph.D. in the social sciences with a focus on Russia and Ukraine, Dixon has spent nearly fifteen years in therapeutic practice in Sydney, Australia. Dixon’s debut novel, IKONA, weaves visionary fiction, myth, and metaphysics to illuminate the evolution of consciousness. Dixon also hosts The Shattering Place, a podcast on multidimensional healing and the awakening human story, launching in early 2026.

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Undisciplined Catalyst by Gail Koger – Spotlight and Giveaway

January 15, 2026 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Gail Koger will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

I was sixteen when I found out not only am I an alien hybrid, but monsters called the Tai-Kok were getting ready to invade our world. Guess who gets to stop them? Me! How?

My uncle, the mad scientist, created a machine called the portal that instantaneously sends a test subject from one location to another by converting them into energy. His idea is to port me onto a Tai-Kok ship. All I have to do is leave a bomb, hit the retrieval button on my spiffy traveler’s belt and poof! I’m back on Earth before the Tai-Kok ship goes kaboom. Sounds simple, right?

Wrong. Uncle Ben doesn’t have a clue where I’ll actually appear on the ship. It could be the engine room, the crew quarters, or even the bridge. It’s like playing Russian roulette. The Tai-Kok don’t like surprises or uninvited guests.

To make things even more fun, I have an alien battle commander stuck in my head and I’m related to a powerful Coletti warlord. Yippee. The chances of me living to see eighteen aren’t good.

Enjoy an Excerpt

“Give ‘em hell.” A wild look in his eyes, Uncle Ben tapped on the console.

The circles of light surrounded me, but this time it felt like a zillion fire ants were crawling over my body. Holy hell! Something had gone wrong! I appeared in midair and dropped like a rock. Smack! I slammed into someone, and my Glock went flying.

My eyes bugged. I was on the bridge of a futuristic warship, and the viewscreen showed one hell of a space battle going on. To make things even more fun, I was lying across the lap of a huge, muscle-bound male wearing black battle armor. Since he was sitting in the captain’s chair, I was assuming he was the boss.

A very angry-looking boss. I blinked. Holy cow was he good-looking, if you were into the whole merciless predator thing. Huh? The red chains woven into his black warrior’s braids matched the communication device on his left wrist. Who knew aliens accessorized and why did I care? I took a deep breath trying to control the panic streaking through me.

A low growl rumbled in his chest.

One look into his disturbingly hostile amber eyes and I knew I was in big trouble. I reached for my retrieval button.

His arms clamped around me painfully, and he spat a bunch of gobbledygook.

“Sorry, I don’t speak that language,” I replied mentally. Somehow, I knew he was psychic.

A harsh voice sounded in my head, “How did you get through our shields.”

“Dunno. My uncle is the scientific genius, not me. I’m just the delivery girl.”

“What do you deliver?”

Did I look stupid? The minute I told him bombs; he’d kill me. I pasted a friendly smile on my face. “Stuff. I’m Lexi and you are?”

“Battle Commander Kaelen. I serve Zarek the Coletti Overlord.”

About the Author: I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher for the Glendale Police Department and to keep from going totally bonkers – I mean people have no idea what a real emergency is. Take this for example: I answered, “9-1-1 emergency, what’s your emergency?” And this hysterical woman yelled, “My bird is in a tree.” Sometimes I really couldn’t help myself, so I said, “Birds have a tendency to do that, ma’am.” The woman screeched, “No! You don’t understand. My pet parakeet is in the tree. I’ve just got to get him down.” Like I said, not a clue. “I’m sorry ma’am but we don’t get birds out of trees.” The woman then cried, “But… What about my husband? He’s up there, too.” See what I had to deal with? To keep from hitting myself repeatedly in the head with my phone I took up writing.

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Where Do Ideas Come From? by Margaret Izard – Guest Blog and Giveaway

January 12, 2026 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Margaret Izard will be awarding a Stone of Faith Book Swag box (a $100 value) to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Where do ideas come from?

Writers are often asked: Where do your ideas come from? For me, the answer is everywhere—but it always starts with a spark that refuses to let me go.

Sometimes that spark is history. While reading about Scotland, I learned how the Coronation Stone—the Stone of Destiny—once traveled from the sacred Isle of Iona through Dunstaffnage Castle, the seat of the MacDougall clan. For those who don’t know, the coronation stone is what the king/queen of England sits on when crowned. That single thread of fact rooted itself in my imagination. I asked myself: What if that stone was magical? And what if there were many stones hidden across time, each with its own power and legacy? That was the moment the Stones of Iona series was born.

From there, mythology layered itself over history. Tales of selkies, sirens, firebirds, and cursed dragon shifters gave me characters who could inhabit these magical stones’ world. For Stone of Faith, the ocean itself became the stage. Because the stone had been lost at sea in Stone of Lust, I turned to legends of Lorelei and selkie folklore for inspiration. The Kópakonan statue in the Faroe Islands—depicting a selkie shedding her seal skin—captured the essence of a woman caught between two worlds, and it became the visual spark for Lorelei’s character.

Ideas also come when I least expect them—a song lyric, a castle ruin, a piece of art. Sometimes even being “stuck” sends me back into research, where a single artifact or legend offers the key to the next scene.
So where do ideas come from? From the places where history and myth overlap, where real people once lived and loved, and where imagination asks what if. My stories grow in that space—where love, sacrifice, and magic can endure across generations.

The heart’s most extraordinary battle is the one fought for love.

Haunted by a family legacy that threads magic through the ages, Captain Ewan MacDougall and his ghostly crew sail between worlds—freeing enslaved people. A worthy goal, yet he longs for what eludes him—true love. When he crosses paths with a legendary siren of the sea, bound to a cruel, power-hungry madman, Ewan finds the woman destined to claim his heart.

Trapped and forced to use her voice to lure ships into the clutches of evil, the spark in Ewan’s eyes awakens hope in Lorelei’s soul—a chance to break free and protect her Fae family. Yet, the wicked monster holding her captive will stop at nothing to kill the human who touches and loves her as no one has ever done before.

Will the fated connection they share break the chains of dark magic or claim two more victims in a quest to find the Stone of Faith?

Enjoy an Excerpt

The cannons drowned out Low’s response as Ewan spied the woman again, standing on the bow alone—the same as she had every time he’d robbed Low. No one else seemed to see her, and the battle raged on without hitting her her once.

As the wind tossed her bright red hair, the mane spread around her head. That scent—fresh seaweed and sun-warmed air—washed over him, just as it did every time he saw her. Her cream-colored skin glowed. When their eyes connected, a blush rose on her cheeks. She possessed Fae eyes, a brilliant white-blue that shone on their own. A siren she was, a woman from his dreams. Someone, no one else saw but Ewan. She took his breath away each time, touching his soul and making his heart beat harder. Butterflies erupted in his belly.

He whispered, “Tha thu bòidheach.” You’re beautiful.

Doug shifted in front of him, breaking the spell. The sounds of the battle rushed back like a freight train.

His friend yelled, “Ewan, ye must shift us before the ship breaks up! We’ve taken the plunder and already freed the slaves. It’s time for Blackbeard’s ghost to disappear.”

Cannon fire broke apart pieces of his prized ship. Doug was right. It was past time to disappear.
Ewan gathered energy, concentrating on the Chapel in the Woods at Dunstaffnage Castle in the future. He thrust his hand out, opening the portal, and sent a ball of energy through. He called the ship, and all within forward in time.

The world swirled, and the ship tilted as Doug’s cheer rang in Ewan’s ears, drowning out all sound when the vessel flew through space and time, popping out of the chapel door and landing in the loch beyond Dunstaffnage Caste, rocking a bit from the force. He and Doug tumbled on the chapel floor, coming to rest, lying on their backs. The crew Ewan knew faded—spirits brought back to serve him who dissipated with his spell. Ewan lay there for a moment, allowing his body and mind to rest. Doug did too, their breaths echoing in the empty nave.

Boot steps sounded, and before Ewan could rise, his da’s angry face appeared over him, upside down. “About damn time ye returned! I’ve waited half a day for ye to get yer pirate ass home!”
His da strode away, calling out when he neared the chapel door, “Both ye sorry mongrels get yer asses into the study! And, Ewan, make that scraggly beard disappear!”

Ewan sat up, waving at his chin, the long hair fading as Doug stood. “Mr. Mac, it’s just a bit of fun, that’s all!”

Colin Roderick MacDougall stopped, straightened his back, and turned slowly.

His angry countenance was one Ewan rarely witnessed. “Just a bit of fun, Douglas MacArthur? Just a bit of fun?”

His da fisted his hands. “Yer pirate games have gone too far!” He slashed his hand to the side. “The study, now!” The last he bellowed, echoing beyond the chapel.

Ewan stood, knowing his da’s wrath did not easily rise to the surface. Even when disciplining his children, except when… “Wait, Da, what has happened?” He and his sister Evie had gotten away with so much as kids and on into adulthood. Most of the time, his da had grunted while applauding their Fae skills. But when a Fae Fable showed and a magic Iona stone needing hunting for the Fae…
His sire pointed a finger at him. “A Fae fable has appeared. That’s what’s happened!” He strode to Ewan and aimed the finger, hitting Ewan’s broad chest, jabbing when he yelled, “The Stone of Faith!”

Ewan blinked. The Stone of Faith fable had two stories they knew of—both including the Stone of Lust.

Ewan tilted his head. “Ainslie’s story or the other one of the island and treasure?”

His da folded his arms, then growled his answer. “The island of treasure.” He leaned forward till their noses nearly touched. “And the tale is not about yer ma. The fable’s one of its own, and the damn thing has an ending!” He turned and strode out of the chapel.

Ewan blinked. “The Stone of Faith has a fable?”

About the Author: Margaret Izard is a multi-award-winning author of historical fantasy and paranormal romance novels. She spent her early years through college to adulthood dedicated to dance, theater, and performing. Over the years, she developed a love for great storytelling in different mediums. She does not waste a good story, be it movement, the spoken, or the written word. She discovered historical romance novels in middle school, which combined her passion for romance, drama, and fantasy. She writes exciting plot lines, steamy love scenes and always falls for a strong male with a soft heart. She lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband and adult triplets and loves to hear from readers.

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The Stone of Doubt Book Swag Box

Inside the box
Teardrop Lab Sapphire Necklace
Signed copy of the book.
Large Stone of Doubt book bag
Small Stone of Doubt book bag
Insulated wine glass with Stone of Doubt logo
Dublin shot glass with etched Stone of Doubt logo
Stone of Doubt bookmark
Stone of Doubt recipe card
Wild Rose Press (publisher) 2025 calendar (While supplies last)

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Winter Blogfest: Jall Barret

December 26, 2025 By 5 Comments

This post is part of Long and Short Reviews’ Winter Blogfest. Leave a comment for a chance to win an ePub copy of Death in Transit and New Names, Old Crimes. 

Winter Nostalgia 

Every year growing up, my siblings and I would get a big gift package from my Grandma Sue. There were candies, cookies, books, and candy storybooks. I confirmed candy storybooks existed and still exist today. The part I remember the most were the books.

The passing of the holiday meant it was time to break open the books. They were a mix of Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, and classic novels from Twain, the Brontë sisters, Louisa May Alcott, Robert Louis Stevenson, and many others. Many of those were adventure stories of in a way. Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew were mysteries that felt like an extension of Scooby Doo. Both series predated Scooby Do. Just like the Mystery Inc. folks, the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew had a degree of autonomy and were out to solve mysteries generally caused by adults. They were on adventures. Tom Sawyer got up to adventures that were largely precipitated by his own pranks and schemes.

I wonder how those stories would read to me today, in my 40s. I’ve revisited a lot of movies and TV shows in the last year that I was fond of as a child. Looking back at those, I still feel a sense of identification with the kid characters but I also see the adult perspective.

I haven’t gone back to re-read the adventure stories of my youth. Some are likely timeless. Others would have issues that would be hard for me to ignore in 2025. Researching this piece, I found that the versions of the Nancy Drew novels I read had likely already been updated for a more modern audience by the time I read them.

Not every story needs to be revisited. Maybe it’s the accidental tradition that needs to be revisited.

As the holidays wind up, why not sit down with a new adventure story?

Five strangers searching for new lives experience an adventure beset by mechanical issues, space pirates, a poorly trained police force, and a business opportunity!

I write science fiction, fantasy, bizarro, and other genres. I’m a cat person. By which I mean “I like cats.” But I could be a person who is also a cat. Who knows?

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Winter Blogfest: Bruce Buchanan

December 24, 2025 By 9 Comments

This post is part of Long and Short Reviews’ Winter Blogfest. Leave a comment for a chance to win a free digital copy of my NA swords & sorcery fantasy novel The Blacksmith’s Boy. 

Takeout for the Buchanans

Enjoying a meal of Chinese food on Christmas Eve is a tradition hardly unique to the Buchanans. Jewish families in New York City have long seen the wisdom in a December 24th feast of General Tso’s chicken, beef with broccoli, and egg rolls with duck sauce. So it may seem strange that a crew of small-town North Carolina Methodists would dial for take-out as we awaited Santa’s arrival. But we do.

It started my freshman year of college. My parents had recently moved to Asheville, and between their new jobs, unfamiliar house, and empty nester status, they were a bit overwhelmed. I was home for Winter Break and that Christmas Eve, my Dad suggested, “Why don’t we just go out for Chinese?”

I was all for it, and to my surprise, so was Mom. She grew up in a house that valued home-cooked Southern dishes at the holidays, and plus, her frugality is the stuff of legend. Why eat out when you can make a meal at home for less money?

But she agreed to an outing at the Dragon Palace this Christmas Eve. The three of us had such a nice time that we went back the following year. And the year after, etc.

Over time, the center of our celebrations shifted to my home in Greensboro. My son—their only grandchild—proved a sufficient draw to bring them down Interstate 40 for the holidays. In lieu of going out on Christmas Eve, we found a tasty Chinese take-out spot. My wife, realizing how important this tradition was to me and being a fan of hot and spicy beef herself, gladly joined in the celebration. Each year, Dad and I would drive to secure those white-and-red cardboard cartons, whose aromas tempted us on the short return trip.

A photo from Christmas Eve 2019 is stored on my phone. Parkinson’s had ravaged Dad’s mobility and taken a fair amount of his cognitive abilities. But his love for his then-thirteen-year-old grandson shines through in that picture, moments before we dig into our annual Chinese food feast.

This December 24, my son will be home from college, and Mom will be visiting for the holidays. We’ll order out from our familiar spot, the Golden China in Greensboro. The four of us will enjoy good food and even better memories. It’ll be a fine Christmas Eve. But at some point, my eyes and mind will flicker to the empty seat and the wonderful father who started this family tradition.

 

Bok Omat thought his place in the Kingdom of Imarina was settled. The 19-year-old served as his rural community’s healer and helped in his family’s blacksmith’s shop. It was an unremarkable life in Imarina’s peasant class, but as long as his parents, sister, and young nephew were safe, a fine one under the protection of the Inishari royal family.

But when an ancient spell threatens Bok’s family and the safety of the entire kingdom, he answers an unlikely summons from Princess Isabella to join her in protecting all they cherish. Despite their vastly different pasts, Bok and Isabella become close friends as they race to counter this deadly incantation and the mysterious mastermind behind it.

Bok learns secrets that force him to reconsider all he has ever known about the world and his place in it. But will this knowledge come at the price of his life, Imarina’s freedom, or even his burgeoning friendship with Isabella?

Bruce Buchanan is the author of the new adult fantasy novel, THE BLACKSMITH’S BOY (2025, Wild Ink Publishing). His next two novels, both set for 2026, are signed with Wild Ink as well. He also is the author of a non-fiction book that recently was acquired by Bloomsbury Publishing. Beyond the keyboard, Bruce lives in Greensboro, N.C., with his wife, Amy Joyner Buchanan (the author of five published non-fiction books) and their college student son, Jackson

 

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First Descent by Mike Pace – Spotlight

December 11, 2025 By Leave a Comment

There’s a momentum in First Descent by Mike Pace that feels shaped by both storm and shadow. As the story crosses from the Arctic’s icy silence into a modern landscape filled with hidden agendas, the hints of something older—something bound to winter—begin to surface. The closer these two worlds draw, the sharper the danger becomes.
Nick Landowski has spent his adult life distancing himself from the legend that consumed his father, an Arctic explorer obsessed with a mythical cave of red diamonds. But after a workplace accident shatters the odd geode his father left him and reveals a hidden key, the boundary between skepticism and belief dissolves. Nick is thrust into a perilous journey that spans a contemporary world driven by high-stakes competition over the Coca-Cola formula and an eleventh-century realm defined by time-bending winter magic. Both worlds harbor adversaries who understand the key’s significance far better than he does. As Nick follows the trail left by his father’s final expedition, he uncovers a mythic power intertwined with a closely guarded corporate secret—one whose awakening threatens the essence of Christmas. To survive, he must unravel the truth behind Virgil’s quest and decide whether unlocking the legend will save the season or doom it.

Legends aren’t made—they’re unlocked.

Eighteen years ago, eccentric geologist Virgil Landowski vanished during an ill-fated Arctic expedition searching for a mythical cave said to hold red diamonds. All he left behind was a strange geode and a son who grew up believing his father’s quest was madness.

Now, Nick Landowski is content to live his life as a blue-collar mine foreman—until an accident cracks open his father’s geode and reveals a hidden key. That discovery pulls him into a harrowing journey spanning both modern and ancient worlds, where enemies close in at every turn.

Along the way, Nick uncovers a link connecting the secret Coke formula to powers older than winter itself— and a revelation that could threaten the survival of Christmas.

Perfect for fans of James Rollins, Lincoln Child, and R.A. Salvatore, The First Descent is a high-stakes contemporary fantasy adventure where heists, hidden legends, and holiday myths collide.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Seventy minutes later, his lungs about to burst, Virgil clawed his way to the top of a rocky ridge and found himself standing on the edge of a clearing. The impossible sun had long since disappeared. No moon or stars; the sky hovered tight overhead like a suffocating black blanket. He glanced again at his watch. Deadline approaching fast. He needed to reach the center of the clearing quickly.

Expecting the level terrain to ease his journey, he set out. Almost immediately he sank thigh-deep into the powdery snow and struggled to move. Before departing from Nevada he’d considered bringing snowshoes, but his boots had been too bulky to fit into the bindings. Again, the trade-off had been warmth over nimbleness, and he’d chosen warmth. In retrospect, given that his lack of cleats had almost cost him his life and now without snowshoes the whole purpose of his mission could dissolve because he would be delayed crossing the clearing, a big mistake.

He’d had some experience traveling across rugged terrain in Siberia for the company, but that had been a well-provisioned expedition. Here, he’d had to depart quickly with no time for planning or training in order to reach his destination on the precise date and at the exact time. And, according to the rules, he had to complete his journey alone. Rules? Set by whom? The guide who’d somehow convinced me he was much more than a guide? Too late for second thoughts. Too late to turn back. Either the guide’s fantastic story was true, or in a matter of minutes Professor Virgil Landowski, who was supposed to be one of the smartest geologists in the world, was going to die a complete fool.

He felt the snow harden. If he didn’t move he’d be locked inside an icy tomb. So close now, he couldn’t give up. Drawing on a last reserve of energy he didn’t know he possessed, he bent over and plowed ahead, wading through what now felt like thigh-high wet cement.

Finally, he stumbled to the center of the plain and stopped, gasping, his lungs screaming for oxygen. 23:59—I made it with a minute to spare! He slowly turned full circle.

Nothing.

The GPS coordinates were spot on. The timing was perfect . . .

Where is it?

Like a blindfold had been removed, his stupidity, his foolishness, his bull-headed pride were revealed to him. All that time, all that energy, wasted. His crowning achievement, the gift he’d wanted desperately for his son—for the world—was all a cruel hoax. The weight of disappointment crushed his body. His shoulders sagged. He staggered and swayed like a drunk trying to remain upright, fighting the wind’s attempt to tumble him into a white grave.

How could I have believed him? I was such a—

The wind stopped.

Completely.

Like someone had flicked a switch.

About the Author: Thriller author Mike Pace has spent his entire life weaving stories across an extraordinary range of experiences. One of his earliest creative memories is helping write his fourth-grade Christmas play in Pittsburgh, a spark that carried him to the University of Illinois on an art scholarship, where he earned a BFA. He later taught elementary school in Washington, D.C.’s inner city, filling his classroom with imagination games and daily storytelling as “Mr. Paste.” While teaching by day, he attended Georgetown Law at night and went on to serve on the editorial board of the Georgetown Law Journal, clerk for a federal judge, and prosecute major felony cases—including murder—as an Assistant United States Attorney for the District of Columbia. After serving as general counsel for a national environmental services company, Mike shifted his focus to his first love: creative writing. He has written for stage and screen, earning praise from The Washington Post, and is an active member of the International Thriller Writers and the Maryland Writers Association. Outside of writing, he enjoys painting, skiing, golf, the Baltimore Ravens, and learning new skills such as the soprano saxophone.

Website | Goodreads.

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Cloud Hands by Nancy J. Nelson – Spotlight

December 3, 2025 By Leave a Comment

Cloud Hands: The Disclosure Files – Book One begins with the ordinary rhythms of a summer caretaker role before revealing a much larger network of concealed operations. Nancy J. Nelson’s story gradually expands from household routines to global implications involving secrecy, power, and change.

Version 1.0.0

Vicki Heywood intends to find stability after a difficult loss, taking on the task of supervising two teenagers for the season. However, small inconsistencies accumulate into signs of something deeper at play. She becomes aware of hidden medical advancements, unpublicized encounters, and technologies protected by the Partnership—an organization with influence surpassing traditional governance. As the teens bring their own observations forward, the three of them begin uncovering links that place them at risk. What unfolds is a struggle shaped not only by political forces but also by questions about truth, potential, and humanity’s capacity for transformation. Through these events, the narrative highlights how awakening often begins through ordinary circumstances that lead to extraordinary revelations.

Enjoy an Excerpt

There was a little cluster of forget-me-nots arranged in a vase on the table in front of Vicki. They had been Beth’s favorite flowers. Small and vibrant, so cute they made you smile. Just like Beth herself.

The waitress put a cup of coffee and a pastry before her, and the same in front of the man seated across the table. Kurt Martinsson—she had called him Professor Martinsson when he taught her senior business seminar a decade earlier—added some sugar to his cup before he took a sip. Well-built, dark hair with a touch of gray at his temples. He had aged well. His bespoke sports jacket, manicured nails, and expensive haircut suggested he was also doing well.

“It was kind of you to look me up, Professor Martinsson, especially after all this time. To be honest, I haven’t been getting out much.” She hadn’t been getting out at all. What was the point? Their parents had died in a car accident several years back, and now Beth was gone too. Per her request, there had been a closed casket; the chemo had ravaged her body and taken all her hair. There was no amount of makeup, no wig good enough, that could have fixed that.

“I heard about your sister, Vicki; I’m so sorry. I understand you left your position at the Department of State to look after her.”

Beth had argued against that. “I’m young and strong; I’ll be able to beat this—there’s no reason for you to leave the job you worked so hard to get. Mom and Dad were so proud that you became a diplomat—they wouldn’t have wanted you to give that up.” She had been wrong about being able to beat the cancer, but right that their parents had been proud. They would have been just as proud to see their youngest open up her own flower shop in a prime location in downtown Los Angeles.

About the Author: Nancy J. Nelson is an author known for compelling narratives that explore mind-expanding questions about humanity’s next steps. Her most recent book, Cloud Hands: The Disclosure Files – Book One, has earned acclaim among readers drawn to thoughtful, visionary science fiction. Nelson comes into writing after 25 years as a diplomat with the U.S. Department of State and now lives in Los Angeles. Learn more through her website.

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