Saturday, June 30, 2012

EXILED: Autumn's Peril... was available FREE.

Sadly time has expired and this offer is no longer valid.
Thanks to all who took advantage. Hope you enjoy reading ...

EXILED: Autumn's Peril

There is still a special running.
Book One is available for only $2.99.

Keep posted on the upcoming release of Book FIVE by  following this blog or The Chronicles of Caleath

Keep an eye out for our July release date for INVADED: The Darkest Day
Book Five in the Chronicles of Caleath.

Five years have past since the Battle for Enderseer Hold.
Caleath again faces challenges that threaten more than his survival. 
Prophecies are coming to fruition but how can the Deathbringer see them through?

Thank you to everyone who has supported the series so far. Please share the free gift offer with your friends. Time zones will effect the  actual 24 hours the book is on offer, so check back often. Don't miss out.

Corinne's Tale from EXILED: The Battle for Enderseer Hold.

Despite appreciating the moment of quiet, Corinne’s mind wandered.

 Dark visions from her nightmare lurked in her mind. 

She tried to relegate her anxiety to memory, but before she succeeded, Travis and Eluart approached. 

Their countenance boded ill and they walked the empty street with a purposeful step.

Saturday, June 23, 2012


If you have wanted to immerse yourself in the  Fantasy world of The Chronicles of Caleath, here is your chance. Watch our FACEBOOK page for the ONE DAY SALE. Don't miss your chance.

Here's a version of the opening scene from EXILED: AUTUMN'S PERIL... to tempt you...

Chapter One

   Determination drove him. 

Caleath gulped air before the next wave struck. The crashing foam tore the barrel from his grasp. Without support, the weight of his companion’s body dragged him underwater. After keeping the blacksmith alive for so long, Caleath refused to lose him within sight of land. Legs kicking, he surfaced among the floating debris—testament to the death throes of The Albatross and her battle with Nature’s spite.

“Balls of a hairy goat!” The oath came with a surge of elation. Salvation lay beyond a final line of breakers. Caleath’s tenacity returned when he saw the fractured spar of the mizzen mast dumped on a narrow beach. He renewed his hold on a waterlogged barrel and struggled against the storm’s spent fury.

Panic drove adrenaline through pulsing veins and gave him the strength to heave his burden to the surface. Despite salt water trying to fill his lungs, he remained afloat until the tide dumped him onto solid ground.

Slumped on a beach beneath driving rain, he could not relax. With each successive wave, he lugged his companion’s body higher onto the shore. A greedy undertow dissolved the sand under his feet, but Caleath held ground against Nature’s fickle temper. Dragging air into tortured lungs, he waited for the next incoming surge.

Having survived the shipwreck, he hoped saving the life of his companion might provide redemption for the dark morass of his past.

A tumble of rocks offered protection from the wind. In their care, Caleath examined his shipmate. He cleaned a calloused finger, gritty with sand, and searched for a pulse or the telltale warmth of living flesh. Life pulsed at a fast but weak pace beneath clammy skin. The smith's breath came in gurgling spurts.

Caleath pressed on the man's chest. Seawater spilled from the slack mouth with every forced exhalation. “Chesney, come on man, you aren’t going to die. Not now.” 

Caleath pinched the smith’s bearded cheek and shook him gently. His action prompted a faint expelling of breath. No more water in the lungs. “It’s not long till dawn. Stay with me.” Caleath began to untie the rough rope binding him to the smith. He winced as pain spread with returning warmth. He glanced into the darkness crowding the rock strewn beach. The wind whispered accusations and shadows came to life.

Again Caleath checked Chesney’s breathing. “Can you hear them?” He tossed aside the hemp rope, pulling the tattered ends of his shirt sleeves over his bleeding wrist. “They are waiting for you to die or for me to fall asleep. Ghosts. Feel their hate?”

Chesney didn’t react. His body though radiated heat and Caleath edged closer, as meager warmth permeated shivering flesh. He needed Chesney to survive. The smith risked his life to save him. He would not fail the man. Not now.

“Chesney, listen to me… Stay with me.” He felt a muscle twitch in the man’s arm and although exhausted he concentrated on keeping the smith from sinking into a coma. “I don’t know why you saved me.” 

A violent shiver shook Caleath. 

Memories of being chained in the flooded hold of the sinking Albatross overwhelmed him. He clutched his arms around his chest. Blood still seeped from the wounds at his wrists, where cold iron tore skin and flesh. He swallowed, remembering the taste of terror as the ship rolled and water closed over his head. 

Nanobots in his blood wouldn't let him drown. These microscopic machines from his home planet ensured his survival. Immortality lost its allure with the prospect of spending decades at the bottom of the sea until the wood deteriorated enough to release him. Since purveyors of dark magic had found themselves an unquenchable source in Caleath, he often regretted no longer having the option of a quick, clean death.

Alive. Chained to a wreck while ribbons of blood invited predators to feed on his flesh. Living flesh. His fate if the smith hadn't released him.

The science needed to understand Caleath's longevity evaded the primitive natives of this planet. They called him daemon. Magic they could deal with. Science they failed to understand.

“Did you believe the stories, smith?” Caleath asked, not expecting an answer. “I never wanted the ship to sink. Wasn’t my fault. No one will believe me though, will they?”

The smith’s breathing faltered. Caleath rested a hand on the man’s rotund chest. His fingers caressed the rich brocade decorating he smith’s vest. “This world is a globe. We could never sail off the edge as the crew feared. I needed to find this southern continent.” Caleath listened as the wind dropped for a few heartbeats. Pounding surf drowned the ghoulish voices whispering at the edge of hearing. “I have to get off this planet, Chesney. There is a man I must kill.”

The smith’s breathing settled into an even rhythm. Caleath patted he man’s ample girth feeling his body heat return. Damp but alive, Caleath felt confident the man would survive.

“You’ve made a small fortune from my pain, haven’t you?” 

Caleath couldn’t blame the smith. For breaking into the flooded hold, risking his own life to save a maligned slave, Caleath forgave him his gains through betting. 

Freedom though, meant Caleath could shed the persona of the gladiatorial slave Wrath. After sending two dread lords to their watery graves, Caleath no longer needed to fear Governor Elensor, the man who claimed to own Wrath. Whatever wealth the smith garnered from Caleath’s role as Elensor’s prize fighter, those days were past. 

Now he called himself Caleath, the name he had selected while planning his escape. The name of a free man, bent on leaving this planet and returning to the stars.

When Chesney began to snore, Caleath relaxed.

His eyes closed. Fatigue plagued every cell of his high-tech body. To succumb to dreams before dawn meant facing the ghosts who haunted his nights. Instead, he mulled over the task ahead, concentrating on how he would escape this accursed planet. Only then could he focus on revenge.

With a curse, he vowed to punish the man who abducted him and left him stranded on this world where sorcerers and slavery existed.
Anger warmed his blood while he contemplated how Ephraim would die.

* * * *

Despite his determination, sleep overwhelmed Caleath but offered no peace of mind. Scrutinized by the sightless eyes of drowned men, panic plagued his dreams. Hungry for vengeance and corrupted by the stench of watery decay, their angry spirits sought to destroy his sanity.

In his vision, strands of hair washed like seaweed across the disintegrating flesh of dead sailors. Tides of marine scavengers reduced humanity to bare bone and memory. 

Ghostly accusations spread on the current to drown him in guilt. Lifeless skulls and partially devoured corpses of the recently drowned whispered curses. They laid the blame for their demise on his shoulders. Fleshless fingers reached through the depths to draw him into Death’s grasp while parasitic wraiths gnawed at his soul and his lungs filled with the fetor of a carnivore’s breath.

Caleath woke from the nightmare. Daylight drove barbs into his eyes, forcing him to blink before he could focus on the muzzle of a salivating wolf.

Fangs gleamed inches from his face and amber eyes regarded him without blinking.

Hunger, thirst, and the will to survive overcame any fear a wolf might evoke. Terror dissolved before a snarl.  Caleath lifted an arm to fend off the creature’s curious approach. When the wolf backed away, hackle and tail raised, he knew the beast would not hinder his escape from this planet. Nothing could ruin his chance of escape. Not an angry wolf, nor recurring nightmares, nor Death herself could stop him while nanobots flowed in his bloodstream.

A second problem struck into his consciousness. A new menace needed sorting. Cold steel touched the flesh of his neck.  Heavy enough to draw blood, the blade glinted in the sunlight. Caleath could see white knuckles strangling the sword’s hilt.

“Riante tol?” The voice of a young man trembled, but pressure applied to the blade emphasized each word. Caleath half closed his eyes. As if drifting off for a few seconds, he maneuvered his hand to ensure nothing hampered its scope of action.

While the wolf stood close enough to share warmth, Caleath accessed data stored on microchips in his brain.

 These implants, the size of a single cell, carried information he collected during his lifetime. Able to access knowledge in an instant, he searched through languages, cultures, or geographies from across a dozen galaxies. His home planet's technology stood him in good stead when he extracted the youth’s language from stored data. He drew on research material from another galaxy, collected during his previous career as a surveyor of unexplored planets.

“You can call me Caleath.” He tried to swallow, but a parched throat made the simple task difficult. Blistered lips bled from days in salt and sun. Coarse words drew a snarl from the wolf. “Call off your dog. I will not hurt you.”

The youth’s gaze flicked from the horizon to the cliffs, as if to win time to consider his options.  The sword weighed heavy on Caleath’s neck while lines of anxiety creased the flesh around the boy’s eyes.

Before the youth made a decision, Caleath ducked from under the blade. His fist smashed against the wolf’s jaw. The creature recoiled with a yelp. When the young man’s attention rekindled, Caleath grasped the haft of the sword and wrenched the weapon free of the youth’s grasp. Caleath slammed the blade into the sand, out of harm’s reach.

“You won’t need that. You're likely to get hurt.” He brushed sand from his hands. “This man needs help.”

Recovering its dignity, the wolf growled but remained out of reach. The youth’s eyes widened and sweat beaded on his brow. His gaze dropped to his empty hands before he wiped them on his leggings.

“What is your name?” Caleath prompted conversation while he struggled to lift his companion. With a grunt, he managed to hoist the older man’s arm across his shoulder. Only then did he take stock of the youth’s homespun garments and ingeniously tailored skins.

From sun-tanned toes to his head of sandy hair the boy exuded health and vitality. His expression seemed honest and unused to the shadow of fear that haunted his brow.

Green eyes glinted in the dawn light while the youth watched Caleath.

“Gwilt. My name is Gwilt.”

Glancing at the boy’s bare feet Caleath nodded.

“You live near here. Help me get this man to shelter and you can have any of the bounty we can salvage.”

“I could have killed you.” Gwilt shaded his eyes as he scanned the strewn wreckage. “So this could all have been mine anyhow.”

Caleath perused the storm torn headland where he crawled ashore. 

Wooden chests, barrels, and shattered wreckage from 
The Albatross littered the beach.

With a smile, he hoisted his burden higher. The boy might have been right, only Caleath did not intend to die, nor would he allow his companion to come to harm.

Hope you have enjoyed this version of the opening scenes from EXILED: AUTUMN'S PERIL...

Join Caleath's adventures... watch for our 30th June SPECIAL...
The first four ebooks are available NOW... 

INVADED: The Darkest Day...
We hope for a JULY release date to be announced SOON.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012


Drop over to Teen Word Factory.. (follow the link,) to join a discussion on equipping characters for travelling through time, dimensions, worlds...
See you there... just going to enter the transporter .. NOW...

Sunday, June 17, 2012


Taking a break from go WHALE WATCHING

Editing is great fun. I love it. Still.. it can become a little tiresome. So, when a phone call offered a morning whale watching, there was no question of not going.

The ocean treated us to a perfect day boating. The whales there were in abundance .

The Cougar Cat 12 Fishing Carter crew were terrific and the boat was a perfect venue for watching the whales play.

So, after a few hours of pleasure, watching whales, time with the grand kids and family, soaking up sunshine, being lulled by the action of the waves, having the cobwebs sufficiently windswept to no longer be a problem... I am back to editing.
Is this a perfect day?
It is in my book.

top pic is from but the  bottom breech is a local whale.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Introducing New York Author and Poet EMMA EDEN RAMOS

Today I have the great pleasure of presenting Emma Eden Ramos, a fellow Muse author and talented poet.
Emma's YA Fantasy novel "The Realm of the Lost" will be released by Museitup Publishing in September. But Emma is already a well known author of Three Women: A Poetic Triptych and Selected Poems” 

Emma, welcome to my blog. Thanks for being here today.

Other than ‘author’ what are three words you would use to describe yourself?

Reader, daydreamer, introvert.

Do they influence you as a writer? Or the genre you write?

I am certain that being a voracious reader affects my writing in terms of both genre and style. Perhaps this isn’t true for some writers, but I find it difficult, when writing in a particular genre, to read anything remotely similar. When I’m writing a young adult or middle grade story I may read poetry, literary fiction and/or memoirs. When writing poetry or literary fiction, I’ll find myself reading YA or MG literature. 

I don’t know if being a daydreamer has helped me as a writer. It certainly got me into trouble as a grade school student. Being able to transport oneself into an alternate reality can certainly be useful practice for a writer. But it can also be a distraction. If you find yourself talking to the ghost of Janis Joplin while trying to write a poem about flowers, you’ve got a slight problem. Learning to be a disciplined daydreamer seems to be the most productive option. How is that attained? I haven’t the faintest idea.

Daydreaming as a discipline sound like a subject I could enjoy. J

You are an accomplished poet as well as author. What is it about poetry that fires up your muse?

Generally, I’m more comfortable writing prose, but good poetry is as inspiring as any other artistic medium. What’s so wonderful about contemporary poetry is that it has split off into different subgenres. Free verse is still very much alive and, though I’ve never been able to write it, it is wonderful to read. Prose poetry kick-starts my creative engine (or muse) like nothing else. I reread Vladimir Nabokov’s Pale Fire last summer, and it inspired me to write a long, character-driven prose poem of my own.

You are about to be published with Museitup Publishing, what inspired your story ‘The Realm of the Lost’?

I wrote The Realm of the Lost both as a tribute to the people in my life who suddenly passed away and as a way of understanding my own mortality. The idea for The Realm of the Lost came to me in 2010 while I was at a family wedding. This was the first event our family had attended since the death of my grandfather, and the wedding was held on what would have been his 93rd birthday. My grandfather’s death was not a tragedy because he lived a full life.  There are people in my life, however, who have died too soon and under tragic circumstances. I began thinking about my grandfather’s death and the way in which my memory of it differed from my memory of the others. Do the circumstances surrounding someone’s death dictate whether or not they rest peacefully? Does going to your grave as a result of an accident change your trajectory, or is that just a perception that we, the living, have?  I began asking these questions and found myself writing The Realm of the Lost on the plane ride home from the wedding.

Amazing place to be penning a novel, but it has obviously worked.  I remember reading J K Rowling said she came up with the idea for Harry Potter while travelling on a train.Your motivation behind Realm of the Lost sounds fascinating.

Previously you published “ThreeWomen: A Poetic Triptych and Selected Poems” telling a compelling story through poetry. Please tell us more about this fascinating project.

In March 2011, while attempting to confront some personal demons, I started writing poetry for the first time in years. Given my state of mind, the poems were dark and angry. One poem caught an editor’s attention and he asked me to write a chapbook. I decided to write a longer piece in which I told three different stories in three parts.

Three Women: A Poetic Triptych tells the story of three women: Annette, a British-American psychoanalyst whose son committed suicide just before his seventeenth birthday; Julia, an angry and rebellious sixteen year old who is grieving the loss of her brother; and Milena, a Croatian Immigrant whose father committed suicide not long after fleeing his country before The Croatian War of Independence. The three characters are personally connected in a way that is revealed at the end of the triptych.

Interesting subject. I look forward to discovering how they are connected.  

Do you have a regime when writing? A special place, time, mood or do you snatch opportunities to pen ideas or write a few lines?

I try to set aside time every morning and every evening. During the summer I like to write outside in Central Park. I live in New York City.

I could only ever day dream living in a city of that size. What material the atmosphere would provide for your stories. I am tempted to say WOW. LOL. Makes me sound easy to impress. Hmm... Then again, I am. J

Does your Muse follow rules and plot lines or does she offer ideas on a whim?

My muse is generally happy to offer ideas, though she does find me a bit difficult to work with. As I stated earlier, I am a daydreamer. There are moments when my “muse” screams, “quit thinking about moving to Finland and concentrate!” On the occasions that my muse has stopped me in my tracks to offer an idea, I’ve had to be careful to write it down immediately. The herds of people in Time Square don’t generally appreciate it when someone comes to a halt, whips out a journal and begins to scribble. But some ideas are worth getting knocked over for.

I am not going to ask… why Finland… another day maybe. I will watch for your sudden halts if I ever have the pleasure of visiting New York.

What are the most dramatic changes you have made to a story you have written? What prompted the change?

There have been a few occasions when I’ve changed the main character’s name in the middle of a story. It’s strange, but names do make an enormous difference when creating a character. 

So true, choosing names is important. 

Three Women: A Poetic Triptych and Selected Poems was published by Heavy Hands Ink.

Where can we get this book?

Recently I was honored to be a guest on your blog, at Emma Eden Ramos. You have some great guests and posts there. Well worth a visit and keeping in touch with. Now, the exciting news is your new book is only a few months away.

September sees ‘The Realm of the Lost’ released through Muse. Where can we follow your career and find you on the internet?

My website is I can also be found on Facebook at Thank you so much for having me!

Thanks for participating Emma, it is wonderful to have you here today.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Celebrating 8,000 LIKES on Facebook.. GIVEAWAY

To Celebrate 
 the huge response to our 
FACEBOOK page we are having a 
 Since we now have 8,000 LIKES, 
 we are thrilled to offer a digital copy of 
 book one in the Chronicles, 
 to three people who comment on this post. 
 Winners will be chosen in the next 48 hours so... 
 Good Luck!

Thanks to all who have joined Caleath in his adventures.

Friday, June 8, 2012


It won't be long now till book five in The Chronicles is available!!
The new adventures of Caleath... five years have passed since The Battle of Enderseer  Hold... and Caleath can no longer avoid his destiny!

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Partial excerpt from EXILED: Autumn's Peril

The assassin took six strides across the clearing. He unsheathed a sword as he approached.

Caleath’s breath caught in his throat. The wizard raised his staff and the ranger froze mid step.

“Go!” Penwryt shouted when Caleath hesitated.

A strange miasma of white magic circled around the stationary ranger but whipped away from contact with Caleath when he sprinted toward the buckskin. Already a second ranger crossed to join his partner. His voice reached Caleath as he ran for the trees.

“What sorcery is this, Penwryt?” the ranger cried while he lifted his loaded crossbow and tracked Caleath’s movement with his aim. 
Caleath heard the wizard’s warning but when he turned to give heed, the crossbow bolt flew straight and true.

“No!” Penwryt bellowed.

From EXILED: Autumn's Peril photo ©Rachel Lewis Photography

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Snippets/ Photos from the Chronicles of Caleath

The older man peered into his cup as he swirled dregs of red wine.

"Five days and nights, we fought to hold the ship together every moment fearing the final fall from the Edge."

Gwilt knew the ferocity of the ocean well. He tried to imagine being at her mercy.            Chesney's Tale from Exiled: Autumn's Peril

Tides of marine scavengers reduced humanity to bare bone and memory. 
Ghostly accusations spread on the current to drown him in guilt. 
 Exiled: Autumn's Peril

A sword and brace of daggers hung with familiar ease beneath a heavy cloak.
Exiled: Autumn's Peril

Caleath looked into empty eye sockets. In place of eyes, he sensed a void that extended all the way to the Abyss.
Exiled: Winter's Curse.