Release Spotlight: Lion

Short Story, Spotlight Tour

Langwidere has an obsessive habit—collecting heads. She wears a new one each day, changing them out like she does her ivory dresses. But Landwidere doesn’t have the one thing she truly wants: complete power over the territories in Oz. When Lion—the once cowardly fae—shows up at her doorstep, he offers her an opportunity to achieve her desires. Will he use the courage the Wizard gave him to help her succeed, or will he betray her in the process?

This is a short story prequel to the Faeries of Oz trilogy. 

Available now!

Purchase Link: com/dp/B08FT5SSJW/

Book Blast for Author Larry Yoke

Spotlight Tour

DSCN0391 (2).JPGMeet Larry Yoke.

I’ve been writing short stories and poems since a child. I have taught English as a Second Language (ESL) as well as English, Literature, Reading and Writing (ELRW) at the High School level in Garland, Texas. I’ve used many of my own writings as teaching aids in various classes. I have taken several writing courses through the University of Texas at Dallas, Amberton University, and the University of Iowa, School of Writing. I have a BABA and a MBA from the University of Texas at Dallas and Amberton University, respectively.  I have had the honor of some of my poetry being chosen for Emerging Poets Anthologies, 2017, 2019 and 2020.I won a national writing competition for my novel “Broke Girl” (Fiction Crime: 2018). I have several books published for sale on the major online books stores.

Social Media Links:
Facebook: Larry Yoke
Twitter: @Larry Yoke
Instagram: LarryYoke76


Meet His Books.

Premade Exclusive Book Cover 918 BN.jpg

Little Birds: South Dakota bragged about having the lowest crime rate in the entire country until Detective Gloria Ramos uncovers a wide spread nest of corruption that turns this idyllic state upside down.  A mad man is on the loose and it takes Gloria and her new partner, an ex-FBI agent now sheriff joining wits to bring him down. A thriller of high flying adventure from beginning to end. Buy a copy on all major online book retailers!



Coming soon!

Crossing Rivers:  The story is full of tears, joy, humor, fear, terror, and a lot of love and forgiveness along the way. In the end Hunter discovers that his faith in himself, in his mother and the father who died when he was only thirteen, and in God has been eternally strengthened.

Book Purchase Links:


Possum Kingdom

Broke Girl

Little Birds

Second Chances



America’s Emerging Literary Fiction Writers

America’s Emerging Poets 2018: West Region

Georgia’s Best Emerging Poets 

Excerpt of Blackwood Chronicles: Inock Tehan and the Phantom of the Ruins By A. A. Wise

Spotlight Tour, Writing


Allan Andrew Wise (A. A. Wise), born in Uganda, East Africa, moved to England as a young boy. His interest in fantasy literature appeared at a young age and he has been devouring fantasy novels ever since.
Allan’s first book, Inock Tehan and the Phantom of the Ruins, was published by Austin Macauley in 2017. His second novel in that series, Inock Tehan and the Forbidden Clan was published by Austin Macauley in May this year. The books are available on Amazon and in bookstores.
The first book is centred around a thirteen-year-old boy called Inock Tehan. Inock lives in a different world to ours. A world full of witches, demons and many magical creatures.
Allan designed Inock to be a bit mischievous and fun loving because he was a little like this as a child. He designed Inock’s best friend as a friendly, knowledgeable ghost to add wisdom and balance. Inock later meets his other friends Lalita and Andre as the story progresses. Andre is black and they are all around the same age.
Allan wrote this story because he enjoys fantasy stories and so wanted to create a story of his own that others could enjoy.
Allan takes inspiration from books he’s read, the television, movies, animation, and stories told to him in Uganda when he was young.


Social Media Links:
Twitter: A. A. Wise
Instagram: aawise24
Facebook: A. A. Wise

aa wise book cover.jpg


Blackwood Chronicles: Inock Tehan and the Phantom of the Ruins

‘You charge way too much for lessons here at your school,’ argued Laden, pointing a finger at Inock’s big brother.

‘Look, I’m not the one who sets the prices,’ Torend retorted. ‘You’ll have to come back when my father isn’t busy. He sets the prices!’

‘Every time we come here he’s busy,’ said Laden, laying a hand on his little sister’s shoulder. ‘And you always tell us to come back later.’

‘I wouldn’t lie about…’

‘Look, Torend,’ Laden interrupted, ‘my little sister recently came into her powers and she needs to see a power-trainer. Her powers keep going out of control. And they’ll only get worse if she doesn’t see the power-trainer right away.’

‘I understand what you’re saying but I can’t book you in,’ said Torend. ‘My mother said no. Why don’t you just go and see another power-trainer?’

‘Oh, come on, Torend. You know there isn’t another power-trainer for miles. And I can’t afford to send her to the Secilia Power Academy; they charge a fortune!’

(The Secilia Power Academy was a very famous school for demons and witches. It was in a faraway city.)

Torend was about to reply when he was interrupted by a pair of angry-looking men accompanied by two vile creatures; these were venators with their ghastly onis!
Venators were the police of Inock’s world. They were bald, black men with green eyebrows and they always looked angry. They wore a uniform of dark green, knee-length silk jackets with long black sleeves, black trousers and black boots and they always had black whips hanging from their waists. They also wore a green metallic brace around their necks. Venators were invariably accompanied by onis – large black creatures that came up to a man’s waist. They looked like gigantic dogs – like a bull terrier with large red eyes, no ears and two very long, scaly tails that writhed like serpents behind them. They had long jaws that resembled a crocodile’s, packed with lots of sharp, stained teeth.
Venators always used these horrible creatures to help them patrol the streets. You’d never see a venator without an onis.

‘What’s the commotion here?’ one of the venators snapped.

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ replied Torend.

‘Who asked you guys to butt in?’ spat Laden.

‘You’re causing a scene,’ hissed one of the venators, reaching for the black whip at his waist.

The two onis snarled at Laden, their four tails thrashing about behind them.

Seeing the two vicious creatures snarl like that reminded little Inock of something – the Onis flute. He reached into his pocket, took it out and stared at it. It looked exactly like the little flute one of the angry venators was holding. He wondered if the dog-like creatures would do what he wanted if he blew into it. Would they come and stand by his side? Could he make them chase the angry venators away from his brother?

Inock just had to find out. He raised the green flute to his mouth and was about to blow into it when Rozanthia screamed out, ‘No, Inock! Don’t!’

Spotlight Sale: When the Black Roses Grow

Spotlight Tour

WhenBlackRosesGrow.jpgWhen the Black Roses Grow
Angela Christina Archer
Soul Mate Publishing

Twenty-five men and women were accused.
Nineteen hung to their death on Gallow Hills.
One suffocated under bone-crushing stones.
All believed to possess the power of witchcraft.

In 1692 the fear of witchcraft is spreading around Salem Village. While those who are accused and sentenced face death, everyone else faces the risk of accusations placed upon them.

As Emmalynn Hawthorne, the daughter of a woman hung for witchcraft, places a bouquet of flowers upon her mother’s grave, a circle of black roses sprouts out of thin air. Dark magic, the roses strike fear through her heart when Mary Pruett and the handsome newcomer, James DeKane, spy upon her as they pass along the traveling road. Emmalynn flees and her panic soon turns into terror as another vine of black roses sprouts and grows throughout the inside of her home. Is she a witch? Will she be the next accused?

James DeKane has secrets of his own—ones that could prove deadly for him and anyone he holds dear. At fault for the untimely death of his parents, he must protect his hidden brother and dying sister, all while fearing that the haunting prophecy bestowed upon him at birth will come to pass. Desperate and fighting the monster deep inside of him, he’s searching for the one love who can alter his destiny.

Book Links:


Out of the corner of my eye, a dark green vine whispered for my attention. It appeared in the corner—the stem grew quickly from my floorboards, growing a few inches every passing second. Smaller vines sprouted from the first, curling in all directions. A few leaves grew from the stems, popping outward and bouncing a little from their sudden burst of movement.
I flung my arms—the sudden jerk of my body sent my rump slamming hard onto the floor. My hand slapped across my mouth to hide my scream. The dark magic fluttered through the air in a teasing and taunting dance, waving its leaves as if to scold me for my sins.
I scrambled to my feet, and grabbed the handle of the pot, not caring that the hot piece of the wire burned the palm of my hand. I shoved the back door open. It collided with the outside wall of the house as I shoved the pot through the doorway and cast the iron flying through the air. It plunged to the grass, landing with a loud bong.
I slammed the door, raced to my chopping block, and grabbed the large knife laying on the cutting board.
If I cut it, it will wither and die. Tis nothing more than a weed, a simple weed, and if I cut it, it will wither and die.
My heels slid across the floor slowly. Hesitation stirred in my blood, and my hands trembled as I hovered over the vine.
The familiar green vine I had seen before…floating over my mother’s grave.
In a bold, swift swipe, I slashed the stem. The green color turned into a deep black, and the vine shriveled and vanished.
My rump hit the floor, and curled my legs up into my chest. My heart pounded in panic. My lungs heaved. The thought of moving, even an inch, overwhelmed me.
Please do not return. Please do not return.
I sat upon the floor, trying desperately to control my breathing and slow my rapid heartbeat. The anxiety of needing to calm myself immediately only made me want to crawl out of my own skin even more.
Please, Lord, do not allow it to return. Please.
I finally heaved myself up off the floor onto my knees, and slowly placed one foot on the floor, rose, and placed the other foot down.
Please, Lord, plea—
Another vine sprouted before my eyes.
The knife slipped from my fingers, landing on the floor with a thud and bounced a couple of times. The green vine reappeared, curling through the air once again. Leaves sprung from the stem, waving just as the others had don. The vine’s growth as short-lived as it sprouted, although larger than before.
My mind whirled out of control, lost in a sea of unexplainable reasons and sheer terror. Shadows closed in all around me with one single wave of panic I did not know if I could withstand.
A knock gently rapped against by back door. I spun on my heel, and covered my mouth. Surely, twas nightfall, surely, the sun had set, giving way to the darkness for its evening slumber. The only expected visitors were the ones invited, and I certainly did not invite anyone over to my home.
Another knock rapped, this time a little harder than the first, and I tiptoed over to the door.
“Who is there?” My voice cracked on the last word.
“Tis James DeKane.”


About the Author:

Growing up in Nevada, reading was always a pastime that took second place to trail riding and showing horses. When she did find the time in her youth to curl up with a book, she found enjoyment in the Saddle Club Series, the Sweet Valley High series, and the classics of Anne of Green Gables, The Box Car Children, and Little House on the Prairie. Although, writing always piqued her curiosity, it wasn’t until September 2009 that she worked up the courage to put her passion to paper and started her debut novel.

When she’s not writing, Angela spends her days from dawn to dusk as a stay at home, homeschooling mom. She also works in her garden and takes care of her many farm animals, as well as loves to bake and cook from scratch. She doesn’t show horses anymore, but she still loves to trail ride her paint horse, Honky, as well as enjoys teaching her daughters how to ride their horses, Sunny and Cowboy.


Rotten Magic Promo + Guest Post

Spotlight Tour
TITLE: Rotten Magic

AUTHOR: Jeffrey Bardwell
       Jeffrey Bardwell is an ecologist with a Ph.D. who loves fantasy, amphibians, and reptiles. The author devours fantasy and science fiction novels, is most comfortable basking near a warm wood stove, and has eaten a bug or two. The author populates his own novels with realistic, fire breathing lizards. These dragons are affected by the self-inflicted charred remains of their environment, must contend with the paradox of allometric scaling, and can actually get eaten themselves.
The author lives on a farm, is perhaps overfond of puns and alliterations, and is a gigantic ham. When not in use, he keeps his degrees skinned and mounted on the back wall of his office. Email at:
GENRE: fantasy/steampunk
SERIES: The Artifice Mage Saga, Book 0.5
Devin will do anything to win. Even resort to magic.
Devin competes to become the best artificer in the mage phobic Iron Empire. Who needs magic when you can master the art of machinery? The other apprentices envy his genius and skills . . . especially Benson. Every apprentice hones their craft building and fighting in crude prototypes of powered armor. Some add frills, others barbs or horns. When Devin transforms himself into a mechanical dragon to slaughter the competition, Benson steps into the role of dragon slayer.
But Devin harbors a secret as he claws his way to the top of the Artificer’s Guild: he’s a mage. These new abilities are thrilling and frightening, and the voices more so. How long can Devin be content wearing a steel dragon mask when the seductive promise of true arcane power whispers in his ear?
Experience the prequel to the Artifice Mage Saga: a fantasy steampunk brawl of metal vs. magic where sorcery is bloody, science is greasy, and nobody’s hands are clean.
To Buy Rotten Magic, click here.
Nobody mourns the collapse of chivalry as they should. The regression of knights from their historical roles as mounted heroes, nobles, and stewards of the king’s justice to common gutter trash riding in wrinkled, red uniforms is a symptom of a greater disease. When we lost our knights in shining armor, we lost that which shines within ourselves.
It was not always thus, although few now are old enough to remember. But I can still close my eyes and feel the warm breeze on my back, hear the pennons snapping in the wind, smell the scent of oiled leather, and see the sun shining off that brilliant, burnished armor as the knights paraded down the street, waving to the crowd. I must have been a lad of five or six, but the memory lingers. The sun set that day and never rose again. The knights rode to battle one last time, perchance to kill an upstart duke for the glory of their monarch. But now that duke sits upon the throne, a cold chair washed in the blood of our king while the blood of our knights polishes the flagstones at his feet.
We have replaced a kingdom with an empire, glory with greed, and chivalry with cavalry. When the imperial soldiers ride through the streets, it is no gay parade, but a grim patrol. The neighboring kingdoms fear us now, and well they should, for we have conquered two of them and soon we shall conquer the rest. Only Corel, by the grace of her dragons and her mountains, remains secure. But the others? Farse, the land of Graceful Mountains? Kindar, the quiet Kingdom by the Sea? They are shackled to the empire, reduced to mere provinces.
Remember the knights. Remember the brilliant knights in shining armor. A darkness is spreading across the land and we will never shine again.
The empire is harsh to those who refuse to conform. The Artifice Mage is coming. Will he bring new light to the empire or his own brand of darkness?
Giveaway Time!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Spotlight for Interpretation

Spotlight Tour

Interpretation200px.jpgInterpretation Blurb:
Carl Winston awakens to find his son, Liam, screaming with fear. Trying to understand why, Carl tries to soothe him. Neighbors gather in front of Carl’s apartment to help – until they see him. The crowd cowers back, afraid of this monster.

Carl runs. His life of luxury is ripped away. Forced beyond the city limits, Carl sees a land bereft of life. Traveling in search of answers, his quest comes to a sudden halt when he collapses. As darkness shrouds him, a figure hovers from above.

Traveling along the same route, Eva Thomspon finds Carl and nurtures him back to life. Together, they continue the journey, finding out that their lives have too much in common to be a coincidence. As their affection for each other deepens, an unknown nemesis attempts to remove their only source of happiness – their love for each other.

Interpretation is a dystopian fiction that explores hope and happiness in the bleakest of conditions and what happens when it’s torn away.

Purchase Links:


Carl closed his eyes and tried to laugh at himself.  Barely a squeak left his mouth.  What was he thinking, trying to enter this godforsaken wasteland by himself with no supplies?  Still on his back, he dreamed about opening a bottle of Ocean Surge.  Wet bubbles danced against his tongue, bathing his taste buds with refreshing fruit-infusion – small bursts of happiness made his lips sing an ode to joy.
But forget that fantasy; sulfur-ridden tap water would be just as good.  Carl knew the taste would not equate, but its effect would invigorate.  Carl smiled, his eyes wide open, staring into the dimming sky, into the nothingness that surrounded him.  Gulp after glorious gulp of imaginary liquid until he couldn’t keep up, showering his face with it until a puddle formed around him.  That puddle turned into an ocean and Carl sank to the bottom, his faint breath weakening further.  The light grew dimmer.  He tried to reach up, to reach out of the depths of his hallucination, but his arms felt too heavy, as if the pressure at this depth couldn’t be overcome.
A shadow hovered over him.  Carl tried to speak to it, but words didn’t make sense.  The shadow spoke back with a meaningless, muffled slur.  Water entered Carl’s mouth, nearly choking him.  Nonetheless, the delicious wet felt so good, like ocean refreshment in every bottle.  That was the slogan, right?  Carl laughed or cried, he couldn’t tell.  For all he knew, he was dead.  The shadow grew, saying something that he couldn’t work his mind around.  Darker. Darker.  Clock, what the hell was that clock song?  Darker. The shadow drew nearer.  Or maybe it was the darkness.  It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born, And was always his treasure and pride… Ah yes, there it is.  But it stopped short – never to go again – When the old man died.  That’s the one.  Darkness.


smallerprofilepicdylancallens.jpgDylan Callens Bio:
Dylan Callens lands cleanly. That would be the headline of a newspaper built with an anagram generator. And although Dylan is a Welsh name meaning god or hero of the sea, he is not particularly fond of large bodies of water. His last name, Callens, might be Gaelic. If it is, his last name means rock. Rocks sink in the sea. Interestingly, he is neither Welsh nor Gaelic, but rather, French and German. The inherent contradictions and internal conflict in his life are obvious.

Author Links:
Amazon Author:


Interpretation makes its debut appearance tomorrow!