The Covenant of Paul Yoder

Today I have the pleasure of introducing another Author friend’s new book. The Covenant by Paul Yoder will be released this weekend!


The Covenant is the story of a college professor who becomes suspicious that a fellow professor is a kidnapper. Following his colleague after work one day, the protagonist’s suspicions are confirmed, and he becomes swept up in pursuing the other man, following him to an underground religious sect’s den, which is a large renovated 1940s bomb shelter.

In his attempt to rescue the kidnap victim, the protagonist, Dr. Carver, runs into all sorts of trouble, dealing with possessed zealots, and trapped and tortured animals that the cult keeps caged down in its cultist den.

The reader follows Dr. Carver as he tries to escape the zealot’s base along with kidnapped children he finds there. Throughout the story, Dr. Carver is questioned by both the zealots and the kids themselves about religious issues, and this English professor has to figure out how to address these points.

Paul describes how The Covenant came to be. “I actually wrote a short story (the foundation story for what would later become “Tome of Victims”) for a grad school application. The program only accepted 10 students per year, and I didn’t get in, so I had this pretty good short story on my hands. I worked it into a novella length story and saw potential in perhaps making it the beginnings of a series. After publishing “Tome of Victims” earlier this year, I made a goal to publish the first novel-length book in the series before the year was through. I wrote it in half that time (a little less than three months to be exact). I really got taken up with the story I guess.”

ImagePaul knew from the age of fifteen that he wanted to be a writer. “I was dissuaded a bit by adults who told me that writing wouldn’t get me anywhere in life,” he says, “and it took me quite a few years to find my confidence and really start writing seriously. I’m finally getting some books out into the world, and though it’s been tough, financially, emotionally, and have tested both my dedication and ego, I’m slowly building up a penned library of books, from “City of Town” to “Tome of Victims” to “The Covenant,” and I already have another book done (unpublished currently) in a new series that I’ll be writing.

“I hope to reach a lot of people out there with my writing. Growing up, reading shaped who I am today. It helped me to become a better person: more understanding, patient, and thoughtful. What precious gifts books can bestow us with. If I can provide that to others, my goal will have been achieved.”

The Covenant is part of an ongoing series. The first book in the series is a novella called Tome of Victims, which is also available on


The Covenant by Paul Yoder can be purchased on Amazon for $2.99. Click here for a link to the purchase page.

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A Dream Come True

This week I’m featuring, once again, my friend Mikey Brooks, who has just had one of his long-held dreams come true with the publication of The Dream Keeper.


Dreams: Dorothy called it Oz, Alice called it Wonderland, but Nightmares call it HOME.

When an evil shifter takes over the gateway to the realm of Dreams, it falls to 14-year-olds Parker and Kaelyn to stop him. Their only hope lies with Gladamyr, the Dream Keeper, but can they trust a Nightmare to save their world?

Loser—the most frightening word to ever be uttered in junior high school. Even the coolest kids are afraid of being associated with it. 14-year-old Parker Bennett is no exception. He can’t even be himself around his friends for fear they might not accept who he really is. When circumstances force him to team up with Kaelyn Clarke, the biggest loser in the ninth grade, Parker has to decide what is more important; protecting his social status or saving the world. Nightmare named Fyren has taken over the gateway to the realm of Dreams, with the intention of controlling mortals, and it falls on Parker, Kaelyn, and Gladamyr – the Dream Keeper – to stop him. They learn being called a loser is no longer a fear, when compared to the terror of real nightmares.

Cas Peace, author of The Artisans of Albia series, was among the first to praise The Dream Keeper: “This really is a cracking novel. Action-packed and spellbinding!”

Here is an excerpt from the opening of The Dream Keeper, which introduces one of the two main characters:

Parker was about to assassinate the general of the goblin army. It wasn’t murder, it was an assignment. He tried to justify what he was about to do as he jumped from the rooftop and landed just above the battlement wall. It was the perfect spot to scout the camp. The goblins filling the keep were everywhere, sharpening blades and axes or gathering weapons for the impending battle. Parker noticed a large troll in the right hand corner of the space below, hammering solidly on a sword large enough to split three men into six. He spotted his target.

The general of the goblin army was a large brute with golden braids hanging down his chest. He was the one who had ordered the burning of Parker’s home village. The one who had ordered the death of Parker’s family and friends. This monster, this villain, was the reason Parker had set out on his journey to seek vengeance upon the unjust. This was the creature responsible for Parker swearing allegiance to the Mightercore army, who quickly gave him the role of assassin-scout.

Parker maneuvered his way down the wall, careful not to move too fast or his invisibility cloak would lose its power. He placed his foot in one crevice, then his hand in another. After a few moments of skilled climbing, Parker found himself precariously positioned just behind the golden haired brute, leaving only a small distance between him and his foe. In a quick session tactic, Parker could ignite his blade with the magic of the Mightercore and his target would be no more. He positioned himself to strike, raising his sword and whispering the incantation that would release the blade’s power—.


He ignored whoever was calling his name; they did not matter. All he saw was the villain before him. The completed spell ignited Parker’s sword with a blazing haze of blue fire, and he had to act fast.


The loud call startled him and he swung too late. The goblin general had already turned and he struck, forcing Parker back against the rocky battlements. Parker parried the attack and thrust forward with a low slash. The general sidestepped and lunged forward again. Parker parried and rolled away from the wall. A lightning spell was the only magic he had left. If he could find enough time to call out the incantation, he could have the general radiating electrons from every appendage.

He rolled until he was a good ten feet from his opponent, then quickly stood. Lifting his hand into the air, he called down the lightning. The sky filled with a brilliant white light, and the crack of thunder reverberated off the walls. Parker briefly closed his eyes then opened them, praying he had hit his target. As the white dust began to clear, he made out an image before him. He peered at it, his heart thumping.

The screen went black.

“Parker, I’ve called you three times. Now get off that machine and go do your homework.”


Will Parker get his chance to beat the game and escape the label of “loser” from his classmates? You’ll have to read the book to find out!


Mikey Brooks describes himself as a small child masquerading as adult. On occasion you’ll find him dancing the funky chicken, singing like a banshee, and pretending to have never grown up. He is the author/illustrator of several books including BEAN’S DRAGONS, the ABC ADVENTURES series, and author of the middle-grade fantasy-adventure novel, THE DREAM KEEPER. He spends most of his time playing with his daughters and working as a freelance illustrator. Mikey has a BS degree in Creative Writing from Utah State University. He is also one of the hosts of the Authors’ Think Tank Podcast.

The Dream Keeper is available at the following links:




Paperback Create Space:





Hardback: 978-1-939993-01-4, Paperback: 978-1-939993-03-8, EBook: 978-1-939993-02-1


Hardback: $19.95, Paperback: $12.99, EBook: $4.99


You can contact Mikey through any of the following links:



Amazon Author page:



Goodreads at:  

Facebook at:

Twitter as: @writtenbymikey



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GANWOLD’S CHILD Free on Kindle!

Today I’m going to indulge in a little self-promotion. This Saturday and Sunday, May 18 and 19, Ganwold’s Child will be FREE on!

ImageGanwold is the first book in my military science fiction trilogy, The Sergey Chronicles. All three books, including omnibus editions, are now available for both Kindle and Nook. I’ll provide the links below.

Most important, my royalties for all book sales in May will be contributed to Ben Wolverton’s medical fund. I posted about Ben a few weeks ago. He’s the 16-year-old son of my longtime friend and mentor, Dave Wolverton, and he had a serious longboarding accident in early April. Ben is making wonderful progress in his recovery, but his medical bills are expected to exceed $1 million, and his family has no health insurance due to preexisting health conditions. So many of us are chipping in to help out.

Ganwold’s Child originally was published by Tor Books in 1995. Since being released as an ebook, it has garnered several 5-star reviews. If you liked the original STAR WARS or know people who do, The Sergey Chronicles are the books for you.

Tristan grew up a human among aliens.

Now he must use his alienness to survive among humans.

The Sergey Chronicles, one military family’s saga and a large-scale epic of interstellar war, begin with the odyssey of Ganwold’s Child. Combat surgeon Darcie Dartmuth is taking her toddler son, Tristan, to rejoin her husband, Lieutenant Lujan Sergey, when their military transport is captured by alien slavers, the masuki. Darcie and Tristan manage to escape in a lifepod and land on Ganwold, home of the primitive and alien ganan. Tristan is barely eighteen when Darcie contracts a life-threatening illness. Accompanied by his gan “brother,” Pulou, Tristan sets out to seek help for her. When he ventures into an enemy colony, he is captured and turned over to Sector General Mordan Renier, his father’s nemesis, who uses Tristan as bait to trigger a new war for Renier’s lost homeworld. Now an Admiral and commander of the Unified Worlds’ special forces, the Spherzah, Lujan must repel Renier’s impending attack, realizing he could lose the family he has just learned is still alive.

Orson Scott Card, my mentor at the time, called Ganwold “A very good first novel in which a youngster plunges into a demanding military environment and is forced to find out just how good he is. This novel is exemplary for showing how the effective military mind really works—you’ll find no romantic military nonsense here.”

To get Ganwold’s Child for FREE on Saturday and Sunday, click here:

To purchase the other books on Kindle and contribute to Ben’s medical fund, click here:

To purchase the Sergey books on Nook and contribute to Ben’s fund, click here:

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A Sneak Peek at “Running from the Gods”

Yes, I’ve been AWOL lately. I didn’t have a guest this week, though I have more coming in the next couple of months! I’ve been racing to complete touch-ups on “Running from the Gods” before surrendering it into the skilled hands of a professional editor in early June.

The other day I worked on one of the lighter chapters in “Running.” It gave me a much-needed chuckle or two, so I decided to share it today. In the chapters leading to this one, 16-year-old Akuleh (aka Ku) barely escaped with his life from a pack of exiled criminals and managed to persuade the local military recruiters that he’s a legitimate conscript. In this chapter he begins both a friendship and an enmity that will carry through the entire series.






Thirteen: The Challenge

     I dashed through the door into the corridor, feeling like Machitew had appeared at my shoulder. What did I just sign myself up for?

     I shoved my qualms away. I just did what I’ve been wanting to do ever since Huk left. I reminded myself, What I have to do to protect my family.

     Hanuk and I had both dreamed of joining the Qaletaqa, the Chalca Territorial Militia’s Special Missions branch, from the time we could pronounce the name. But you had to put in at least two years of military service before you could apply for the Qaletaqa.

     This is the first step. Then I thought, No more shegruls. No more Istas. I laughed out loud. She’s going to be furious!

     Halfway down the corridor I stopped to shift my helmet enough to rifle through the brown packet until I found the room key, a plastic tab with 512 printed on it. Up three floors.

  I decided to take the lift this time. Maybe I’d ride all the way to the top first for a good look at the aviary. You couldn’t see much from the lobby, except prism-split flashes of greenery inside the crystal enclosure. Was the foliage artificial or real? I’d heard of air-breathing vines and mosses that grew in jungle canopies on other worlds. Maybe the hotel owners had imported some of those along with the birds.

  A chime, announcing a lift car’s arrival on the second floor, interrupted my speculations. When its door hissed open, I faced four guys dressed like the kid in the recruiters’ office, though they were normal Chalca height. “Going down?” asked the square-jawed one nearest the door.

  “Up,” I said.

  They stared at me, and the same self-consciousness that had pulled me up short before the recruiter in the corridor crashed down on me like a rockslide off a mesa.

  “Only conscripts are allowed on the fifth floor,” a second guy said. He had an ax-narrow face, and he smirked, “If you want your big brother, you’ll have to call him from down in the lobby.”

  My hands tightened at my sides. “I am a conscript.”

  They glanced at each other and chuckled. “Yeah, right!” the square-jawed guy said.

  As the door began to close, one of them muttered in a derisive tone, “Shegherders from the desert!”

  “He even smells like a shegrul!” another chortled.

  Their laughter reverberated up the lift shaft as the car sank away.

When the next car arrived empty, I stomped inside. “Five,” I snarled.

  As I exited the lift my key card lit up, displaying a miniature grid with an LED sequence running across it, directing me to the right. I turned, and the light sequence led me down the corridor, left into a cross corridor, and to the second door on the right.

  I hesitated before I touched the key to the lock pad. What if one of the guys in the lift has this room?

  His problem. I set my jaw and keyed the lock. The door slid open.

  The tall kid, the other late arrival, sat cross-legged on the nearest bed, a remote in his hand. He grinned when he saw me. “You’re just in time to order dinner.”

  My face still burned from the remark that I smelled like a shegrul. “I need to wash,” I said.

  “Come and order first,” he urged. “It’ll take them a while to deliver, and I’ve got the menu up.”

  I dropped my helmet on a small table just inside the door and strode into the room, far enough to see the display filling the wall opposite the beds, but keeping a distance from my new roommate. He flicked through nine or ten choices, and pictures of laden dishes appeared, one after another. An hour or two ago, entering that filthy transit stop restroom, I’d thought I’d never be hungry again, but now my stomach growled.

  “That looks good.” I pointed with my chin.

  “Ribs of equatorial wild boar. Great choice!” my roomie said. “Yeah, I think I’ll get ribs, too. Where’s your meal card?” As I fished it out of my packet, he added, “I’m Odakota of Anoki clan, from North Gate Enclave, but call me Kota.”

  “Akuleh, Masou clan,” I said, handing over my card, “from Red Wash Enclave. I go by Ku.”

  “Red Wash?” Kota focused on entering our card numbers via the remote. “Do you know the guy who—” He stopped, glanced around, and his eyes widened. “You are the guy who landed that bird-struck Darter! Yuma’s breath!” He stared at me, open-mouthed.

  “If you tell anybody . . .” I mock-threatened.

  “I won’t! I promise!” He pretended to cower in front of me.

  “Yell when the food comes,” I said, and headed for the bathroom. I needed a long, hot soak, my standard practice after a day of shegrul partitioning or combatives training.

  The bathtub had once been a block of black-veined marble from which a perfect oval had been carved, smoothed, and polished. An oval wide enough for two people to sit side-by-side, and shoulder-deep. It had a headrest at one end, a touch-panel to control water temperature, and massage jets! It made the pump-filled corrugated trough in Istas’s dwelling look completely primitive, which it was. I sighed in anticipation, started the water, and reached up to pull off my backpack.

  No straps hugged my shoulders. No backpack. Had I left it in the recruiter’s office? On the transport from Old Trade Center? I tried to remember the last time I’d seen it. At Chavat’s hardware post? Elder Macawi’s store? The bank? I’d had it there. Then I’d put it . . .

  I had put it in the compartment behind the seat of my straddlejet. My stolen straddlejet! I groaned aloud. So loud it came out in a bellow.

  “What’d you do, scald yourself?” Kota yelled from the other room.

  “No.” I moved to the doorway. “Those reeking crims even got my clean underwear!”

  Kota burst out laughing. “I’ve got to hear this tale!” He slid off his bed to squat by the large pack sprawled at its foot. “My Ma must’ve got me a dozen new pairs,” he said, rummaging through the pack. “I think you’re close enough. Here.” Before I could reply, he’d hooked a pair of shorts on his forefinger, stretched the waistband, and let fly.

  I snagged them out of the air before they hit me in the face. “These had better be clean!”

  “Never been worn, but I sure don’t want them back!” Kota said.

  I mentally inventoried the contents of my lost pack while the massage jets pummeled away my fatigue. Socks, shorts, hygiene kit, and that outdated ear tab. Nothing I couldn’t replace, except I only had three rels left in my pocket. I’d be washing stuff by hand every night until uniform issue.

  Clad in Kota’s loaner shorts—he was lankier than me so they were a little snug at my waist—I washed my own shorts, shirt, and socks in the basin and hung them around the bathroom to dry. I had to use one of the bodywashes from the wall dispenser for laundry soap, which gave them a greenery scent. Better than the fruity or floral options, and definitely better than puke!

  A chirp sounded in the other room, and Kota called, “Chow’s up!” I emerged in time to see him heft a stack of plate-sized containers from the vacuwaiter tube running up through one corner. Water welled in my mouth at the rich aroma of seared ribs.

  The meat, smothered in spicy red sauce, practically fell off the bones, and I practically inhaled it. A mound of roasted and seasoned tuber wedges filled my second dish. I made short work of those, too.

  “This sauce isn’t bad,” Kota said between sucking it off his fingers, “but I like the stuff Pa gets on Satha better.”

  Kota’s father was Sathi, he told me, which explained his height, lankiness, and brownish hair. He had been his father’s apprentice, learning the merchant trade, before he got his conscription notice.

  “I’ve gone with him to Solienne and Satha a few times, and once to Och,” he said. “I have a pilot license, but I think I’ve traveled by vortex more than Darter.”

  Derry appeared in my mind, with her storm-gray eyes and small freckled nose. “Have you been to Ardonar?”

  “No.” Kota licked another finger. “But Pa says they make the best sausages.”

  And the prettiest girls, I thought.

  After Kota turned in I retrieved my link from my discarded trousers. I had a message to send. I had spent the last few days mentally composing it but my thumbs hesitated on the touchpad.

     “Gram, I joined the Soliennese Defense Force. I can’t go home. You know why.”

     Gram had been there when my father performed my Birth Chant. She knew as well as everybody else in the clan what it said.

     “I’m sorry for lying to you,” I wrote. But then I added one more lie. “We’re leaving for Solienne in a few minutes.” A guilty pang jabbed my soul, but I knew if Gram thought she could stop me, she’d come out to the hotel and hunt me down. She might try anyway. I ended with, “I’ll contact you when I can. Akuleh,” and tapped SEND.


     A strident, brassy tune ripped me from sleep. I shot upright. Across the room, Kota sat up with a gasp. Outside the window, predawn pink arched above the horizon.

     We scrambled into our clothes. Dampness lingered in my socks and my shirt’s underarms, and they had stiffened.

     Once dressed, we collected room keys, links, and our brown packets and joined the human river in the corridor.

  “There’s a mob at the lifts,” Kota said through a yawn as we rounded the corner.

  “Emergency stairs.” I pointed the way with a jut of my jaw. “That’ll be faster.”

  We clattered our way down five levels, and burst into the lobby as the first wave of bleary-eyed, tousled guys stumbled from the lifts. The uniformed recruiters stood waiting, ranged across the lobby and pointing kids to specific groups.

  “Pilot conscripts over here!” someone shouted. “All conscripts with pilot billets over here!”

  Kota and I eeled our way through the growing crowd and emerged before a recruiter wearing pilot’s wings on his chest.

  We weren’t the only ones. From my left a snide voice said, “Look, you guys, it’s Sheggy-boy!”

  I wrenched around as the foursome from the lift drew up. They wore shiny gray crewshirts with green-and-black symbols on the upper left chest, and smug expressions.

  The evident alpha of the group, the square-jawed one, said, “Still looking for your big brother, kid? What does he fly, one of those desert crates with skids, held together with shegrul spit?”

  Beside me Kota stiffened, his expression indignant. “This is—” he began.

  I shot him a warning glare. “I fly a Darter one-eighty-six Quad,” I said. “What do you guys fly, shiny little remote-controlled fighter models?”

  “Ku,” Kota began, “they’re—”

  The grayshirts snorted, almost in unison, and Alpha Male drew himself up. “We are the Hevovitas Aerial Performance Team. I’m Huritt. Hevo Lead to you. This is Hevo Two.” He indicated the kid at his right, whose head resembled a badly carved wooden block. “And Hevo Three.” He pointed at the ax-faced kid on his left. “And Hevo Four.” He waved toward a wiry guy left of Three. “You’ve never seen our show?” His question bore disbelief.

  “It wasn’t on my required viewing list,” I said.

  “You haven’t missed anything,” Kota told me.

   Huritt swelled like a bull sniper lizard during mating season. “If you’d seen it,” he said, “you’d already know that the only competition for Distinguished Graduate will be among the four of us.” His circular gesture included his buddies. “So don’t waste your time, Sheggy-boy.”

  I yawned. It was completely involuntary, but I made the most of it. Then I smiled. “I’ll remember that,” I said, “when they’re pinning the Distinguished Graduate medal on me.”


There you go! I’m having fun with this. Please let me know what you think. For more information about the Seventh Shaman series, check out my website at

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Available Today! Joni Heirtzler’s Short-Story Collection “Displaced”

Joni Heirtzler is living the dream, even when it takes a tremendous amount of work, sweat and tears.


In the ninth grade, she began attending an early-college high school so she could graduate with her associates degree at the time of her high school graduation. She’s attained that degree, earning two scholarships in the process to further her education.

At the age of eighteen she’s ahead of most students her age academically, and she wants to do more. She has a dream to see the world, but not only see it, to serve others while she’s overseas.

She’s chosen to do this through the International Language Program, a nonprofit organization that places people from the U.S. with schools in other countries to help teach the students English.

She’s signed up for Lithuania.

But there’s a setback. Because Joni has been enrolled in college courses, serving the community in association with the National Honor Society, finishing her high school degree, and participating in track and orchestra, she’s had little time to find regular employment. Her family has helped, but she needs more.
She’s worked hard to earn her own way to go to Lithuania with ILP, and she’s drawing on her talents any way she can to get the remaining funds.

As a talented writer, she’s compiled three short stories to sell as an ebook, all the funds going to help children she doesn’t even know. The three story compilation is entitled Displaced and can be purchased on Amazon for only $2.99. It contains three stories, The Influence, Last Minute and Rain.


To make additional donations, an account has been set up on Razoo:

Here is an excerpt from The Influence:
“Precious memories swam through my mind. I hadn’t realized how dull life was without a body until I’d received one. The world had become vibrantly beautiful. I remembered the first day; all of the senses overbearing.”

Joni is the second of five children. She’s active in track, plays the violin and loves to serve others. She’s kind and compassionate and dreams of seeing more of the world before settling down to complete another two years of college to obtain her bachelor’s degree. She’s planning on pursuing a degree in marketing through Southern Utah University as soon as she returns from Lithuania.

Please help Joni achieve her dream of helping students overseas learn English. You can buy “Displaced” here: 


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Enjoy Today . . . Before It Slips Away

This is the title of a sweet short story about a little girl’s desire to grow up. Penned by Stacy J. Coles a few months after losing her mother to cancer, the story contains a touching but profound message about the power of “now” and the treasure of every moment.


My own mother often urged me not to grow up too fast but to enjoy my childhood and youth while I had it, so Stacy’s story touched a very resonant note for me. It brought to mind long summer days playing up and down the neighborhood with my friends when I was small, and riding my horse through the foothills with other friends during my teens. I remember high points besides the usual ones like graduations, probably because my mother taught me to relish the moments. I remember early morning horseback rides into the hills with my Dad, and hauling hay and sprinkler pipes and hoeing a long row of beans before breakfast. Not fun at the time, but I didn’t know then just how good I had it. I remember the rugged tree house in the big old apple tree at the far end of the hay field. Swinging on the rope from the barn rafters with my cousins. Floating down the irrigation canals on inner tubes. Yes, all those unsafe things that Child Protective Services would have fits about today! Not only did we survive, but we had a lot of laughs and made a lot of memories.

So I thank Stacy for her story, “Enjoy Today . . . Before It Slips Away.” I highly recommend it as a Mother’s Day gift for your mom, your grandmother, your sisters, your wife, or your daughters.

ImageIt’s available now, in paperback, on Amazon at…+Before+It+Slips+Away

and from Barnes & Noble at  

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An Unbelievable Sequel!

Unbelievable, the long-awaited second book in Sherry Gammon’s Port Fare series, was released on April 15th!

Deliah Lopez Dreser is in town to take care of family business. They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but there’s more to Lilah than meets the eye.


Cole is in danger of losing his heart when this firestorm throws sparks his way. However, is she simply playing him for the fool in order to exact revenge for her brothers’ murders?

Maggie’s and Seth’s reactions when the truth is revealed pushes friendship to the limit. And this time around it won’t be a Dreser causing an uproar in Fort Fare. It will be Cole’s good friend Booker. But does Booker have it all wrong?

Here is my favorite excerpt from Unbelievable, in which Maggie and Lilah are out dress shopping. 

A priggish woman stepped out, a wide smile filling her face. This was who Maggie called Darf Vader? She looked nothing like the daunting guy dressed in black I’d seen in pictures. This Vader was completely unintimidating, and dressed entirely in pink. Pink cropped jacket, pink pencil skirt, even pink pumps. Then she smiled. “Dolores Umbridge,” I said under my breath. Maggie’s shoulders shook a little.

“Ms. Brown. So good to see you again.” She greeted Maggie with a stiff hug.

“Hello. This is my friend Lilah. I brought her along to help me decide.” Maggie set her purse down on the cold, dark leather couch.

“Oh.” Darf raked her eyes over me slowly, starting with my black boots, and working her way up my black calf-length leggings and white tunic. She stopped just a moment to eyeball my black belt with silver studs that hung on my hips. Yeah, too-over-the-top for her.

Darf turned her back to me and stepped up to Maggie, though I could still see her toad-like face in the mirror over Maggie’s shoulder.

Lowering her voice, Darf said, “Dear, maybe you should bring your mother.”

“She’s dead,” Maggie replied in a whisper.

I had the pleasure of watching Darf’s face tighten as if she swallowed a mouth full of sour milk. “I’m sorry. I’m sure your friend will do just fine.”

Darf sent Maggie into the dressing room with one of her assistants. The prig turned to me and, without saying a word, pointed to a black leather loveseat and black end table across the room. On the table laid a tray of bell-shaped cookies. I sat down and ate way too many amazing cookies. Maggie entered the room as I downed my fourth. I about choked.


To view Unbelievable‘s gripping book trailer, visit Sherry’s blog at:

Sherry Gammon’s debut novel, Unlovable, quickly rose to many top seller lists on Amazon. She is pleased to announce that Unlovable is currently being made into a movie! Along with Unbelievable, she has added two more novels to her body of work. Souls in Peril is the poignant story of Max Sanchez, who is on a journey to help the struggling JD Miller survive high school, and Pete & Tink is a fun, lighthearted novella about a manga-loving geek and a five-and-a-half-inch fairy.


Sherry and her husband, along with their children and a couple of crazy dogs,call upstate New York home. It is where she spends her nights writing instead of sleeping.

Unbelievable is available for sale on Amazon at

From Barnes & Noble at

And from Smashwords at

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