Bad Blogger

I am a bad blogger. I haven’t made a post since last year! And even then the last post was me ranting about the amount of books I have piled in my To Be Read list. But my lack of blog posts doesn’t mean I haven’t been busy.


I am currently working on eight different books, plus at least five more that I just started mapping out in the past week or so. My problem being I have all these ideas, but no inspiration or drive to actually piece them together into anything coherent.

So while it has never stuck with me in the past, I have taken to writing everything down in my pretty notebook and folding the pages down in a method I learned from my dad.


Been working on a project for my dad, and slaving away in my classes. I’ve also been working with my family to get ready for moving day. Soon we will be packing up our whole house to move… a few roads over. If it wasn’t for my short trips to Facebook, I wouldn’t even know what day it is. So I’m going to try and pop on here more often, but if I am absent for long periods of time, you know I am neck deep into something. Happy (late) New Year!

Innocence, Book 1 Legend Series Chapter 1 Teaser

Goodbye Dreyerswood, Hello Dublin
“Mom! Have you seen my earrings?” I asked frantically searching my almost empty jewelry box. I was searching for the pair my parents got me for Christmas, they were white gold Celtic knots in the shape of a triquetra. I wanted to wear them on my two flights to Ireland, but could not find them anywhere.
Mom came into the room and watched as I went from my desk that held my jewelry box, then to my dresser where I liked to mindlessly leave things from time to time. “Which earrings and where did you last see them?”
“The Celtic knots, and I last wore them to my clarinet recital at the end of last school year. I haven’t worn them since then.” I said throwing my black sweater into my open carry-on bag and turning back to the dresser top.
“Did you check the bathroom soap dish? I think I might have seen them in there when I double checked for your rosary yesterday.” She said leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms.
“Was my rosary in there? I thought I sent that on ahead with my big suitcase.” I said as I rushed past her thinking if I did not send my rosary I may have missed the earrings as well and do not want to fly without them. Not only were they my favorite pair, but they were sort of a good luck charm. Every time I wore them I would have the greatest day, so I save them for special occasions. I view taking my first flight overseas, let alone anywhere, as a special occasion.
She hollered after me, “I made sure the rosary made it in the suitcase, if you forget something we can always send it later.” I could hear the smile in her voice, I’m going to miss that voice waking me up every day or calling me to dinner, I thought, as I walked into the bathroom and over to the sink.
There in the pink seashell soap dish were my earrings and my class ring that I had totally forgot about. “Got them, Mom!” I hollered back to her. Carefully I picked them up and put them in my pocket for tomorrow, and put my ring in its rightful place: my left hand ring finger, then headed back to my room to make sure I have not forgot anything else.
I walked into my room and the first thing I see is clothes scattered everywhere! Mom had taken everything out of my suitcase and was re-folding and packing it…again. “Mom, that is like the fifth time you have repacked my suitcase.”
“I know Hon, but every time I fix it, you add more stuff to it and it needs fixed again.” She said folding my favorite pink hoodie but just as she placed it in the suitcase, I snagged it back out and put it on.
“No. I’m wearing this on the plane, I want to be comfortable.” I pouted, she keeps trying to talk me out of wearing it because it is old and worn but that is what I love about it. If I am going to be on two long flights and meet a family I have not met before, I am going to do it comfortably!

Pick up at my amazon page

Creative Writing Assignment-Screen Play

I know it’s not formatted correctly on here, sorry about that. I now know why I am not a screen play writer, formatting is a pain in the arse! I was up all night just formatting and figuring out where everything goes for two short scenes, equating to 7 measly pages!. Not by best work but hey I still like it.

Title: True Evil Queen


Int. High school gym-1:00 PM

Girls and boys in a circle around Jezebel, who is crying and holding broken glasses. Kids taunting her and pushing her every so often.

Jezzey-bell the big fat whale

Mid-Twenties Daemon walks in dressed in am all white suite. Breaks up the crowd and pulls Jezebel to the stage.

Are you OK Jezebel?

No, they broke my glasses. I can’t see anything. It’s all fuzzy.

Daemon waves his hands over her eyes.

I can see! How did you do that?

That is nothing compared to all I can do. I can change my age as well.

Poof of white smoke and Daemon is a 12-year-old boy dressed in a black hoodie and black jeans.

Daemon cont’d
See nothing to it.

Who are you?

Daemon. I’m here to make you an offer. A chance to get back at every single one of those kids tormenting you.

How? I’m not like you, I can’t do any of that magic.

There is a…another plane of resistance. One that I can take you to and you can learn the same tricks, plus more.

How? Why me? What’s the catch?

The way the other plane works is, you must make a sacrifice to enter. The bigger the sacrifice, the better your position there. My meager sacrifice allowed me to shed my old enemies, make this world a better and become the most powerful man on the other plane.

What type of sacrifice?

Nothing too big, but it is sort of a two part sacrifice. Or some combine it into one to get it over with. The bigger the sacrifice makes it easier.

What type of sacrifice?!

You have to unlock your true nature. To do so you must end someone’s life. The more people, the better off you are when you shed your corporeal form and join me.

That’s it? Seriously? I’ve been working on how to get rid of my class for months now.

I know that’s why I’m here. The other plane has a knack of knowing where to find people like you.


What if there was someone I wanted dead more than all the kids in my class? Would this person be the counted as just one or multiple?

No matter how much you want one certain person dead that one only counts as one. Leading to you just being a soldier instead of a queen by going with six or more.

So even if my hatred for this person can equate to that of a whole class of fourteen, I’d still be a low man on the totem pole?

Maybe…I could move you up to controlling a whole army. It would take some work, but I could do it.

Jezebel takes two steps away from Daemon. The lights fade out with one spotlight on her.

I don’t think this fool knows whom he is really talking to. This is going to be too easy.

Taking two steps back toward Daemon, light fades in.

I can work with that.

Whom do you have in mind?

My mother.

Light fades out



Medium sized circular room with purple walls and purple shag carpeting. On the bench seat is 12-year-old Jezebel. Dressed in black jeans and a black hoodie, staring at the middle of the room.

Why should I kill her Daemon?

Daemon appearing as a 12-year-old boy dressed the same as Jezebel. Standing in the middle of the room holding a sharp knife carefully by the blade, offering it to her.

She must die for you to join me.

But she’s my mum, certainly I would get in trouble with da.

You cannot join me unless you make a female sacrifice.

My life ain’t enough? Why her and not someone else?

Stairs creak outside the closed door. Mum and Da can be heard laughing off stage.

They’re coming. Put the knife away.
Daemon fades into the shadows, the knife slides across the floor by his unseen hands. Jezebel quietly jumps into a single bed and pulls the covers over her head. Light creeps in as Mum opens the door, pops her head in.

She’s asleep.

Mum pulls her head out and closes the door. The couple are heard stumbling down the hall and a door thuds shut.

They gone?
Daemon is still invisible but voice is coming from left of the bed.

Yes, they’ve gone to bed.

Jezebel pushes the blanket down to her chest and looks for Daemon. He appears in swirling black smoke.

Please don’t be angry Daemon. I’ll do it, if you want me too. Just please don’t leave me.

Why shouldn’t I just leave you here? You’re worthless. Pathetic, I don’t know why I ever chose you. Jezebel, you could never lead my army.

Daemon shows what Jezebel believes to be his true self, handsome 25-year-old man in an all-white suit. He stretches.

That’s better. Sorry, I get a little cranky as a boy. Look, if you want to join me and become the woman you are supposed to be you will do it. Otherwise I’ll have to move on.

Jezebel gets out of bed and on her knees

Please Daemon, I want to go with you! There is nothing for me here, you promised me a better life if I would just kill myself and one other.

Daemon sits on the edge of the bed, head resting on hands.

If you remember correctly, I promised you your own queendom if you committed mass murder of more than six women. Then we negotiated down to one woman of my choosing for fighting by my side. If you back out now, I disappear and you become the next target.

Jezebel stops crying and stands up.


I’ll do it. Where is the knife?

The knife appears in her left hand. She grips it firmly. Jezebel stalks to the door, knife raised.

Finally…go on my little minion.

Daemon follows behind, Jezebel stops at the door.

Just one thing. I don’t want to rule just one queendom.

Jezebel spins quickly around and stabs Daemon in the heart.

I want it all!

End Scene

Creative Writing Assignment-Short Story


Lightning flashes as Kitt Raynes sits on her beat-up porch swing, listening to the rain pelt down on the tin awning. “You were born in the middle of a thunderstorm, you know?” She glanced down at the sleeping baby in her arms and gently readjusted the pink blanket to fit more snugly. “I still can’t believe your here with me. Charlie, I miss you so much.” Tears she held in for so long, now flowed freely.

On the seat next to her sits her husband’s best friend and a member of the Casualty Assistance Calls department. Mark and a Navy Chaplain arrived on her doorstep a little over a week ago with the news of Charlie’s death. The loss of her soul-mate had sent Kitt into labor, before she could even process the idea of being a single-mother.

Charlie Little Raynes was born as thunder clapped at 2345, one exact day from her father’s death. Named after the father she will never meet, and will attend her first funeral before she is even a month old. “Kitt, are you sure you can do this? I think everyone would understand your absence and it really isn’t the best place for Charlie Little.”

“Mark, I love you for being with me through all of this but Charlie’s unit is going to be there…and his parents who don’t even know about Charlie Little. I have to go, for them and myself. We need to support each other and I have to have this closure.” Kitt said as she wiped the river of tears away. “I just have one request, seven gunmen. My great-grandfather only had three. Every shot was another stab to my heart. Three shots are better than seven.”

“Yes ma’am, I have all seven boys ready to go.” He pulled Kitt closer to him as they watched the storm in silence for the rest of the evening.

May #WrapUp

CLTBRChallenge15 and GoodReads Book Challenge Progress- 21 of 65 and 30 of 65 books read. I really need to start reading books from my TBR pile again! But I have the next Night School preordered and an ARC of RSVP From Heaven to read as well. I am a failure at diving into my long list of TBR.

May books:

Night School: Resistance

Pines non-CLTBR

Wayward non-CLTBR

The Last Town non-CLTBR

Spearwood Academy Vol 6 non-CLTBR

Spearwood Academy Vol 7 non-CLTBR

My Camp NanoWrimo book, #LoveandDrugs has been sent off to a Beta Reader (no word back yet). If there is anyone interested in Beta Reading it, I would happily send you a copy for honest feedback!


I continued #Musical Monday Reviews and will continue them into May. Sanctuary Edits is still open for new clients. Sadly I think my guest post author has backed out, but if anyone else would like to step up send me a message and we can talk. Any topic you would like, I don’t mind. Also still taking author interviews!

As you saw there have been some posts from my creative writing class and I’ll continue to post them. I have also posted my poems and there may be more in the future…I’m not sure as I don’t write them that often.

Creative Writing Assignment-Memoir: Setting

Small cramped room, with a solitary window clouded over with plastic to keep the heat in. Four walls painted a light sea foam blue, yes sea foam blue not green. One white beam above the window, with the words “Sing me back home-The Hag” scrawled across it in clumsy cursive. I painted that a few weeks back, to make the room more mine and sort of as a rebellious act against my step mom. The head of the bed is pressed against the far corner and the foot rests under the window, I feel safer away from the door and backed in a corner. The multicolored scrap quilt my grandma Bert made me, using scraps of clothing and handkerchiefs from my great-grandparents, lay on my queen-sized bed. My room isn’t exactly dirty, but cluttered. A plastic tub full of books, school supplies and other odds and ends sit at the foot of my bed against the third wall not leaving an inch between wall, tub or bed. Then there’s my stereo, black three piece 5-Cd disk changer with two tape deck. On the top is my little ceramic pug figurine my dad bought me, with my class ring resting next to it and my senior key swirled around the two. They are still on the radio because I haven’t put them back on since I went to bed last night. In the corner next to the stereo is my “dresser.” Really it is just 4 or 5 small shelves I have to roll my clothes up and place them on. There’s no room for an actual dresser or anything bigger the three feet wide shelving that sits nestled in between the corner and the tall freezer next to the door. The carpet is thin and threadbare, some dark blue color. I never cared for it, so I’m glad only a five foot rectangle path of it was visible.
Above my bed is the room’s one decoration, my dad’s old Stetson. Slowly losing it’s shape from non-use but I still love it because it was his. Every week or so I sneak into the bathroom and steal his Old Spice aftershave and sprinkle some on the hat because I miss the smell during the week…and lately the weekends. Holding oneself captive is a bit harder than one may think. My forgotten room is chilly as the heater doesn’t quite reach me from the living room two rooms down, but not too bad; or I’m just so used to the cold I no longer feel it. I don’t want to go outside the plain brown door, I know what waits for me. my step mom throwing me disgusted looks as she cares for my toddling brother, my younger brother no longer speaking just sitting in a chair waiting for breakfast. Then dad, the man I’ve only known for a few years (off and on at that) cooking dinner completely oblivious to the melancholy of his children. It is early morning on a Saturday, Dad was home and cooking his stupendous hash-browns. Bacon and eggs were sizzling on a second griddle and the smells wafting in under the door were driving me mad with hunger. Dad was trying to earn brownie points with me as I could hear “Swinging” by John Anderson blaring from the big stereo in the living room. Slowly I grab a pair of blue jeans and pull them on, grab my necklace and ring. Dressed and no longer feeling naked without my ring, I paint my smile of conformity on my face and prepare for another day of lies and avoidance. I place my hand on the round silver door-handle, and pull hard against the sticky jam. “Good morning.”

School Poem: Homesick Seasons

Time passes on

The seasons have come and gone,

Yet my world remains the same.

Greens, blues and golds

Are my forever molds,

Despite Hawaii’s fame.

The ocean beats over and again

Reminding me of back then,

And the land for which I mourn.

Orange, reds and yellows

Cover the endless meadows

As fall dies and winter is born.

Life has no reason

When there is only one season

Living on a never changing hamster wheel.

Gone are my winter cold days

And the fall corn maze

How can one deal?

I am always asked

If paradise is masked,

How is life better on a rock?

After years of seasons changing

The monotony would stand for reasoning,

No change would be a mock.

Luaus and dancers replace

The friends from home base.

Leaving an aching heart’s wake.

Pining for home in paradise

Sets ones mind to ice

But your bed is what you make.

Memoir Setting Revised

My gloomy prison cell is adorned with a single beat up black Stetson that doubles as an air freshener. Once a week I sneak into the bathroom to steal an Old Spice bottle and refresh the smell. It’s my favorite scent in the world, one that I miss now in isolation. My forgotten room has a perpetual chill in the air as the heater, two rooms down, doesn’t quite reach. Sadly, I no longer notice it as I move to pick up my senior key and class ring. Both worn as a shield against the world and a reminder that soon my sentence shall be up. I turn to the plain brown door that separates me from the harsh reality of my world, and cringe at what lays beyond. A disgusted stepmother caring for her toddling son. My younger brother, now a chosen mute, sitting in a chair quietly waiting for breakfast to end and an oblivious dad frying his stupendous hash browns like every Saturday morning. Except, today is different. This is the first Saturday since my step-mom said, “I like it better without you or your brother here.” If it wasn’t for my starving hunger pain, and the mouthwatering smell of bacon, eggs and, god, those delicious hash browns I wouldn’t leave my room. I would be content with staying in my room and hiding from her. I second-guessed going out to eat, to stay with my drool stained Accounting homework but then my ears picked up on the one thing that would drag me out. “Swinging” by John Anderson comes on the radio and I know dad is trying to coax me out with my song. I take a deep breath, paint a happy smile on and prepare for another day of lies and avoidance. I place my hand on the door handle and pull hard against the sticky jam. “Good morning.”

April #WrapUp

CLTBRChallenge15 and GoodReads Book Challenge Progress- 20 of 65 and 24 of 65 books read.

April Books:

Spearwood Academy Vol 3

Spearwood Academy Vol 4

Spearwood Academy Vol 5

Murderous Little Darlings: Non-TBR

Night School: Genesis

Night School: Legacy

Night School: Fracture

In other news, my Camp NaNoWriMo was somewhat of a failure and kind of not. I wrote 23,892 words out of a goal of 30,000. So I failed to make my goal but came very close to finishing. Can’t wait to see what I can do in July!

I continued #Musical Monday Reviews and will continue them into May. Sanctuary Edits is working with a second author already and still open for new clients. I also announced Guest Posts this month, but have not heard back from the one who contacted me yet. I am opening that spot up to anyone who would be interested, any topic you would like. Classes are going ok but I have just been out of it the last two weeks. I was really sick one day and haven’t caught up yet. Iit’s been a lazy, feel like “blah” last two weeks. I hope it gets better.

Let’s have a good May!

Sanctuary Edits

Have a book that needs editing? Want to make sure all the kinks are worked out before publication? Here at Sanctuary Edits, we will read through your book looking for any and all typos. We will double check to make sure everything sounds smooth and inform you of any issues spotted.

In addition to our editing services, we will also have an honest review ready for you upon publication. The review will be posted to Books and More, Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, Google+, Tumblr and Amazon (or Smashwords depending on where you publish). We will also include an Author Spotlight Interview on the Books and More blog. We can also put together a release post highlighting your book the day it is released.

At Sanctuary Edits, we do Substantive Editing and Copy Editing. Substantive Editing is problem solving and overall clarity or accuracy.
Copy Editing, is where we look at spelling, grammar, punctuation and word usage. Prices are $50-100 per manuscript. Price varies depending on size. Short story would be less than an epic novel.