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Tuesday, June 18, 2019

Release Blitz: Lacewood by Jessica James #romance #womensfiction #giveaway #newrelease #releaseday #excerpt



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Women’s Fiction/Contemporary Romance
Date Published: 6/18/2019

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Sometimes love is just too powerful for one lifetime…

MOVING TO A SMALL TOWN in Virginia is a big change for New York socialite Katie McCain. But when she stumbles across an abandoned 200-year-old mansion, she’s enthralled by the enduring beauty of the neglected estate—and captivated by the haunting portrait of a woman in mourning.

Purchasing the property on a whim, Katie attempts to fit in with the colorful characters in the town of New Hope, while trying to unravel the mystery of the “widow of Lacewood.” As she pieces together the previous owner’s heartrending story, Katie uncovers secrets the house has held for centuries, and discovers the key to coming to terms with her own sense of loss.

The past and present converge when hometown hero Will Durham returns and begins his own healing process by helping the “city girl” restore the place that holds so many memories. As the mystic web of destiny is woven, a love story that might have been lost forever is exposed, and a destiny that has been waiting in the shadows for centuries is fulfilled.



Part love story, part ghost story, Lacewood is a timeless novel about trusting in fate, letting go of the past, and believing in things that can’t be seen.

A powerful and poignant tale that vividly conveys the heartache of war, the tragedy of loss, and the fulfillment of destiny…even when souls are separated by centuries. Lacewood takes readers on a journey that connects the past with the present—and the present with eternity.








Excerpt

Turning in a circle, Katie studied the room again. Faded wallpaper curled and peeled above the dusty wainscoting, but the walls themselves appeared sturdy. On the far side of the entryway, and dominating the wall, stood a mammoth fireplace with an ornately carved hearth. And above the mantle hung a captivating painting of a woman in nineteenth-century dress.

“Who is she?”

The sheriff turned to the dusty, sun-bleached portrait in the heavy carved guilt frame. “One of the previous owners, they say.” He shrugged. “The family history kind of got lost with the house. Everyone around here calls her the Widow of Lacewood.”

Katie stood spellbound. The woman was dressed completely in black, but the magnificence of the gown gave the impression of sophistication and class. Her chin was slightly elevated as if to project strength, yet there was more than a hint of sorrow and pain in her eyes.

“She looks so sad.” Katie spoke without removing her gaze. “And so young. How could she be a widow?”

The sheriff had already started to walk away, but he turned back and glanced at the painting. “Not sure, but they say she never remarried. She’s the one out in the cemetery, too, I reckon.”

Katie’s heart suddenly struggled to beat. The anguish in the woman’s eyes kept her riveted. She could see the pain. Feel a heart ripped apart. Something was missing that could never be replaced. Katie had felt such loss before. In a way, that’s why she was here.

“You coming?”

Katie heard the sheriff calling from the next room, and turned to follow. With one quick glance back, she noticed particles of dust now swirled and danced in a shaft of light, almost like a living thing. Her breath caught in her throat as the dust seemed to materialize into the form of a woman, her eyes dull with the same tortured despair and disbelief as the one in the portrait.

Katie jerked her head around for a closer look and blinked. The woman was gone.


About the author:

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Jessica James believes in honor, duty, and true love—and that’s what she writes about in her award-winning novels that span the ages from the Revolutionary War to modern day.

She is a three-time winner of the John Esten Cooke Award for Southern Fiction, and has won more than a dozen other literary awards, including a Readers' Favorite International Book Award and a Gold Medal from the Military Writers Society of America. Her novels have been used in schools and are available in hundreds of libraries including Harvard and the U.S. Naval Academy.



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Book Blitz: Treed by Virginia Arthur #fiction #politicalfiction #promo #ecofiction



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Eco-fiction, Political Fiction
Publisher: Ecological Outreach Services
Published: September 2018


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Because Trees Have Consequences

A consequence of getting older is current experiences inevitably get threaded to memories as Maybelline Emmons learns when she embarks on what she thinks will be a simple road trip to find a tree. She experiences something so confounding, painful, transformational--none of which she signed on for; her evenings drinking Pinot, watching her hummingbirds...this was always enough.

This passionate yet comic story revolves around efforts to save an old-growth tree but things go off the rails in a compelling, edge-of-your-seat way. Per Virginia Arthur's two previous novels, Treed will curl the tendrils of your heart and blow your leaves off.



Excerpt



Wiping tears off her face, she returned to the hotel where an envelope from Millicent was waiting for her.

Once in her room, she tossed the envelope on the chair and gave way to the bed. She stared at the ceiling. It had not even been 24 hours; there was still time. She called Millicent's cell phone. She left a message she was returning to Santa Barbara and to send any final paperwork to her address there, most importantly, the title.

The next morning she drove past the tree, a stone of dread in her gut. What if Tamara was right? No, she was the owner now. No one could legally touch the land, the tree, Millicent would see to that.

She was grateful for the long drive home even as her cell was alerting her she had messages. She turned it off.

Thoughts of the tree were now taking up all the space in her mind; space previously taken up by grief and loneliness was now replaced with "what the hell have I done?" Which was better?

"What the fuck?" she said out loud, surprising herself because she rarely if ever used this word. "What do I do?" she asked no one. Fence it? Cut the kids out? Where else would they 'hang out'? In the parking lots of their apartment complexes, the strip malls, the drugstores, behind their computers? There was no place for them. What about Tamara's grandfather? What would he say about cutting the kids out, off? "Make it into a park" is what Millicent said. What about liability? What if something happened? This is why people fence land off from other people. Would the insurance company force her to do this? Obviously the little old lady that owned it never did...Millicent knew all about these things. Millicent would guide her.



About the Author

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Virginia Arthur was born wild. She took to exploring the wilds of her new Ohio suburban jungle by the time she was ten, launching great birding expeditions in between backhoes and bulldozers. Her bird list grew shorter in direct correlation with the number of homes growing larger such that by the time she was 12, she was a raging environmentalist, before the word even existed. This delighted her parents to no end. She continued on this profoundly pointless and frustrating path by earning a B.S. in Field Biology and a M.S. in Botany (Ecology) only to continue the exploring, observing of a country at war with its natural self. She weaves these experiences into her novels. She has published three novels, all “comedic-drama”. Her first novel, Birdbrain, an eco-political fiction novel based on real life experiences, was published in 2014. Phat('s) Chance for Buddha in Houston (Or How I Spent My Summer Vacation), men's coming-of-age short fiction, was published in 2015. In September 2018, she published her latest, Treed, also eco-political fiction.


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Monday, June 17, 2019

Book Blitz: Karda by Sherrill Nilson #fantasy #scifi #promo



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Karda: Adalta Vol. I
Fantasy, Sci-fi
Publisher: Green Canoe, LLC


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On the beautiful world Adalta, an ancient threat emerges. Young Marta is dropped to the planet for her first secret mission alone. Raised by her father on an orbiting trade ship, he trained her for this - and to live by two rules: Don’t get attached. Don’t get discovered.

As cover for her mission, Marta joins the Mi’hiru, the all-female elite guard who patrol the skies on Karda, majestic hawk-headed flying horses.

On this planet where the only weapons allowed are arrows and swords, Marta discovers a high-tech weapon she knows could only come from her ship. Someone is smuggling them to use in the bitter power struggle between two noble brothers. She knows she must stop this threat, and she reluctantly joins forces with the handsome but arrogant Altan. As their connection grows, Marta struggles to keep her secret and to keep the rule of not getting attached.

As tensions rise and the ancient threat grows, will Marta accept the frightening elemental magic powers Adalta wants to give her to save the planet she loves?





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Other Books in the Adalta Fantasy/Sci-fi Series:




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Hunter: Adalta Vol II
Publisher: Green Canoe, LLC

Published: August 2018



Tessa, a young girl with a shattered dream, must unite with Galen, a young man with a shattered emotional shell.

Tessa’s dream to reclaim her trauma-blocked elemental talent and become a healer fractures when a powerful flying hawk-headed horse claims her as the Austringer, one who hunts with hawks. Instead of learning to heal, she must learn to kill the ancient evil arising on the planet.

Galen has no dream, and the emotions he can no longer hide threaten to explode. Assaulted by overwhelming elemental forces from the planet, he becomes the legendary Kern––with power over plants and soil he doesn’t believe in and doesn’t want.

When a blood-and-death magician releases an ancient alien imprisoned for centuries, its horrific creatures rise to kill everyone who threatens to block its returning powers and its invasion of the planet. Together Tessa the Hunter and Galen the Kern must fight this alien evil that threatens to enslave their planet.








Excerpt



The wagon slowed, and Bren poked an elbow into her ribs. Marta
caught herself on the side of the seat before she tumbled off and embarrassed herself. “Look there,” he said, pointing up through a break in the clouds. “Karda.”
Joy swelled in her chest, and she forgot to breathe. Two enormous
flying figures were high in the sky, wings outstretched as they circled
up a thermal. Sun glinted from bronze and gold wingtips. Their
forelegs were tucked under, hind ones stretched behind. Manes and
tails streamed.
“Oh, by the Lady Adalta,” Bren breathed. “Did you ever see
anythin' more beautiful?”
She watched the creatures rise ever higher into the sky, spread their
wings wide in a glide, and disappear into the clouds. And something
inside her shifted. Her whole body prickled with the need to see them
again. To get close to them. She grabbed the side of the wagon to
anchor herself. The few images the spy bugs had sent couldn't
compare. I can't believe I might fly on one of those beautiful beings. They are
magical. What if I’m rejected for the training program? What if my cover
story has too many holes?
Well-trained as she was at blending in on a new planet, the possibility of getting recalled or caught was too real. On this, her first mission alone she would not, could not, fail. A cold, hard knot formed in her stomach. Getting expelled was not the only danger. She was going to have to guard against commitment that went too deep. That might be worse than not being accepted. The beautiful horse-bodied, hawk-headed Karda filled her mind. A sharp, involuntary shiver shot up her spine. How could she not become attached to them? But Adalta
wasn't her home. She couldn’t stay here forever.


About the Author

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Sherrill Nilson used to raise horses. Now she writes about flying horses--with hawk heads and wicked talons.

Author of the Adalta Series, she's been a cattle rancher, horse breeder, environmentalist, mother of three, traveler to exotic places-even a tarot card reader. She's lived in Santa Fe and Ruidoso, NM, San Francisco, and Austin after leaving the hills of Eastern Oklahoma and her ranch.

She has a Ph.D. in East-West Psychology, and those studies opened her to the world of ancient myth and story. The rigor of writing so many papers and her dissertation suited her. She loves science fiction and fantasy and is a prolific reader.

One day she put the book she just finished down and thought, "I'm going to run out of books to read. I love imagined worlds. Maybe I could create my own." So she took a leap of faith and embarked on writing Karda and Hunter-the first two books in the Adalta series. She's now working on Falling, the third book, and lurking in the back of her mind is another series about the trees deciding whether or not to leave earth.

She lives, writes, and reads SciFi/fantasy in Tulsa, Oklahoma--back where she started as the oldest of seven kids (don't ask to drive), three of whom are writers who love telling each other how they should write. "Sometimes," she says, "They're mean to me and use too much red ink."

She doesn't have a dog, a cat, or even a bird, but she does have an old Volvo convertible and loves to drive around with the wind blowing her hair. It's how she gets her vitamin D.



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Sunday, June 16, 2019

Sale Blitz: Birth Right: Galak's Rising by Christina Goebel @lovegoldenheart #onsale #99pennies #fantasy #scifi #excerpt #giveaway



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Sci-fi Adventure, Dystopian Science Fiction Epic Fantasy
Date Published: June 4, 2019


$1.99 as an ebook.
$.99 as a matchbook with purchase of the print book.

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What do you do when the world’s greatest power has no conscience?

Two, not of blood, but joined in blood,

may conquer only as a selfless act of love.

-from The Prophecy of the Dancers of Silence



The illustrated dystopian science fiction epic fantasy BIRTH RIGHT TRILOGY depicts the first battles of a brutal war between humans, cyborgs, robots, and genetically enhanced beings. In the first book, BIRTH RIGHT: GALAK’S RISING, you are introduced to the Valki and Galak.

At the onset of a technological war that could destroy their race and the technology that made them superior, the genetically enhanced Valki traveled more than a century into the future.

In this new civilization, Galak, a cruel cyborg obsessed with creating his own race of superior beings, induces the remaining human feudal and native tribes to war against one another. To limit the Valki population, births are restricted to one per woman, unless they are twins. Galak demands that Valki teen twins compete for a Birthright, the right to have children—or be sterilized.

The courage of two young Valki women to resist Galak's law pits princes, kings, and mighty warriors against a merciless and powerful foe.

To save humanity, the girls, named only 99 and 100, and their allies must resist an opponent who has the field and technological advantages. Only those willing to sacrifice everything can defeat their enemies.



The BIRTH RIGHT TRILOGY explores the ethical implications of technology with adventure, romance, humor, and terror.



Kent Burles created the nineteen illustrations for GALAK’S RISING.





Excerpt



99 and 100 watch in horror from their upstairs window as two Galak warriors drag a girl toward the red doors of the Dall Building. Neither can guess what they are doing with her or what the young girl did to deserve arrest.

Below, the girl kicks and screams, then faints.

The G warriors shrug, and then pick her up and carry her inside the wooden building.

From their room, the girls look on, waiting for something to happen, but nothing does. The only movement below them is the dust sweeping across the dirt road.

99 and 100 look at one another, not believing what they have seen. Then, the girls smell the familiar scent of Lavora, a rare rose and lavender perfume, and turn to face their grandmother, Crystal.

Crystal’s forehead is fraught with concern. “Girls, what have you been doing?”

The two 14-year old girls cling to Crystal. 99, the most outspoken, speaks. “Grandma, a girl was arrested and taken inside the Dall Building. She was our age!”

“Who took her?” Crystal smooths the simple cotton skirt over her slim frame. She knows before she asks, though, that it has to do with Galak. Everything evil does. Why did Galak have to follow them here?

100 answers now. “The G Warriors. Were they kidnapping her?” Crystal pulls the girls closer. She hasn’t felt this frightened since she left Darissa da Vinci in 2071. “We’re not to interfere with them, dears. They work under Galak’s orders.”

“Who is Galak?” 99 asks as she brushes a long wisp of dark hair away from her face. If he’s important, she ought to know.

Crystal looks from 99 to 100, uncertain what their mother, Sila, would have her say.



About the Author

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Christina Goebel, M.A., was born in Texas and is a former secondary English teacher and statewide disability conference planner. When she began college, her goal was to earn a degree to be respected as a writer. She earned an associate degree in World Literature from Miami-Dade Community College, a bachelor's in Secondary English Education from Florida International University, and a master's in Journalism from the University of Texas at Austin.

Since her father was a computer programmer, Christina developed a curiosity about artificial intelligence and machine learning.

Christina is married and has son and a German Shepherd. Her son designed the book cover for BIRTH RIGHT: GALAK’S RISING. Christina's an avid traveler and has a read a part of a book most days of her life.

Other works by Christina Goebel: GoldenHeart: How to Love Humanity



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$1.99 as an ebook.
$.99 as a matchbook with purchase of the print book.

Friday, June 14, 2019

Release Blitz: Tales From the Beach House by James Aylott @BeachHouseNovel #fiction #promo #giveaway #excerpt #newrelease #releaseday



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Commercial Adult Fiction
Date Published: June 14th 2019
Publisher: Beautiful Arch


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Tales from The Beach House is a satiric work of fiction that sharply captures the “Man-Bites-Dog” world of contemporary South Florida. The Beach House, a crumbling old motel, is home to a collection of eccentric residents. Amongst their ranks; a tennis pro at the end of his game, a mortuary scientist whose love life has flat-lined, a paparazzo photographer searching for scoops, a bawdy duo fronting an improbable Ponzi enterprise, a beauty from “The Islands” with a dark secret, a fried-out TV weather man who claims to channel God, a middle school principal with a soft spot for Crack, a Rod Stewart cover artist searching for redemption, and a waitress serving a side order of erotic fiction. Each member of this cohort is in search of something – fast money, an easy hustle, fleeting romance, enduring love, fame, power, dignity, happiness… a place they can call home. As well as facing their own tender, tragic, and often hilarious personal circumstances, this eclectic gang is compelled by necessity to band together when a sinister developer threatens the very existence of The Beach House.



Excerpt

Contents

Greetings from FloriDuh!                                                       7

Apartment #1 Greyhound Departure                                     15

Apartment #2 Angel of Death                                                35

Apartment #3 Atlantic Crossing                                             53

Apartment #4 Dirty Laundry                                                   67

Apartment #5 The Wolf’s Lair                                                90

Apartment #6 Mayor of The Beach House                            111

Apartment #7 The Barbados Triangle                                   126

Apartment #8 The Intersections of Florida Life                     142

Apartment #9 Mental as Anything                                         169

Apartment #10 Midwestern Sensibilities                               195

Apartment #11 Fifty Shades of Delray                                   219

Apartment #12 Walking on Lake Okeechobee                      237

Bad Men from the North                                                        260

An Articulation of Particulars                                                 287

The Beach House                                                                  312



Apartment #12 Walking on Lake Okeechobee



Randy Showers stood outside the front door of Apartment #12, drinking his morning coffee. He drank only one hundred percent Hawaiian from the Ka’u region of the Big Island. He never added milk or sugar. Any “junk” put into what he said was the finest coffee in the world was, in his opinion, sacrilege.



Randy was well versed in sacrilege; after all, he was a collared Man of God who often told his flock that he personally channeled Jesus. From his elevated second-floor corner position, Randy had a good view of the hive of activity around The Beach House. Palm trees were bending in the force of strong, warm winds that were blowing from the direction of the Everglades. A team of surveyors was measuring up the property parcel with an array of fancy gadgets. A slow-moving and confused-looking man from FPL was tagging and flagging the route of the gas lines between the building and the street. A crew from Surf Way Developments could be seen busily cleaning vulgar graffiti that had appeared on the billboard advertising its new planned development – a large penis and balls in flamingo-pink spray paint wasn’t exactly exuding the dream of luxury that would soon be on offer in this locale. The swimming pool had already been drained and cordoned off to save the Homeowners’ Association spending money on cleaning services for the remainder of the building’s existence. All these events and commotions only added to the general glumness and end-of-days feel circulating around The Beach House.



All the tenants had been served a thirty-days notice to vacate. Pete and Angel, with their inside knowledge as owners, said it was almost certain that nothing could be done to halt the sale, as it had been a binding majority of title holders who had pushed through the deal. Paperwork had been processed, permits pulled, and the City and State had all signed off on the condominium termination and the replacement project. The city of Delray had been overzealous in accommodating this development – no doubt seeing all the extra dollars that increased assessment on the new building would bring to their coffers. The State was also unexpectedly helpful. They hadn’t relished the impending takeover of this dysfunctional Homeowners’ Association, as it would have been real work for some happily underworked Tallahassee civil servants. The owners were simply ecstatic to be rid of their real-estate headaches and were united in satisfaction that the beasts that were Bessie and Gabriel, if not slain, would soon become someone else’s problem.



The people who lived at The Beach House and called that place home were, of course, the real victims of this tragedy of events. Pete and Angel, not that they wanted to leave The Beach House, would be paid out for their property and could easily start afresh someplace else with the proceeds. Bessie and Gabriel would be made homeless, but the consensus was that “you reap what you sow,” and this entire mess was down to their crazy out-of-control antics. The remaining tenants were in another situation altogether. With their bad credit, cheap rent deals, police rap sheets, lack of references and short-term horizons, they would struggle to find local digs where certain questions by landlords weren’t asked. Tonight there was a residents’ meeting with the aim of attempting to halt the redevelopment; but at best this was seen as a feel-good Hail Mary with little chance of success and more likely just an excuse to have a party.



“Fuck me Jesus,” were the strong and unchristian words that came from Reverend Randy Showers’ mouth as he witnessed a fleet of police cars pulling up all around The Beach House. They’ve finally nailed me, he thought. Randy, from his high-ground vantage point, counted at least six vehicles, half marked, and the rest black SUVs with blue lights bolted onto the roof. He slugged back the remainder of his coffee knowing that, if he were lucky, he would be getting truck stop Joe once they had hauled him to jail. Randy knew there was always a chance that this day would come. Not only was there a likelihood that his past would catch up with him, but there was also a looming menace that his present would bite him firmly in the ass. At the very least, he was reassured that he was wearing a pair of clean underpants and his hair looked good. A man with a C-list celebrity resume and a local standing in the church community needed to look cool and classy in the obligatory police mug shot.



As a young, fresh-faced graduate with a liberal arts degree from a South Carolina university, Randy, like many in his position, had no idea what job he was equipped to do. After deep conversations with the careers department he could only come up with a slush pile of jobs he had no interest in. Needing to pay his way through life, he used his fallback good looks and his given name, and signed himself up with a stripper agency.



It was while working a bachelorette party, undressing as a character cop, that a fortunate encounter would take place. On occasion, upon demand, he would give a little “extra service” for a tip. It just so happened that the guest at this party who had paid to play with his baton and cuffs was a high-flying female television executive with local Charleston network WCIV. Upon getting up-close and personal with his good looks and learning that Randy Showers was his real name, the woman told him, “Do I have a job for you!” Randy was hired as an on-camera weatherman for the local evening news. It didn’t matter that he had no meteorological education or television experience. This job was all about looking good in front of a camera and reading a teleprompter. However, the name Randy Showers was the real clincher for this job, as it was the perfect catchy byline for a primetime local television weatherman.



For twenty-five years Randy was Mr. Weather in the Greater Charleston area. He loved getting out of the studio for big events, such as standing on a beach and being blown around in a hurricane, filing his report from a kayak floating on a submerged street during a flood, or going on air shirtless during a heat wave. For a man with zero formal training in this profession he was the consummate local weatherman’s weatherman and won numerous regional awards. However, a local weatherman is also expected to be a trusted pillar of the community, and this part of the gig Randy only half-embraced. He was good at turning on Christmas tree lights, opening new school libraries and being a member of that bright-teethed WCIV team that delivered “dependable news”, but he had one major off-screen flaw – he was a crazed womanizer with a chronic sex addiction. Randy was amazed at just how much of a pull being a local television weatherman was to the ladies. Interns, fellow anchors, women he encountered on promotional appearances and generally anything in a skirt he chased. For twenty-five years his employers somehow managed to pay no attention to the ethics clause in his contract, and like a modern-day Don Juan, Randy thought nothing could ever put a stop to his bed-hopping ways.

While Randy kept his looks as youthful as possible with tax-deductable investments in hair plugs, dental veneers and Botox, these weren’t enough to defy a changing environment. It was a slightly sleazy and embarrassing affair that had been brought to the attention of a new generation of station executives that would lead to his downfall.



During a Friday-night live weather report broadcast from a local High School football game, Randy managed to lure and subsequently corrupt two teenage cheerleaders. In his defense, they may have been sixteen but he swore they had the bodies of eighteen year olds and were experienced in the ways of pleasing a man like a woman of thirty. It was not the first time that Randy had descended on the slippery slope of jailbait, but it wasn’t so easy in the modern era to get away with it when the girls posted incriminating evidence on Facebook. Possibly it was all used as an excuse by management to bring in a cheaper, younger guy. Perhaps it really was a different era where feminist ethics were not only preached but also practiced. The parents came to a deal with the station. Randy was released from his contract, the cheerleaders were given hush money and the hope was that the authorities and the women’s rights attorney Gloria Allred would stay well away. However, there was a statue of limitations that had not expired, and in the eyes of the law it was rape, and a payoff would not save him if the girls ever chose to press charges.



Like many shamed criminals who had escaped hard time, Randy headed to Florida for a fresh start. He knew he would never be hired as a weatherman again, as he was too old and too many questions about his past would be asked. The only other career that he had not tried that fitted in with his catchy name was that of a porn star. Randy was realistic though, and his stamina and girth were just not up to par. Not wanting to put to waste the investments he had made in that artificial television smile and lush carpet of unnatural hair, he did the only thing he thought he was suited for… he started a church ministry.



Reverend Showers, a name he could legally use after the religious crash-course certification he found on the back pages of the National Enquirer, had a good ring to it. He chose a poor African-American area of inland Palm Beach County to start his church, as the black community was religious and would be enthralled by a minor white celebrity priest. However, more importantly, ebony-skinned women were not his thing, so he wouldn’t have to worry about letting his dick interfere with God’s work.



For premises he sublet an underused synagogue. Most of the Jews in that area had moved to better parts of the county and this temple currently sat empty. He had been running his Rainbow Church for just over two years and he would modestly say in public that it had been a great success. In private, though, he would admit that it was all a bit of a racket. Reverend Showers was little more than a smarmy middle-aged snake-oil salesman who, if he weren’t selling God to the gullible, would be selling those same people timeshares on the beach.



Randy had one unfulfilled ambition – he wanted to make it big on a national level. Back in his heyday he had applied for network weather jobs but was never successful. He blamed these fruitless attempts on not having a diverse look, never thinking it could have anything to do with a lack of scientific training. So Randy viewed his new ministry as a way of finally becoming a household celebrity. All he needed to take himself into the top division of men-of-the-cloth was to perform a miracle. The one he had in mind was walking on water, and not just any body of water but Florida’s own Lake Okeechobee. Randy was certain that if he could make it appear that he was gliding over Florida’s largest lake, the national attention would elevate him to the type of riches that even network weatherman could only dream of. Randy was now devoting all his time and money into making this illusion happen. He had reached out to David Copperfield for help and was studying expensive manuals by magicians, as he knew there had to be a way to make this miraculous feat occur.

It was Randy’s consuming devotion to performing this miracle that could have been another reason for his impending arrest, as he was guilty of theft and embezzlement from his church. The donations that his devoted parishioners put in his tray were diverted straight into his pocket. Admittedly, some of it was used to keep the lights on at the church, but the majority was for his living expenses and funding the continued exploration of performing his illusion.



As the police descended on The Beach House, Randy’s main thought was what lawyer he would use. The charge of statutory rape would be easy to defend, as he could find one of those mud-slinging vultures who would paint a picture of those two fresh-faced cheerleaders as the dirtiest harlots in the whole of Charleston. The church embezzlement charges would be a little trickier to evade. Randy hadn’t hidden the money trail very well, often paying for hair-restoration treatment directly from the ministry’s checking account. Then there were the escort girls who were on the church books. That would also be a problem. At the start of his “Finding the Lord” phase, Randy had worked out that the best way of staying out of trouble was to relieve any extra holy spirit via paid ladies.



In the light of day, Randy’s activities looked uglier than a bag of hairless cats and he might just have to plead guilty and strike a deal. Whatever happened, it would be hard to escape from this monster of a self-created mess. What then for him? A man who had fallen from grace for two heinous successive “lapses of judgment” would be somewhat challenged to find a new place in the world. It would certainly be hard to live off his connection with Jesus again, although he would have name recognition and good looks for a man of his age so he could always try his hand at politics. That seemed to be an eternally forgiving line of work. Randy was amazed just how much clarity he was having in what was likely to be his final thirty seconds of freedom.



About the Author

 photo James Aylott Author Tales from The Beach House_zpsn2o8ohed.png
James Aylott was previously a Hollywood paparazzo photographer and staffer at an American supermarket tabloid. This is the author’s first work of fiction, although he was often creative in his career of entertainment newsgathering and hated letting the truth interfere with a good story. A prior resident of Delray Beach, Florida he is currently embedded in St. Louis, Missouri researching his follow up novel: Tales of Whiskey Tango from Misery Towers.




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Available on the Apple Bookstore
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Paperback $15.99 (ISBN: 978-0-578-47956-9) pp. 320
eBook $3.99 (ISBN: 978-0-578-47957-6)

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