Consequences For Melanie Robertson-King / @RobertsoKing / #LLm

Today we’re spotlighting The Consequences Collection by Melanie Robertson-King. Read on for an excerpt!

The Excerpt

Drawn by some inexplicable force, Sylvia went back to the foyer and collected the letter and the mangled envelope. She returned to the kitchen, flipped on the radio and sat down at her small table. Why had she opened it in the first place? She should have just binned it. That’s what she usually did with unsolicited mail. But there was something strangely familiar about it. The addressee information was on a computer printed label so there was no clue there. The sororities from University had crests or emblems to differentiate one from another. She wracked her brain trying to remember what they looked like. It had been over thirty years since she’d attended. Sylvia never belonged to a sorority because she thought the girls who did were snooty and stuck-up.

She’d call her friend, Laurie and tell her about the letter. They’d been friends since childhood, attended the same elementary and secondary schools and even the same University. She could tell her anything, couldn’t she? Sylvia picked up the cordless handset and dialed. “Hi Laurie, how are things?”

“Not bad. Just getting a load of laundry ready to go on the line. You?”

This was her chance to bring up the letter the mailman had shoved through her door. “Fine. I’ll let you go since you’re busy. Call me back, okay?” Sylvia hung up. There was something strange about Laurie’s tone, she thought. Like someone was there or something was wrong. She’d find out later. She knew Laurie would return her call. Rather than put her lifetime friend into a panic, she decided not to mention what she’d got in the mail earlier that morning.

Instead, Sylvia picked the letter up and read it out loud. “I know about that night. I know about your illegal abortion. You might think you were alone that night at the backstreet clinic but you weren’t. I saw you.”

Bloody hell, Sylvia thought. Who could have been there that night? She knew who took her there – it was Marianne’s boyfriend, John. He was the one who got her pregnant in the first place. They’d been at a party. He had fought with his girlfriend, Marianne, and she’d left in tears.

Sylvia recalled the crush she had on John. She stayed with him rather than go after her friend and comfort her, thinking they’d broken up. He didn’t need consoling she remembered. He took her off to the backseat of his car and they had sex. It had been her first time and she hadn’t known what to expect but being fumbled and fondled in the back of a ’57 Chevy wasn’t it.

The Consequences Collection

The Consequences Collection

The Consequences Collection is an eclectic compilation of twelve stories ranging from non-fiction through creative non-fiction to pure fiction, in prose and poetry. More info →
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Melanie’s Café Order

“I don’t go to cafes very often, but there is one close to me (within walking distance) where they make cheesecake that is to die for. You need someone with you to help eat it because it’s so rich! So, it’s a good thing I have willpower and don’t stop every time I walk by.”

Melanie’s Music

“I wouldn’t say that music inspired my writing, but since my novels (so far only one published) are set in Scotland, the influence would come from Scottish Folk music – bands like The Corries, Old Blind Dogs, Runrig etc. I used to write to music, usually sitting in the kitchen where our satellite radio is listening to BBC Radio 1. Unfortunately, BBC Radio 1 is no longer available in that format. Since then, whether I’m reading or writing, I prefer to have things totally quiet.”

Let’s listen to one of the groups Melanie mentioned, Old Blind Dogs.

Meet The Author Moment With Bonnie Trachtenberg / @writebrainedny / @RobertsoKing / #LLm

Good morning! Today on our Meet The Author Moment, we’re featuring Bonnie Trachtenberg!

The Interview

Bonnie-59r[AC]: Why do you write?

[BT]: I write because I’m a passionate person and it’s so important for me to express myself. Writing seems to be my main God-given gift—or at least the one that comes most naturally.

[AC]: What do you absolutely need at your desk while writing?

[BT]: A cold bottle of my favorite Zero Vitamin Water: acai-blueberry-pomegranate

[AC]: Do you have a special time to write, or how is your day structured? 

[BT]: After a long hiatus due to chronic fatigue and marketing burnout, I’m back to working on my book. However, I do find it so easy to procrastinate (especially if I’m imprudent enough to sign on to Facebook!) Therefore, as of late, I’ve been doing only the chores I absolutely have to do first thing in the morning and then forcing myself to sit down in front of the computer (with my book draft open!) early in the day when my mind is still relatively fresh.

[AC]: What is the hardest thing about writing?

[BT]: For me, the hardest thing is just getting started on it each day. I suppose the thought of how difficult and sometimes overwhelming it can be to write a novel sometimes makes me want to avoid it entirely. Once I get past that and into the flow of the book, I’m usually somewhat productive. 

[AC]: What is the easiest thing about writing?

[BT]: The easiest thing is that you can do it anywhere: at home, at Starbucks, at the library, or even at a hotel on vacation. My laptop is pleasantly mobile, but even when I don’t have it with me, I always carry a notebook and pen, or use the “notes” app on my iPhone for brainstorming.

Don’t forget to check out Bonnie’s books!

Author: Bonnie Trachtenberg
Wedlocked

Wedlocked

On what should be the happiest day of her life, Rebecca Ross is panic-stricken. Rebecca has just wed Craig Jacobs, but she realizes she put more thought into choosing her florist than she did in choosing the man she's just pledged to love for the rest of her life. More info →
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Neurotically Yours

Neurotically Yours

Witty, poignant, and immensely engaging, this romantic comedy from the bestselling author of Wedlocked: A Novel features sparkling dialogue, colorful characters, and a story that pulls you in and never lets you go. More info →
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The Fine Art of Delusional Thinking

The Fine Art of Delusional Thinking

This witty and concise how-to book from best-selling author Bonnie Trachtenberg teaches you everything you’ll need to know to turn your humdrum existence into a lifestyle others will envy. So delude your way to a happy life—with help from an expert. More info →
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The Giveaway

This month’s giveaway is sponsored by Melanie Robertson-King.

Click HERE to learn more about Melanie and her books!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Last Protector Of A Shadow In The Past / @RobertsoKing / @StephanieKeyes

Hey guys! Today is a real treat for me, because I get to share some of my own work with you. Read on for more!

 

The Last Protector

The Last Protector

Author:
Series: The Star Child, Book 3.5
Genres: Paranormal, Romance, Young Adult
Gabriel Stewart helped his best friend Kellen St. James save the world from The Scourge in the Battle of Dublin. But before that? Gabe was just an ordinary guy who kept having dreams about a little boy with black hair and green eyes—a boy he hadn’t even met yet. More info →
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Excerpt From The Last Protector

The grass was still damp from the rain earlier, from constant rain, really. Moisture seeped through the opening in the bottom of my right boot and I pulled my coat tighter. It hadn’t been cold a moment ago but, all of a sudden, I could see my breath.

Finally, I stopped outside a squat brick building. I knew deep down to my bones that this was it–where I needed to be. But why had I come in the first place?

Only one window was lit on the ground floor. Through the glass I could make out a small boy with dark hair. He sat alone, reading. After a moment,

It would have been a totally normal scene if it weren’t for the unease slithering through my veins. Something was gonna go down.

“This is the one. I’d know him anywhere.” I glanced to the left and caught sight of two guys standing just under the kid’s window. Shrinking back into the shadows, I hugged the wall and crouched down behind a bush. Wherever the weird sense in my gut had come from, instinct told me it had everything to do with these two.

“I dunno, Ewan.” The shorter of the two men moved a step closer, and I caught something I hadn’t before. One of the guys was green. Short and green. Like a wicked witch but not as tall. “I know he’s here. I followed the scent.”

The other one held up two hands. “I believe ye. You’re definitely right. It’s just…if the lord finds us here it’ll be both our heads.” The one called Ewan took a step closer.

The one called Ewan took a step closer. “We’ll use the boy as leverage. We must listen to Cana’s warnings.”

“The old hag knows nothing. Kellen St. James–”

“St. James will have power.”

“That’s a rumor and nothing more. It ain’t worth risking our necks over, you ‘ear?”

“Look at him, just sitting there. Murder him now and we’ll avoid trouble later.”

 

A Shadow In the Past

A Shadow In the Past

Sarah Shand is a nineteen-year old who finds herself thrust back into the past where she struggles to keep her real identity secret from a society that is put off by her strange comments and ideas, not to mention the forwardness in her speech and actions, More info →
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Excerpt From A Shadow In The Past

 Sarah spun around at the sound of the approaching engine. Headlights sparkled and danced in the closing darkness, blinding her. The next few seconds appeared to unfold in slow motion. A horn blared, brakes screeched, and smoke surged out from beneath the tires. Hypnotized by the dazzling light, Sarah couldn’t move. The impact of the car’s bumper sent a searing pain through her legs. Her bones snapped like twigs as she flew into the windshield and over the car onto the road.

With a sickening thud, her head smashed against the asphalt. As Sarah lay there, vomit and blood rose in her throat. She tried to roll over to keep from choking, but her body refused to obey. All the strength drained from her body, and her world faded away into nothing.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!”

Sarah thought she had imagined the hysterical woman’s voice.

“Don’t die on me; please don’t die. I’ve called 9-9-9. Help will be here soon.”

Sarah felt the soft touch of a hand caressing her forehead and looked up into the face of a wide-eyed girl of about her age. Behind the girl, a mangled car rested against a tree. Sarah opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t. She shivered.

“You must be freezing. Here, let me cover you.” The young girl removed her coat and placed it over Sarah. “Please just stay with me,” she pleaded, looking over her shoulder. As the sirens wailed in the distance, everything went dark.

When Sarah’s eyes flickered open, the frantic girl and her wrecked car were nowhere to be seen. Instead of the asphalt surface of Kendonald Road, Sarah lay sprawled out on a narrow, gravel lane.

Sarah’s chest felt as if her father’s entire herd of cows had run over it. She gasped for air and tried to prop herself up on her elbows but collapsed as stones gouged her arms.

Using her last ounce of strength, Sarah hauled herself to her feet. Her head throbbed as if it was about to explode, and something wet and sticky ran down the back of her neck. Dirt and blood covered her rugby shirt and jeans, and her trainers were gone. Sharp gravel bit into her stocking feet as she staggered, trying not to fall. Sarah was surprised she was able to stand. She was certain the impact with the car had broken her legs and maybe even her back.

She wiped her hands on her shirt and cried out in pain. Dirt and blood covered her palms, and her knees felt like they’d been scraped with sandpaper. Her chest hurt with every breath, and she wondered if her ribs were broken.

Barely able to make out a faint light shining in the distance, Sarah stumbled toward it, thinking it was the yard light near her father’s barn. She clapped her hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the incessant ringing, but it didn’t work.

Sarah blinked and stared at one of the ghostly trees lining the roadway. The trunk expanded and contracted before her eyes as if it were breathing. A gust of wind rasped through the branches, and a sudden cry of a long-eared owl made her jump. Shivering, Sarah crossed her arms and rubbed, but pain shot all the way to her fingertips, forcing her to stop.

 

Recipe of the Day

Image Courtesy Of Jeff Wilcox, Flickr
Image Courtesy Of Jeff Wilcox, Flickr

I’m from Pennsylvania and we are into pumpkin everything here. My favorite drink is a Pumpkin Spice Latte. I thought I’d share a great recipe I’ve found online.

Make Your Own Damn Pumpkin Spice Latte For $1

Music of the Day

I listened to a ton of music while writing The Last Protector. One song that really sets the mood of the story is Cool Kids by Echosmith. Have a listen!