Archive | November 2015

Dayna’s Miracles

She had loved. And she had lost.

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Dayna Stone had lost her husband eight years earlier when their daughter, Khloe, was only four months old. She had survived the devastating loss of her husband, only to find out she’d likely lose her daughter as well to cancer.

Eddie Kringle is captivated by his beautiful neighbor and her equally beautiful daughter. Born a Magi, Eddie has issues coming to grips that Magi magic cannot cure the child, though his father, Kris, is more than capable. He and Dayna lean on each other as the days pass.

They grow closer and a bond is formed.

A tragedy befalls them on Thanksgiving. Can their love, and the intense love they feel for Khloe, be the miracle they are looking for?



Grabbing his wallet and keys off the countertop, he exited

his domicile and bounded down the stairs. By the time he reached

the bottom, a sheen of sweat beaded his brow. His T–‐‑shirt clung to

his back. Breathing underwater would probably be easier than

sucking in the damp air.

The choice of cargo shorts and his favorite flip–‐‑flops would

make excellent attire for a visit to the North Pole. Not. Like he’d

wear cold weather clothes on a day hot enough to melt asphalt.

Eddie stepped into the side alley next to the apartment

complex. He turned his head, which became insubstantial, light as

air. His body followed, becoming a mist, blending with the

moisture in the air, invisible to the naked eye.

The trip to the pole took minutes. He coalesced, twisting and

spinning as his body whorled into his human form seconds before

he landed at his parents’ doorstep. The blood thundered through

him, his heart pounding as it did when he transformed.

Snow covered his feet, slipping between his soles and his

flip–‐‑flops. Not feeling fond of the sensation, he entered the home,

closing the door with a solid thud. He slid the soggy footwear off

and wiped his feet on the mat. A sigh passed his lips when he

stepped onto the heated floor.

“Wow. Two visits in one month. What did we do to deserve

this?” said a sarcastic voice from behind Eddie.

He turned and glared at Barry the elf. Eddie nearly had two

solid feet on Barry so he crowded the elf and loomed over him. To

his credit, Barry stood toe–‐‑to–‐‑toe with him, staring directly into his

eyes, not giving an inch. To irritate the little person, he ruffled

Barry’s curling black hair, much like he’d do to a four–‐‑year–‐‑old.

Barry slapped his hand away. “Knock it off.”

“What are you gonna do? Kick me in the shin?”

Eddie yelped when Barry did just that. Unlike the stories one

hears at Christmas, elves don’t wear slipper–‐‑like shoes that curl at

the end. They wear steel–‐‑toed work boots.

Eddie hopped on one leg while holding his sore shin. “You

little jerk. I was joking.”

Barry’s laughter reverberated around the foyer. He spun on

his heel, murmuring, “I wasn’t.”




About the Author:

I live in South Central Pennsylvania with my husband and daughter. My son serves his country in the US Navy.

My parents instilled a love of reading into my brother and me at an early age. I’ve been known to have my nose buried in a novel.

When not writing, I’m watching television. Most likely sports or shows like American Pickers, Wheeler Dealers, Rizzoli and Isles, or Major Crimes.

Meet TC Booth


TC Booth was born and raised in a small town in Northeast Ohio where she currently teaches. She lives with her husband and four children ranging in ages from 13-23. Her pets include one dog named Sammy, and two cats- Sheldon and Sasha.

TC Booth views books as the best form of entertainment and her escape for life’s stresses. She prefers reading a book over watching a movie, and writing over almost any other way to spend her time.

When not attending her children’s sporting events and running them around, you’ll see her writing on her laptop, iPad, and even jotting ideas down on her phone apps.

She enjoys the escape from the adult universe into the adolescent world. The passion in which young people experience life is contagious and the driving force of her writing.

 Author Social Media Links:




After a freak accident left Starla Emerson with a deformed hand, her self-esteem dropped and her anxiety rose. She tries desperately to avoid attention at Cedar High. Star relies on her best friend Ally for moral support, along with her crush worthy boyfriend Jared.

Starla’s world is turned upside down when her family moves. She finds herself the new girl at Centerville High School where she’s the target of an Internet bully. Newfound friends help Starla plan a counter attack to expose the bully. The plan backfires and lands Star in a mountain of trouble.  Will she have the courage to be honest about who was involved in her plan? Once the truth is out…there’s no turning back.


I left one shelf bare for my memory boxes. I stacked the shoe-sized cardboard boxes so their labels showed. Freshman Year, Sophomore Year, Junior Year. The first two boxes were filled with memories that I collected to keep safe. My Junior Year box felt empty. I removed its lid and took out the orchard ticket stub, the pictures of the guys wrestling in the dark, and a dried purple rose. Jared handed me the rose at school the morning of Sweetest Day. I could only guess what might fill my box the rest of the year. Will I even make any new friends? How would people react when they saw my hand? They’d probably think I’m the creepy new girl and be grossed out by my claw. I took a deep breath and put the box back.

A piece of paper stuck out from between the pages of one of my books. I tugged it free and unfolded it. It was a note Jared wrote to me about two months after we started going out.


Please don’t be mad at me for the whole TBH thing. I just didn’t know what to say to Jan. I shouldn’t have said anything. I like you a lot! You are my girl. I don’t want anyone else.

Love, Jared

 A sigh escaped me. I never got the whole TBH—to be honest—thing. You opened yourself up for drama if you posted a picture with the letters TBH online. A girl named Jan did that and Jared took the bait. He had to honestly say something about her, so he commented under the picture that she was cute. My phone blew up with text messages telling me about it. I cried and sent Jared a text telling him I wanted to break up. I felt so stupid. The entire student body of Cedar High knew Jared told another girl she was cute. He slipped me the note during Algebra class the next day. I forgave him.




The Goblin Gambit by Mark Mattison

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Daelaron the warrior has nothing in common with the crimson-haired pixie named Torch. But they soon find common cause when they meet at the Temple of Eluán, a dangerous portal through which otherworldly goblins threaten their world.

Their quest to secure the key to closing the portal — a crystal relic known as the Dragon Talon — leads them to faraway lands, unexpected dangers, and surprising but shifting alliances. Can they turn the tide of war before it’s too late?



“It seems our options are dwindling,” he told the towering ogre.

“Why can’t the magickal spirit summon her mighty powers?” asked Block.

“Her glass prison constrains her magick,” Daelaron responded. “If we could free her, she could summon the elements and bring them to our aid.”

“Leave that to me,” Block said.

Lord Gravenrael ascended the steps to the platform and faced the townspeople, long, red banners unfurling behind him. Executioners with blazing torches approached the wooden mounds and stood at attention, ready to set the pyres on fire at a moment’s notice.

“Good citizens of Maelvea,” Gravenrael bellowed, “This day is our resolve proudly displayed before all the malevolent forces which threaten our peace and tranquility. Evil monsters and devilish conjurers alike stand judged, and soon they will know what fate befalls any who dare to disrupt our peace and prosperity!” Crowds erupted in applause, enthusiastically cheering their liege.

Daelaron looked over at Block with a questioning face. For his part, Block gritted his teeth as he leaned forward and pulled against the pole that held him tight.

A collective gasp rose from the crowds as Block’s post began to rock. Gravenrael frowned as he hastened his speech.

“Let the miscreants of chaos burn until their menace is neutralized once and for all!” Gravenrael pronounced, motioning toward the guards with the flaming torches. They rushed to set the kindling on fire.

Block grimaced and groaned as he pulled harder against the post. Smoke bellowed from the kindling and flames spread through the mounds of lumber.

“Now is the time,” Daelaron urged, alarm rising in his voice. Torch stood straight up in her glass cage, wings twitching, a pensive look on her small face.

With a final roar Block pulled forward. A terrible creaking noise followed, then an ear-shattering crack as Block’s thick post snapped at the base. The crowds shrieked and ran. Armed guards converged on the site as Lord Gravenrael fled from the makeshift platform.

Block laughed as he bent over and turned, swinging the post over Daelaron’s and smacking the glass container holding Torch. Her container fell from its post and shattered on the smoldering logs below. With a victorious shout, Torch sprang up from the flames, glittering sparks flying everywhere. Daelaron grinned.

Paenal raced to the front line of armed guards, sword raised as pandemonium erupted. “Do not let them escape the flames!” he yelled. Dozens of armed guards shouted as one and surged around the burning pyres.

Torch flew higher as Block pulled apart his chains and grabbed the pole binding Daelaron. With a grunt, he yanked the pole from its foundations, freeing the warrior, and snapped the chains binding his arms as well.

Torch flung her arms wide and the flames around the base of the pyres flew outward, cascading over the surrounding guards and setting their shields on fire. They stumbled back as Block swept up Daelaron and ran for the hills. Daelaron jumped from Block’s hands and leapt onto a sturdy horse. Torch darted after them while the Maelveans regrouped.

“Stop them!” Paenal shrieked, but his words came too late. By the time the guards had recovered, the three freed prisoners had already disappeared into the untamed wilderness.

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Mark Mattison is a writer and internationally-respected independent scholar. He moderates the Grand Rapids Writer’s Exchange and lives in West Michigan with his wife, Rebecca; son, Gabe; and cat, Oreo.


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Meet Katy Newton Naas


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From the time she was old enough to talk, Katy Newton Naas has been creating characters and telling stories. As a child, they sometimes got her into trouble. She knew she wanted to write books when she won a Young Author’s competition as a second-grader for her short story titled, “The Grape Pie.” (Don’t let its tasty title fool you – it was actually a sad little tale!)

Katy devoured books as a child and young adult, always doing chores and odd jobs in order to make enough money to buy more of them. Though she continues to age, her true literature love is and has always been children’s and young adult fiction.

Katy currently teaches middle school reading and high school English in southern Illinois, as well as children’s church. She graduated from Southern Illinois University-Carbondale with a bachelor’s degree in English Education and a master’s degree in Reading and Language Studies. She enjoys her life out in the country with her husband, her two sweet and rowdy young sons, and all her other “kids”: four dogs, three cats, and eight ducks.

She loves creating both realistic and futuristic stories about kids, tweens, and teens, and feels so fortunate to get to work with them every day as a teacher.

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 Some things are even more terrifying than ghosts…


When shy sophomore Kaci Lynn Richards moves to a small town, she is nervous about the change. That is, until she befriends the outgoing Jo and meets popular senior James Mitchell. Kaci quickly learns to love her new life…until she begins to see the ghost of a teen girl in her new home. The mystery girl haunts her, giving her visions that leave clues as to who she was and how she met her violent fate. But the more she learns about the girl, the more she finds that life in this sleepy town may not be what it seems.



As soon as I close the cabinet door, my whole body is chilled. I shiver, turning toward the microwave to find myself face-to-face with her. Her dark eyes gaze into mine, her cold breath so close I can feel it on my cheeks. My heart racing, I jump back, colliding with the counter behind me.

What happens next is a blur. I feel a sharp pain in the back of my head and I am on the floor. She stands over me, her tangled hair hanging down, covering parts of her face while she stares down at me, her eyes wide and intense. I am unable to look away from her, unable to scream or move or even breathe.

Suddenly, she is gone and the room spins. I can finally blink, and I try to steady myself as the room finally settles. I am still on the floor, still in my kitchen, except it looks…different. Mom’s mixer that sits on the counter is gone. Instead, a wine rack sits in its place, and I count nine glass bottles resting inside of it. The walls are a dark brown color, and the lights seem dimmer. “Aven?” I call out weakly, but the voice I hear is not my own. I try to use my hands to push myself up off the floor, but I can’t; they are behind my back, stuck on something.

I twist my neck around, trying to look at them so that I can figure out how to get them loose. That’s when I feel the shooting pain go up through my arms, and I realize it’s because my wrists are bound together with rope and it’s cutting off the circulation from my hands to the rest of my body. Desperately I try to pull them apart, but the fibers of the rope dig deeper into my wrists and the pain is unbearable, so I let them go limp behind me, giving up that fight.

Calm down, I order myself. Breathe. Don’t panic. I ignore the throbbing pain in my arms as I squirm, inch by inch until I am in a sitting position. Looking down, I see that the red long-sleeve shirt and jeans I had on have been replaced by a white nightgown. The blood stains around the collar and down my sides make my heart race faster – even more so when I realize that they’re mine.

“Help!” I cry out, again surprised when the voice I hear is a little deeper than mine. “Somebody please help me!”

“You’re wasting your breath,” a deep, masculine voice says from somewhere behind me. There is a hint of laughter in his words when he says, “There’s no one here but you and me.”

The voice is vaguely familiar, but I don’t have time to analyze it as a cold, pressing fear weighs down my body. It is then that I realize that he’s right; there’s no one here to help me and I am going to die.

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