Celebrating Bastille Day Doggie Style

Miss April in Paris

 

 

 Welcome to the Writer With Dogs Bastille Day Blog Party

 

This post is part of A Dog Dreams of Paris blog tour with WOW! Women On Writing. Click here for the kick-off interview on The Muffin and the remaining stops on the tour, which ends July 24th.

 

 

 

 

Miss April in Paris has enlivened this household of one human and six dogs. The human stays active, but six dogs are pretty much couch potatoes. The excitement of the publication of April's diary has caused a stir with the hounds. They have been following her blog tour and wonder if perhaps sometime down the road they will each have their own book. Time will tell on that one. However, time is important today. . . . Party time that is, as the dogs plan to celebrate Bastille Day!

 

"I've never heard of Bastille Day." Chloe, the alpha Chihuahua, exclaimed as soon as the party was brought up. She was slightly preoccupied with her fake mustache. It tickled her nose.

 

"It's simple," Diva dog Miss April in Paris explained. "Bastille Day, the French national holiday, commemorates the storming of the Bastille, which took place on July 14, 1789, and was the beginning of the French Revolution. The Bastille was a prison and a symbol of the power of Louis the 16th's Regime. By capturing this symbol, the people signaled that the king's power was no longer absolute: power should be based on the Nation and be limited by a separation of powers. The French celebrate Bastille Day each year on July 14th, with parties, parades,  food, drinks, dances and fireworks!"

 

"Do we get dog bones?" Bray, usually reserved and shy, was excited at the thought of more food. He slipped into a pair of cool shades and helped himself to a frosty beverage.

 

"Yes, and special drinks. Now, doesn't that taste yummy?" Diva April snorted, a very unladylike gesture. Perhaps she had already had a few of the special party drinks.

 

"I love music," Annabelle stretched on the couch, her big belly pointing up at the ceiling. The sound of a favorite pop song Uptown Funk got her up and moving. "I can make a run to the store if we need anything." While she didn't drive, Annabelle loved to ride in the car with the radio blasting tunes into the universe.

 

Rascal's eyes rolled. Her blue eye (for she has two different colored eyes) winked at April. "Are you wearing that old pink hat again?"

 

"It's my Diva hat. It's the hat that started my story. And yes, I am wearing it. You can have one of those silly party hats on the table."

 

"Gladly," Rascal yawned, then raced across the room to grab a hat and a party drink.

 

"Count me in, too!" Bertha rambled over to the table to find a pair of party glasses, both to wear and to drink from. "Let the party begin!" Bertha was especially social. She looked at her drink and wondered if perhaps she should have put the lime in the coconut. Then she barked, a loud piercing sound and shook her head, her funny mustache mixing with saliva dripping off her chops. Bertha took a sip out of her coconut and toasted the day.  "Viva La France!"

 

Before the party gets too rowdy, the dogs posed for their Bastille Day portraits.

 

Chloe

 

Bray

 

Annabelle

 

 

Rascal

 

Bertha

 

 

Wishing all a happy Bastille Day. Party On!

 

Writing Animal Stories for Children By Fiona Ingram

Kindle

Join in as Fiona Ingram's blog tour with WOW! continues. 

On Writing Animal Stories for Children

I was overjoyed to do a post on writing animal stories for children. Animal welfare has become closer to my heart more than ever over the past few years. Authors contemplating writing a book for children featuring animals should consider what the main message is. Is it an entertaining tale? A moral or fable? An educational theme? When writing animal books for children, a clever writer can incorporate all sorts of themes without sounding didactic.

I began writing animal rescue books after reading stories about animals saved from abuse, and decided to do what I could to raise awareness about the care of animals, their importance in our lives, and the fact that they are sentient beings. They feel all the emotions we do; they need us for shelter, protection, food/water, love, grooming etc. We have a huge responsibility as the guardians of the planet and of all animal life, domestic and exotic. We should be teaching this to our children from an early age.

Champ’s story came about when I read about an abused little dog left for dead at a California shelter. Vets literally brought him back to life from the brink of death (he was almost suffocated in two plastic bags). From there he began a long and painful road to recovery, until he now is a happy, healthy, wonderful little dog, bringing joy into people’s lives.

When writing his tale, I had to think about who this book would appeal to and why. Adults who are animal lovers would want to know Champ’s journey, but might not want their kids to see too many horrible images. Kids would be interested in learning about caring for animals and how every little act or gesture counts. Younger readers (needing to be read to) would like to hear a story from Champ’s point of view. So I included all these elements. Champ writes his own heroic tale in which he experiences what many kids do: fear, insecurity, wondering if he is brave enough. He foils a plan of two would-be dognappers to kidnap and hold to ransom all the dogs in his area. He enlists the aid of caring and well-meaning animal friends, and becomes the hero of the day. Champ also writes a poem to express his joy at having a new life with lots of love.

When one sees the number of children with physical or emotional problems being able to overcome these with service dogs and/or other pets, one can easily understand how children relate on a deep emotional level to an animal that does not judge; it only loves. An author can include lots of positive messages in a book for children with or about animals, such as making new friends, giving and receiving help, overcoming difficult situations.

Another important lesson authors can include is teaching children responsibility towards a pet, caring for it properly, treating it as they would like to be treated, not as a toy one tosses aside when bored.

I hope readers will take the time to read more about Champ and share his amazing story with friends and family who love animals.

 

 

Read more about Champ's Champion Christmas on Fiona Ingram's blog. 

Visit S.A.F.E. Rescue No-Kill Shelter (who saved Champ) www.SAFEanimalrescue.com

See Champ on Twitter @ChampMyStory    

 

 

Author Fiona Ingram is visiting Writer With Dogs today as part of her WOW! (Women on Writing) blog tour for The Search for the Stone of Excalibur. Visit The Muffin for more information on the author and her tour schedule, which began on January 19th and runs through February 13th.

 

Amazon

About the Book: 

A modern day adventure as our protagonists search for Excalibur and the treasures it holds!

Continuing the adventure that began in Egypt a few months prior in TheSecret of the Sacred Scarab, cousins Adam and Justin Sinclair are hot on the trail of the second Stone of Power, one of seven ancient stones lost centuries ago. This stone might be embedded in the hilt of a newly discovered sword that archaeologists believe belonged to King Arthur: Excalibur.

However, their long-standing enemy, Dr. Khalid, is following them as they travel to Scotland to investigate an old castle. Little do they know there is another deadly force, the Eaters of Poison, who have their own mission to complete. Time is running out as the confluence of the planets draws closer. Can Justin and Adam find the second Stone of Power and survive? And why did Aunt Isabel send a girl with them?

Join Justin and Adam as they search not only for the second Stone of Power, but also for the Scroll of the Ancients, a mysterious document that holds important clues to the Seven Stones of Power. As their adventure unfolds, they learn many things and face dangers that make even their perils in Egypt look tame. And how annoying for them that their tag-along companion, Kim, seems to have such good ideas when they are stumped.

 

 

About Fiona Ingram:

 

Fiona Ingram was born and educated in South Africa, and has worked as a full-time journalist and editor. Her interest in ancient history, mystery, and legends, and her enjoyment of travel resulted in The Secret of the Sacred Scarab, the first in her exciting children’s adventure series—The Chronicles of the Stone. This was inspired by a family trip the author took with her mom and two young nephews aged ten and twelve at the time. The book began as a short story for her nephews and grew from there. The Search for the Stone of Excalibur is a treat for young King Arthur fans. Fiona is busy with Book 3 entitled The Temple of the Crystal Timekeeper, set in Mexico.

While writing The Secret of the Sacred Scarab, Fiona fostered (and later adopted) a young African child from a disadvantaged background. Her daughter became the inspiration for the little heroine, Kim, in The Search for the Stone of Excalibur. Interestingly, the fictional character’s background and social problems are reflected in the book as Kim learns to deal with life. Fiona’s experiences in teaching her daughter to read and to enjoy books also inspired many of her articles on child literacy and getting kids to love reading.

 

Links:  Author Web      Author Blog     Twitter @FionaRobyn     Facebook

               Author's Amazon Page

A Three-Dog Night and More

 

Rascal likes to snuggle by my pillow. Not only does it keep me warm, I get dog kisses periodically until she falls asleep.

 

 

With frigid temperatures falling all over the country, the south no exception, and my little spot in Decatur, with the wind chill, in the single digits. According to the weather channel, we are facing forty hours of below freezing (OMG)temperatures. Yikes!

 

I jokingly posted on Facebook yesterday evening that it was a six-dog night at my house, thinking of the phrase, a three-d0g night. Then I began to wonder, just where did that phrase come from? We all say it and know it means how many dogs to ward off the chill.

 

I did a bit of research.

 

The geographic source of the phrase has been debated many times. Is it the Australian outback or the northern reaches of North America with the Eskimos. The meaning is clear, no matter the location. The phrase is a rudimentary nightly temperature gauge. Dogs huddled with humans at night for their warmth. On really cold nights, three dogs were brought to bed to keep the owner from freezing to death.

 

In American Literature:

 

 

 

Available on Amazon

 

Whatever its origins it does turn up in American literature, and most of those included a definition as well as the phrase. A passage from a juvenile novel, Courage at Indian Deep by Jane Resh Thomas, provides a good example. Jane Resh Thomas is the author of more than a dozen fiction and non-fiction books for young readers. This book was published in 1990.

 

A ship sinks during an autumn blizzard on Lake Superior, and Cass and his dog are the only ones who can help the survivors.

 

     “Here, Tongue.” Cass dried the dog and coaxed him under the open sleeping bag. “This is a three-dog night, for sure, but one dog will have to do.”  

     Answering the puzzled look on Torberg’s face, Cass said, “I read that frontiersmen slept with dog because their body temperature is higher than a human’s. A three-dog night was a night so cold it took three dogs to keep a man warm.” 

     “Tongue’s a living electric blanket,” said Torberg smiling.


Another children's book:

 

From Amazon

 

Another children's book piles on more dogs for warmth. The Five-Dog Night, written and illustrated by Eileen Christelow. When Old Betty tries to advise Ezra on how to survive the cold winter nights, Ezra rebuffs her concerns because he has his own private source of warmth. Published in 1993.

 

 

You might say I am living the dream. Covered in dogs. At my house we have a six-dog night most every night!

 

 

Bertha Barth, Miss April in Paris, Bray-boy, Annabelle, Rascal,

and Chloe in her pink sweater.

 

 

 

Miss Sophie Writes - Reposted from Tara Joyner Haussler's blog "I Might Need A Nap"

 

Miss Sophie Ru

 

Note: Miss Sophie lives with Tara Joyner Haussler. This post was previously published on Tara's blog I Might Need A Nap. Tara was one of the authors in the anthology A Cup of Christmas, available on Kindle for $1.99. All proceeds go to First Book, a charity that places books in the hands of children in need.

 

 

A note from the paws of Miss Sophie:
 

     These people, I sure have a hard time figuring them out sometimes. They know my name, and yet, they call me “No” and “Stop it” almost more than they call me Sophie.
 

     It’s not like I picked out that name for myself or anything–they chose it. If I’d had my druthers, I would be called Geraldine. Yeah. I like that name.
 

     Anyway, yesterday they said, “Bed,” and I went and they gave me my treat on command. I’ve got them trained well. When I sit in my bed, I wait, and they give me a treat. It’s a pretty sweet deal actually. They left for a few hours and when they came home, I could hardly believe my eyes.
 

    And I have pretty good vision.
 

    The people brought a tree in the house. You know, one of those things that lives outside that I like to sniff around and eat things out from under. In. the. house. Well! I mean, these are the same folks who take their shoes off in the house and flip out if I go anywhere near the mud puddles way back in the yard behind our house.
 

    I don’t get it.
 

    It immediately started shedding, something I can proudly say I do not do. It was pretty disgusting. The Fella promptly vacuumed it up. I actually chose not to bark while he was vacuuming this time, and the people didn’t notice or anything. Really? Fine. Next time then…
 

    After all of the hullabaloo about getting this tree in the house, I watched as the Fella brought in a big box of things on the ends of green wire. (I like green wire. I like wire. Twist ties are my favorite, but they never let me play with one for long.) They spent much time discussing these things and untangling them. It was torture. They did all of this beside the tree which they put in the room I’m not allowed in. Honestly, you mistake a rug for a piddle pad once or three times too many…
 

     After things were untwisted, the people talked some more.  The one they all call Mama, the one who sits up with me late at night, kept saying the letters, “LED” over and over and wrinkling up her nose like she does when she tells me my toy is “nasty.” (It’s not, it’s delicious.) I don’t think she cares for whatever that LED thing is. The Fella took several of those strand thingies outside and the littles went with him. Then the one they call Mama twisted the rest of the wire thingies all around that tree.
 

    Can you imagine what that’s even about?
 

    When she was done, she stood back and then flipped a switch.
 

    Wow.
 

    They’ve been doing some pretty crazy things around here, like putting some lights in different places and putting these red and green things all over the place, but this was amazing.
 

    It was all lit up, that tree, only there was no fire like what the one they call Mama turns on in the living room at night. These were all sparkly and warm and I wanted to crawl right under that tree, drink from that big water bowl, and gaze up at the twinkly lights. And look for treats…
 

     Tonight they went through a box, each one of them, and they hung things on the tree. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. And they won’t let me anywhere near it. I can’t imagine why.
 

They keep me away from everything fun–the trash can, the mud puddles, and now this–this tree.
 

     I just don’t get it.
 

     But tonight I’m thankful my people are back home and that it looks like we’re going to bed a little earlier tonight.  I’m thankful for the food in my bowl and the water in my dish, but I still think that tree offers a lovely new eating venue.
 

     Most of all, I’m thankful for the happy faces and the singing of songs that keeps happening around here. It seems like they are more relaxed these days. And happy, relaxed people make for a happy Sophie.
 

     Love and barks to all. Sophie

 

 

 

 

That tree -  INSIDE the house with lights all over it! Have you ever heard of such?

 

A note from Tara: As I was stringing the lights on the tree this morning, I saw Miss Sophie watching intently from the other side of the gate. I wondered what she thought of all of the goings on, and she was more than happy to share. Tonight I’m thankful for that. And for a word my Daddy taught me long, long ago. Anthropomorphism. I love that word. Love to all.  

 

 

 

Tara Joyner Haussler

 

 

 

Visit Tara's : I Might Need A Nap Mama Said They Made Me Nicer

Throughout the adventures of my life, when I would get stressed or yes, let’s be honest, whiney, Mama would call me out. “You need a nap. Get some sleep. Things will look different after you get some rest.”

 

 

Squeak by Jane-Ann Heitmueller

Squeak

    Perhaps Methuselah would have been a more appropriate name for her, but at the time, we didn’t know she would live so long! Instead, we decided to call her Squeak, since that was the only sound she could utter around ten days of age when we found her.

     Even above the roar of the lawn mower, I thought I detected a strange, high-pitched noise. Probably just a bird, I rationalized to myself, but it certainly does sound like a tiny kitten in distress. Oh well, just my imagination I suppose. 

      However, when I finished mowing and turned off the engine, I knew, without a doubt,   what I heard was a frantic little kitten calling for help. This was not the usual meowing sound, rather an eeekkk, eeekkk, eeekkk, much like that of a squeaking rusty wheel. 

     There was no way I was going inside that hot August afternoon without locating the little critter. After all, she desperately needed me. I tried to call out and listened intently for her answer, in order to track the origin of those pathetic urgings. Quite soon, I discovered the sound came from under the barn floor. Stretching out flat, I peered under the boards into the darkness, and reached carefully inside calling, “Here, kitty, kitty. Here, kitty, kitty.”  

      Much to my delight, about ten feet away, I could faintly detect a tiny form wobbling straight toward me. There was none of the usual feline hissing, screeching, and scratching or hair-raising fear from this eager little character, who instinctively sensed I was not the enemy. She was absolutely correct. The two of us have been best buddies for almost twenty years now and “Squeak” has earned the well-deserved title of ‘Matriarch’ of our large menagerie of pets, with whom she has cohabitated or, in a few cases, simply endured over the years.  Clutching the fluffy little mite to my chest, I ran hastily into the house. 

       “Ray, Ray,” I excitedly yelled. “Look what I just found under the barn floor!” 

       He didn’t seem the least bit surprised by my joyous announcement. 

       “I know. I heard it a couple of days ago but didn’t tell you. I knew you’d find it sooner or later. That’s just what we need around here, another animal to look after,” he said with a sly grin. 

      “But it‘s so tiny and it’s all alone. I couldn’t just leave it there by itself. The poor little thing is hungry and scared.”   

      And so, as my sweet husband had done for me in so many similar instances over the years, he gave in and agreed to keep this squeaky little orphaned kitten. 

      But as Granny Johnson use to say, “There was a fly in the ointment.” 

      Although Ray puts up with my pets, I have always been their primary caregiver. He prefers to be simply an observer. It suddenly struck me that a slight problem might be in the works the next couple of days. You see, I had made plans to be out of town with a friend the coming weekend, but now I had this sightless, helpless little kitten to feed with an eyedropper every four hours. What to do, what to do? 

      “Dear, do you think you might be able to take care of Squeak while I’m gone? We’ll be back late Sunday afternoon. It’ll be easy. I’m sure you’ll do a good job.” 

      After the two of us negotiated the subject for a bit, he begrudgingly agreed to take care of the tiny black and white kitten while I was away. I knew he wasn’t keen on the prospect of this responsibility, but would do the best he could, thinking surely he could keep it alive for just two days. 

      Sunday evening I hardly said hello as I dashed in and abruptly dropped my suitcase with a thud by the back door.  

     “How’s the kitten? Is she alright? Where is she?” 

      Ray comfortably encased in his recliner reading the Sunday paper, nonchalantly glanced my way. 

      “Oh sure, she’s fine. She’s sound asleep over there in her basket, snug as a bug in a rug.” 

      “Did you get her to eat something while I was gone?”  

      “Yeah, she did just great. You can see for yourself. Her food bowl is empty.” 

       “Food bowl! What do you mean? Didn’t you feed her with the eyedropper? She doesn’t even know how to lap yet!” 

       “Oh, yes she does. After the two of us went round and round with that stupid eyedropper, I said… ‘To heck with this’. I put her milk in the saucer, stuck her face in it, and told her to eat or die. She’s been eating ever since. Squeak and I made it without any problem. Did you and Joyce have fun?” and with that he calmly resumed his reading. Stunned by his response all I could do was stand there in silence, not believing his words. 

  

     Yes indeed, Miss Squeak has been eating quite well ever since and has developed a personality definitely her own. I’m forever amazed at our ability to communicate with each other, not as simply cat to person, but friend to friend. I realize some folks might think this is weird thinking on my part, but just ask any animal person…they understand what I mean. This is her place and we are her people. After all, the choice was hers in the beginning. I sometimes wonder if her soul was here years before any of us occupied this old farm and it wouldn’t surprise me if it remains long after we are gone. 
 

 

 

 

 

About the author:
 

     An array of poems and short stories published by writer, Jane-Ann Heitmueller, can be read both on and off line. A few examples of the former teacher's work have appeared in Dew on the Kudzu, Nostalgia Magazine, Good Life Magazine, Stepping Stone Magazine, Yesterday's Memories, Ordinary and Sacred as Blood, Oxford So and So, Bodock Post, Nana's Corner and others. Heitmueller writes a monthly article for The Old Tennessee Valley Magazine and is presently putting the finishing touches on her soon to be released Kindle e-book Barnwood and Lace. She is part of the upcoming holiday anthology A Cup Of Christmas to be released December 2, 2014.

 

 

Read more about Barnwood and Lace on Genealogical e-Books web.

 

   

Author R. Leonia Shea, Legendary Magic, and The Dog Days Of Writing

It was a subtle transition.  At first, I dismissed it for a variety of reasons:  it's too hot, the ground is too damp, the humidity is too high.  I never thought it was just old age or the cataracts that clouded her big, brown eyes.  Instead of wanting to spend the days in the garden with her furry hip pressed against mine and her black nose twitching excitedly, she napped in her bed, sleeping contentedly while I read a book.  Every once in a while, she'd chase dream-rabbits with her small paws twitching, her ears pricked forward, and a doggy grin of joy flashing across her white muzzle. 

After a few weeks, I felt the need to do something and tried to coax her back outside.  She wasn't interested, so I had to find another way to amuse myself.  Soon, we replaced the chattering squirrels in the trees with air conditioned comfort and the clicking of computer keys.  I began writing to keep my dog company.    Between chapters, I would reach over and rub her belly while I thought up plot twists.  She would regard me with an interested expression, and I'd read snippets of my stories to her.  Listening to the words in my own voice gave me a sense of the cadence of my writing. 

My dog was the one who listened to my first manuscript.  She watched as I stared into space trying to come up with the next line, ever my patient companion.  As she grew older, we spent more days writing (okay, I wrote and she slept) and when we went out for walks she was my excuse to get some distance from a scene which just wasn't working.  When we returned home, I was refreshed and able to concentrate again.  She was ready for another nap. 

It is because of my dog that I finished several outlines and developed a few stories that I have since published.  The garden we once tended together has long since filled in with weeds, but I have found a new fertile ground to cultivate - my imagination. 

When the inevitable happened, my manuscripts went untouched for months.  Writing had become something that we did together and I found my grief paralyzing.  What had been routine became impossible, but eventually the impossible became therapeutic.  Writing soothed my lonely hands and I published the novel I had written on the living room floor years earlier.  It became Elementary Magic.

Naturally, there is a dog in that story.  The mythical trickster spirit Coyote is my tribute to my writing partner because she was indeed, my partner in everything.  She inspired me to be a better person than I ever thought possible, taught me compassion, patience, and fortitude.  She planted the garden in my imagination.

Although she was blind (almost overnight, as sometimes happens to diabetic dogs) she seemed unaffected by her condition.  In fact, she would sit in front of the window as if she were looking out it, and I would open the door so she could look outside on sunny days and feel the warmth of the sun on her fur.  She taught me just because you can't see something, doesn't mean it isn't there.  I made concessions to her blindness, her medical conditions, and her needs.  She made me a better person and a writer.

Many years have passed since then, and I have a new writing companion now.  She loves spending the day stretched out on the couch listening to clacking of the keys on my keyboard.  She rises before dawn with me and takes up her post on the couch in my office while I work.  She has taught me to approach everything as an adventure, to slow down and take the time to chase the moths that flutter around the patio lights, to explore the overgrown garden, and to take breaks to throw a ball or a stuffed toy instead of getting frustrated when a scene simply won't come together.   She is also the inspiration for the character of Coyote because to her, everything is fun and needs to be done immediately. 

The speed and cadence of my writing has changed as a result of the switch in writing companions.  My new co-author has a short attention span and a persistent nature, so I must get my thoughts down quickly because I never know when she'll present me with a toy and an invitation to play.   We have formed a partnership of our very own, one different from that of my first co-author, but one which reflects our relationship and our personalities. 

She listens when I read things aloud.  Paws at me when I've become too absorbed or when I seem frustrated.  She distracts me or lets me work for long stretches of time, and she is always there to lend a supportive ear.  She also keeps the area beneath my desk free from random goldfish crackers and pretzels.

I always write with a dog around.  They keep me centered, provide me with just enough distraction, and give me a non-judgmental ear.  They also keep me from becoming too serious.  Writing should be fun, and there should always be short breaks to rub bellies, throw balls, or just plan the next plot twist.  It's a garden of a different sort, and I have a partner to help me tend it. 

About the author:

R. Leonia Shea

 

R. Leonia Shea is a writer with the heart of an artist - or maybe it's the other way around. Either way, she can usually be found at her computer or in her studio creating something while worrying that there's something else she should be doing.

Come to think of it, she's one of those people who seems to always be torn between two things like art and writing or the mountains and the sea. Maybe she simply believes you can do it all - as long as you have supportive people around you.

Her latest release is Legendary Magic: Relic Hunter Book 3

 

The Books:

Find all R. Leonia Shea's books on Amazon.

 Published October 2014

Buy On Amazon

Dr. Arienne Cerasola might have a suspicious mind, but that doesn’t mean something nasty isn’t being planned by two of her former acquaintances. They have banded together on an archaeological expedition in the United Kingdom, and that could spell trouble for the magical community. The magical apocalypse kind of trouble.

As a witch and disgraced archaeologist, Arienne shouldn’t be surprised when Kingston Pon asks her help to find a lost relic. After all, Kingston is one of the senior members of the United Coven and Alliance and Arienne is one of the few people who knows about his secret resistance activities with the Crux Crucio Orbis. When she learns her own Grandfather is involved in the C.C.O., Arienne’s more than a little angry that her family has been keeping secrets. Secrets about their involvement in the magical world. Secrets about Arienne’s legacy. Keeping secrets means creating lies and Arienne is determined to unravel the deception even if it means collapsing the foundation of her new life.

Caught between the clandestine world of the C.C.O., the dangers of the Alliance, and the treachery of a new magical organization Arienne must trace the grain of truth in the legends passed down from the ancient Celts, through the Roman Empire, and right into King Arthur’s court. Legends that were created to protect the truth and keep the relic from passing into the wrong hands.

The confines of loyalty and duty make it an even more complicated quest. She might be the only one who can balance the power without collapsing the foundations that hold magic in check but to accomplish that, she’ll have to face the truth about herself, her family, and her place a world she was never really part of.

Links:  Amazon   Amazon Author Page   Author Web   FaceBook

 

              Twitter  @RLeonia1    Smashwords     Goodreads