Monday, December 20, 2010

Today's Wonderful Guest is Rob Appleton...

Good Morning Readers,
Please make welcome today's very special guest, British author Rob Appleton. It's always an honor to have this young man drop by. I know Rob has a contest for your fun and a wonderful excerpt for your reading pleasure. Be sure and leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Rob and Sloane's new release...Tabs

 Hi Tabs ! Thanks for the kind invite. It’s now snowing heavily here in Bolton, England, so I think it’s time for a sensual teaser to warm things up a little. At the end, I’ll be giving away an eBook copy of Claire de Lune to one lucky commenter. But first, a quick intro :

You’re invited to the galaxy’s most prestigious beauty pageant. Clothing optional. Romance and danger…fully provided…

Cocky young detectives Gerry Rappeneau and Sebastian Thorpe-Campbell arrive at the premier lunar resort expecting a week of eye candy and long massages. With a half-billion-credit purse up for grabs, this year’s pageant is the focus of a hundred worlds. And beauty isn’t the only thing in the eye of the beholder.

One contestant, Evelyn Lyons, is attacked and her assailant killed. Surely a simple case of a stalker gone mad, as nothing bad ever happens at the Selene contest. So the brochure says.

The closer Gerry gets to Evelyn, the more he is convinced she’s hiding something. His meticulous character sparks with her wild, sassy nature, and they embark on a torrid affair. Their forbidden romance isn’t the only thing set to ignite in Pont de Reves.

Sebastian’s infatuation with demure Claire Villiers, another contestant, threatens to put all four of them in harm’s way.

A deadly trail of corporate conspiracy, monstrous assassins and hot bikini wax is more than anyone bargained for in this incendiary erotic mystery. Get ready for some serious heat on the dark side of the moon.

The fabulous Sloane Taylor and I had a blast collaborating on this smoking hot sci-fi mystery novel. Our exclusive excerpt takes place after a tense casino scene in which Sebastian and Claire shared some heat across the baccarat table. But Sebastian’s partner, Gerry, has just uncovered evidence that puts Claire in harm’s way…


“Excuse me, Ms. Villiers.” Sebastian grew lightheaded as he leaned in close to her shiny brunette curls and Mystique perfume. “Will you come with me, please.” It wasn’t a question.

She neither looked up at him nor reacted in any way surprised. “What for, Detective?” she asked with sultry confidence, separating her red tower of ten thousand plaques into two even piles. “Am I under arrest?”

“No, but your life may well be in danger.”

He watched her beautiful, swan-like neck for a reaction. Sure enough, the lump in her throat seemed to roll like a heartbeat in slow motion. Fear.

“Come on. I’ll escort you back to your room. And don’t worry; you’re safe with me.”

She nodded. Sebastian helped her off her stool, then scooped up her chips and kept her close as they walked to the caisse. No words, only half smiles, ricocheting glances, and a mutual shortness of breath betrayed the rising attraction he perceived. Sebastian thought she looked devastating in a bride of Dracula sort of way—eye shadow, spidery eyelashes, black gloves, a somewhat Gothic, figure-hugging evening dress. There was also a caginess about her, a taciturn depth that seemed to scrutinize the world from beneath her sweet exterior. He could feel the intensity effervescing through his pores, like the shared taste of champagne during a French kiss.

Claire stuffed the credit discs in her soft, black purse and wrapped the handle’s silver beading around her knuckles. The sucker looked heavy. She’d done well at the baccarat table.

“Good night, sir, madam,” said the doorman.

“Yeah, ’night.” Sebastian turned to Claire. “Here, let me carry that. It’s too much for a little lady to haul about.”

She brushed his hand away and, to Sebastian’s genuine surprise, she offered him her other one. A bone-deep frisson gripped him. He almost tripped over his own heels as he sidled closer and took her hand. A breathless sensation. Warm butterscotch with the tingle, but not the crackle of static. All the way to the hotel foyer, his heart and his head and his hand occupied the same space—molded in the supple magic grip of Claire Villiers.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what this is about?” Her sideways glance melted the last of him.

“Detective Rappeneau says you’re in trouble. Do you know a woman named Evelyn Lyons?”


“She’s another Selene contestant—blonde, from Yordan.”

“I don’t know her.”

They reached the empty elevator. Sebastian pressed three.

“Well, she seems to know you. Her room was ransacked tonight, and whoever did it seemed to be interested in your profile—it was found among Ms. Lyons’ things. Coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, I would.” Her expression remained inscrutable, her posture stately. “What do you think it means?”

Sebastian didn’t believe her, but he thought it was wise to play along until Gerry called. Branding her a liar felt wrong on every conceivable level of his conscience, not the least because he had an erection the size of the Washington Monument. He cleared his throat. “We don’t know yet. But I promise I’ll keep you safe until we find out.”

“Thank you, Sebastian,” she said. A glowing smile extended to her eyes.

“My pleasure.”

Christ! Even the sound of the word “pleasure” in close proximity to her sent a typhoon raging through his brain. He had to stop thinking with his dick. If Gerry was right and Claire was in the crosshairs, a horny bachelor would be as much use to her as paper stilettos. He was armed, yes, but what use was that if he couldn’t hold the fucker straight?

“Won’t you come in?” She let go of his hand and retrieved her room card from her purse.

“I think I’d bett— No! Don’t touch it!” He grabbed her arm as she shoved the card into the lock. Yanking her away from the door, he sickened at the affirmative click. He stepped out of a quick cold shower of shame. His mind had been wandering. He’d almost let her open the door to her room without checking it first. Unforgivable.

Claire rubbed her arm where he’d manhandled her.

“Stay here.” He sprang into action with his palms pressed against the cool metal grip of his Kruger. “Don’t…move.” He smashed the door open with a single kick and swallowed the geography of the room in a split-second glimpse. No threat that he could see. A bit of a mess near the wardrobe—clothes left on the floor or tossed over the back of the chair. But that could just be Claire’s untidiness. Otherwise, the room resembled Evelyn Lyons’ to a fault. Expensively accoutered, spacious, big window. Sebastian darted out into the middle of the room, his firearm trained on the Jacuzzi area, then behind the wardrobe, behind the door. He checked under the bed, inside the wardrobe.

A sigh.

“It’s all right, Claire. You’re safe to come in.”

No reply. His heart plummeted. He made ready to tear outside, to chase her and her kidnapper to the ends of the moon, and kill anyone who got in his way. Then she slinked inside and, expressionless, eased the door shut behind her.

“We’ll just stay put…wait for the word from Gerry.” He sank his pistol into its holster. Claire took his jacket and hung it up behind the door.

“Can I get you a drink?” she said.

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

“A bite to eat?”

“Nah, best not get too comfortable. But I think it’s time you came clean about—”

Claire reached for his hand and pulled him toward her. Her freckled face was clearly a strawberry red, her lips trembling. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. Sebastian nestled his chin in her soft, dark brown curls, twining her warm fingers with his. They swayed to an inner beat, their slow dance a syncopation of heartbeats on the skip. Breathless, he leaned back until she looked up, her big, hazel eyes glinting and full of want. What a gentle creature she really was beneath the glamour. A vulnerable, fragile beauty. A lady.

And now for a mini Selene contest of our own. To be in with a chance of winning a copy of Claire de Lune, simply nominate one man and one woman you think are the most beautiful in the world. The only rules are they have to be living and famous. Leave your choices in the comments section and I’ll pick the winner in a few days. Have fun!

Claire de Lune is available to buy at Amber Quill Press, Amazon Kindle, All Romance Ebooks, and all good digitial book outlets. Also coming soon in paperback.

Robert Appleton has a website here, and Sloane Taylor has one here. Drop by and say hello.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Twelve Days of Christmas with Destiny Blaine!

Good Morning Readers,
Please make welcome my very special guest, Destiny Blaine who is hosting her Twelve Days of Christmas and I'm so lucky to be sharing one of those days right here on my blog site. So...welcome, Destiny!

Hi, Tabitha!

Thank you for allowing me to be your guest today. I wanted to stop by and tell you about my new novel. Waking up the Arguably Dead is available now at Passion in Print.

Waking up the Arguably Dead is a Dark Paranormal MFM Romance with comic relief elements. Readers will get a glimpse inside my hometown of Blountville , Tennessee as they flip the pages of this Passion in Print novel. They’ll see what I see while driving down Main Street and they'll discover a country store, while somewhat fabricated, where many of us pop in for an ice cold soda and good conversation.

Waking up the Arguably Dead introduces readers to Granny Myrtle, a spunky little old woman who is several characters all wrapped up in one. I created Granny from a few country grandmothers I’ve had the pleasure of meeting at least once. As for Addison: Well, I don't know anyone quite like Addison but she sure is one lucky gal. Read the book and find out why a lot of girls in these parts might be a little envious.

In this novel, you’ll meet Melissa, the LPN over at the local physician’s office. I’m happy to say she is true to form. No, there isn’t a Dr. Michaels in Blountville, but Melissa lives here. She’s a saucy little vixen who knows what she wants and doesn’t care to tell everyone how much she’s enjoyed getting it. The first name has been changed to protect the promiscuous and as far as I know the real ‘Melissa’ never worked a day in her life. You'll like her though. She's full of surprises.

Step inside Waking up the Arguably Dead. Meet my characters. Then, drop an email and let me know what you think. What would you do if you were in Addison’s shoes?

Waiting to Die Can be Such a Drag

Martin Cartwright's neighbor receives disheartening news. She's dying. As far as Martin can tell, Addison has never looked better, but when daily sightings of his beautiful neighbor become few and far between, Martin realizes Addison isn't too keen on living. And he decides to help her get on with dying.

Martin plans to scare Addison into living. Unbeknownst to him, someone is watching with similar goals. Only Drake Valentine's interests in the lovely Miss Deveraux vary from Martin's ambitions. Soon, Addison must choose between living in the shadows of sickness and stepping into the darkness where she's always been drawn.

Waiting to Die Can be Such a Drag


Martin Cartwright's neighbor receives disheartening news. She's dying. As far as Martin can tell, Addison has never looked better, but when daily sightings of his beautiful neighbor become few and far between, Martin realizes Addison isn't too keen on living. And he decides to help her get on with dying.

Martin plans to scare Addison into living. Unbeknownst to him, someone is watching with similar goals. Only Drake Valentine's interests in the lovely Miss Deveraux vary from Martin's ambitions. Soon, Addison must choose between living in the shadows of sickness and stepping into the darkness where she's always been drawn.


Addison Deveraux stared at her family physician for several minutes, unable to speak and incapable of processing the information he relayed. She focused on the white walls around her. She skimmed over the medical licenses and board certifications, eventually narrowing her gaze on the overstuffed plastic brochure rack housing material about common medical problems. The entire time, she remained faintly aware of her doctor’s monotone voice. An avid movie enthusiast, Addison disconnected from the moment and recalled a recent flick she’d watched.

She remembered one scene in particular where a woman learned of her life-destroying health circumstance. Thanks to modern day technology, the character slipped into a mindboggling funnel surrounded by noise typically found in a seashell. The echo intensified and the room scrambled into spinning pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

On the big screen, the actress sobbed. The doctor calmly provided information about the disease for which she’d been diagnosed and the woman finally zoomed in on those fated words: “You’re dying.”

Addison blinked. “I am?”

“ Addison ,” Dr. Michaels began gently, “Haven’t you heard a word I just said?”

She swallowed. “No, I was…” Thinking about dying.

“ Addison , this isn’t something you should take lightly,” Dr.Michaels stressed, leaning over his desk. An older man with salt and pepper hair, Dr. Michaels wore tinted large-rimmed glasses and resembled someone who might have been chosen to portray a physician delivering detrimental news.

Addison watched his mouth move. His words hummed all around her, beating into her ears like a hollow drum. “Treatment is something we should discuss together. This isn’t the end and that’s it.”

Boom. Boom. Boom. The maddening tempo gained momentum.

Advice slipped from his lips but the words ran together in a never-ending slur. “Think of diagnosis as a transition. By the time you’ve processed the information I’ve given you, you’ll be ready to face the days ahead. In the end, you’ll be much better off.”

She gulped. There it was. The dreaded statement, You’ll be much better off.

How many times had she attended a funeral for one of her grandmother’s friends and heard the same thing? Mary Lou Cornell went to a better place. Dan Bradley was much better off after both arms and one leg were amputated.

Carla Sue Davis found Jesus after living on the streets and working for some pimp who decided to repay her years of servitude with continual beatings. And Barbara Jo Jones faced death the same way she’d faced living; always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

No indeed, Addison refused to walk down the same road chosen by Granny Myrtle’s best friends, or her cousin Gertrude, who for some reason received her bad news and decided to kick the bucket, before the bucket smacked her upside her head. No way. Addison planned to do a little better for herself. She’d die on her own terms.

The way Addison met death was her decision. Since she had a choice in the matter, she planned to go on out there and greet death—take her fate by the horns and ride the daylights out of it.

Yep, it was time to get on with dying.

Waking up the Arguably Dead by Destiny Blaine

Coming to Passion in Print on December 11, 2010
MFM Paranormal-Vampire


Buy Link:

Wow, Destiny,
This book sounds fantastic...Best of luck with sales and please return soon to be my guest....

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Please make welcome, the fabulous Sloane Taylor!!

Hi Readers,
Today I'm so honored to have one of the best Erotic Romance Novelists, Sloane Taylor as my special guest. She, along with her writing partner, Rob Appleton are sure to have a big hit with their new book, Claire De Lune. So drag up a chair, sit down and stay a pun intended...I promise you'll love the excerpts they've chosen for today....they're smokin'...

Hi Tabitha,

Thanks for having me out to play today. I appreciate the opportunity to chat with everyone. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m a sensual woman who believes humor and sex are healthy aspects of our everyday lives which carry over into my books.

I was born and raised in Chicago. Studly, my non-husband and mate for life, and I split our time between a home in Illinois and a weekend cottage on the back roads of Indiana…or you can catch up with me as I travel through Europe, researching new material.

Please visit me at, and of course

Genres: Science Fiction / Futuristic / Action / Adventure / Mystery / Detective / Voyeurism

Heat Level: 2
Length: Novel (70k words


You’re invited to the galaxy’s most prestigious beauty pageant. Clothing optional. Romance and danger…fully provided…

Cocky young detectives Gerry Rappeneau and Sebastian Thorpe-Campbell arrive at the premier lunar resort expecting a week of eye candy and long massages. With a half-billion-credit purse up for grabs, this year’s pageant is the focus of a hundred worlds. And beauty isn’t the only thing in the eye of the beholder.

One contestant, Evelyn Lyons, is attacked and her assailant killed. Surely a simple case of a stalker gone mad, as nothing bad ever happens at the Selene contest. So the brochure says.

The closer Gerry gets to Evelyn, the more he is convinced she’s hiding something. His meticulous character sparks with her wild, sassy nature, and they embark on a torrid affair. Their forbidden romance isn’t the only thing set to ignite in Pont de Reves.

Sebastian’s infatuation with demure Claire Villiers, another contestant, threatens to put all four of them in harm’s way.

A deadly trail of corporate conspiracy, monstrous assassins and hot bikini wax is more than anyone bargained for in this incendiary erotic mystery. Get ready for some serious heat on the dark side of the moon.

…Evelyn glared across at Van der Sands, her grey eyes metallic and sharp. Busy placing the new drinks order, the banker didn’t notice her.

“He’s a son of a bitch.” Evelyn retrieved a white business card and a ballpoint pen from her purse. She wrote on the back and slid it to Gerry.

He swallowed hard as he read, Clean the bastard out & I’ll sleep with you tonight.

She let her hands fall loose at her side, unmasking her face. Gerry’s first thought was one of easy acquiescence. Whatever she wanted! If this was the start of some kind of saucy foreplay, why the hell not? Then he watched the curious game within the game unfold.

A few slow-burning fireworks started the show. Sly glances between her and Van der Sands; the brunette girl with fleeting yet repeated eye contact; Evelyn whistling a tune. Subtle—but the shared air was definitely combustible. What was going on among the three of them? And what did she have against her old boss?

He slipped the card into his pocket. The drinks arrived and Van der Sands made sure everyone was ready to resume. “Le jeux est fait. Un banco de quatre cent mille.”

The CEO wasn’t messing around. High stakes, just like the previous round. Gerry might have backed off—four hundred thousand was two fifths of his total allowance for the night—but Evelyn’s note and the bizarre charades had already piqued his interest. “Banco,” he announced.

Van der Sands dealt him two quick cards and a lengthy, probing stare. Gerry matched the latter. At first the man had seemed indifferent, almost petty about the game of baccarat. Now there was fiery curiosity in his eyes, as though he needed to know who this blond opponent was and why Gerry was in league with her. He thought of it as dick-measuring by proxy. Neither man knew the other, but they had become tacit rivals by association with the same beautiful woman.

A seven and a two—a natural nine. A great first hand. Gerry tapped his cards, signifying he didn’t want another. Van der Sands would now have to err on the side of risk.

He drew a nine and a five. A score of four. To get close to nine, he had to risk another card.

The croupier flipped an ace. “Cinq a la banque.”

Gerry nudged Evelyn’s arm before arrogantly tossing his cards face up into the center.

“Monsieur Rappeneau wins.” The croupier retrieved the cards and awarded Gerry his chips.

The brunette congratulated him with an approving nod and a silent clap. Her black elbow-length gloves added to her mystique. Evelyn, boasting a mischievous grin, stroked his thigh under the table, edging dangerously close to his dick. His next sip of Mackison competed with a gasp. He covered his mouth. It was all he could do to stop a mouthful of beverage showering the green baize. Evelyn’s hand had strayed into sensitive territory. He didn’t know whether to yank it away or shove it deeper into his crotch.

“Keep it up,” she whispered in his ear. “And that goes for your winnings, too. Tonight, I’m gonna screw your brains out.”

Jesus Christ! His hold on propriety slipped like an eel through soapy rubber gloves. The casino grew close. Stifling. Evelyn grabbed his crotch and massaged the tip of his erection. He gave another gasp. The brunette watched him through the prism of her glass while she sipped her Malibu. The way those sensuous black gloves contrasted with her white arms and shoulders… Oh, God! He glanced down at Evelyn’s breathtaking tits. His hand shaking, he took a large swig of Mackison. It helped. Only for a moment. Evelyn moved in close and placed her hand on his shoulder. She gave him a look so serious and seductive he felt his erotic self tumbling into her cleavage. Somebody…help.

“Un banco de trois cent mille.”

The Australian answered, “Banco.”

Gerry wrenched himself to his feet. He regained the wherewithal to kiss Evelyn’s cheek before stuttering, “Excuse me. Shan’t be a minute,” to the other startled players. Breathing a long, shivery sigh on his way to the restroom, he tripped on a step and almost bulldozed a waitress into her trolley of snacks.

“Good God.” He locked the men’s room door behind him. “She’s an animal. I’m dating a goddamn wild animal…”


Evelyn’s self-esteem soared like a rocket into space as she gazed into Gerry’s dark blue eyes. All the need and desire that filled him shone through. She liked him, maybe even more than that if she were honest, and had wanted him from the moment his pompous ass walked into her hotel room. Being with him and initiating sex tonight was the right thing for her to do.

Gerry wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her closer, as if he sensed how frail she was at that moment.

A sigh escaped her. Damn, his hard chest felt good against her achy boobs, but not as good as his rigid cock nestling into her belly.


“Don’t talk.” She hadn’t heard that name in a long time, not since her father was murdered.

He nodded and traced his index finger along her bottom lip. She nipped the tip, then sucked it in, tonguing the pad until he groaned.

“Ah, Ev—” He caught her face in both of his hands and kissed her with a passion that ignited her like none other.

His tongue toyed against the seam of her mouth and she willingly opened to welcome him. He delved in, a beautiful taste of wine and herbs, lapping and swirling until her knees trembled. With a regretful sigh, she pulled away.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Shh. No talking. It’s my little quirk.” She gently tapped his mouth, then took his hand and led him closer to the purple sand. After she stooped, she patted the floor, inviting him to join her. He made short work of sprawling out and laid his arms at his sides.

Evelyn rose up on her knees and combed her hands down his chest, flicking his nipples until they sprang to life. Intrigued by their stiff peaks, she swiped her tongue over her dry lips and leaned into him, licking and sucking the copper-colored discs.

She continued lower to the blond tuft cradling his cock. Gently, she glided her thumb over his swollen head, teasing the drops of pre-cum from the slit to the sensitive underside. Her other hand cupped his balls, rolling the tight sacs with her fingers, taking pleasure in her teasing.

His hips jerked with each light touch. He fisted his hands and dug his heels into the floor. Through hooded eyes, he watched, but did as she had requested and maintained silence.

On a rush of air, she gave his lips a quick peck and eased over him, holding her thighs tight against his lean frame. Heat emanated from his body, soothing and stimulating, a new awareness she longed to experience more than just once.

Her breasts swayed mere inches from his mouth. He stretched up and tweaked her pebbled nipples with his thumbs and index fingers. Cuddling them together, he licked and suckled the sensitive tips, first one, then the other. A deep shiver rocketed through her, increasing the ache low in her belly.

She teased his cock along her nether lips, loving the feel of his hot flesh grazing against her clit. In slow motion, she edged onto his shaft, savoring the inches that penetrated her wet vagina.

He rocked into her, clutching her hips, holding her in place. She locked her hands around his wrists and pulled them away, the need to set the pace paramount.

Time stood still. The only sounds in the room were their pants and grunts as they ground against each other. He stopped mid-thrust, his face set in a grimace.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “This is so sexy I don’t want to come.”

“I do.” She slapped his hip. “Again and again.”

Rising up on her knees, Evelyn again found her momentum and rode him harder, faster, loving the feel of him pounding inside her. Her breath hitched as he thrust higher, deeper, tapping her womb, the sensation sublime.

Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her body tensed. She gritted her teeth, unable to control the emotion skyrocketing through her...


Buy Link

Robert Appleton

Sloane Taylor


Robert Appleton & Sloane Taylor

ISBN-13: 978-1-61124-011-5 (Electronic)

ISBN-13: 978-1-61124-995-8 (Electronic)

Amber Quill Press – Amber Heat

Monday, November 8, 2010


Good Morning Readers,

I so honored to have the fantastic, multi-published erotic romance author, Sloane Taylor. Join us today for I know will be some great excerpts....Be sure and leave a comment for a chance to win one of Sloane's super hot romances!

Hi Tabitha,

Thanks for having me out to play today. I appreciate the opportunity to chat with everyone. For a little incentive to bring out lurkers, I’d like to offer a free download of French Tart to one lucky winner. So, let those questions and comments flow!

For those of you who don’t know me, I’m a sensual woman who believes humor and sex are healthy aspects of our everyday lives which carry over into my books.

My stories are set in Europe where the men are all male and the North American women they encounter are both feminine and strong. As a true romantic, my women bring more than lust to their men’s lives.

I was born and raised in Chicago. Studly, my non-husband and mate for life, and I split our time between a home in Illinois and a weekend cottage on the back roads of Indiana…or you can catch up with me as I travel though Europe, researching new material.

Please visit me at, and of course


Lingerie designer Samantha Bradley is on the brink of major success. While having the time of her life in Nice she meets sexy Cisco Bernier, a man who turns her heart inside out and makes her body sizzle.

Despite being France’s key criminal prosecutor, Cisco’s success in relationships has been less than zero. When he meets Sam, his staid world goes up in flames.

Their happiness is short lived as their pasts collide. His underhanded mother and her mob-connected father resurface to threaten their future.


“Do you not think her nipples are larger?” Cisco pointed to the charcoal nude on the young woman’s sketch pad. He looked across the coastline toward the subject in question as the middle-aged woman stooped and spread a towel across the pebbles.

“Perhaps, but it’s really hard to tell at this angle.” The artist swiped a thumb along a black line, softening the bold stroke, and laughed. “Besides, she won’t sit still long enough to get it right.”

She tossed her long black hair across her bare shoulders, and a light scent of honey drifted up to him, clouding his mind.

Cisco yanked his tie from around his neck, grateful for the light breeze off the Mediterranean that cooled his hot skin.

“Maybe if you…” He slipped the thin stick from her long fingers, then squiggled a larger, more intricate circle on the wheat colored paper. “Something like that.”

“Are you an artist?” She glanced up. Her large green eyes reminded him of polished emerald, sharp and clear, and just as exciting. At that moment he would be anything the beautiful American wanted him to be.

Saturday, October 30, 2010

Please Welcome the Fabulous Kayden McLeod

Good Morning Readers,

Today I'm especially proud to make welcome the fabulous author, Kayden McLeod. Be sure and leave a comment for the chance to win one of Kayden's books....

Hi Readers,

Today is the release of my next Erotic Paranormal Romance, Masquerade, published by Silver Publishing for their Halloween themed releases of 2010.

It is also my first shape-shifter novella, featuring werewolves. As some of you may remember from Jezebel’s Article, the Jericho Coven of vampires makes another appearance in this addition to my world. And just to add into the mix, there will also be some zombies wandering around this installment.

Masquerade is set on Halloween night at the Jericho’s All Hallows’ Eve Gala, where Abigail has been charged to plan the party to end all Halloween parties—and that is something she will definitely succeed at by the time she is through…

And now, a bit more about Masquerade

Title: Masquerade

Genre: Erotic Paranormal Romance



What lies behind the fa├žade isn’t always what it seems


Abigail claimed the land of North Vancouver as her own, sharing it only with a clan of vampires, the Jericho Coven, who accepted the werewolf into their territory without qualm. Within their numbers is one, Cyrus Jericho; a suave, brooding vampire who isn’t quite as he appeared. He declares Abigail for his own the moment they meet, despite the fact that another werewolf pack is in British Columbia looking to claim Abigail into their midst, no matter what they must do to see that goal complete.

Chapter One

Nightmares always had a way of instilling fear, even in the bravest of folk.

Abigail knew in theory dreams every now and then meant something, but she had no clue how this scene pertained to her, short of giving her a healthy respect of her rambunctious subconscious.

It could have something to do with it being three days short of Halloween, a time when all sorts of monsters came out from under their imposed guises. Possibly to play under the light of the moon at midnight; the witching hour at its peak. And many of them did celebrate this time of year for good reason.

Possibilities of mischief and creating unimaginable havoc would be at its peak of power and potential, though she wouldn’t know much about that.

Abigail wandered a decrepit graveyard; the kind people of today never saw anymore. Complete with unevenly cut hills, gnarled live oaks and chipped gravestones of varying heights and intricacies that made this woman shiver in apprehension.

It seemed her dream-self wasn’t quite as courageous as her wakeful-self. Normally, she felt fear for nothing; not even death. Yet the undeniable urge to cower in terror hung over her head.

Abigail looked down to see she carried a single white rose tipped in fresh blood; a substance her subconscious mind told her Abigail craved. This fact made little sense to her. She wasn’t a vampire, but something else entirely. Though she knew they existed, even acquainted with a few of them. But even so, this fact didn’t faze her terribly much as she continued up the unseen path.

Shrouded in a simple, formless black nightgown and bare feet, the ground littered with rocks cut deeply into her soles. Her thigh brushed upon a roughly hacked-up tombstone, which sliced her clean open. This filled the heavy, humid air with the sickly sweet scent of her life-fluid. She swore her teeth and gums ached painfully, like her canines fought to extend. Why? What…or whom was she feeling?

It surely wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. While many traits of hers were unusual, this was not one of them.

Her gaze darted wearily about. Said live oaks were winter-bare, even though it was merely fall. The branches dipped and reached into the nothingness of the icy cold night, curling toward her in a menacing fashion.

A shuffling and then a moan sent her head up, but her body would not stop to properly assess the situation like she would at any other time. Soon following, the sound of something being ripped or torn gave her a foreboding she could not escape.

Just what lay out there in the darkness, waiting while she was powerless to stop herself from just meandering into its grasp?

A piercing howl not so much different than a wolf’s, but just enough that Abigail knew it wasn’t an everyday animal, sent an excited thrill along her erect spine.

“Even in dreams, you are going crazy. You know that?” she spoke softly, unable to quite bring herself to speak at a normal volume for fear of disturbing the…dead? Why would she care about such things? But alas, her mind remained terrified of what resided below the ground.

The soil began to slope upward, toward an old granite angel with half-extended wings. It’s face, stance, everything about it seemed more sinister than angelic in the shadowy light thrown from the partially cloud-covered stars that lent little comfort to her.

The left arm looked sawed off, but as she grew closer, Abigail realized someone or something had snapped it off; the edges not as clean as they’d appeared at first glance.

Abigail felt unstoppably drawn to the statue, like a magnet which pulled her bruised feet against her will. A trickle of wetness worked down her leg from the wound that throbbed with the rhythm of her heartbeat. Breath came in a ragged, hard won gasps of her terror when thinking about the unseen adversary.

And something did watch her, semi-aware of her presence just as she was of it.

Stopping in front of the statue, she reached with her free hand to touch the face with the saintly features staring out at her in warning.

Abigail wanted to turn back, to go back to where she’d come, though the likelihood of that was too close to nil. The dream had begun after her entrance to this place. Therefore she didn’t know how to get out, which way to turn and run if the need arose to maintain her safety. And her instincts screamed that specific allotment of time fast approached an end.

The guttural howl sounded again, far too close. Near enough that every hair on her body rose to attention at the unnerving sound.

Panic froze Abigail’s breath right there in her lungs. Her blood pounded through her at an alarming pace, giving her a headache and lending a hazy quality to the scene around her.

And then a figure stumbled from behind the nearest trunk, one so incredibly wide, it was no wonder how it hid this man—what she thought to be a man.

The silhouette froze in motion, foot not even touching the dead grass when he saw her standing there, displayed so vulnerably beside the broken angel.

He snarled, gaze moving to the space on the ground at his side, before cutting back to her. His quiescence seeped into Abigail, and she stood at his mercy. Not that there would be any; not from him.

When he moved into the light, she shook in foreign cowardice. Somewhere, deep inside, Abigail knew him. Impossible not to recognize him, even if her mind wouldn’t bring up the facts associated with the creature before her.

He rushed into motion, leaping into the air. Abigail didn’t so much as flinch when he landed in front of her, revealing a masquerade of “human” flesh. For whatever this thing was, it had never been as such. It certainly wasn’t like her.

His long, dull hair lay upon his shoulders saturated with filth and leaves, falling around him in a disarray of stringy, dirty white. His red-rimmed blue eyes focused on Abigail and her alone; flickering with a predatory nature that grated against her own.

She felt like he’d made a silent declaration while they maintained eye-contact, and somehow she knew, he had claimed her in some form. But in which context, she had no idea.

Something within her flared, sparked back into being and reminded her that Abigail would never be weak or compliant. This time wouldn’t be any different, dream or no.

“Abigail,” he called in a shallow voice that grated on her nerves. In the back of her mind, the possessiveness in which he said her name angered her.

Then her eyes strayed to the rounded object in his hand; a gore–stained, severely mangled skull. With little room to doubt that it could be an old bone dug from the ground, she cringed. The only reason she knew this; the chunks of flesh still attached were fresh, the bone beneath luminescent in the moonlight.

Then her gaze moved to the base of the tree, seeing the decapitated corpse there. This entity must have killed and eaten parts of it—stripping it nearly bare before her arrival.

A monster, no less.

The stained clothes were enough evidence of that fact. Its garb wasn’t of this time, but that of olden days long since been seen—parted shirt baring a blood-coated chest, broken up with ties of blue upon ashen flesh holding the material together, tight-fitted pants flaring over grimy, sodden boots.

This thing had made a real mess of its snack, something she would never do. Abigail had seen and done a great many things in her life, but this had never been among them.

Run, damn it, run! she screamed at herself. Make your feet work. Do you wish to end up like its past meal? Turn tail, and get the hell out of here!

The man began to speak in a language she ill understood—or perhaps it did in fact speak English, but its growls garbled it past recognition. But eventually the words became clearer to her.

“Abigail, so beautiful,” he said calmly, not looking in her direction, but at whatever lay behind her.

She backed up until she collided with the nearest tombstone, stupidly pleased about the fact that she could finally move of her own accord, thinking herself safe. Surely now she could escape.


“Mine.” He looked pointedly at her, and she sneered in response.

“I belong to no one,” Abigail snapped. As usual, her tongue got the better of her.

His eyes narrowed on her. “I beg to differ, moj ljub. I want you, and I always get what I want.”

His hypnotic eyes enraptured her, for a moment seeing past the gruesome image he represented, and seeing just the man.

Distraction could be a bitch. In this case, that was a definite.

The dirt burst around underneath Abigail’s feet, spraying up to her knees. She looked to see a bare-bone hand escape the soil and grab her ankle in a painful grip, joints biting into her flesh as the second arm revealed itself from the swirl of dirt.

“Abby, you will never escape me.”

And she screamed.


So what did you think? Leave a comment for your chance to win a copy of my last Erotic Paranormal Romance; Deadly Fetishes.

Happy Reading…

Kayden McLeod

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

How To Make Fabric Pumpkins

My leftover fabric scraps had been piling up, and that means one thing: time to put on the crafty hat. I have two rules when it comes to crafts. 1) it must be easy and quick, 2) it must serve a need.

I needed more Halloween decorations because this is the first year in our big house. And I didn't have large pieces of scrap fabric so it needed to be something small. Right. Mini fabric pumpkins it is. Here's what to do if you want to be cool like me.

Step 1. Gather your materials. You'll need scissors, thread, a needle, fabric, and some kind of stuffing material. It can be poly-fil, rice, or in my case black eyed peas. They are $1 a bag at the grocery store. It's not pictured here, but you'll also need a hot glue gun and a stem. I suggest the next time you are at the grocery store, dig around the bottom of the mini-pumpkin bin for a stem that has broken off. I didn't find one, obviously, that's why it's not in the picture.

As for the fabric, I don't have a recommendation for the size circle you need. Smaller than a dinner plate, but bigger than a coffee saucer. I didn't measure mine because I simply cut the biggest circle I could out of the fabric I had left. The size of the circle is not as critical as you might think. It'll look normal in the end even if your circle is a few inches bigger or smaller than mine.

Step 2. Sew a loose stitch around the edge.  Fold over the edge of the circle, about 0.25" to 0.5". Thread your needle and sew long, loose stitches around the entire edge. This does not need to look nice; no one will ever see it.

Step 3. Pull the stitch tight. When you are done sewing around the edge, pull the end of the thread to form a sack. Pour in the stuffing. Don't don't want this to look like a pincushion. The end product looks better if there are some fabric folds, bean bag-ish. When you are done with this step, pull the sack closed like this:

Step 4. Stitch the opening closed. As tight as you can, pull the sack closed. Then sew it closed. It doesn't matter how ugly this is; it's going to be the bottom of the pumpkin.

Step 5. Make the pumpkin grooves. Poke your needle and thread through the center of the pumpkin so it pops out in the center ( or center-ish) on the flip side. This may take a few tries especially if you are using a short needle. Once you are happy with the center position, wrap the thread around the outside of the pumpkin, go back through the seam on the other side, and push it through the pumpkin out the center again. It shouldn't be difficult to find the center hole, but it may take a few tries. Remember to pull it as tight as you can. We're making grooves here people. Do it several more times until your pumpkin looks like this:
This becomes the top of the pumpkin. Now comes the stem. You might've had luck at the grocery store in the pumpkin bin. Hopefully you didn't rip one off of a good pumpkin because that's just WRONG. You could also go to a pumpkin patch and take some off the rotted, unsellable pumpkins. Or you could buy the mini-pumpkins, decorate the house with them, and "borrow" the stems after Halloween has passed. That's the option I chose. I did, however, find one stem at the grocery store bin. I used it on my test pumpkin, like so:

 Step 6. Hot glue the stem on. Quit laughing, I know my first pumpkin attempt was a little lumpy.That's why I took pictures of the third pumpkin, to iron out all the manufacturing details. If you follow the steps above, you should have a cute decoration by the end of step 6.  Or a tasty dog toy. I suggest putting them high if you have furry creatures around.

Good luck and happy crafting!

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Tabitha Shay’s August Newsletter!

Hi Everyone,

Boy, is it just me, or has summer flown by? Kiddies are back in school and mothers are heaving a sigh of relief…or not!

The big news today is I’ve been working very hard on four different projects, Playing for Keeps, Witch’s Touch, Send Him an Angel and the Gray Mortuary series.

These four series keep me hopping back and forth between them, with Playing for Keeps and Witch’s Touch in the lead. For those of you wondering if I have a new publisher yet, the answer is no, but I haven’t really had time to look, no worries though, I have had offers from other publishing houses for these series, so when the time is right, I don’t think there will be a problem getting these books out to you.

I thought you all might like to read an excerpt from Witch’s Touch. I’ve decided with the monthly newsletter, I’d start including a teaser excerpt from projects I’m working on…enjoy…


In the gray gloom surrounding her, unseen by all, an ethereal figure watched, one who carried the Scythe of Death. Although he didn’t understand why, it annoyed him beyond reason that he could not see her features.

Of courses, for him, it was nothing new. He’d never looked upon her face, would never be able to see what she looked like, not in his wraithlike form. He could never appear before her in solid mass. It was forbidden, but he yearned to.

She mourned deeply for Prince Talon…as did he. This death he had not foreseen. He had not chosen the time for Talon to die, nor had King Titan. Another species decided Talon’s fate, and that was something he could not, would not allow. The demon king thought too highly of himself if he thought to do King Titan’s job or his.

Death moved closer in his otherworldly form, the black misty shape of the Reaper, an eerie, unearthly form only his father could see. In his shapeless, vaporous hands, the scythe trembled, as it always did when he approached this female.

Here was the witch he’d been sent to reap. Such an easy target--she had no suspicion he floated overhead, the scythe drawn back, prepared to deliver the death blow that would allow him to reap her soul. Once the scythe was embedded deep inside the Chosen One, there was no escape. The soul was literally hooked and pulled from the body, draining it of its life force. Then Vaddus, god that he was, would step in and take charge.

But Death was drawn to her, and it wasn’t for the right reasons. He lowered the scythe, and to him, if felt as if he was disarming himself, leaving himself vulnerable and naked to the world of magick. He snorted. By the gods, he was Death, there were none more powerful. His was the final word.

He kept his skeletal face concealed within the deep cowl of the death cloak about his shoulders.

What was it about this witch that consumed his thoughts when he was near her? Why did it feel to him that she beckoned him? He could no more resist the sway of her powers or her warmth, than he could appear before her in solid form.

That was it, he thought. He was ice, an empty, heartless creature. Her warmth, the very life in her soul appealed to his frozen heart, but not in the usual way when he was reaping. Death found her utterly mouth-watering, and that was just wrong on so many levels.

He discovered he yearned to get closer, to know her better. It was insanity.

Still, he moved nearer. Her warmth bathed him and built the most unusual hunger inside him. How odd. He’d never felt this strange passion, this restless need or yearning to—no, he couldn’t reap her yet. Not yet. He had to get to know this witch.

What was he thinking? Ridiculous! He wasn’t here so he could get to know the witch better. He could not delay the inevitable for any reason. It was her time, declared by King Titan, and he was here to fulfill the king’s command. He raised the scythe.

She knelt there on the ground, a blurred shadow in shadows. For him, time had no essence, and he knew it was possible to spend centuries simply observing her.

But the impulse to help her—the same compulsion that always pounded him in the gut like an invisible fist when she needed his help—was back, and it roared like a hell beast—interfering with his job.

Giving a ghostly sigh, he released the scythe from its death swing and set it aside. Then he crouched behind her, a shadow form, and slid his arms around her slender waist.

She gasped. “You’re back.”

Yes. I always seem to be stepping in to help you when I shouldn’t.

“You put your words in my head. Always. Do you have no voice?

No voice. No body. No heart.

“I think you jest.”

No. I am not one for foolish banter. Gently, he entwined his fingers with hers. Do not look around. Seek only that which I freely offer you.

Her sultry, sexual scent filled his nostrils, clogged his throat. Her hair tangled with his, somehow managing to twine them together. By the gods, if it was possible for him to die, he thought he just might do so from the sheer pleasure of holding her close once again.

She gasped and tried to pull away.

Listen to me, witch. He tightened his hold, drawing her closer, silently commanding. I will help you this one time to give back a life that was stolen before its time, but do not continue to challenge my right to death. It is what I am, what I shall always be. I will never stop reaping. It is the natural order of things…except for this one time.

“There have been other times,” she whispered, “other times when you have helped me.”

Those were exceptions, also. Do not expect me to continue aiding your defiance. I will not. He knew he sounded gruff, but the witch needed to be frightened of him. He was not and never would be her friend.

“Except, for exceptions?” Her response proved she wasn’t the least fearful of him.

The witch dared tease him? Death smiled. Then frowned. There will be no more exceptions, witch. If someone dies early, then I will let it stand. He injected harshness to his tone, his words. No more interference. Understand?

“I do.”

We aren’t wedding, witch. No need to say it as if you are speaking vows to me.

She tried to turn in his arms, to see his face. He tightened his hold. Do not look upon me. This close, I am…rather scary.

“I think you might be rather kinder than you’d have me know.”

You are wrong. There is nothing kind about me. I am cold. Dark. Eternal. Empty of all emotion. I separate souls from their bodies. I am gruesome. Remember, witch, no more exceptions. No more interference.

He felt her head bob against his chest in acknowledgement, but she wasn’t agreeing, because she immediately made it clear she wasn’t acquiescing. “I can’t make promises I might never keep,” she stated in a soft voice.

Then you will leave me without a choice.

Until next month…Happy Reading Everyone!


Sunday, June 20, 2010


Hi All,
Here's some of the first pics of my new great granddaughter, Alexis. Shayla's little family is growning.

Friday, June 4, 2010


Hi Everyone,

Thanks for all your heartfelt warmth and prayers for these past months as we waited for this baby to get's been a difficult time, but as you can see, she's worth it...I know all of you are as anxious to see these pics as I was...Isn't she beautiful??....Enjoy!!

Tabs...Picture One...My great grandson, Shawn, admiring his new Aunt, Stevee...

Pictures two and three..My grandson-in-law, Brian holding his new sister-in-law...and his son Shawn holding Stevee.

My daughter Tammy, with her two year old, Jadee...along with new baby, Stevee.

My daughter-in-law, who is also a Tammy admiring her new niece, Stevee.

My granddaughter, Shayla admiring her new sister, Stevee.

Friday, April 16, 2010

Todays Special Guest Author...

Hi Readers,

Please make welcome today, my wonderful guest, paranormal romance author, Kayden McLeod...Kayden has something very special to share with all of you...

Dear Readers,

In the past month, my partner and administrator, Brigit Aine and I have launched a new book review site, Siren Book Reviews.

Our goals as an e-book review site are to bring the readers directly to the authors. Our reviewers are people who love the power of the written word, and want to show their appreciation of it in written format. We take books into our keeping, to then convey this passion in reviews and give them voice.

How our system works: after we have received the completed request form, they are uploaded to a database where our readers pick and choose from a variety of genres. Once it is chosen, the owner or administrator will contact the author or publisher, and ask for a copy of the PDF(s), where it is then forwarded to the reviewer.

If a reviewer didn't feel they enjoyed the book as much as someone else might and would score it below a three on our rating-system, they are asked to move on so we can re-offer the book to someone who may appreciate it more. Review requests are kept for three-months, and if left untouched, are removed from the files.

Siren Book Reviews’ philosophy behind this is that if a reviewer is allowed to choose a book that sounds interesting, rather than the site assigning them to reviewers, they will have a better time reading the book.

We are always looking for reviewers, so please feel free to e-mail us at: with REVIEWER in the subject-line, and we can send you an informational packet on our policies and procedures.

As well, we accept requests from individual authors, as well as publishers. Hope to hear from you!

Siren’s Review Blog

Request a Book Review

Siren’s Readers Yahoo Group

Siren’s Facebook Group

Siren’s Twitter



Monday, April 5, 2010

Today's Special Guest, Romance Author Lorrie Unites-Struiff

Please welcome my very special guest today, romance author Lorrie Unites-Struiff.

 Hello Tabs,

Thank you for having me here today. I’m honored to appear on such a talented author’s site.

I’m basically a short story writer. Gypsy Crystal is the first long work I have ventured into but it will not be the last. Since writing Gypsy was so much fun, I have a ton of ideas floating around in my brain cells.

How about a woman sheriff who has to deal with androids and find her uncle’s killer?

How about Winnie Krapski, an over middle-age woman who receives the gift of spook-speaking that she doesn’t want, a Call on the Dead (COD) anthology of her funny misadventures?

When I wrote Gypsy Crystal, I wanted a fast moving thriller with a touch of all the right ingredients. I stirred in a bit of gypsy custom and lore, added a dash of romance with a yummy hunk, and then spiced it up with a little paranormal twist.

Let me offer a blurb,

Rita Moldova’s best-kept secret, a crystal amulet that shows her the last image a victim had seen when they died and has helped propel her career as a homicide detective – until prostitutes start dropping.

A ritual killer dubbed the Ripper by the media is terrorizing her town and it’s Rita’s job to help end his killing spree. The problem – Rita’s mystical amulet, passed down through her Roma bloodline, has failed for the first time in memory to do its job – and it’s making it a real bitch for Rita to do hers.

To make matters worse, the FBI has sent in hunky agent, Matt Boulet, to lead the case – and Rita finds herself attracted to him.

When Rita visits her mother – a gifted seer in her own right – and her uncle to glean what she can about the history of the amulet and the lore of their clan, she learns much more than she bargained for, and the truth is too much for her to swallow.

As the investigation continues, Rita learns she can’t deny the lore of the ancients, or her growing feelings for Matt Boulet.


Reading is my hobby, writing is my passion.

When my husband and I stroll in the mall and pass a book store, he gives me the evil eye and says, “I’ll give you ten minutes in there.”

What is ten minutes in a candy store? I mean, really?

An hour later, when I emerge, I usually have to hunt the mall for him. I don’t understand why, I was only in the book store for ten minutes, or so it seemed. Time does have a habit of getting away from me when surrounded by the thought that I would like to purchase one of every book I see. Oh, if only the pocketbook could afford it. If I worked in a bookstore, I’d be a threat. I would never bring home a paycheck.

Writing, on the other hand, does keep my visits to the bookstore to a less often occurrence, which my husband is profoundly grateful. He never uses a computer so doesn’t have a clue about online ordering. Shhh! Let’s not tell him. Or about pdf downloads. We’ll keep it our secret while my “To Be Read” pile keeps growing.

Here is an excerpt from Gypsy Crystal I hope you will enjoy.

A piercing scream echoed from the alley between Red’s Bar and The Totem Pole. Adrenaline shot through her veins. Jesus, it’s the Ripper!

Rita yelled for Sully, folded her fingers around the Glock in her purse, and headed toward the mouth of the dark alleyway. She bent low near the entrance, then eased around the corner. A cat yowled, then leaped to the ledge above her head. Rita jerked and flattened her back against the cold bricks of the building. Tiny feet scurried across her shoe. She gasped and kicked out her foot. The glare of headlights behind her swept the overflowing garbage cans, creating a macabre dance of shadow and light against the walls. Brakes squealed. A car door opened. She didn’t turn to look, instead she hugged the rough bricks and slid further into the alley’s depth hoping to spot the Ripper. Quickly, she hunkered down behind a trashcan, the rancid smell of old grease turned her stomach.

“I’m here,” Sully said, crouching behind his open door, the car’s headlights left on. “Wait, Rita. Boulet told us not to go it alone.” Sully tipped a flashlight beam around his door to sweep over the trashcans, the brick walls, and then his light flashed on the green dumpster twenty feet ahead on the left. He lowered the beam to the cement. A woman’s bare legs protruded from behind the large green bin.

Rita’s eyes darted from side to side, watching for any slight movement in the shadows. Nothing. Every nerve in her body strung tight, she bent low to approach the dumpster.

Tires skidded behind Sully’s car. A door opened, and running footsteps approached her. A firm hand folded over her pistol while the other held her arm in a vice-like grip. She yanked away, spun, and looked up into heated eyes. “Don’t ever hold onto my gun arm like that again.”

“Then next time follow orders,” said Matt.


I live in West Mifflin, Pennsylvania. Many of the locations I wrote about in Gypsy are copied from the areas around me. I used false names of course, but if anyone from my county reads the book, I’m sure they’ll recognize a few spots.

The quaint old century mall I used is now torn down to the foundation. The river road is real and just as scary as in the book. Not for the faint of heart.

Gypsy Crystal is available at Amazon, Fictionwise and Eternal Press for kindle and e-book readers. Print copies should be available any day now.

All the reviews I have received so far are winners. Check out the reviews and buy sites on my website.

Sunday, March 28, 2010


Hi Readers,
Scope out the great review for Witch's Fire at seriously reviewed....

Saturday, March 27, 2010

My Second Favorite Eurpoean Performer

I think maybe Alexander and Yohanna should get together? very lovely performers...

My Favorite New Performer

How can anyone resist this cutie???

Saturday, March 13, 2010


May we have a drumroll please...I cannot tell a lie...I've had two tubaligations...Yep, the first one failed ten months after my fourth baby was born and baby number five was conceived...I thought the entire pregnancy I had a tumor...I refused to believe I was, that makes Laura the winner...she was the only one who guessed correctly....Thanks to everyone who dropped by and took a guess....I really appreciate you taking the time to play....Tabs


Hi Readers,

My latest release, Witch's Fire was such fun to write, mainly because of the familiar I used in this book. I hope you'll pick up a copy at and discover the antics of Kirrah's delightful, magical companion.

I have just been given The Best Liar Award. Per the rules, I will:

1: Thank the person who gave you the award and link to them.

2: Add the award to your blog.

3: Tell six outrageous lies about yourself and One Truth.

4: Nominate six creative liars... I mean writers and post links to them.

5: Let your nominees know that they have been nominated.

Okay. First, Thanks to Maggie Dove!

The award appears on my blog.

Next, the seven statements, one of which is truthful. If you think you know which is the truth, leave a comment. If any guess correctly, I'll drop your name in the witch's hat and give a pdf copy of Witch's Fire.

1. I speak fluent Russian.

2. I once drove an ambulance.

3. I once worked as a volunteer fireman.

4. I once worked as an intern at the White House.

5. I was had a bit part in a movie.

6. I once dated a doctor.

7. I once had a tubaligation to prevent pregnancy, but one time wasn't enough.

Ahem. The dubious distinction, I mean honor, I now pass along to:

Ginger Simpson

Kayden McLeod
Diana Rubino

Linda Wisdom

Jannine Corti Petska

Foery MacDonell

Congrats guys! As Cate noted, these awards may make for an extra workload, but anything we do to get our name out on search engines helps promote our work. And like the commercial says, we're worth it!
All links to these talented authors can be found on the right side of this blog site...just
scroll down to Talented Writers and scope out these wonderful authors blog sites...

Tabitha Shay

Friday, February 26, 2010


Hi Readers,
Yes, Witch's Fire has been released  and is currently available in E-format at Moongypsy Press...The links are on my web and blogsites....the print version won't be ready for another week or so, but you can pre-order from MP if you'd like. I can't wait to get my hands on a copy....I'm so later this year, the long awaited, Nyra's story in Witch's Touch, book six....Expect a lot of things to happen in book six...expect the laughter, but expect some tears, too...I'll be pulling all the characters from the first five books into this one and concluding their stories...but hey, it's not the end by a long seven, Witch's Dream will begin the second generation and you'll see a lot of familiar names as well as many new ones as the Winslow witches of Salem stories if you haven't started this series, now's the time to get to it, because there are still several tales to be told...
Happy Reading,

Monday, February 1, 2010


Hi All,
Today, I rec'd. pictures from my eldest son and his family who live in Northern Arkansas, right on the Missouri line in the Ozarks...I thought I'd share them with you, since they were taken during our recent winter storm....Enjoy....Tabs