Sunday, January 14, 2018

Interview with author Helen Whapshott

First post of 2018! I’m interviewing fellow author Helen Whapshott, who is also published by Little Bird Publishing House. The third book in her Young Adult series The Glow is out now!

So hi. What’s your name and what do you write? 
Hi, my name is Helen Whapshott and I write paranormal and supernatural meets the modern world.

When did you start writing and why?
I’ve been writing since I was able too, short stories on scrap paper.

What were the biggest challenges about becoming a published author?
Approaching publishers and getting rejected.

Shout out your publisher and tell us how they helped you on your creative journey.
Little Bird Publishers were willing to give my first book The Glow a chance and were supportive from the very start giving advice and suggesting how to get out there.

Where can we find out more about them? 
They are on facebook, twitter and their website is

What are you working on right now? 
A book for adults.

Who is your favourite character you’ve written and why do they speak to you so much? 
Daisy from The Glow, The Shine and The Blaze, she’s an outsider and doesn’t let her differences get her down.

Do world events and politics influence your writing? 
No, I like to keep my subjects mundane.

How important are places you have visited and where you live to your writing?
Burley in The New Forest influenced Threshold.

Share with us your favourite line from your most recent release. 
“I’m not frightened of you,” Megan sniffled.
“I know.” Daisy waited until the flames were completely gone before pulling her best friend into a hug. “No matter what happens, you’ll never lose me. I promise.”

Tell us five things that you love in life.
1. My family
2. My job as a nursery nurse.
3. Reading
4. Writing
5. Chocolate.

Tell us five things that you hate in life. 
1. Not being able to help people.
2. Racism and prejudice.
3. Rudeness
4. Cruelty.
5. War

What book started your love of reading?
Hans Christian Anderson collection of fairy tales.

Tell us about your most recent release.
The Blaze the final part of my trilogy. As best friends Megan and Daisy come to terms with Scott's disappearance, they discover the adult world is full of terrible truths and realities. But they also learn that friendship and true love has the power to shine light in even the darkest hours.

Where can we buy it?

Where can we find you on social media?
I’m on Twitter @Witchypie and Facebook

Thank you so much, Helen for dropping by the blog, best of luck with your latest release and hopefully many more to come!

Update on the blog: as usual, all is madness behind the scenes. I want to blog more frequently in 2018, but that will be subject to life. Hold tight and stay tuned.

Saturday, October 21, 2017

Zombiecon Review

   Why does it take me so long to write these?? Zombie Con was October 7, two whole weeks ago!
   Anyway, it was a really fun event in a really cool venue: the Bing Crosby Theater in Spokane, Washington. It opened in 1915 as the Clemmer Theater, and you can read all about it's fascinating history here.
Bing Crosby theater pit

   It was a relatively small convention, with only about seven vendors, plus the make-up artists. Three zombie authors, including me, were present: Grivante and M. Lauryl Lewis being the (delightful) other two. Then there was Verona the Mad's Crafts and Combobulations, from whom I bought a wonderful clockwork pocket watch, and her friend Belinda (whose link I've lost), maker of beautiful handcrafted clay jewelry! Not sure whose links to put in for the makeup artists, but they were all very talented. But here is the facebook page for zombiecon. It will be returning next year, bigger and better!
   Oh, yes, I forgot: there was a sampling of cast and crew from Z Nation there for a panel!! I sit in on the panel, but it sounded entertaining.
   It was a bit slow some of the time, but so many creative zombies came through! And one of the staff got mobbed by ravening zombie children when he tried to pass out free raffle tickets. I felt a little out of place with my scanty selection of horror-themed items: one out of three books, a few Cthulhu paintings and my Java Zombie mug. (now available on my etsy shop). But I sold a few books! And met more zombie authors and had a good time, so that's the most important thing.
   Not to mention this is the most comfortable costume I've made to date. Mainly because it doesn't involve a neck cloth. I love cravats but they make my neck stiff.
   So once again I was a terrifying zombie! Among many. Can't wait for next year!
A terrifying zombie!

Signed book exchange with Grivante

Reading from Ambulatory Cadavers

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

October Frights! and a Book Excerpt

Hello! Welcome to the October Frights Blog Hop. You can check out the other blogs on the Hop via the link at the bottom of this post. I really enjoyed this last year and I'm happy to be a part of it again. Life has been happening and I'm behind schedule on everything, so to start off, here's the first chapter of my horror comedy novel, Ambulatory Cadavers!

Chapter One: In Which Alice Meets a Strange Young Man of Questionable Occupation

Alice did not want to get married. Not to the squint-eyed, flamboyant, and disagreeable Earl of Chornby with his squeaky voice. However, as the carriage pulled up to Hope Hall, and her own hope extinguished, she thought she might consider the proposal seriously. She did not want to stay at Hope Hall for longer than a minute.
“You’ll stay here until you’ve properly considered your ways and repented,” Lady Crawft told her as the phaeton lurched to a stop. “I can’t believe you told the Earl ‘no.’ It’s appalling. Why, it’s criminal!”
“But Mama!” Alice protested. “I didn’t refuse him. I told him I would consider his offer and reply within the year.”
“That’s not what he said. He said you told him you wouldn’t marry him in a thousand years.”
“The Earl exaggerates,” Alice said.
“Nonsense,” Lady Crawft snapped as the footman opened the phaeton’s door. “You will conjure up a yes or you will stay here forever.”
The footman helped Lady Crawft and Alice down.
Hope Hall loomed over them, an extravagant affair constructed in complete disregard for any moral principles involving moderation or humility. It looked like a bank cross-bred with Michelangelo’s private sculpture collection. Huge Doric pillars spanned the forty-foot-wide front stair. Alice’s uncle, the Duke of Hopenheim, hid among the pillars, a sour look on his face as if he were waiting to be struck.
“Christopher!” Lady Cawft exclaimed. The Duke winced. “You look much worse than last time I saw you, are you getting enough air?” Lady Crawft hauled Alice up to the top of the steps where pleasantries were exchanged at double speed. Uncle H led them inside where more pleasantries were exchanged with Alice’s aloof cousin, Lyra. Lyra was always stunning with her auburn hair curling away from her high brow and her dark eyes, which glinted with a coldness the Devil himself would have found terrifying.
Alice wanted to turn, leap into the phaeton and flee.
Instead, Jeebie, the butler, escorted her to her room.
“Yes, yes,” said Lady Crawft, “take her away, I must apprise my brother of the situation.” Which of course meant telling him Alice had refused an Earl and must be talked into changing her mind, which was Uncle H’s specialty. He was the most influential Member of Parliament, infamous for bringing his staunchest opponents around to his point of view in a matter of minutes. Most of them, anyway.
Once Jeebie had deposited her in her room, she bolted the door and opened her trunk to dig out her copy of Poetry for the Cultured Mind’s Expansion and Refurbishment by E.A. Wandlund. She paused, thinking she heard a funny scratching sound from the wall near the walk-in armoire. Mice, she thought, how appropriate. Her skin crawled and she fled to the chaise by the window with her collection of dry poetry.
She always sat there on her visits to the Hall. She would wrap the gauzy curtains around herself so she could see neither the room nor the garden outside, but the sun would glow golden through the pale yellow curtains and illuminate her book.
It couldn’t have been more than half a heartbeat later that Lady Crawft banged on the door. Alice jumped out of her skin.
“Alice!” Lady Crawft demanded. “Open the door.”
Alice dove out of her curtain shroud and looked about the room for a mode of escape. There was only one door, but the room afforded a ridiculous number of other options. She normally tried not to look around when she stayed here, it was too horrible. Now its many gloomy nooks and crannies seemed delightful.
There was a massive vanity and a washstand with a bowl big enough to bathe a dog in. Perhaps she could hide there. Or under the bed. One could hide a regiment under that bed. In fact, Alice had always been convinced that a there was a regiment under the bed, a dead regiment in open coffins. There was the armoire, but Lyra had always delighted in pulling Alice into the dark stuffy confines and telling her ghost stories about the woman in white who perished in the forest but refused to rest.
“Alice,” Lady Crawft repeated, “open this door at once, I must speak with you on the subject of your marriage.”
Alice darted into the armoire. It was bare. She hadn’t unpacked, which meant that as soon as Lady Crawft opened it, Alice would be exposed. And it sounded as if Lady Crawft was breaking down the bedroom door at that very moment.
Alice’s back pressed against the back of the armoire. Again she heard the mice in the wall; their frantic shuffling mirroring her heart.
“Alice! Open. This. Door. Now!” Alice splayed her hands against the back of the armoire and squeezed her eyes shut. Her finger pressed a knot. The armoire back flipped open, dumping her into a secret passage.
Landing on her derriere in a cloud of dust, she thought, So this was how Lyra snuck into my room to imitate dead soldiers under my bed. Her nose twitched. She sneezed.
“Alice?” Lady Crawft asked.
Alice felt around for the secret door and pushed it closed. Her mother’s demands for immediate matrimony were muted. She stood in the narrow passage and inched along, trailing her hands along each wall. The dark was terrifying. She couldn’t see a thing, but she was so very tired of hearing the tedious reasons for her insalubrious marriage enumerated. She came to another door. She opened it and peered in. It appeared to be the interior of Lyra’s wardrobe. No one else would wear such immodestly adorned gowns, especially not Uncle Hopenheim.
Lyra was not very high on Alice’s list of favorable alternatives to coercion so she closed the door quietly and kept moving down the passage. A light flickered somewhere ahead. Behind her came the distant sounds of Lady Crawft beating on her door.
Alice quickened her pace and fell face-first down a very narrow flight of stairs. She tumbled with a cry of horror into a tiny space. Regrettably, the space was already occupied.
“Ow!” yelped a voice.
Alice gasped wordlessly in shock and pain, her limbs tangling with more limbs that were certainly not hers.
“You’re crushing my arm,” a voice said in her ear. “And most of my other body parts as well.” Alice nearly screamed, scrambling off the invisible person and bashing into the wall rather violently; violently enough to give her a goose egg on the back of her head. Her heart sputtered and nearly died.
There was a scratch and a flare as a flint was struck, then a candle bloomed to life and Alice could see a young man with grey eyes that twinkled rather demonically, through a tangled mass of grey curls – although they seemed to be grey from dust and cobwebs rather than the natural cause of aging. His face was thin and his nose and ears stuck out rather comically. Alice sighed in relief – he wasn’t a dead soldier.
“Oh, hello,” he said, looking at her curiously. “Who are you?”
Alice turned red and tried to stand, but her ankle squealed in protest and she collapsed. “Oh, I’ve broken my ankle!” she exclaimed.
“Gosh,” said the young man, kneeling and setting down his candle. “You shouldn’t go around without a light, you know,” he admonished, taking her foot gently and examining it.
Alice thought she might faint. “You shouldn’t either,” she gasped, not sure why she said it. Lack of air seemed the most logical answer.
“I have a light, I just put it out because I thought one of those horrid Hopenheims was coming,” the young man explained. “Your ankle’s not broken. What are you doing in Hope Hall?”
“The other one.”
“What other Hall?”
“No, my other ankle is broken,” she said, holding it out. She wasn’t sure why; it certainly seemed unlikely he was a doctor. She just wanted someone — anyone — to tell her she was fine. The prospect of lying in bed in Hope Hall was far more terrifying than being alone in a secret passage with a complete stranger whilst being deprived of air.
“What are you doing in Hope Hall?” the young man repeated, looking at her other ankle.
“What are you doing? Who are you?” Alice asked.
“Ah, that would be top secret,” the young man said, winking. Alice was mortified.
“Did you just wink at me?” Alice asked.
“Yes,” he replied, apparently taken aback. “Does that offend you? Your other ankle is also not broken.”
“Yes, that offends me!” Alice said. “I mean, the winking, not the ankle. I mean…it’s very familiar.”
“Ankles are,” the young man nodded, picking up his candle and standing. Alice blushed. She didn’t like his being familiar with her ankles, nor remarking on his familiarity with ankles, hers or otherwise.
She also stood, wincing. It forced her into scandalous proximity with the strange young man. She stared up into the curved nostrils of his epic nose. Behind her were the stairs, up which she very nearly flew, but the strange young man opened a door on the other side of the tiny space and Alice’s curiosity rooted her in place. Where did the secret passages in Hope Hall lead? What was this young man dressed rather like a highwayman doing here? Surely burglars dressed in floppy hats, fingerless gloves and jackets, not greatcoats and scarves?
“Who are you?” Alice demanded. It wasn’t very polite, but she was certain that he wasn’t one of the servants, and so a little rudeness could be excused as he presumably didn’t belong in the house.
“Call me Creamey,” he said. “And you?”
“Alice — I…I mean, Miss Crawft,” she said. She really needed some air. The things one did when deprived were truly quite frightful.
Creamey stepped through the door. Alice thought again of fleeing back up the stairs to her room, but as Creamey vanished into the mysteries of Hope Hall, the candlelight went with him, plunging Alice once more into darkness.
Alice lurched through the door after him. Once back in the light, she proceeded more cautiously. Her left ankle still hurt some when she stepped on it. They emerged in another ridiculously narrow passage with a door at one end and steps going down at the other.
“I see, and your business?” Creamey asked, heading towards the steps.
“This is my cousin’s house.”
“Oh…” Creamey said, stopping at the top of the steps. He turned to her. “Um, ah, you won’t mention seeing me, will you?”
“I don’t see that I shouldn’t,” Alice said, much more bravely than she felt. It occurred to her a shocking number of knives could be concealed in a coat of such voluminous nature. Creamey grinned rather queasily.
“Look…I—” he was cut off by footsteps coming down the stairs behind them. The Duke of Hopenheim’s voice boomed down the passageways.
“Heaven help us all,” he was saying. “I can’t imagine that poet is still alive!” The poet in question was Alice’s father. “What he has to put up with… it makes my skin crawl and my eyes flood with sympathetic tears – and you know how unsympathetic I am.”
“Yes, Papa,” Lyra’s voice answered.
“Dammit,” Creamey said, grabbing Alice’s arm and running down the stairs. Alice bolted gladly. The last thing she wanted was to be caught by her cousin and uncle in secret passageways with a strange young man of questionable occupation.
Her ankle threatened to shatter on each step. They reached the bottom as the door in the passage above creaked open. Alice and Creamey sprinted down a long tunnel lined with alcoves, which held horrible things like, medieval torture devices, casks of vintage wine, a few coffins, some old needlepoint, and a statue of Uncle Hopenheim. The air was musty, and odors of mold drifted on the slight draft that stirred the cobwebs dangling from Uncle H’s graven image.
The passage opened up into an ancient cellar; or perhaps it was a dungeon. There was a barred door on one side and a regular door on the other. Straight across from the tunnel opening was a very old looking wooden door banded by strips of iron with large, wicked looking spikes. A collection of antique weaponry occupied the center of the stone cellar: cobweb-coated trunks and racks of rusted rifles, an old canon, poleaxes, and an assortment of bayonets and blunderbuss parts.
“Which way?” Creamey asked.
“I don’t know!” wailed Alice. “I’ve never been down here before.”
Creamey raced to the ordinary door. He peeked in and closed it. “Crypt,” he pronounced. Alice grabbed a rusty sword from the collection.
“Crypt?” she squeaked. Creamey raced to the barred door. It was locked. Alice followed him to the last door, which stood slightly ajar. The Duke’s voice boomed from the stairs.
“You understand the importance of the marriage, of course?”
“I suppose,” Lyra replied.
Alice frowned. Now they were both on to it… how miserable her stay was going to be. Especially if she got caught down here. She followed Creamey through the door. Creamey’s candle glinted on glass phials, beakers and tubes lined out on tables. There were horrible chains hanging from the ceiling and several metal cots lined in a row. A hulking boiler loomed in one corner and wires curled down the walls to connect with great awful gears and tubes and crank handles.
“God’s molars,” said Creamey. Alice gaped at him. “Pardon,” he amended. Then, looking around, he added, “but in all seriousness, God’s molars and eyeteeth!” There was no exit. They couldn’t go back out into the cellar: Hopenheim and Lyra would have reached the tunnel by now and would see their candle…
Creamey pointed at several large cabinets. He opened one, but it was full of bottles labeled with things like, ‘formaldehyde’ and ‘mandrake.’ There was even a brain floating in a large jar. Alice shuddered, looking away from the horrid, slimy things. Her stomach was already tight with fear, which was probably for the best, or she might have emptied it right there.
The next cabinet contained books with authors like Archimedes, Galen, Ocelot, and Paracelsus. Hopenheim and Lyra’s voices were getting closer.
Creamey dashed over to an iron maiden propped up in the corner. He pushed it open. It must have been put to regular use, the joints well oiled, because it didn’t make a sound. He closed himself in, extinguishing his candle.
Alice was about to protest when the door flew open.

Get the book:

And hop for more horror!

Sunday, October 8, 2017

Interview with Alison Clarke, Traveling Different Worlds

Alison Clarke is a young adult fantasy author of The Sisterhood Series. Book One, The Sisterhood, won 2016 Writer Of The Year by Diversity magazine. Book Two, Racine, which just came out on July 1, has already been nominated for Book Of The Year.
Twitter: @mythologist200

Why did you choose to write in your particular field or genre?  If you write more than one, how do you balance them?
I enjoy fantasy because I like creating different worlds. I don’t think about balancing, in terms of genres, because I think that emphasis will manifest organically.

Where did your love of books/storytelling/reading/writing/etc. come from?
They came from my love for libraries.

How long have you been writing?
I’ve been writing since grade six. 

What kind(s) of writing do you do?
I write young adult fantasy, but I also write poetry.

What cultural value do you see in writing/reading/storytelling/etc.?
Storytelling is an engine for empathy, and through walking in someone else’s shoes, we get a better understanding of what that person is going through.
It helps people to see that we have a shared humanity, that we should be more united than divided.

What do you think most characterizes your writing?
Fantastical elements, vivid imagery, and a poetic element to the writing, as I’m also a poet.

What was the hardest part of writing a book? 
Finding the time.

What did you enjoy most about writing a book?
Creating different worlds.

What inspires you? 
Going out for walks, nature.

What do you like to read in your free time?
I’ll read anything--from biographies, art books, books of poetry, and so on.

Saturday, September 16, 2017

Unity Book Tour, Author Interview Exchange

As part of the UNITY BOOK TOUR, bringing three publishers and their authors together from around the world, we have this fun author interview exchange! I get to interview an author from another publisher and that author interviews me! So, I'd like to introduce you to Jacob Devlin! A fellow myth and fairytale fan, it seems! He's with Blaze Publishing, which is based in the U.S.
He's going to tell us a bit about himself and if you want a chance to win a copy of his book, just leave a comment here.

And be sure to head over to Jacob’s blog where I'm being interviewed!

Author Jacob Devlin

So hi. What’s your name and what do you write?
Hi! My name is Jacob Devlin. I write YA/upper MG fantasy books, usually with some sort of fairy tale or mythical twist involved.

When did you start writing and why?
I've enjoyed writing ever since I was little, but I got serious about it in grad school and wrote as a creative outlet for some of the emotions I was feeling when I lost a friend to brain cancer. What I found was that I was so "in my element" writing novels that I didn't want to stop, ever. The body and soul just required it.

What were the biggest challenges about becoming a published author?
To quote Captain America . . . patience! Querying, and the wait time that followed, was so ridonculously demoralizing. I was prepared for rejection. The real torture was waiting for the rejection letters that didn't even come. Sometimes I'd be holding out hope for a particular agent, a few months would go by, and I'd be like, "just tell me it's hot juicy garbage so I can move on already!" But the reality is that they don't have time to write rejections for everybody. So you have to learn to identify that moment where it's time to boot up and move on.

Shout out your publisher and tell us how they helped you on your creative journey.
Blaze Publishing has been great working with me through my first trilogy. They've forced my characters to grow, and strangely, I've felt myself growing with them.

Where can we find out more about them? 
I'd check out their website (!

What are you working on right now?
I'm between drafts of THE HUMMINGBIRD, the final book of my fairy tale fantasy trilogy. While I wait for revisions, I'm working on a totally separate project involving a dragon, a reality TV adventurist, and a train wreck!

Who is your most favourite character you’ve written and why do they speak to you so much?
While it's always incredibly hard to answer this question, I'm always going to have a huge soft spot for Pietro, the Peter Pan of my story. The trilogy takes some dark turns, but Pietro brings the charm and comic relief. He's also fiercely loyal to his loved ones and is exactly the kind of friend you'd want beside you for a road trip or war against an evil queen!

Do world events and politics influence your writing?
Up to this point, I've opted to leave a lot of today's politics out, because don't we need an escape sometimes? That's not to say I'll never draw from the political environment or current events, but I choose to leave that separate right now.

How important are places you have visited and where you live to your writing?
I have the travel bug, and my characters do too! I loved writing about an actual Renaissance Faire I went to in Maryland, where I discovered fried mac-and-cheese on a stick, and Renaissance jail! I love working different places into my writing.

Share with us your favourite line from your most recent release.
There's a simple piece of dialogue directed at Prince Liam: "The white knight has a shadow after all." His series arc is pretty turbulent and this is where his demons start kicking in.

Tell us five things that you love in life.
1. Breakfast for dinner! Especially Apple Jacks.
2. Comfortable shoes.
3. Movie theaters.
4. Traveling! Sightseeing, eating local food, exploring.
5. Music.

Tell us five things that you hate in life.
1. Those fake-out voicemail greetings. (Hello? What? Yeah? PSYCH LEAVE A MESSAGE LOL HA) STOP. IT!
2. Scorpions. Hell's rejects.
3. Losing at Scattergories.
4. Cancer.
5. Jerkish, entitled behavior.

What book started your love of reading?
I can't remember NOT having a love of reading. I was really into the Bailey School Kids in my elementary school days! A Wrinkle In Time and Harry Potter followed closely after that.

Tell us about your most recent release.
It's part of a series in which your favorite fairy tale characters and their families come together to fight off an evil queen and face their demons along the way! In the most recent installment, the main characters have to fight their way out of Wonderland. Along the way they're meeting the Hatter, the Cheshire Cat, the Hearts, all with their own new twists!

Where can we buy it?
You can order it through your local Barnes and Noble, Blaze Publishing's website, or Amazon!
Where can we find you on social media?
Twitter/IG: @jacob_devlin

Saturday, September 2, 2017

I Was A Horrifying Zombie (Sandemonium 2017)

   So, a week later, I finally get around to writing about Sandemonium. It was August 26, so, sorry if you missed it, because it was a blast.
   What is Sandemonium? It is a small, local, friendly, and fantastic fandom convention in Sandpoint, Idaho, a convenient 45 minutes from where I live. The atmosphere is warm and the vendors are always great. From local authors to artists, game-makers to librarians, they've got something to fascinate. This year, the table behind me was Board2Death a game development company with their own role-playing card game (they had their artist there, who had done all the art for the cards). And there was Sack Lunch Comics and Little Vampires
   I experienced pretty good sales, I thought, for such a small event. I got my picture taken with Darth Vader!

   And there was an author reading, in which I participated (read from Ambulatory Cadavers). I also got to meet Kevin Penelerick, with whom I've been acquainted online, ever since he helped me find  networking opportunities after Ambulatory Cadavers was released (he also writes zombie fiction under another name). He read his children's book, Guppy Butter, which is a horrifyingly delightful tale of tragedy and fish. Seriously twisted (I loved it).
   And there was the cosplay contest. Since I won the amateur department last year, and I sewed my entire costume (sans tights and shoes), I had to enter the professional department, against two fabulous D&D characters.
   All of the costumes were really fun and fantastic! From the pirates to the Skyrim character to the soldiers and Pacman.
   The moral of the story? Cons are fun. Although I did miss out on the panels. They had panels on cosplay and writing and self publishing and gaming. Not much boffering this year, but hey. Also, violin covers of rock songs seemed to be the main soundtrack. In my formal Regency get-up, I wanted to dance, but sadly refrained.
    The best part, really, is talking to readers, potential and returning. When you're sitting at a table labeled 'author,' people will walk up to you and start talking about their own writing, and that is the best thing. There's a little pressure, of course, because I want my success to inspire others. And, I guess it must, without my even having to say anything. Otherwise no-one would stop and tell me that they write, read me their excerpts, and discuss the creative process. It's encouraging and I do my best to be encouraging. I want them to get what I get out of our conversations: inspiration to keep going, to keep writing, and keep connecting.
   Writing brings people together, and that, I think, is the true moral of the story.

   p.s. I wore that make-up all day. Couldn't itch my nose for fear of ruining it.

Saturday, August 5, 2017

A Small Update and PANIC!!!

   First the update:
   Weather Casters Book Three: nothing official on a release date, but it is likely postponed until early 2018. SORRY. But this means more time to perfect it and design the best cover and release party ;)
   My Etsy: I now have an etsy shop where I am selling prints of some of my paintings! Check it out
   Things I'm doing in the next couple months: I will be at two conventions: the small Comic con in Sandpoint, Idaho that I went to last year. I had a lot of fun there and look forward to returning. Sandemonium 2017 And then, in October, I will be at the first Zombiecon hosted by Spokane Zombie Crawl at the Bing Crosby Theater in Spokane, WA! Zombiecon
   I also have myriad online appearances. Starting tomorrow at A Novel Connection on Facebook. Then I have an interview on September 4 at Audrina's Place (also Facebook).
   Oh!! And the blog hop! My publisher (Little Bird Publishing House) is collaborating with two other indie presses, Firequill (of South Africa) and Blaze (of the U.S.) on a wild blog hop that promises to be fun and fantastic! I will keep you posted.
   AND now the PANIC!!!
   I am a very disorganized person. I hope I can keep it together through all this. I have so little time, between work and sleep to organize these things. But I will do my best. And it will be fun! The cons, of course, will be the most fun, but so will the online events. I'm just not good at hosting these things. Seat of the pants. That's how I approach them. Most things, actually.
   And really, that's part of the fun.
   So, tomorrow, here I come, virtually unprepared and in a state of panic. Live life on the edge.
   Summer's already more than half over, but enjoy that which remains, and remember, panic is ok.
   Until next time, Au revoir.

p.s. at some point, I will get back to posting stories on here.