Saturday, June 30, 2012

Dark Light Review and Giveaway..Support the Ronald McDonald House with the purchase.


Dark Light is the light that shines through when some of the finest writers in horror use the power of their words for something good. That’s the case with this anthology—42 writers coming together to help support the Ronald McDonald House Charities and all the good the organization does for families every day of the year.

Make no mistake, though. These are horror writers and the stories they’ve written are not pretty. Traditional and non-traditional horror, dark humor, ghosts, serial killers, alternate universes, magic, zombies, and other creatures of the night hide between these pages. Shadows move and dead fingers stroke unsuspecting flesh, razor sharp knives shimmer in the moonlight, and unknown things hide in closets and under the bed. The stories here are as varied as the writers themselves. If you’re a fan of horror, you will not be let down.

Please Visit the Ronald McDonald House  Benefit  page for Carl Hose's story for his experience ,pictures of the family and a sampler pdf.       Click Here to visit the page.

My Review:
I am honored to be able to review this collection of horror short stories.  Within the cover of this book everyone will find something to enjoy.  It is a wonderful change of pace to read a short story when I have a few minutes and then be able to return to the book when I need another break in my day.  I truly enjoyed sampling a multitude of horror authors and now I am able to go back and purchase additional books of my favorites. You will not go wrong with the purchase of this book, and the benefit to the Ronald McDonald House.

Be sure to support the Fundraiser by purchasing the book here:

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Friday, June 29, 2012


Tales of Lust, Hate and Despair
By Ian Truman
Samuel Lee has known three days of freedom in the last eighteen years. Three days to come out of prison, see his daughter, settle a score and go back in again, for good this time.
Told in the tradition of the best literary noir, Tales of Lust, Hate and Depair is a modern, lowdown and gritty take on the genre. Inspired by the cinema of Akira Kurosawa and Samuel Fuller as well as the music of Tom Waits, Sage Francis, Neurosis and Marilyn Manson, it is a novel that is sure to please anyone who has ever found themselves trapped and cast aside from the world..

Ian Truman Bio:

I am from a working class family and I am proud of my origins. For the last seven years, I have been employed as an assembly line worker, a forklift driver, a park ranger, a warehouse clerk, a janitor, an industrial laundry operator, a warehouse clerk some more and still am to this day. I have never stopped working full time and I saw first hand how the theories of political science could hardly apply to the realities of the working masses. I have worked in the downtown area, in Laval, Rosemont, Montreal-East (Between the Petro-Canada oil storage facility and the Falconbridge foundry) and the south-west prior to gentrification. I have seen Montreal change and the people suffer from these changes.
I write not because I believe that some great social revolution is going to come out of any novel I can write. I have no illusions about the revolutionary potential of fiction writing. I truly believe that it is only by changing economic structures that a society can change fundamentally. This is basic Marxism. So why write at all? It is a good question. I mostly write to purge the hatred inside me, to purge the hours of factory work, poverty and strife of all sorts. I am majoring in Creative Writing, in a language that is not my native tongue because I felt it was a challenge. I am also graduating with a minor in political science, through which I discovered many philosophers that have influenced me deeply. I have studied the essays of Karl Marx, Immanuel Wallerstein, Ernesto Guevara, Max Stirner, Mikhail Bakunin, but also capitalist philosophers such as Thomas Hobbes or John Locke. I’ve looked into dichotomies such as Anarchism Vs Fascism, Communism Vs Capitalism. Nationalist Vs Internationalist etc… I believe that my existence is guided by philosophies such as Buddhism, Hinduism but also Nihilism.
As Nietzsche explained, human beings are guided both by rationality and irrationality. We are capable of reason and structure but at the same time we need flesh and passion, if not sin. I write political essays when I need to exercise my rational side. I write it in order to better my knowledge of social structures. I write it to better society. Rarely have I included philosophers or philosophy in my fictional works. I believe they are underlining all the stories I write. But I don’t write Fiction in order to prove a point. I write fiction to fill my need for creativity and passion. Mostly, I write because I need to. It fills my passionate, irrational side. When I write, I look for truth, however ugly or beautiful it may be. I look for sincere elements, uncensored and raw; I look for the visceral. My works combine beauty and despair, struggles and hopes. I truly enjoy dichotomies that bring people out of their comfort zones. I avoid moralist statements and allow the reader to bring their own conclusion about the work, about the characters, and (hopefully) about their lives.
Aesthetically, my style combines vernacular language to noir elements. I also enjoy dirty realism and modernist novels. I try to avoid anything too conceptual or things such as “Streams of consciousness. I allow myself to be influences by all sorts of creative endeavours. In the visual arts, I’ve enjoyed graffiti art for quite some time. I see political postering as a creative act (Aka propaganda). I enjoy visual artists such as Matthew Barney and Shepard Fairey. In film, my most notable influences are Akira Kurosawa’s “Drunken Angel”, Imamura’s “The Pornographers”, Fukasaku’s “Yakusa Papers” or
American (and Canadian) filmmakers such as Cronnenberg, Lynch or Smith. I also write under musical influences ranging from Grunge (Nirvana, Violent Femmes), to punk (Social Distortion, Bouncing Souls), hardcore (Warzone, Blacklisted, Blood for Blood), hip-hop (Dead Prez, Wu-Tang-Clan), folk (Chuck Ragan, Tim Barry), blues (Billie Holiday, Chester Burnett) and country (Johnny Cash, David Allan Coe). As far as authors go, I believe I am influenced by a large variety of authors. William Faulkner is the first one that comes to mind. But also Ernest Hemingway, Charles Bukowski, Ray Bradbury, George Orwell, Truman Capote, Henry Rollins, the RZA, Samuel Beckett, David Fennario, William S. Burroughs etc…
All of these cultural and philosophical references are found in some way or another in my creative endeavours. In the end, I may be the one typing the words on the page, but they are all in the back of my mind, spilling out their guts to the world through my

First Chapter:

Donnaconna Institution
Maximum Security.
145 miles north-east of Montreal
267 inmates
27% serving life sentences


Hey kid.
I know you requested to be here in person but your mother had enough sense not to allow it. You’re not eighteen yet, so her decision is final and I think she made the right call. Donnacona Federal prison ain’t no place for a girl like you.
Now, I know I’m not much of a father, probably because I never had the chance to be one but I am sorry I never got to be there for you. Your grandfather came to visit a few weeks ago. I’m glad to see that there’s at least one person from my side of the family who’s looking out for you. He told me you applied to circus school in Montreal. I never thought you could go to school for that, but he says your heart is set on it. So my heart is now set on it too. I just hope I get to see one of your shows one day. If you’ll have me, of course.
I guess what I want to say is, I ain’t got much, but I do have a little money set aside. Only seven thousand or so, but it’s something. It’s all legit money, so don’t worry about how I raised it. I don’t do drugs and I’ve quit drinking years ago. They don’t pay much here in prison, but I’m working the laundry service for 5.50 a day. I’ve been behaving well, and I got lucky enough to get on a Corcan program twice. It pays a little more and it gives me credits and experience to work when I get out. Now, the money is yours whether you want it or not. I don’t have much use for it in here.
Your mother said you wanted to know what happened that day, said you were pretty insistent about it. I don’t know if it is out of anger, which I wouldn’t hold against you, or if it is out of compassion, but if you think you are old enough to hear these things, I’m ready to tell you.
I don’t know everything for sure, but it was pretty easy to figure out. The news covered the story plenty. I had court records and word of mouth from friends and friends of friends and so on. Anything I didn’t know for sure, I just added in the details that made the most sense. Now, there is still time for you to forget about this because I’m not going to make it pretty for you. I may be a murderer, but a liar is not something I am. I won’t try to get you on my side either. I will tell it like it was and let you decide for yourself.
You have to understand that I hadn’t seen you at that point except in pictures. And even then, it was Mikey who had shown it to me while I was inside. Alice…Well, I thought your mother probably had better places to be or better people to be with. She can say whatever she wants. She never supported me in any way and that is one thing she can’t deny.
But you should’ve seen yourself in that picture. You were beautiful. Oh yes! Those pure green eyes, brown hair, lovable little cheeks, chubby cheeks, and you wore a little princess outfit with a tiara and a wand. It was nothing too corny. All green with butterfly wings. A fairy princess or something. I’d spend days looking at that picture.
That picture was taken a year prior to that night in the bar. I didn’t know what to expect anymore. How much had you grown? Had you grown all of your baby teeth? Did you like music? Of course, everybody likes music, but what kind and just how much? And I remembered an oath I made to myself back in prison. I swore I’d find me a good guitar when I got out, and I would sing you all the songs I had written about you. And two years is plenty of time to work on songs, let me tell you that.
I imagined myself on a stool, playing the cords on an acoustic guitar and you’d be dancing and twirling and all of that. What can I say? You were my light. Kept me straight and out of trouble, and to this day you still do. It is strange how I’ve never been in trouble while I’ve been in prison, either in Cowansville or here in Donnaconna. I can assure you that there are plenty of ways to get into trouble in here, but I never did thanks to you. Those three days of freedom earned me a lifetime in prison, but I have been at peace ever since, knowing you were alright out there.
In so many ways, you saved me without you even knowing it so I swore I would make sure to tell you someday, what went down and why it happened and now you are asking me just that. I’m not even looking for salvation here, maybe just understanding and forgiveness.
Forgiveness is a long hard road. I just hope you can understand that.
Chapter 1
It was early, early September. The sky was covered with thick gray clouds. There was rain forecast for the evening. The boss was coming down the road driving his best bike: a brand new, flat black, Fat Boy Harley. The exhaust noise echoed all around as he made his way on the deserted street. He pulled on the gas and the bike winded louder which drew a satisfied grin on the man’s face.
He took a left at the gate of an abandoned industrial building lot. It was well fenced-off with plywood and tarps all around so that no one could peek inside. The building was awaiting demolition but the gates were open because the man on the bike also ran the company that would tear the place down. If they had killed me, I might have ended up in the same containers as the demolished concrete. There would have been a pile of rocks, mesh wire, floorboards, busted lamps and a dead Samuel Lee. Nobody would go looking for me.
He parked the bike right next to an old battered Buick Skylark. There were four other cars in the parking lot. The first two were a Cavalier and a revamped Impala. The other two were cars you forgot quickly about: a Hyundai and a Corolla.
He took off his helmet, went inside and up four stories. There were two men at the door, ‚full patched‛ men wearing leather jackets and dark sunglasses inside. They were silent and still, which was contrasted by a hell of a ruckus coming from inside the room.
Now most people imagine a Russian mob to be silent and methodical, likewise a Chinese triad or a Japanese Yakama too, and they’re probably right, but these folks here were brawlers. Boxing was the fanciest martial art they were ever going to do. Their tactics were loud: they rarely got the job done right, let alone done clean.
I remember hearing the metallic door and the boss walking in. The room had been stripped of all features except for the large square frame windows that had seen too many decades. The lights were all shattered and the room was lit up by a series of double-headed industrial work lights. There wasn’t any ventilation on the floor and with
twenty men or so surrounding me in a closed space, it quickly felt like we were in the tropics.
Each of them were granted a turn and I was hurting pretty badly. I was breathing heavily as thick, salty sweat was dripping from my forehead. The droplets ran down my cheeks and mixed with the blood pouring down from the cuts around my jaw. A pool of my own blood and sweat was starting to spread on the floor under the chair on which I was tied. I had at least a black eye and a busted lip, two teeth down and most likely a broken rib. But it seemed that would not be enough. I was in for the beating of a lifetime and I knew it was time to get tough when I heard someone say to the boss, ‚He’s ready.‛
But we’re not going to talk about that just yet.
Three days earlier, I was coming out of prison after my first punishable offense. I guess, I seem to be prison-bound, but what can I tell you? All I had was my GED, therefore employment prospects were looking grim. I had a little money set aside, a few hundred dollars, but there I was: unemployed at 26 and back in town.
Just getting on a bus from the Cowansville penitentiary had cost me close to 60 bucks. I took a greyhound and it came to a stop at a junction somewhere in the southwest of Montreal. The stop was little more than a sign on an electric pole in front of a dilapidated gas station on St-Antoine Street. The whole block near the highway bridge, surrounded by old brick duplex and concrete tenements, was dilapidated and in desperate need of a facelift or a wrecking ball.
They might had been fixing the neighborhood a bit further north, building up fancy towers and that hockey arena up the hill, but this block right there, that was the real deal. It was how it used to be. Places like St-Henri, Pointe-St-Charles and the better half of Verdun were standing a mere hundred yards from Westmount, the richest neighborhood in the country. Yet, on this side of the highway stood some of the poorest slums North America had to offer. You could see remnants of fences, with rusting barbwire still attached here and there. Dust, bricks and stolen cars formed most of the scenery around those streets.
In addition to the age old conflict between Francophones and Anglophones there were conflicts between the Irish and the Brits, tensions between the Whites and the Blacks in NDG. A neighborhood which at the time did not stand for Notre-Dame-de-Grace, but rather for ‚No Damn Good‛ and ‚Niggers Drugs and Guns.‛
There were open fights about which mob was to control the city port. Add to that the highest dropout rates in the city and an increasing amount of teenage prostitutes, the borough seemed ready to explode.
The city wasn’t all that worried thought. The rest of us were not going to barge in Westmount and burn it to the ground. We were too busy fighting one another and they
had made it damn near impossible to make it to the top of the hill. There was a cliff, a highway and only one damn north-south tunnel. They could sleep easy.
The bus went its way and I stood there. I was waiting on the corner, busy smoking my second free cigarette in two years. One by the prison door and this one right there. I ain’t had much. I was wearing my grey prison pants and a blue boxing sweatshirt, the ones with the stripes on the shoulder.
It was the middle of the afternoon. The sun was high and strong, though it was clouding over slowly. I had my poor boy hat on. I pulled it down to cover my eyes. I like to think I must’ve looked good, or at least looked like something back then.
Moments later, a beaten up Skylark came by to pick me up. It was a ‘65 or ‘66, something around those years. The one with the round headlights. It was my friend Mikey’s car.
Mikey was a tall skinny black man. He measured 6’3 and weighed 165 pounds at most. His long arms and legs felt more like loose limbs but always had it good with the ladies because he had a wide smile, good hair, good taste and a naturally incredible six pack. The motherfucker didn’t even have to do any sit-ups. I swear.
Once one of the only African-Canadian members the local Anti-Racist-Action skinhead group, he had traded his bomber coats for a job and a career pretty much at the same time I went to prison. I didn’t know just how that had worked from him yet but I knew he was the only friend I could really count on.
The Skylark’s headlights turned off. The radio stopped shouting its profane music. Mikey got out with a large grin on his face, wearing a Fred Perry shirt and dark jeans.
‚Has it been two years already?‛ he asked.
Yes, it had been, I thought. ‚Two years, less one day,‛ I replied. I blew out the last of my smoke threw the stub away.
‚You sure?‛
Mikey always insisted on repeating things. That was his main flaw. That was his only flaw for that matter.
‚I was there, you know,‛ I said and then we shared a heartfelt hug.
‚It’s good to see you out,‛ he added. ‚But come on! We got places to go and drinks to drink!‛
He went around to his side of the car. I went to mine, threw my bag in the back and slid in the front seat as if he had just picked me up after a game or something. As if I had never been taken away for two years.
We both sat in the vast seats of the Buick. Onyx’s Bacdafucup was in the cassette player. Mikey was driving with one hand on the wheel, the other elbow resting outside
the window. He barely made any stops, ran every yellow light that came our way. We were just a bit further out of the southwest and headed towards downtown.
You could see that the buildings there probably were built the exact same time as those in Saint-Henri’s or Little Burgundy boroughs. But at least the owners there seemed to put some effort into renovating their lot. The wood felt fresher, the brick and the stone felt cleaner.
Some of the old industrial buildings had been converted into what looked like an artist center or a university building. Tags one the walls were less gang oriented and more political. ‚Free Mumia,‛ one said. Another read ‚Smash Capitalism –Pcr(co)‛.
We drove on St-Jacques up to Peel, took a left, and then headed back west when we had crossed the 720.
‚So you guys taking me to a strip club?‛ I asked.
‚Pufff, you wish!‛ Mikey answered. ‚It’s just going to be you, me and some guys. If you want a lap dance my friend, you’ll have to pay for it yourself. Besides, I’m not taking a man in such a dire need of ass straight to a land full of pussy he can’t fuck. It wouldn’t be fair to you man!‛
‚You’re a good friend.‛
‚Yes,‛ he said as he nodded ‚I know I am.‛
We were around the Concordia University campus and there was no shortage of fine young women in fashionable clothes. It was the nineties. Kurt Cobain was dead but grunge was still alive. The fall had not kicked in yet and there was plenty of skin showing off. Strong thighs under short skirts, long torn shirts, dirty boots and black nail polish. I was young and out of prison, what’s a man to do?
He parked the car in the toll parking in front of the pub, Crescent Street, under Sainte-Catherine’s where three or four Irish pubs were lined up against the ‚American pub.‛ Mikey paid the minimum amount of 12$ evening fee that was to double if he forgot to get out before midnight.
Thank you, the teller said from inside his booth.
Fuck you,‛ Mickey answered, politely, and we went to the bar. Of course he had chosen the Irish pub and I was happy about it. Now, I wasn’t Irish, but if I was to salute a flag that wasn’t mine, I was better off in the hands of a people who knew that beer was supposed to have alcohol in it. 

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Saving Sunni the First Chapter

Reggie and Kasi Alexander are writing partners as well as real-life Master and slave. They live the lifestyles that they write about and are passionate about sharing information concerning these relationship dynamics. Their goal is to help educate and dispel common misunderstandings often held by the general public. They live in the Denver, CO area with their partner Eeza and are active in the local kink community. In addition to writing, they own and operate a family business making chainmail jewelry and clothing through their company Poly’s Pleasures ( They can often be found at writing conventions and fetish events around the country and love to talk with their fans.


Jessie Chambers—“Sunni” to the local BDSM community—needs to grow up. Her master, Sir Rune, has told her to get a job. Her sister slave sage is struggling through college, serious as ever. Sunni goes to the local goth/kink store, The Fringe Element, and is immediately embraced by its quirky owner as the newest member of her “little family.” But almost immediately things start to get complicated. Sunni’s ex shows up, claiming he’s found God and that God wants them to get back together. A video of Sunni and Sir Rune doing a scene at the club winds up on television and all kinds of trouble ensues. Sunni must figure out a way to restore her relationships, keep her master from getting deported, take over running the store, and stop everybody else from trying to “save Sunni.” 

 Book Excerpt:
Chapter 1
The Fringe Element was on a little side street right off Colorado Boulevard in Denver. I stood on the sidewalk and looked at it for a minute before I went in. Three mannequins stood in the front window. One was dressed in a short, sexy nurse’s outfit complete with a stethoscope and thigh-high stockings that ended just under the white miniskirt. The next one was in a latex bodysuit with a gas mask covering the face. The third was dressed like a dominatrix, in a leather bustier with a flogger hanging over one shoulder and shiny black boots that extended halfway up the thigh. I briefly pictured wearing that to my job interview and laughed a little as I opened the door and went in.
My owner, Sir Rune, had said I needed to get a real job, although he had also said it could be a fun one, and when my sister slave sage had heard through the grapevine that The Fringe Element, a local kink/Goth/punk store, was looking for some help, we all thought it might be a good option for me. I called the owner, Geri, and we set up a time for me to come in and meet her.
When I told the girl at the register why I was there, she silently pointed to a woman bustling around the back of the store. I guessed Geri was her late fifties, but trying her best to look like she was a carefree teenager. Her hair was dyed a mixture of colors, mostly black but with thick purple, red, and blue stripes that sort of matched the various articles of clothing that clung, draped, or floated in the vicinity of her body. I could hear her high, birdlike voice and the jingle of her jewelry as she flitted around giving instructions to the two boys who were hanging a display high up on the back wall. It looked like some kind of vampire stuff. sage would just sigh and shake her head at that. I smiled. She preferred real life to fantasy, and the whole vampire thing was completely beyond her.
The girl called to Geri, who seemed to ignore us. I leaned against the counter and watched for a few minutes as she alternately scolded and flirted with the boys, who paid almost no attention to her. She abruptly turned and almost skipped toward me, smiling and waving her hands as if she were about to take off and fly around the building. I had a feeling I might like her. Sir and sage were always so serious; this would be a really nice change of pace. If she gives me the job.
But there didn’t seem to be too much doubt of that after her first words.
“Oh, deary,” she crooned, nearly kissing me in her effort to scrutinize my face over her John Lennon glasses. “Please, please tell me you’re Jessie Chambers. You’re the first actual human to apply for work!”
I laughed. “Yes, I’m Jessie, but please call me sunni. That’s my scene name.” I wanted to say it was my slave name, since that’s what it really was, but not everyone appreciated the Master/slave dynamic, and I wasn’t sure what kind of kink Geri was into. From the looks of her it could have been just about anything.
She nodded absently, picking up a flyer from the counter and scanning it before slamming it back down. She whirled around to head for what I thought must be her office.
“Well, come this way, then, sunni,” she called over her shoulder. I resisted the strong temptation to swing my arms out and march in an imitation of her, not knowing if there was a mirror where she might catch a glimpse of me and get offended. I would be constantly tempted to make fun of her, although in a friendly way, and wondered how much she would catch if I did. I shot the girl a smile, but she was staring down at a magazine on the counter, not paying attention.
I followed Geri into her office and sat down in the chair she pointed out. She fluttered around her desk for a minute, then plopped down and leaned forward to stare into my face some more. I laid my resume in front of her, the one Sir and sage and I had spent hours agonizing over, trying to make it sound like I had some practical work experience. She didn’t even glance at it.
“So,” she said intently, “Which side are you on?”
I’m sure my face went completely blank. I couldn’t imagine what she was talking about, although I could hear Darth Vader’s voice in my head growling, “Come to the dark side, Luke.”
My confusion must have shown, because she said impatiently, “Edward or Jacob?”   It still took me a minute, but then it dawned on me. She was actually starting my job interview by talking about vampires versus werewolves. I pictured Sir’s face when I told him and nearly burst out laughing.
“I… I don’t know,” I finally said, trying to sound as serious as possible. “I think there are benefits to both.”
She nodded, as if we were discussing something very philosophical and important. “What benefits?”
“Um, well, I like how wild and free werewolves are.” This was a really bizarre conversation, even for me. “And I must confess I do like doggie style.” Geri giggled and nodded vigorously. “But the vampires can make you immortal, and you don’t have to worry about your weight anymore. Although I have to say I would miss ice cream.”
She laughed approvingly. “I can see you’re the kind who looks at all sides of an issue. That’s not a bad thing. Tell me more about yourself.”
I looked down at the resume, trying to get my head back into a professional space, but she pushed it aside dramatically.
“I don’t care about your work history,” she stated. “A monkey could learn the job. What I want to know is how you will fit in with us here. My staff is like a little family, and I don’t want to hire people who wouldn’t be comfortable with us. Tell me who you are. In fact”—she pushed a piece of paper at me—“write down your birth date and place, and I’ll run a chart for you later. That will give me a good idea of your personality traits. But I also want to know about your life experiences.”
I blinked at her. I had spent the last few days practicing “interviewing skills,” but none of them had included an interpretation of my astrological chart. I fought down the giggle that was rising in my throat and tried to reorganize my thoughts as I obediently wrote down the information. While I did that she talked about the other employees, when they had come to her, and how much she loved each and every one of them.  “Well, I’m not sure what you want to know.” She paused and I hastily went on before she could start talking again. “I got married right out of high school but it didn’t end well. I never went to college, but I’ve tried lots of different kinds of jobs. I guess I haven’t found the right thing yet. I want something that will be fun and give me a chance to meet lots of people. I’m very social.” I ran out of things to say and was happy when she jumped in.
“What are your spiritual beliefs and political leanings?”
I stopped myself from pointing out that I was pretty sure that was an illegal question to ask in a job interview and instead said, “I don’t really believe in organized religion and I’m not particularly political. I’m curious about paganism but haven’t ever been involved in it.”
She nodded again. “Are you kinky, poly, or gay? I assume you’re at least kinky, since you have a scene name.”
It occurred to me that my next job interview, wherever it was, was going to seem awfully tame after this. “I’m not gay,” I said, “although I do consider myself heteroflexible. I am kinky and poly.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well…” I wasn’t used to discussing my lifestyle with strangers, but I knew she was at least familiar with the scene, if not an actual part of it, so I took a deep breath and plunged in. “I am in a Master/slave household. My master is Sir Rune, and I am one of two slaves.”
Geri nodded. “I think I’ve heard of him. I haven’t been very active in the community for a while, but I do still have a lot of contacts, and of course a lot of them shop here. What kind of play do you do?”
I wasn’t sure if the conversation was getting too personal or not, but I decided to go with it for the moment. She probably had a good reason to ask.
“Oh, general stuff,” I said. “Wax play, fire play, knife play, flogging, bondage, that kind of thing. I’ve been getting into puppy play, too.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Puppy play? I’m surprised. That’s mostly boys, isn’t it?”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but I like it.”
“Why? What is it about puppy play that you like?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted, leaning forward in my chair. “I think it’s the fact that I don’t feel any pressure to be human, or talk, or even think, really, when I’m a puppy. It’s like letting out a whole other side of myself that needs to play. It’s very relaxing for me.”
“How did you get into the scene?” She scribbled some notes on a thick legal pad, but I couldn’t tell if she was writing comments on what I was saying or if her mind had gone off in a different direction and she was making a grocery list or something.
“After I left my husband, I took a break from relationships for a while. I toyed with the idea of dating only women.” I hoped if she was a lesbian she wouldn’t be offended. “I didn’t find anybody I felt compatible with, but one girl I dated introduced me to the scene, and it felt natural to me. We didn’t go out very long, but she told me about Fetlife, and I set up a profile, met Sir, and decided I wanted to move to Denver to make a new start.”
She didn’t say anything, looking totally absorbed in what she was writing. I wondered if she had even been listening to me. When she looked up, I couldn’t tell by her expression if she liked me or was going to call me a freak and tell me to leave.
“Tell me about the other slave in your household,” she said, as if that was a standard interview question.
“sage? She’s pretty cool.” I tried desperately to think how to describe her. “We grew up in the same small town in Michigan. She’s been living here for a long time, but she joined Sir and me about a year ago. We’re…really different, but we get along pretty well.”
“Different how?” Geri persisted. I wondered if she was going to ask about our sexual relationship.
“She’s more serious than I am,” I said, trying not to make it sound like an insult. “She and Sir are both really smart. I am more…” I didn’t know exactly what I was trying to say.
“Virgo?” she prompted, glancing down at my birth date.
I nodded, shrugging.

“I guess so. That’s probably why I like being a puppy; I can kind of get away from all of the…thinking.” I stopped, suddenly embarrassed.
She smiled and I felt my face get hot, wondering how much of an idiot I sounded like, and if she was laughing at me. Instead, she said, “If this were your store, what kinds of things would you sell?”
It took me completely by surprise. Why would she be asking for business advice from someone who had just admitted she wasn’t very smart?
But she was waiting for an answer, so I glanced out the window in her door that showed the sales floor and took a deep breath. “I like what you do sell,” I told her, “but if I was going to add things, I think I would bring in more fetish stuff, like collars and harnesses. And maybe costumes too, like puppy ears, tails…things like that.”
I shrugged a little lamely, but she nodded and made more notes. Neither of us said anything for a minute or two, then she stood up suddenly, still looking down at the mess of papers on her desk. I stood up, too. Should I offer to shake hands or just walk out? It had been a really odd interview, and she hadn’t even given any indication of what kind of person she was looking for. I had the impression I was just too freaky, and she was rethinking her comment about me being the first human to apply.
I was just about to turn and open the door when she said suddenly, “When can you start?”
I froze, not sure I’d heard her right. I debated asking her to repeat herself, but I thought that would make me seem like an idiot. Hope bubbled up inside me but I kept my face neutral in case she had muttered something completely different than I’d thought.
“How about tomorrow?” she asked, staring intently at the papers as if expecting them to sprout fangs and bite her. She seemed to be unaware that she hadn’t formally offered me a job, and I hadn’t accepted. We hadn’t talked about salary, or duties, or hours, or anything, and she was asking if I could start tomorrow?
“I guess so,” I said, and hastily added, “although I’ll have to ask Sir if it’s okay.”
She nodded, as if her employees always had to check with their masters before agreeing to their hours. “I’ll try to work with your schedule preferences as much as possible, if you can work with the

others on theirs,” she said in the most businesslike tone I’d heard her use. She rooted through several stacks of papers before finding a bright pink one that she handed to me. It was titled “Working at The Fringe Element.”
“Here,” she said. “I never remember all the details to tell people. If you have any questions after reading this, we can discuss them tomorrow when you’re filling out your forms. Welcome to our family.” And then, surprising me even further, she jumped up and raced around the desk. Throwing her arms around me, she hugged me ferociously.
“I feel like we’re going to be best friends,” she said as she let go of me, opened the door and swooped out of the room.
I stuck my head out and called after her, “What time tomorrow?”
“Ten, if you can make it,” she said, disappearing into a door in the back. “Or whatever time your sir can spare you.”
I shook my head as I gathered up my instruction sheet and purse and wandered toward the front door, absently touching the clothing on display as I went through the store. This was going to be an interesting experience.

Available at

 Kasi online:

 Visit These stops too:

6/30 Wickedly Bookish /Guest Post and Give Away
7/1 Soliloquy /Review and Give Away
7/2 Stressed Rach/Review and Give Away
7/2Purple Penguin Reviews /Review

Monday, June 25, 2012

Read the First Chapter of "Pack of Lies"


Meet Staci and Sara:
Both Sara Dailey and Staci Weber are avid readers, English teachers, friends, wives, and soccer moms. They have been teaching together for the past eight years, and writing together for four. Pack of Lies is the second young adult novel for this duo.


The last thing Allison Wright ever expected when she moved to Red Ridge, New Mexico was to come muzzle to muzzle with the wolf of her dreams.


Seventeen-year-old Allison Wright is convinced she’s losing her mind. Uncontrollable mood swings, hot flashes, and the urge to punch anyone who gets in her way are suddenly becoming everyday occurrences. Before her erratic behavior gets out of hand, Allison’s mother finally comes clean about her dark secret. Mom is a werewolf, and soon Allison and her brother Aiden will suffer the same fate. When Allison reaches her breaking point, the family leaves their life in Texas to move to Red Ridge, New Mexico where they rejoin the pack that Allison’s mother left behind almost 20 years ago.

Unfortunately, not everyone in Red Ridge is thrilled about Allison’s arrival, especially when she attracts the attention of the very handsome, very taken, soon-to-be alpha, Cade Walker. Little does Allison know, her mere presence is causing a rift in a once unified pack. Not only has Cade been forbidden from being with Allison by his father, the pack’s alpha, Cade’s girlfriend, Kendall Stuart, will stop at nothing to get Allison out of the picture. Well on her way to becoming the next alpha’s mate, Kendall expects to rule the pack by Cade’s side even if it means teaming up with a rogue werewolf with an agenda of his own. Determined to get rid of Allison permanently, when Kendall and the rogue join forces, all hell breaks loose and no one in the pack is safe, especially not Cade and his true mate.

 Chapter 1
“I said break it up, ladies!”
Principal Murphy’s voice barely registered before someone grabbed me and pulled me away
from the little bobble-head who was still swinging. With my vision still narrowed and my fists
clenched, I tried to regain some sense of self-control as I shook off Coach Cole’s grip on my
arm. Coach gave me a sympathetic look and warned, “Not again, Alli! When are you going to
Glaring back and forth between us both, Principal Murphy ordered, “Miss Hades, my office,
now! And Miss Wright… well, just go see the counselor again. I will get to you later.”
I could still hear the principal griping at Tiffany as he led her toward the front office. This
was not my fault this time. The wench had it coming.
I had barely taken a step inside the counselor’s office before she laid into me. “Sit down,
Miss Wright. Listen, I know you don’t want to be here; no one wants to be here, but it’s either
me or Officer Daniels and trust me, you’re better off talking to me,” declared Mrs. Parker, the
very young, very inexperienced guidance counselor at South Shore High School.
Definitely preferring to deal with this little pixy-stick rather than the school police officer—
affectionately nicknamed Zero by the student body for his zero tolerance policy—I sat, but not
because I was scared, only because I hoped she might go easy on me if I played nice. This wasn’t
my first visit.
As I watched Mrs. Parker open my file, adjust her reading glasses, and clear her throat; I
found myself wondering when my file became so big that it needed to be held with both hands.
I’m really not a bad kid. Seriously. It was just that lately trouble seemed to be following me
Parker sat back in her chair and huffed as she heaved my file onto her desk. As my
multitude of office referrals spread across the desk and onto the floor, she said, “Really Allison,
three major fights this semester already? It’s barely October. What on earth is going on with
There it was. The million dollar question. I took a moment, just to make her think that I was
thinking about what on earth was going on with me. I think it’s safe to say that there was a lot going
on with me, but surely she didn’t think I was going to sit here and spill my guts to a guidance
counselor, for Christ’s sake. How pathetic does she think I am?
I counted slowly to ten in my head before I responded, “Nothing, I’m fine,” and went back
to picking at my nails. What exactly did she expect me to say? I could have said a hell of a lot.
Like that every girl in this school suddenly seems to have a problem with me. That I can’t go
anywhere without them giving me dirty looks or making crude comments. And then there’s my
favorite. Apparently, I’m out to steal anyone’s boyfriend that I come across, and therefore, I
must be a slut.
What is with girls and the word “slut” anyway? Knowing I haven’t had much experience
with the opposite sex, I should just let it roll off my back, right? But slut is like the worst thing a
girl can call another girl. And for some reason, the entire female body at South Shore High
seems to be in agreement that I am, in fact, a complete and utter slut.
I wasn’t going to tell Mrs. Parker what it had really been like for me for the past two
months. She could just sit there, take her little notes, and pass my file on to the principal so that
he could give me yet another consequence that I didn’t deserve.
Parker looked at me over the top of her too-trendy reading glasses and admonished, “Look,
Allison, you’re going to have to do better than that. You are well on your way to the alternative
high school, and the only reason you aren’t there already is because you don’t seem to be the
instigator in all of this nonsense. But there has to be some reason why you were involved in
three major fights, and who knows how many other minor altercations that weren’t reported.”
That did it. There was no way I was going to listen to her put this all on me. Yeah, I had
planned to just sit there and listen to her “advice,” but now she was acting like this was all my
fault. So instead, like usual as of lately, I stood up, looked down on the pixy, and snapped,
“Look, I don’t know why, okay. I don’t know why all of a sudden every girl in this school hates
me. I don’t know why guys that I have never even glanced at think that they can grab my ass in
the hallway. I don’t understand how people who I have been friends with for years don’t want to
talk to me or be seen with me in the cafeteria anymore. I have lost everyone, my best friend, my
boyfriend, even the girls I have been friends with since elementary school. And I don’t know
why. Why don’t you tell me? You tell me Mrs. Parker, you’re the expert, right? Tell me why I
don’t have a single friend anymore except my brother.”
I had no idea why or when it started, but tears were rolling down my face, and I was yelling
at this poor lady who looked as shocked by my outburst as I was. So much for playing it cool.
Now, I felt like I needed to apologize for putting that expression on her face. It’s not really her
fault that everything was so screwed up.
I took a deep breath, sat back down, and calmly said, “I’m sorry Mrs. Parker. That was out
of line. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that. It’s just so frustrating. Everything is just kind of
falling apart and I don’t know what to do.”
Mrs. Parker handed me a tissue and walked around her desk to sit in the seat next to me.
She took off her glasses and said, “Honey… it’s okay. And if you don’t mind me being brutally
honest, I will tell you why you have no friends, girlfriends at least.”
Seriously? Wiping my mascara-smeared eyes, I nodded my head ready for her to enlighten
“Now, listen closely ’cause this is a life lesson,” she said scooting a little closer to me.
“Are you listening?” She paused to make sure I was paying close attention. “Females can be
catty, conniving, evil bitches. And for the most part, we don’t like women who are better looking
than we are,” she admitted in hushed tones, as if someone nearby might hear.
I couldn’t help but smile a little at Mrs. Parker, the sweet little guidance counselor saying
“You may not have noticed or maybe you have, but you are certainly not the same young
woman you were last year. You have changed, and even I have noticed the attention—good and
bad—that you are getting because of it.”
This lady can’t be serious. “I’m sorry Mrs. Parker, but I don’t buy it. My brother and I look just
alike, and he has more friends than he can count. Nobody hates him, or spreads rumors about
him, or starts fights with him. He’s like Mr. Popularity around here.”
“The rules are different for guys like your brother. Let me be honest with you,” she said
sitting back in her chair. “I promised myself I would never say this to a student, or my own
children, for that matter. In fact, it’s one of my pet peeves, but in your case I think it’s actually
true. They’re jealous. All of them. Every girl and probably even a few teachers in this school.
Jealously can do strange things to people.”
I just stared at her like she had lost her mind, she continued, “Alli, you are taller, stronger,
and more beautiful than any other girl in this school, and let’s face it child, you have a killer body
too. And to top it all off, you seem to be a genuinely nice person. Girls really hate people like
you. You are their ultimate competition, and they know they don’t stack up, so instead, they’ve
evidently chosen to make your life miserable.”
Wow, this woman was really nuts. How was I supposed to respond to that? Yes, Mrs. Parker,
I have noticed how hot I am and how great my tits and ass look lately. Jeez! I always thought it would be
great to be that girl, but for the record, it sucks.
“So what am I supposed to do about it?” I asked, hoping she just might have the answer
I’ve been looking for.
“Well, there’s not much you can do, dear. Hmmmm, let’s see. Why don’t we start with not
hitting anybody?” she suggested with sarcasm oozing from her pores.
Yeah, now there’s some advice I could use.
So I guess when some hussy is accusing me of trying to hit on her man, I’m just supposed
to ignore it. Well, that was unlikely to happen any time soon.
Parker’s you-know-I’m-right smirk was starting to piss me off. How could she think it
would be that simple?
“But it’s not my fault. They push me and push me until I can’t take it. I seriously think they
are trying to get me kicked out or something.”
“Well, don’t let them win. I know it sounds cliché Allison, but you need to be the bigger
person and just walk away.”
When I wandered out of Parker’s office, the school secretary gave me an unsympathetic
look as she informed me that my mom was here and had just gone in to see Principal Murphy. I
could only imagine how that was going. I just hoped that I was still a student at South Shore
come morning and not a new member of the Creek Alternative Education School.
Not wanting to sit in the office with the school secretary’s opinionated glare, I politely
requested that she let my mom know that I would be waiting in my car. The dismissal bell rang,
and as I walked out to the parking lot, I carefully avoided all eye contact, trying to “be the bigger
person” and all. With my eyes on the ground, I didn’t see anyone coming until I ran right into
the last person I wanted to see. I looked up startled, only to find, Julie, my ex-best friend. Her
eyes shot up from her iPhone, and she said, “Oh… hey.”
“Hey Julie. How ya been?” I asked, hoping she might stop to talk, but instead she just kept
walking and finishing her text. I turned to watch her pass, feeling the familiar sting that still gets
me even after all this time. How could she just forget how close we once were? It was by no
means the first time I had tried to rekindle our friendship, and the outcome has always been the
I got in my car and turned the A/C on full blast. Leaning my head against the window, I
closed my eyes and tried to focus on cooling down. It has been hotter than hell lately,
everywhere I went, which is not entirely unusual in Texas, but it was weird. I didn’t sweat. It was
like I was hot on the inside. A fever maybe?
The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that I was definitely coming down
with something. It was not just being hot; my vision had been a little funny too. Not blurry or
hazy or anything, just different. And on top of that, I kept getting these waves of nausea from all
these funky smells in the air. I swear some people don’t wear enough deodorant, and if I smell
one more girl with vanilla body spray, I might just have to hurl.
Really… could life get any suckier? Not only was I a social pariah, but a sick one at that.
There should be a rule or something that everything is not allowed to go wrong all at once.
I was half-way to dreamland when my brother, Aiden, started pounding on the windshield.
“Yo, Balboa! I heard you kicked Tiffany Hades’s ass. When are those dumb broads gonna
learn not to mess with my little sis, huh?”
I opened the car door and got out, glad to see a friendly face, the only friendly face I knew
“Tiffany is a dumb-ass, and she had it coming,” I replied.
“Well, I can’t exactly argue with that,” he said as he threw his arm over my shoulder, leading
me toward the gym.
“Come on, Al. Walk me to practice.”
We walked in silence for a minute or so, and then with a heavy sigh, Aiden asked, “So, what
are we gonna do about you? You can’t keep beating up all the pretty girls. Who will I take to
“That’s not funny, and it’s not my fault. Her loser boyfriend grabbed my ass in the hall, and
she just happened to be standing right there. Apparently, Tiffany saw that as my fault.”
“Thomas? Thomas did what? What an asshat! He should know better than to mess with my
little sis. I may just have to kill him now,” Aiden said with a tough-guy smile.
I couldn’t deny that Aiden had taken pretty good care of me since I went from something to
nothing in no time flat. He was well aware that people talked mess about me constantly and have
written me off the who’s who list, but he didn’t care what they thought. And he certainly didn’t
let anyone bad-mouth me when he was around. Honestly, I didn’t know what I would do
without him. He was the closest friend that I have ever had, and currently my only friend,
though that hadn’t always been the case.
But as close as we are, Aiden and I are polar opposites. He’s funny and outgoing, and of
course, the most popular guy at every high school in the greater Houston area. There was even a
rumor that he was nominated for homecoming king at our rival school, Bay Creek, which I had
no doubt was true. He plays every sport, makes straight As, has more girls after him than he can
handle, and is a good four inches taller than me, and I’m five foot ten. He has green eyes and
dark brown hair instead of my hazel eyes and blonde hair, but we both have an olive
complexion, yet somehow, I’m hated and he is adored.
Again, Aiden took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know what to tell you, Al. Just don’t let
them get to you. Tiffany’s an idiot, and everyone knows it.”
“I know, but…”
“Just do me a favor? Don’t get kicked out of school. Okay?”
He smiled at me, and took off into the locker room before I could tell him that it might be
too late.
I turned around and headed back to my car, just in time to see one very angry mom heading
straight toward me.

  Link where book is sold: 

   Staci and Sara Online:
Website Address:
Blog Address:
Twitter Address: @srdailey80, @WeberStaci
Facebook Address:
Visit These Stops Too:

6/26 Reading, Writing and More /Interview, First Chapter, Give Away
6/27 A Soul Unsung /Guest Post and Give Away
6/28 This Author’s Life /Guest Blog
6/28 Known To Read /First Chapter and Give Away
6/29Ramblings of an Amateur Writer /Guest Blog
7/3 The Story of A Girl... /Review and Give Away
7/4 Close Encounters with the Night Kind /Review, Give Away
7/4 My World /Guest Blog
7/4 A Case of Reading Insomnia /Review
7/5 Book Lovin' Mamas /Guest Post
7/6 Soliloquy /Interview and Give Away
7/10Red Headed Bookworm /First Chapter and Give Away
7/11 The Life of Fiction /Review and Give Away
7/11Lissette E. Manning /Review
7/11 Readers Confession /Review and Give Away
7/12 Books, Books, and More Books /Bio/Book Synopsis, Give Away


Sunday, June 24, 2012

Sharing My Favorite Book Giveaway hop


Sharing My Favorite Read Giveaway Hop is being hosted by Reading Romances!
If you win you can choose 1 book from the list below.  All of the books are new and have never been read.  

I will be picking 3 winners 

This is USA only, sorry I hate shipping international.

To enter, simply fill out the raffle copter and then hop on to the other bloggers.

These are the books you can choose from, all are new and never read.
Ladies Prefer Rogues   Janet Chapman and Sandra Hill
Lawe's Justice  Lora Leigh
Tempest Rising   Nicole Peeler
She Tempts the Duke   Lorraine Heath
Taming the Highland Bride   Lynsay Sands
The Hellion Bride  Catherine Coulter
The Truth about Lord Stoneville   Sabrina Jeffries
Taming the Highlander   Paula Quinn
Ravishing in Red   Madeline Hunter
Eternal Kiss of Darkness  Jeaniene Frost  

 a Rafflecopter giveaway

Friday, June 22, 2012

The Spot Light is on "Dreaming Montana"


    In a single day, Cara Gallagher experiences an erotic dream about a man she doesn’t know and has a premonition of her identical twin—at the exact moment her sister dies in a car accident.  To escape her grief and a loveless marriage, Cara accepts a temporary job reassignment in Seattle, where she continues to have sensuous dreams of the unknown man. There she encounters an angel who claims to be sent by her dead sister to help her find the man in her dreams. Meanwhile, photographer Jay Amiens sees angel wings on his film and has recurring intimate dreams about a woman he doesn’t know—but would love to meet in person.  Set in 1993, Dreaming Montana invokes the spirit of Seattle at the height of the grunge era, with the city as the backdrop for Cara and Jay to potentially cross paths.
 Kim Nathan – Author Bio

Kim Nathan is an American author of historical and contemporary romance fiction. Her first novel was Sterling Redmond, a historical romance. Born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, she relocated to Seattle, Washington in 1994, where she lives with her husband and cats.

“Here she was back in Seattle, and the whole city lay before her like a giant maze. All she wanted to do was run to the center of it, where she would find him. Now she kept her head up when she walked, searching the faces of people passing by, looking for him everywhere in the crowd. Among the flower stalls at Pike Place Market, while she paused to admire the fresh bouquets, she wondered if he rambled these same aisles. She would see him; she had to believe that now. He was here somewhere, waiting for her. At any moment, she could meet him. Until then, she would walk the same city, breathe the same air, see the same stars in the same sky as he did. And she would wait.”

6/28 Ramblings of an Amateur Writer /Interview
6/29 Bajan Rosa Books /Review and Give Away
7/3 Close Encounters with the Night Kind /Review, Give Away
7/5 Understanding Shae's Story /Spot light and Give Away
7/5 The Book Hoard /Spot Light
7/6 Books, Books, and More Books /Review and Give Away
7/9 Words I Write Crazy /Review
7/9 A Case of Reading Insomnia /Review and Give Away
7/10 The Story of A Girl... /Review and Give Away
7/11 This Author’s Life /interview
7/13 Bunnys Review /Interview
7/16 A Night's Dream of Books Review
7/18 My Cozie Corner /Review and Give Away
7/18Lissette E. Manning /Review

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Saving Sunni Review

Reggie and Kasi Alexander are writing partners as well as real-life Master and slave. They live the lifestyles that they write about and are passionate about sharing information concerning these relationship dynamics. Their goal is to help educate and dispel common misunderstandings often held by the general public. They live in the Denver, CO area with their partner Eeza and are active in the local kink community. In addition to writing, they own and operate a family business making chainmail jewelry and clothing through their company Poly’s Pleasures ( They can often be found at writing conventions and fetish events around the country and love to talk with their fans.


Jessie Chambers—“Sunni” to the local BDSM community—needs to grow up. Her master, Sir Rune, has told her to get a job. Her sister slave sage is struggling through college, serious as ever. Sunni goes to the local goth/kink store, The Fringe Element, and is immediately embraced by its quirky owner as the newest member of her “little family.” But almost immediately things start to get complicated. Sunni’s ex shows up, claiming he’s found God and that God wants them to get back together. A video of Sunni and Sir Rune doing a scene at the club winds up on television and all kinds of trouble ensues. Sunni must figure out a way to restore her relationships, keep her master from getting deported, take over running the store, and stop everybody else from trying to “save Sunni.” 


 I would like to begin by saying I have never read a fetish book before. While this is not my life style of choice I can see where it might appeal to others. Kasi did a wonderful job of describing how the family dynamics work and how the different types of “play” may appeal to the giver or receiver. It is almost a primer or a BDSM for beginner’s kind of book with a story wrapped around it. It was interesting to consider all aspects of the family functioning on all levels (financial, education, shared chores, etc) not just sex scenes over and over. Here is a word, “polyamorous “, if you do not know what this word means then read Saving Sunni, it will explain everything.

Kasi online:







  T B R
 Adventures of Frugal Mom
 Wickedly Bookish
 Books, Books, and More Books
Redheads Review It Better
  Just Heard, Just Read, Just Seen
 Guilty Indulgence Review Site

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Book Blogges Hop

Book Blogger Hop
What to Do:
1. Post on your blog answering this question:

    Do you belong to a book club, either online or in real life?

2. Enter the link to your post in the linky list below (enter your Blog Name, Genre you review, and direct link to your post answering this week’s question; failure to do so will result in removal of your link).

3. Visit other blogs in the list, spending quality time getting to know the people you are visiting. Don’t just visit the post with the question, but click around and read some of the blogger’s other content, too! This Hop isn’t about the number of people you can visit, but the quality of each visit. Readers – find a new blog to read by clicking through the links in the list!

I don't belong to a Book Club but I do own and run an online book tour.
I review almost any genre but prefer Para Romance. 

You are next..... What book club do you belong to? Click here to enter

Linky List