It's really coming down to the wire - June 1st is right around the corner!
If you haven't already had the chance to check out my book excerpt, it is on The Silver Cord page on here.
Also, you can pre-order on Amazon and check me out on Goodreads!
I am hoping to visit the Renaissance Fair this weekend. I really need the break from work, school, and all the things BOOK. It's always a good time and a lot of fun. Monk's Mead is the official mead for the fair so I will definitely be enjoying a cup of it. Oh, and it is Pirate's Weekend, too!
Here is the excerpt in print for those of you who do not want to listen to me read it!
"Up the attic stairs I went, the broom handle banging along
the narrow walls like Morse code. It didn’t take long to clean up, but
the musky smell of sandalwood grew stronger as I swept the last of
the mirror fragments.
I put the broom down and considered the size of the attic.
Splitting it in half with a removable wall or bookcase would work. I
continued to survey the room and the paintings grabbed my attention.
I stared at the face of the soldier that I saw after the mirror fell. He
looked kind and gentle with an undeniable intelligence in his eyes. In
the portrait, he wore a plaid jacket and waistcoat, a blue bonnet on
his head, and was armed with a broadsword and pistol. My guess
was a Scottish soldier. It must have been a very old painting a relative brought over from Scotland, or maybe a previous owner just
bought it because they liked it.
I stared at the portrait for a minute longer and unexpectedly
reached out and touched his cheek. Instantaneously I was in the
kitchen across from him. He leaned up against a counter, the same
white cup engulfed in his calloused hand. He wore a soil-smeared
white T-shirt with worn pants, a day-old beard on his face. The
intense smell of sandalwood overwhelmed me and herbs were
scattered on the counter next to him.
There was dirt not only under his fingernails, but all over the
floor by his boots. Rusty garden shears and a hand-woven basket that
overflowed with flowers rested near his heel. My eyes slowly
traveled up from the floor. He was lean with tanned arms, apparently
from working outside. His profile showed a straight nose and a
strong jaw not spoiled by the scruff of his beard. I turned my head in
the direction of his stare and saw our yard, covered with flowers and
Huge patches of lavender, mugwort, and chamomile towered
over squat bushes of culinary herbs. White roses wound around taller
plants and carpets of peppermint both grew wildly around the formal
garden herbs. A glittering stone path led to a small grove of fruit
trees and a tiny pond. It was the most beautiful garden I ever laid
I slowly turned back to him and he stared at me. Those eyes,
caramel brown, soft and full of fire all at once looked straight at me--
almost through me.
The man from my vision.
I snatched my hand back and was once again on the attic
floor in front of the painting. I sat there dumbstruck and tried to
figure out what it meant. He must have lived here at some point, an
original owner. I’d have to explore the history of the house when I
went into town. The smell of sandalwood hung in the air as I headed
downstairs to tell Jess."
There you have it, just a taste of things to come. Everybody have a great Friday!
Chapter Ten Songs:
Iron & Wine “Each Coming Night”
Shinedown “Crow and the Butterfly”