{Author Appearance & Signing} Boise Bookfest

Monday, October 10, 2016
I'll be at the Boise Bookfest Saturday, Oct 15th from 10-5. I'm teaching a class on how to craft a blockbuster novel from 11:45-12:30. There is also an early bird signing from 11:30 to 1 with a more open one from 1-4:30. I will have books for sale and though I have to teach twice in the middle of it, I'll try to be there as much as I can (I will also have an assistant present to sell signed copies of my books). http://www.boisebookfest.com/program/

{New Release} Fairy Queens Books 5-7

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

{Release Day} Fairy Queens Books 5-7

Save $5 off buying by purchasing the Fairy Queens Box Set 5-7. Available everywhere for a limited time.

A war is brewing between the queens of Winter and Summer. A war that threatens to shatter the lives of two women who are so blinded by bitterness all they can see is hatred. A war that will tear asunder the very fabric of the balance, destroying the entire world in the process.

But there is still hope. For the daughter of one of the queens does not share her mothers' hatred. She has found love and hope, and she is determined to take it. If she can survive, she stands a chance of healing the rift that threatens to break apart the very fabric of the world. 

Purchase links:
Amazon Int’l
    First Page: 
    In the predawn haze, Cinder held her cloak tight to ward off the chill as she hurried down the nearly empty street. Before her, a ragged man whistling an eerie tune pushed a cart filled with piss pots he had collected during the night. Cinder found herself counting the beats of the song, a child’s rhyme she couldn’t place. She held her veil tight over her mouth and breathed shallowly, trying not to notice the liquid sloshing in the pots.
    Glad she hadn’t eaten breakfast, she arrived at the tannery twelve steps ahead of the man. But when she opened the door and stepped into the crumbling building, the fetid stench sent her straight back outside. The man with the piss pots chuckled under his breath just before Cinder lifted her veil and vomited bile onto the ground in the alley. A pile of dirty blankets shifted and a drunk squinted at her. He cursed her roundly before turning over, his fleas jumping grumpily at the interruption.
    She wiped her mouth with the back of her arm, then blotted her face to make sure she hadn’t sweated off her dark makeup. So far so good. Counting to ten to calm down, Cinder forced herself to march back to the tannery—past the piss-pot man, who watched her with close-set black eyes above an equally black veil. She entered the dimly lit building with its long row of hides stretched tightly across frames. Men stood scraping off the fur with flint or steel or stone. The early morning breeze flowed through an open door to the back yard, where men and women stirred the huge pots of leather soaking in urine or dye.
    Cinder made sure her veil was in place and looked around nervously. The man who’d been pushing the cart leaned against a wall, one skinny leg cocked as he looked at her. Something about him seemed off, like he didn’t belong here. Her gaze lingered on his clothes, and she realized it was because he was so clean.
    Before she could dwell on it, a man in black robes approached her. His hands were stained unnaturally dark. “What you want?” he growled.
    Three little words, but the answer to his question would take dozens. “A job,” Cinder said simply, keeping her eyes downcast so he couldn’t see the silver of them.
    She felt him studying her, no doubt noticing her worn but clean and serviceable robes. “Are you pregnant?” he asked.
    She nearly forgot to keep her eyes down. “No, sir.”
    Pursing her lips in anger, Cinder shook her head.
    “Listen, girl, this is no place for someone with other options. Go back to your parents. Or your lover. Or wherever else you came from. Only the truly desperate come here. And you aren’t there yet.”

    I'm super excited to have everything completely wrapped up with the Fairy Queen Series. If you've been holding off purchasing it, now would be the time, as it's only going to be available from all the retailers for a couple weeks. Please take a moment to share this posttweet, or pin. Word of mouth is still the best advertising money can't buy. :D 

    Witch Song Series now in #KindleUnlimited

    Thursday, September 1, 2016

    If you're a member of Kindle Unlimited, you can now snag the entire Witch Song Series as part of your monthly subscription. Grab your copy before it's gone!

    Witch Song Box Set

    Share the good news by retweeting, reposting, and repinning!

    {New Release} Of Sand and Storm

    Wednesday, August 24, 2016

    By law, any child born in Idara is free, even if that child is born in a slave brothel. But as Cinder grows into a beauty that surpasses even that of her mother and grandmother, she realizes that freedom is only a word. There are other words too, stronger words. Words like betrayal and prison and death. And there are words even stronger still. Words like courage and family and love. 

    In the end, if Cinder is to escape the fate of her matriarchs, she'll have to fight for her freedom. Because true freedom is never free.

    Purchase links: 
    Amazon Int’l: http://authl.it/5cs
    Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20734705-of-sand-and-storm
    I remember reading an article a while back. It was about a girl taken captive by ISIS. The men and older women in her family were taken outside and shot. She and her female relative were taken to an older building, where men would come and bid on them. The man who ran the slave market hid her when the other men came. She thought he was being kind. He wasn't. He took her as his own.

    She was smart and resourceful. They went from house to house (Christian homes, the owners dead or having fled). She pretended not to like one after another until they finally stopped at a house with a balcony off the master bedroom. It was from there that she escaped with another girl.

    I read her story and I thought, this is the kind of stuff that happened in medieval times. Not now. Not in a world where people complain about WiFi cutting out on jet planes or that ketchup packets are too small.

    But sex trafficking and abuse have never really stopped, have it? We all think we're civilized and past such darkness, but we're only a war away from being dipped back into that kind of evil. The girls ISIS has taken know this. Even here, amidst the strip malls and protest for "social justice", there are girls and boys hidden in the shadows. Used and discarded like trash while people scream about supposed offenses that are really just differing opinions.

    When I saw the Abolitionists, I felt helpless. What could I do? How could a mom from the fields of Idaho raise her voice? The answer became clear. I had to write one of these girl's stories. Not a real girl, but a fictional one. Cinder's story was born. The story of a girl fighting a system designed to keep her under the control of people who have long ago lost their morality.

    Part of me wants to apologize for this story—for exposing such darkness to the light. But there are people hidden in the shadows of slaver. If no one ever turns to look, help will never come. So I ask that you look. See them—those forced to give up the right to their own bodies. I ask that you be someone’s Darsam. To learn how you can help, visit the Abolitionists, a group who works to free children from sex trafficking: http://ourrescue.org/.

    Tribute to Christine Weston Webb

    Monday, August 22, 2016
    This is my favorite picture of my Aunt Chris. Her husband and grandkids are circling around her, curling toward her like she was the sun. I love that it shows her hands too. She did so much good with those hands.
    The first memory I have of my Aunt Chris was when she was pregnant with Kelsey. She was eating a salad with ranch and drinking a diet coke with ice, the glass slick with condensation. She made me Kraft macaroni and cheese and let me add the milk. I added too much, but she didn’t mind. “As long as you’ll eat it,” she said.

    Later, Jeremy and Wes chased us around the house with some kind of spray. It ruined Tiffany’s umbrella and both boys ended up on stools at the opposite sides of the kitchen.

    There was the smell of horses, makeup, and hairspray as Tiffany and I tried out for queen contests, rode in parades, or participated in 4-H. Bending down to pop tar bubbles on the hot asphalt, we would walk to the store for penny candy with their dog, Muffin. I remember rides in their boat, sand between my toes, skin peeling off my shoulders. Uncle Chuck telling me that if I swallowed a watermelon seed, I’d end up pregnant (I was seven, I think, and terrified).

    I remember jumping on her trampoline and feeling like I could fly, just for a minute.

    There were long summer afternoons in her beautiful yard—hot dogs that were a little burned and fingers stained with raspberry juice. When we were older, we would pick raspberries for hours, a cramp in our backs and our arms and legs scratched and stinging. But we didn’t mind as we laughed and chatted. Chris would always overfill her costumer’s boxes because that’s just how she was.

    I remember Women’s Conference and trips to the craft fair. I remember her laugh and the way she would slouch in her chair, wrists on the end of the armrest so her hand’s dangled. And the crafts she could make with those hands! Beautiful blankets, doilies, scrapbooks—she crocheted the dress both my daughter and I were blessed in as infants. 

    Whatever Chris touched, she made beautiful. It was a gift she had. A gift she nurtured. Taking scraps of paper or fabric or broken hearts and seeing possibility—nurturing that possibility until it became something lovely and new. I like to think of her that way in heaven. Sitting with my grandpa, hands dangling from the end of her chair as they look down on our big family and decide how to shape us from afar.

    I love you, Aunt Chris. 
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