From Imagination To Publication

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

ADIOS Release Day!

Title: Adios
Series: Stories about Melissa, book 6
Author: Bethany Lopez
Genre: Contemporary Young Adult
Cover Design: Makeready Designs
Junior year is halfway over and Melissa is thrilled to be going with Jess, Jimmy, and Brian to Cabo San Lucas for Spring Break. Things at home haven't been great, and she could use the break that the sun and sand of Mexico is sure to bring. But things don't go as planned and the perfect vacation changes things for Melissa and her friends. Will the damage done be permanent and will life at home ever get back to the way it used to be?
Special Release Week Price - $.99


Unable to keep it to myself any longer, I’d told Megan, hoping she’d talk it out with me and maybe keep an eye on things with them while I was gone.
Boy, was I wrong.
“That’s nice,” she’d replied when I told her. She didn’t even look away from her Kindle to acknowledge that I’d spoken.
“Yeah, Megan, I hope so. This is our parents I’m talking about. Can you at least look at me?”
I stood over her bed, looking down as I waited for her response, and … nothing.
She just kept on reading.
“You’re turning into a real jerk, you know that?”
“Takes one to know one,” was her witty response.
“You know what, I’m not going to let you do it. You aren’t making me mad so that I jump on top of you and start a fight … Nuh uh, I’m not messing up this trip for anything. So you can go ahead and sit there, with your greasy head, stuck in your stupid book, and forget I said anything. And make sure you don’t touch any of my stuff while I’m gone.”
With all of that said, I’d whirled around and stomped down the stairs.
When I heard her yell out, “Whatever,” I bit back the scream of frustration in my throat.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

If you haven't read the other books in this YA series, now's the perfect time to get caught up!


The Stories about Melissa series is a coming of age series that follows Melissa, her family, and her friends. Similar to Sweet Valley High, each book is novella length. There will be eight books in the series.

Stories about Melissa reading order:
Ta Ta for Now! (Book 1, FREE)
xoxoxo (Book 2, 99cents)

Ciao (Book 3, 99cents)

TTYL (Book 4, 99cents)

With Love (Book 5, 99cents)

Monday, December 14, 2015

Monday Morning Sneak Peek - CHAMPION'S DESTINY by Tyrean Martinson

Did a weekend of reading leave you wanting more? 
Sneaking peeks of your newest novel from under
your desk at work? 

For the eternal is your 
Monday Morning Sneak Peek!


CHAMPION'S DESTINY by Tyrean Martinson

The Battle

May Be Lost 

Because of a Family Secret.

With distracting attention from a prince and her mentors both in harm's way, will Clara be able 

to trust her team with her family secret as they race to fight the Dark Sisterhood on their terms? 

Champion's Destiny is the third book in The Champion Trilogy, a Christian Fantasy series with a 

strong female heroine and an epic cast of allies and villains.

Clara’s destiny is more complicated than she imagined.


Light pierced the darkness. The shaft brightened and the dark receded to a high tower of ebony stone standing tall above an ebony fortress surrounded by sea and a desert wasteland. Clara found herself drawn to the tower until she was standing at the top balcony, looking over a giant battlefield on one side and a sea battle on the other side. It was a scene of devastation and she was alone, completely alone.
Clara woke with a start with her hand on the hilt of her sword, which glowed faintly in the dusky darkness before dawn.
An owl hooted nearby in a throaty, satisfied series of sounds. She wasn’t alone. The desert held many creatures despite its barren appearance. Owls, rodents, snakes, and lizards all seemed most active in the space between night and true dawn, and between day and true night.
Clara remembered her early childhood in the Desert Hall of Septily; she would wake early with her father’s prayers and watch her mother go out to scout the edge of the Desert Hall lands. She held onto the memory of her father’s voice, her mother’s hug – hard from her armor and yet soft as she kissed Clara’s cheek. She had to hold onto the memory of them.
Tears slipped from her eyes, and she wiped them away.
She thought of her dream. She hoped it wasn’t a vision of the future. She couldn’t stand to be more alone than she already was; she couldn’t lose anyone else. “Please Lord,” she murmured, praying through the tangle of emotions that she couldn’t quite put into words. “Please.”
A sense of peace passed over her, and she took a deep breath. The Lord seemed to understand her cry for help, even if she didn’t have the right words to say.
Still wrapped in her cloak with her head pillowed by her extra clothes bag, Clara listened to the sounds of the encampment and turned slowly to face the fire pit.
Someone had piled some fresh wood on the fire to prepare for breakfast. Across the new flames flickering up the wood, she could see Liam’s handsome features as he inspected his hands. He held the right one up in front of him, and turned it back and forth, as if amazed by it. He had regained his right arm after the Lord had lifted his curse and healed him.
Clara had been a part of that, but she didn’t really feel responsible for it. The Lord worked through her, when He chose to do so. It wasn’t her power. However, she didn’t quite know what to do with Liam’s obvious interest in her. At first, she thought he had some lingering admiration for her as a healer, or as the Champion of Aramatir. Other people had reacted that way in the past. But, it wasn’t that, or it wasn’t just that. Every time she glanced at him, he seemed to be looking at her. If she had been a normal girl in a normal place and not the Champion about to embark on an attack on the Dark Sisterhood’s fortress, she might have felt . . . something she couldn’t feel right now. She couldn’t allow herself to form that kind of attachment. She turned her gaze away from him.
Stelia sat to the side of the camp, her figure outlined by the swift-approaching dawn. Sharpening one of her knife blades with her whetstone, she looked fierce and sorrowful all at once. Her graying light brown hair was pulled back in severe braids and it seemed that she even slept in her armor, for Clara hadn’t seen her without it since they had lost Dantor to the forces of the Dark Sisterhood and the Drinaii.
Clara was worried about her, and she was worried about Dantor. What must he be enduring at the hands of his captors? And, was he still even alive? They had found no trace of him despite tracking down several groups of the Sisterhood and the Drinaii after the battle at the Healing Caves in the Canyonlands. And now, the trail was cold from three months of waiting through the Allied Council’s deliberations and politics.
The Allied Council had finally routed out the Trader’s Guild spies and sent most of the Trader’s back to Mochant. New traders had stepped forward to take supplies from one country and one place to another, and every trade ship and caravan was supplied with a member of the Triune Halls to “guide them” in the ways of the Triune Halls and ensure the legality of their trading.
Clara took a moment and prayed for Salene and William. They had endured a great deal of nastiness form the Trader’s Guild and had dealt with them fairly. Salene had proven herself as Lady-Protector and William had proven himself as King of Septily. She hoped they would stay back away from the fighting in the coming battle with the Sisterhood, but she knew they wouldn’t. They just weren’t that sort of royalty.
A padded but distinct footfall broke Clara away from her musings.
Klyan, her griffin friend and Wing Partner, had returned from his morning hunt looking satisfied.
Clara rolled out her cloak and stood to greet him, resting her head on his feathered shoulder. He raised his wing and ruffled her hair.
“Did you have a good hunt?”
“We did. Zoreth and I brought down a few of those scarce desert deer. All of the griffins have had their fill and we will be able to go without food for at least a day or two since we only have a short flight today to get into position.”
Clara nodded. She let go of him and started putting on her armor. “I’m glad we get to fly today.”
“Any day we fly is a good day.” Klyan stretched his wings out and then wrapped them in close to his body. “I must take my early morning nap with the others, but I wanted to greet you before Stelia got her claws in you.”
“Thank you,” Clara said. “You have become like family to me, Klyan.”
“And you to me, Clara, as it should be between Wing Partners.” He ducked his head slightly and rubbed the top of her hair gently with his beak.
Clara smiled, and rubbed his cheek. The best part of waiting for three months to put her plan of attack into action had been the Wing Partner Ceremony in Aerland. It had been hard, meeting Adrian’s parents, who had been gracious to her, and his brother, who had been extremely quiet around her, but the rest of the Ruling Seat of Aerland had given her a warm welcome. Klyan’s Wing Partnership had been assured and now they knew they could fly together as long as the Lord willed it.
“Have a good rest, my feathery-brother.” She gave him one last hug and then grabbed her helmet.
Walking over to Stelia, she avoided Liam by the fire. “Forms, then sparring practice?”
“Of course.” Stelia sheathed her knife, and gestured to the small practice ground they had cleared yesterday.
Clara swung her sword through the forms, enjoying the bright swoop of light from her sword as it cut through the air. Faster and faster, she went through the formal forms of Septilian Sword Masters, then switched to the Drinaii forms taught to her by Stelia, and then into street-fighting stances. She loved the balanced feel of the leather-wrapped pommel in her hands, the whoosh of the blade as it swept through the air, and the smell of her own sweat rising on her skin. She smiled to herself a she came to her finally parry position, on guard for any opponent. Not many girls, she supposed, really liked the smell of their own sweat, but Clara loved every element of her sword form and fighting practice.
“Nicely done,” said Stelia form her right. “I think we’re both warmed up enough to spar, and the others will join us shortly.”
Clara sheathed her sword of power and picked up a half-staff as a practice sword. It wouldn’t be the same as a practice sword, but it was lightweight, strong, and fit alongside a pack for long journeys. Plus, Captain Ivailo from Aerland and Perren, the Rrysorrian falconer, had been teaching her how to use two half-staffs as battle weapons.
Stelia and Clara bowed to each other and then tested each other with short circling steps and small jabs. Stelia gave Clara an opening, but Clara didn’t take it, knowing that it was a feint designed to draw her in too close. Finally, Clara took a step to the side and one forward, making a cut with her half-staff towards Stelia’s arm.
Stelia parried and riposted in nearly one motion, beating Clara’s practice weapon to the side and down. Clara jumped back to avoid Stelia’s jab, and parried with a riposte to Stelia’s elbow. Stelia grimaced and started to swap weapon hands.
Even off-handed, Stelia could out-fight most of the other Sword Masters of the Triune Halls, but in the moment that she switched, Clara changed the pattern of her steps, and came in for another strike.
Stelia parried, but the tip of Clara’s staff slid across Stelia’s breastplate.
Stelia used her staff to press against Clara’s blade and came in for a hard strike on Clara’s forearm.
Clara winced involuntarily, and Stelia waved her back. “Enough. I don’t want us to seriously injure each other the day before the real battle. It’s enough to warm up and remind us of our working muscles. Tonight, we will only do forms.”
A tight chuckle behind Clara made her spin on her heel to see Perren, the Rrysorrian ambassador and falconer. He stood just a few feet behind her, resting lightly on the balls of his feet with his hands draped over his hips. He looked relaxed, from the top of his slightly grizzled gray head to the soles of his leather boots, but she didn’t underestimate him. In the last three months, she had seen how he could stalk prey with or without his hawks and fight with a variety of distance weapons, different staff lengths, and even with two long hunting knives. She sometimes wondered at his past, but he didn’t talk of himself much.
“It’s about time you started showing some sense, blade master,” he simply said now, directing his words to Stelia.
“Master Stelia is one of the finest Sword Masters in all of Aramatir,” Clara stated firmly. “She always shows sense with weapons.”
Perren cocked his head at her slightly, as if he were one of his own hawks, measuring her with his eyes. “I meant no insult, Champion. I don’t think it’s wise to spar with weapons the day before a battle, even if you’re the Champion and she’s the finest weapon master of all the known world.”
“He has a point, Clara.” Stelia joined their conversation. She nodded to Perren. “I saw you out of the corner of my eye when we were sparring, frowning at us in that way you have before you start spouting the wisdom of the ages.”
Perren’s lips quirked. “The word of the wise brings healing, Sword Master.”
Stelia shook her head, “But even the fool looks wise when he keeps silent.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “I know you’re both teachers, but I would think that you would both know that the Lord fights our battles, if we would but keep silent.”
Perren nodded. “It is good that the Lord has gifted you both with knowledge and wisdom, as well as strength. I could not follow you into the coming battle if it was otherwise, and I certainly would not let my Prince do so, either.”
Liam walked up and put his arm around Perren’s broad shoulders. “Master Perren, I am the thirteenth prince of a kingdom laid to waste by the Dark Sisterhood and the Drinaii. I hold more consequence as your apprentice and as a member of the Champion’s battle party than I do at home, or as an ambassador to any land.”
“Your family cares for you, and you know it, Prince Liam.”
Clara realized the depth of worry the falconer had for his charge, considering she had only heard him call him ‘Prince’ Liam a handful of times in the last three months. “If staying back and signaling the allied ships and legions is better for you both, than I think you should . . .”
“No,” Liam stepped in between her and Perren, staring down at her with hazel brown eyes. “I won’t leave your side, Cla . . . Champion. You saved me and the Lord called me.” He held out his staff to her, the one infused by crystal that had appeared in the Healing Caves for him. “I will wield this to protect you in the coming battle, and you and my Master Perren cannot stop it from happening. It is my destiny.”
Clara felt like he had punched her in the gut with his words. Adrian had sacrificed himself for her, believing it was his destiny. She had only known him for a day and had loved him in that time. Now, Liam, whom she had been trying to ignore for months now, wanted to die for her, too? She couldn’t let it happen. It couldn’t be his destiny. She wouldn’t let it be. What kind of Champion would she be if young men kept doing her job for her?
“We will see about your destiny when it comes,” she whispered, and then she turned away to walk to where she hoped Klyan lay sleeping. Her eyes were tight with anger and sorrow, and she didn’t want Liam thinking he needed to protect her.

Saturday, December 12, 2015

Funniest Writer Blog Ever.

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Monday, December 7, 2015

Monday Morning Sneak Peek - THE LIGHT YOU CANNOT TOUCH by Erin York

Did a weekend of reading leave you wanting more? 
Sneaking peeks of your newest novel from under
your desk at work? 

For the eternal is your 
Monday Morning Sneak Peek!



THE LIGHT YOU CANNOT TOUCH explores the many kinds of love through expressive poetry in the voice of award-winning LGBTQ author, Erin York. 

In the words of others: "THE LIGHT YOU CANNOT TOUCH is raw, wild, surprising, unafraid, and spry with flares of unforgettable brilliance." 
--Savannah Thorne, executive director of Balkan Press and managing editor of Conclave: A Journal of Character. 

"Erin York leaves no doubt that she's a writer of heart and vitality in these moving poems. She's one to watch, one to listen for when you need poetry to take you to places only the heart knows." 
--Allison Joseph, My Father's Kites: Poems and editor-in-chief of Crab Orchard Review 

"Erin York takes her reader from innocence to experience, through loss and gain, through the tangled bodies of love in unexpected ways." 
--Maryfrances Wagner, Red Silk, winner of the Thorpe Menn Book Award and co-editor of the I-70 Review.

  Not Famous.
But Forever.
first published in Glass: A Journal of Poetry2013

This spring replaced a dozing winter—
one where the sky opened its blue eyes to snow
only twice—
For Emerson Babylon, this spring rose from orchid buds
whose hard-shelled heads unwound for the sun,
whose parasitic feet wove beneath leftover leaves.
But because his eyebrows turned to hanging icicles—
their black scuff marks now faded to the winter—
he left his Pacific lodging and marched East.

Even after all these seasons,
he still searched for something right.

Maybe he went mad from all the walking, but
he kicked up fairy dust and flower petals
on his way to the end of the world.
Or Oklahoma.
He took root in red dirt and waited
for the apocalypse. The Second Coming.
Oh, and he ate ice cream.
For days.

Another spring:
Emerson dropped his Albuquerque satchel
inside a too-small café. Papers became birds in flight.

One, he saw, nested in
her lap.

That woman. He’d snuck candy glimpses 
of her sun-washed hair.
Now, he had a new perspective—
Her eyes.
Beneath her brow’s penumbra,
they were two fountain pens
that inked a blue life spring.
A brand-new, silver-coated, chocolate-centered beginning.
One not raised from the apocalypse or a tragic end.
Like zombies.

He asked her to dinner.
She said yes.

In another season, when all the world was falling,
he learned she understood stonework.
Before they married, she told him, “We’ll build together—
—Our home and ourselves.”
So they mixed clay with the blood from their calluses until
the bricks that sheathed their house became their body.
And they could not leave it.

One night, when each orchid outside died,
and winter returned in waves like blankets,
she drew him into their bed,
folded covers into paper hats,
and laid a naked self before him.
They had been two, he realized,
as he unwound her and wove in his roots.
Now, they were one.

And he could not leave her.
And that was right.

A Sideline to Death
first published in Puff Puff Prose Poetry and a Play2013

He says—

You spend your days dying
and log the time it takes,
while I discover my ulcer.

You tell me only two more weeks.

Two weeks until doctors
invade like the rapist does
and tug free the jump rope
and pink kickball, those
women parts whose names
I could never bring myself to say.

You tell me to leave flowers,
the fake kind, on your bedside
because they are the only ones
that last.

Okay, we have two weeks
until writing checks and wills and letters,
two weeks until signing them all,
as though they mean the same thing.

Well, go on then.
I’ll chew Tums in the waiting room
and remember the spring morning
when we had our whole lives
ahead of us.

What an age that was.

The stars were cracks in Heaven’s floor.
And God was an astronaut,
tethered, in a white suit,
to a place of safety.

The Light You Cannot Touch
first published in The Screech Owl2014

Can you tell me the age where life
turns its roaring corner,
and the places you see
on the side of the road take speed?

For poetry’s sake, let’s say
the perfect age is thirteen.

Your world will be
brightest that year.
You’ll fall for the first time
with a girl or a boy.

Your nerve endings
will stretch through your pores,
and when your skin is electric,
you’ll try to forget you’re soft.


Let your world stay glazed
for a moment longer.
Let your youth shine
like light through dandelion seeds.

Take time to smell the dirt.
Catch rain as it falls through the trees.
Hold your kitten close
and your first dog as he dies.

You don’t know it yet,
but after your thirteenth year,
they’ll drug you with money, with speed,
with things that aren’t living.

Then you’ll remember all your pain.
Those memories, you could paint
on all the bills you’ll pay
on all the walls of all your empty rooms.

Your life will become a blur.
But I hope there will be moments,
like when you first see God,
that cause you to take pause, 

that will show you the light
you cannot touch.