Thursday, July 31, 2014
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
The Dominion of Atalanta is at war. But for eighteen-year-old Aris, the fighting is nothing more than a distant nightmare, something she watches on news vids from the safety of her idyllic seaside town. Then her boyfriend, Calix, is drafted into the Military, and the nightmare becomes a dangerous reality.Left behind, Aris has nothing to fill her days. Even flying her wingjet—the thing she loves most, aside from Calix—feels meaningless without him by her side. So when she’s recruited to be a pilot for an elite search-and-rescue unit, she leaps at the chance, hoping she’ll be stationed near Calix. But there’s a catch: She must disguise herself as a man named Aristos. There are no women in the Atalantan Military, and there never will be. Aris gives up everything to find Calix: her home. Her family. Even her identity. But as the war rages on, Aris discovers she’s fighting for much more than her relationship. With each injured person she rescues and each violent battle she survives, Aris is becoming a true soldier—and the best flyer in the Atalantan Military. She’s determined to save her Dominion . . . or die trying.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Monday, July 21, 2014
In honor of your new releases! I hope you like this!
Find their books here:
Rout of the Dem Shyr
Amazon - http://bit.ly/ROTDSAmz
Amazon - http://tiny.cc/gujdjx
iBook - http://bit.ly/ROTDSiBook
Kobo - http://bit.ly/ROTDSKobo
Witch Hunter Olivia
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1n0s2bn
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1u4gNU3
Amazon AUS: http://bit.ly/1qrbwEu
Sunday, July 20, 2014
|Author Joy Redmond|
One night I got a call from Peter. “Mom, Paula and me had Mary outside watching her ride her bike and I was showing her how to pop a wheelie. When we came in the front door we could hear somebody in the middle bedroom and it sounded like they were tearing up the place. So we ran back outside and we’re at a neighbor’s house. They called the police but I wish you’d come home.”
I said, “Stay at the neighbor’s and I’ll get home as fast as I can.”
My hands were trembling so badly it was hard to keep a grip on the steering wheel. Who could be in the house? How did they get in? I was thankful I only had a ten minute drive, but it seemed to take forever to get home.
I pulled into the driveway and the children ran across Neighbor’s front yard toward me. Neighbor was close behind. I jumped out of the car and ran to my children.
Just as Neighbor finished the sentence, a police cruiser pulled into the driveway. I told Neighbor to take the children back to his house and I’d come for them as soon as Officer had Stranger out of my house. Officer walked my way and asked, “What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”
I explained the problem as it had been told to me. Officer told me to stay in the front yard until he investigated. In few minutes, Officer came back outside holding a shoulder-strap purse on his forefinger. “Here’s your intruder!”
“What?” I opened the purse and found an empty perfume bottle and a key ring with several keys attached. The purse had been packed in a box in my closet. I said, “Are you sure there’s nobody in the house?”
Officer smiled. “I checked the house thoroughly. The back door is locked, all windows are down and locked, and no sign of forced entry, and no sign of a person. The purse was hanging on the doorknob, inside the middle bedroom. It was swinging and banging against the door.”
I thanked Officer and apologized for wasting his time. He merely smiled and went back to the cruiser, and I’m sure he was thinking we were a bunch of nuts.
Peter opened the front door, I stood Mary on the floor, then told them to go sit at the kitchen table. When they were seated, I came into the kitchen holding the purse. I looked at Paula. “Have you been using my purse?
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t use that ugly thing and I hate shoulder straps.”
I looked toward Peter. “Hey, I’m not into purses, he said.”
I knelt by Mary's side. “Did you get in Mommies closet and get the purse out to play with it?”
Mary said, “I don’t like the purse, it stinks.”
“Stinks?” I said, pulling the purse under my nose and taking a whiff. It had an old musky smell. It had been boxed, but it had only been packed for a few weeks.
“Stinky Purse,” I said, and tossed it into the corner. I wasn’t going to leave the children and go back to work. A first happening is an alarming thing, and I needed to explain a few things to them.
We sat around the table. Paula was fifteen. Peter was twelve. Mary was five, but I thought it was time to tell them about visiting spirits. I told them about the visits from my mama and baby brother and how much comfort they had brought me. I told them about smelling roses from time to time, and how I
believed it was Mama paying a visit just to let me know she loved me.
They intently listened and I saw their eyes widen in surprise and joy. Paula and Peter thought it was cool. Mary was sitting in my lap. She patted my face. “Mommy, did Grandma get your purse out and play with it?” The idea of Grandma paying a visit seemed to intrigue her.
I thought for a minute, then said. “Well, it doesn’t seem like something that Grandma would do. This was a prank, which is exactly something like Grandpa would do. He was the biggest prankster I’ve never known. He’s probably laughing his butt off. And I guess it is funny, now that we know it was a prank and nobody was in the house.”
The children agreed that it was funny and we all had a laugh.
After our talk, I fixed us a snack, then I got Mary ready for bed. Paula and Peter wanted to watch TV before going to bed. I was tired, so I decided to turn in, too. I picked up Stinky Purse and took it back to its box in the closet. “Now stay put!” I said.
“Sit still,” I said. I made my way down the hall and into my bedroom. There in the middle of the floor was Stinky Purse! The musky smell was stronger. I picked it up and headed for the kitchen. When I came through the doorway, swinging it by the straps, the children laughed and said, “Stinky Purse is out again!”
“Here’s hoping it finds another home,” I said as I headed out the back door. I threw it into the trash can, then pulled the can to the curb out front, thankful it was garbage pickup day. Stinky Purse was out of our lives. I hoped. The smell was sickening.
By the end of that year we liked Missouri well enough to call it home. So I decided I’d buy a house. When the realtor pulled up in front of the third house on her list, I felt a warm glow come over me. The minute the realtor unlocked the front door and I stepped inside, the house seemed to be calling my name. Or maybe it was the brick fireplace in the living room with a beautiful mirror encased in a gold frame. The realtor said the previous owners had bought it especially for the fireplace and they wanted to leave it. I was gratefully. There was something special about the mirror that I didn’t understand.
I didn’t want to leave the mirror but the realtor wanted to show me the rest of the house. It was an old home but it was in mint condition. It had three bedrooms upstairs, a finished basement with a sitting room, bedroom, full bath and laundry room. Perfect! My daughters who were ten years apart in age wouldn’t have to share a bedroom, and Son would have his private man cave downstairs away from all the women. He was drowning in estrogen.
The weather was perfect all of October, but by early November it was cold enough to turn on the furnace. Soon all the rooms were warm and toasty—except for my oldest daughter Paula’s bedroom. I held my hand over the vents and I could feel warm air, but it didn’t penetrate the room. By late November you could see your breath in that room.
One night I was snuggled up in bed with Paula and we were having a mother-daughter talk. Suddenly we heard a sound, like wind chimes. The sound was clearly coming from a few feet away. Then we looked up at the ceiling. There in the far right corner above the dresser was a cluster of glitter.
Paula said, “Mom, do you see that? Is it fairy dust?”
“I see it honey, but I didn’t see Wendy come in with it. I just hope Peter Pan shows up and gives me directions to Never-Never Land, where I’ll never grow old.”
“Stop acting stupid, Mom. What is it?”
We waited for the fairy dust or orbs or whatever it was to hit the floor, but they just danced around in a circle a few inches from the ceiling. After a minute or so, the chimes went silent, but the beautiful display of colors continued. A few minutes later the rainbow turned into a cloud of fog, slowly dissipated and disappeared.
Paula smiled. “I hope it comes back. That was really neat!”
“We never know when a spirit will come or what they’ll do. And we’re never sure who the spirit is. I think that was a cluster of many spirits who thinks it’s the 4th of July.”
“You’re not funny, Mom.
“Ah, lighten up, kid. You know I always have to make a joke about things. You should be used to it by now. I have no explanation, so you figure it out.”
I left the room, wondering who it could have been. I went into the living room and told Peter and Mary what had happened. Wide-eyed, they ran to the bedroom. We all piled into the bed and waited. And waited. By 10 o’clock, I told them the show was over for the night. Peter went to his bedroom in the basement. I put Mary to bed, and I read for a while before turning in.
That winter, I introduced them to something I had enjoyed as a child. The snow was heavy and I thought it was safe to make snow cream. The children went outside with pans and spoons and gathered the snow as I had instructed.
“Don’t take the top. Rake off a good inch, then get the snow underneath”.
When their pans were full, they brought them back inside. They watched in amazement as I emptied the small pans of snow in a large pan, added vanilla flavoring and milk and stirred for five minutes. I set the pan in the freezer. When it was frozen solid, I took it out, filled four bowls. We had plenty of snow cream that winter, and we enjoyed the fireplace. It was so cozy sitting close by the hearth and watching the flames dance. I kept hoping I’d see Mama, but she didn’t appear.
While we were snowbound, we entertained ourselves with board games. Our favorite board game was Monopoly. One night we sat around the kitchen table, all of us selecting our favorite board piece.
I didn’t do it. I knew the children didn’t do it because of their surprised looks, and when one of them did rip off a wind-biscuit, they would break into the silly giggles. We continued fanning the air with our hands. Within a minute or so it was gone.
“I think we just experience another happening, I said.
Peter said, “It had to be Grandpa. That was a manly fart!”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. It’s like something he’d do,” I answered.
We continued the game and it went on for almost two hours. I was tired of playing and I was losing.
When I could get my breath, I pulled a Daddy trick on them and said, “That’s not Grandpa. It’s the devil farting. Don’t you smell the sulfur?”
I’d never seen three kids jump and run so fast. I bent over laughing—until it hit me—what if it is the devil?
Several weeks passed. One night I was sitting on the couch, the children were at my feet, lying on their bellies, faces propped in hands, watching one of our favorite sit-coms. We were all laughing when suddenly we started choking from a horrible smell. The children looked up at me with wide eyes. “It’s the devil farting!” I yelled.
Three kids were off the floor and trying to crawl into my lap at the same time. By the time they had almost smothered me with their bodies, the smell was gone. I did have to sleep with all three that night, which taught me a lesson—don’t act like Daddy and scare the children. Though I never let on, I was a bit unnerved by the smell. Mother sent roses. Daddy played pranks. Fairy Dust was beautiful. But who was sending the sulfur smell?
Twenty-eight days later, I called the Moving Company. The next morning the movers were there by 7 o’clock in the morning. We had said our goodbyes to all of our friends the day before. Finally the household contents were loaded in the moving van, and it was on its way to Florida. We had packed all we needed for the trip in the station wagon. I told the children to get in the car and I’d be there shortly. I wanted to make one more sweep through all the rooms, savoring the memories we had made, and privately tell the house goodbye. It had been the happiest two years of my life.
After I had made my walk-through, I opened the front door, glanced over my shoulder at the beautiful fireplace, the large mirror still hanging over it. My breath caught in my throat as I watched Mama’s face appear in the center of the mirror. She held a beautiful smile. “I’m doing the right thing, huh, Mama? Please come back and visit me often. I missed you so much.” Tears welled as I watched Mama’s image fade away.
I hurried to the car, but I didn’t mention Mama’s visit. We buckled up and were on our way. Paula talked non-stop, Peter cracked jokes, Mary slept off and on, and fourteen hours later, we arrived in Florida. I had only lost my religion twice during the long drive. I had cramps in my right leg and toes, and I hoped I didn’t have to get behind the wheel for a long time.
We were told the moving van wouldn’t be there until three days later. I rented us a motel room. A Waffle House was next door, very handy for me to make coffee runs.
Two days later we had the closing on the house which only took thirty minutes. I collected the house keys, wished everybody a happy life, then headed back to the motel, hoping the rain would let up and we could go to the beach. The next day it poured rain. We were going insane being hold up in a tiny room at Motel Hell.
Finally the van was unloaded. I shut doors and windows, turned on the air-conditioning and fixed us a glass of ice water. The children were hungry, so I told them to sit tight and I’d make a run to Taco Bell. I got back with the tacos and we sat on the floor, because the table was piled with boxes. We all had our mouths full, when suddenly the smell of rotten eggs surrounded us. We just looked at each other, smiled and in unison said, “Phantom Farter!”
“Yep, he came with us,” I said, “But we’re eating, not playing Monopoly.” Within a minute or so, the smell disappeared and it never returned. We had laughed about Stinky Purse, we missed Fairy Dust, but we were glad Phantom Farter had departed.
Then we got another visitor.
I settled down on the couch in the TV room and began reading a book. I was a few pages into the book when suddenly I heard music. It was the same music that used to play when I was a teenager and opened my jewelry box. When I lifted the lid a little ballerina would twirl and sweet music played, though I never recognized the tune.
I put the book down and kept listening. The music was clearly coming from a few feet away. I knew my old jewelry box had disappeared years ago. My daughters had never had one or anything else that played music. To my knowledge there was nothing in the house that played music—especially the same tune. I searched the room like a detective on the prowl for drugs. I found nothing. By the time my search was over the music had stopped.
A year after our move to Florida, Peter decided he wanted to display his beer can collection. He had order many of the cans from a catalogue with names we’d never heard of. He even had a Billy Beer and it was his favorite. The catalogue also sold display shelves and mounting devices for the cans. Using his birthday money from Grandparents, he ordered a shelf with slots for each can. I helped him assemble and mount the shelves to the wall. Then we painstakingly used the sticky cubes. One side of the cube was to be stuck to the can and the other side was to be stuck to the shelf slot.
The directions read: place in selected spot and wait thirty minutes before touching. We had four rows fixed so-so and waited thirty minutes. “Time to test,” Son said. He flicked the cans, shook them, pulled on them, but they were as secure as if they had been placed in cement.
“By cracky, they won’t fall down,” I said.
One night the three children had overnight plans and I was home alone. Since I didn’t have to monitor TV programs, I decided I’d watch a movie on HBO. After the movie was over I went to bed with a good book, propped up and read until I fell asleep. I was awakened at midnight by a strange sound. I sat up in bed and listened. Bing! Bing! Bing! I got out of bed, walked into the living room, and the ‘binging’ was coming from Peter’s bedroom.
I looked round the room and saw several beer cans were on the floor. I picked them up and put them back into their slot on the shelf. Just as I had placed the last one, the cans started popping out of the slots as if they were being thumped, one by one in, in a straight line, and in rhythm. I smiled and said,
“That’s amazing.” I stood transfixed as a dozen cans flipped off the shelf slot and hit the floor, still falling in a straight line and in perfect rhythm. Finally, two rows were empty and they stopped falling. I folded my arms and said, “Is that all you’ve got?” I waited a few minutes. That was it. The show was over. I went back to bed, picked up my book and I heard, Bing! Bing! Bing! I didn’t bother to go look or pick them up.
Our driveway wasn’t long enough for Mary to ride her bike as far as she wanted to, and I wasn’t about to let her ride out of my sight. There was a church parking lot across the road from us. So in the afternoons, I let her push the bike across the road and ride in the lot while I sat in the front yard and watched, with a stray cat by my side. The cat had taken up residence with us two weeks before.
One afternoon, a young boy joined her in the parking lot on his black bike. I sat in the driveway and watched them riding, and smiled as I saw what a little gentleman he was. He always stayed a few feet behind her and never crossed her path. Suddenly, Mary tumbled off her bike. She got up and got back on and continued riding. A few laps later, she took another tumble. I thought she was nervous because a boy was riding with her. Mary was a pro who never took a spill. A few more laps and she took another tumble.
I jumped up and hurried across the road. By the time I had reached her, she was in the little boys face, screaming and letting him know she would do damage to him if he pushed her again. The boy did his best to explain that he hadn’t touched her, but she wasn’t buying it. The little boy had tears as he continued his plea of innocence. I intervened and said, “Hey, he didn’t push you. I’ve been watching and he hasn’t been close enough to touch you. Cool your jets, kid.”
She was frothing as she yelled, “I felt his hands on my back and I felt him push me. He pushed me hard.”
I did my best to convince her there was no way, but she insisted she felt hands push her.
The little boy apologized, even though he hadn’t touched her, and went home. For the next week, Mary rode her bike every day and never fell off. Then one afternoon, the little boy came back to ride with her. It was a rerun. Him following a few feet behind. Her taking tumbles. Her accusing him of pushing her. Him swearing he didn’t touch her. Her swearing she felt hands pushing her. Me watching and knowing he didn’t touch her.
“Now we have Bike Pusher to add to the mix,” I said, wondering how many spirits were with us. And who were they?
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