Virtual Book Tour: Kathleen Willey TARGET: CAUGHT IN THE CROSSHAIRS OF BILL AND HILLARY CLINTON

Kathleen Willey -- wife, mother and Democratic political activist -- was working as a White House volunteer when, in 1993, President Clinton sexually assaulted her in the Oval Office. On the same day, her husband of 23 years committed suicide.

Four years later, she was drawn into the Paula Jones sexual harassment lawsuit and subsequently, the Monica Lewinsky scandal, when she was forced to testify against Bill Clinton.

Despite being targeted by the Clintons for daring to tell the truth and becoming the focus of media smear campaigns, terror tactics, and witness intimidation, Ms. Willey has pursued a successful career in real estate, and is a popular commentator on political affairs. She currently lives in Virginia.

Read an exclusive interview with Kathleen at Fiction Scribe today! If you would like to visit her tour page, click here!

This message is brought to you by Pump Up Your Book Promotion.



PUMP UP YOUR BOOK PROMOTION VIRTUAL BOOK TOURS
"Leave your tour in our hands!"
www.pumpupyourbookp romotion. com

Virtual Book Tour--Newest Marketing tool for Authors

Virtual book tours with Pump Up Your Book Promotion continues! All authors on tour in December will be giving away FREE copies of their books to a few lucky people who comment on their blog stops. Winners will be announced at www.virtualbooktour sforauthors. blogspot. com on December 31!

The following authors on tour and their tour stops today are:

Angela Benson, author of the christian fiction novel, THE AMEN SISTERS (Walk Worthy Press/Grand Central Publishing, Nov. ‘07), will be stopping off at Fallen Angels Reviews and Independent Book Report!


Theresa Chaze, author of the magical fantasy novel, AWAKENING THE DRAGON (Valkyrie Publishing), will be stopping off at Beyond the Books!



Holly Fretwell, author of the nonfiction children’s book, THE SKY’S NOT FALLING (Kids Ahead Publishing), will be stopping off at Write What Inspires You!


Jean Hackensmith and Kathe Birch, authors of the time travel romance, THE ULTIMATE PASSAGE (Port Town Publishing, Sept. ‘07) will be sharing her thoughts all week long at The Long and the Short of It and Fictionscribe!


Roberta Isleib, author of the psychological mystery murder novel, PREACHING TO THE CORPSE (Berkley Prime, Dec. ‘07) will be stopping off at J. Kaye’s Book Blog!


Jim Melvin, author of book one of the DEATH WIZARD CHRONICLES epic fantasy series, THE PIT (Rain Publishing, Sept. ‘07) will be stopping off at The Book Connection!


Sydney Molare, author of the christian fiction novel, DEVIL’S ORCHESTRA (Fishbowl International) will be stopping off at The Writer’s Life!



Marilyn Celeste Morris, author of the non-fiction self-help book, DIAGNOSIS: LUPUS (Publish America) will be stopping off at Dancing with Butterflies!



Cat Muldoon, author of the fantasy novel, RUE THE DAY (Wings Press, May ‘07) will be stopping off at Beyond the Books!



Nelson Pahl, author of the romantic fiction, BEE BALMS & BURGUNDY (Cafe Reverie Press, Sept. ‘07) will be stopping off at Snow’s Blog!



All authors will be giving away free copies of their books to a few lucky readers who comment on their blog stops. Don’t miss out on this opportunity to win free books!
These virtual book tours are brought to you by Pump Up Your Book Promotion at www.pumpupyourbookp romotion. com.

Magical Fantasy Novels For Adults--Be Wicked If You Dare

Magical Fantasy Novels for Adults--Be Wicked if You Dare

Whether in books or our own mind as children we were able to unashamedly walk in the realms of fantasy, going wherever our imaginations took us. As adults were expected to put away childish things for more intellectual material. Guilty we secretly brought home Harry Potter, The Golden Compass, and the many others to once again enjoy other realms and allow our imaginations free reign. Yet like all stories intended for children, adults found that the plots were something missing. No longer did the simple tales of innocence captivate us as they did in days gone by. Instead, we longed for the passionate and mystical encounters in this world and others. Theresa Chaze's Dragon Clan Trilogy is magical fantasy series that is not for the faint of heart. Filled with magic, suspense and passion, the residents of Coyote Springs will entice and frighten you as they face challenges that come from within and without This series are for those who want to explore the guilty pleasures of their dark side while trying to keep their honor untarnished and heal old wounds.

Awakening the Dragon--Book One of the Dragon Clan Trilogy (978-0-9798406-0-9) is a story of magic, suspense and karmic justice combine in a tale of horror. Rachael moves to Coyote Springs to find a home and open her bookstore. Instead, she becomes the catalyst in exposing a murder and the target of a violent cult. She is forced to awaken her dragon spirit prematurely to save herself and all she loves. Will she be able to control the power of the dragon as it rises giving her the power to save all she loves or will the flames from within destroy her?

Dragon Domain--Book Two of the Dragon Clan Trilogy (978-0-9798406-1-6) Cheyenne and Celeste came to Coyote Springs to save a child; instead, Cheyenne found a home. With the help of their new friend, Jane, they created a spiritual sanctuary. But when Celeste stopped running, her past caught up with her. Dominic arrived with promises of love and passion. Instead of love, he reawakened Celeste’s dark side, turning her against those she loved the most. With the aid of the dragons, Cheyenne was barely able to ward off their first attack. With each soul they bound to them, Celeste and Dominic’s greed and hatred grew until they would not settle for less than totally destroying Cheyenne and all she loves. How do you protect yourself from someone who knows how to steal your soul?

Virtual Book Tour: An Excerpt of the Magical Fantasy Awakening the Dragon

Impatiently he tapped the saddle with the reigns. "Lady, next time you can explain to the sheriff. Now get off my property."
Rachael was impressed with his self-control. Her little voice told her Abigail Hanson was extremely lucky woman to be able to leave under her own power. There was more involved in this situation than just the sale of a house.
Furious, Abigail threw the house keys in the dirt. "I’ll drive you back to the office." She turned heel to toe and marched to the sedan, yanking the door open and slamming it shut behind her.
The house seemed to call her; it was lonely. She picked up the keys, but felt reluctant to turn them over to their rightful owner. It wasn’t fair. They wanted to destroy it; he refused to live in it. It would be a perfect home for her and her feline kids. Looking up at the figure in the saddle, she hesitated. The keys were warm and comfortable in her hand.
"You’ll miss your ride." His voice held a hint of amusement. "And it’s a very long walk. Especially in those shoes.""
"I’d like to talk to you about the house."
"It’s not for sale." The harshness quickly returned.
Nervously, she sucked the front of her teeth. "It’s lonely."
Startled, his left eyebrow arched and he leaned forward in the saddle; it squeaked beneath him. "Aren’t you afraid of devils?"
"In the Wicca religion there are no devils."
"Are you sure?"
She looked up directly into the blueness. They were warm, yet distant, unreachable to the mere mortal. "Positive."
So began the battle of wills. He was trying to impress her; she refused to look away. His pupils narrowed, exposing a narrow band of brown. She leaned forward, placing her open palm on the mare’s neck. The muscles beneath quivered. The tail switched. A hoof stomped impatiently.
A fly landed on his cheek. Involuntarily the muscles twitched: he didn’t blink. She reached up and brushed it away.
Abigail blew the car’s horn. The horse snorted and danced away from the disturbance. Rachael jumped back. The moment was broken; the duel was a draw. The horn blew again, a long blast of frustration. The horse reared. He fought for control of the frightened animal both with the reins and with soothing words. Rachael dashed to the car. Through the open window, she grabbed Abigail’s hands and yanked them away from the steering wheel.
"You trying to kill us?"
"Get in the car!" Abigail snapped.
"Not even if my only other option was walking barefoot on broken glass!"
Abigail pulled her arms free, one bouncing off the back of the seat, the other banged against the inside of the door. Quickly she threw the car into reverse. "Find your own way back!" The wheels spun, kicking up dirt and gravel as the car shot backward out of the driveway and disappeared down the road in a huff of dust.
Coughing, Rachael tried to wave the dust away from her face. I’d done it again, she thought, me and my mouth. It truly was going to be a long walk back. Hitchhiking at my age, she laughed at herself, some day I’ll learn. But obviously not today.
The horse had calmed and he had dismounted. Gently he ran his hands down one of her legs then moved on to another, checking for injuries. He wasn’t as tall as she expected; slender build, but not so much he didn’t fill those jeans quite nicely.
Now, now she chided herself. Nearly run over. Finding herself in the middle of a holy war, deserted, and still having lusty thoughts. She smiled, that’s what happens when you approach your sexual prime. Pushing the stray strands back over her head and tucking them behind her ear, she crossed the distance between them. "Is she okay?"
Without looking up, he crouched. With a gentle tap of his finger, the mare allowed him to pick up her leg and he examined the hoof. Resting it against his thigh, he reached into his back pocket and removed a jackknife. Opening it, he used the larger blade to remove a stone jammed into the hoof. Carefully he cleaned away the remaining dirt, inspecting for damage. He smiled and slowly returned the foot to the ground. Experimentally she tested it by shifting her weight on to it. She stomped twice and her ears went forward. "Good girl." He straightened, patting the back of her neck.
Rachael released the breath, she hadn’t realized she was holding. "Is she okay?" She repeated.
His hands still holding the bridle, he turned to face her. "Seems so. How ’bout you?"
"Dusty."
He laughed and offered his hand. "Thanks. Kevin Mitchellson."
Accepting it, she stepped closer. "Rachael Franklin."
"New in town?"
"Month and a half."
"Why here?"
"I’ll answer your question if you answer mine." She indicated the house and the settling dust leading down the driveway.
"Long story."
"It’ll give me a chance to talk you out of a long walk."
"I’ll be having one of those as well. Belle has a bruised foot." Smiling he removed his hat and pushed back his auburn hair. It was damp and thinning at the temples. "This was my Grandmother’s home. She built it when my Grandfather died and my Father took over the lumberyard. She didn’t think it was right we live in a small house and she live alone in the big one. But she didn’t want to leave the grounds. She designed it herself."
"She used Feng Shui."
With a flick of his wrist, he snapped his hat back on. "You know the terminology. I’ll give you that." He turned on his toes and took the reins, heading toward the path he arrived on. "No comment. Have a nice walk."
"No comment. What does that mean?"
He stopped. "It means. You’re not the first reporter who’s tried to get me to admit my Father committed matricide then suicide."
"Wait."
"Why?"
"I’m not a reporter."
"Then why are you so interested?"
She searched for a reason to give. She found none. "I don’t have a reason beyond I‘m looking for a home. Before you ask. I don’t know why I like it. I just do." She hesitated briefly. "I’m not looking for trouble. I suspect I’ll get that when my bookstore, Dragon’s Den, opens on Beltane."
He halted in his tracks. Slowly turning, a smile replaced the sneer. "Good thing you didn’t mention it earlier. No telling what she’d done to the owner of the new devil store."
"Your sarcasm isn’t appreciated." Angrily Rachael decided she preferred to walk. She turned and towards the driveway.
"Where you going?"
"For a walk."
"It’s five miles. But only a half mile to the main house. I’ll drive you."
"Not enough room for me and that red wood size chip on your shoulder."
"Ouch!"
"Have a good life." She continued down the driveway.
"Don’t you want to talk about the house?"
It was her turn to suddenly stop. She pivoted on her toes, placing her hands firmly on her hips. "It’s not for sale."
He shrugged.
"Jerk me around and you won’t like the results."
"Do what you will, but harm none." He countered.
"So your Grandmother taught you."
"Who taught you?"
A breeze blew her bangs across her face; she tucked them back behind her ear. "None of your business."
"Now who has a chip?" Leading the horse, he walked closer. Would you like to see the inside? You might not even like it."
"Been there; done that."
"You got in?" The surprise in his voice raised the tone an octave.
She nodded.
"You lie!"
"That’s it!" She spun on her toes and marched down the driveway.
"Wait! Wait a minute!"
The horse whined. From behind, she heard the scuffle of boot and hoof dancing around each other. He swore. The horse snorted. Running feet came toward her. He grabbed her from behind. Her self-defense training kicked in and he went flying into the dirt, landing face first. Smugly she stepped over him. He caught her ankle. She stopped.
"Let go of me." The anger welled up in her. His moods changed faster than anybody she’d ever met and frankly, she wasn’t inclined to indulge him. "Or you won’t like the results."
He spit out the dirt and blood. His lip continued to bleed. "Are you always so violent?"
"I don’t believe in violence."
"Is that why I have a bloody lip?" Without releasing her ankle, he sat up, sliding his hold up her right leg. "I just want to know how you got in."
"The front door." She punctuated each word with anger. "We did have a key."
"Did Savannah go in?"
"No. She wouldn’t."
"Aren’t you curious why?" He released her ankle to wipe away a trickle of blood from the center of his bottom lip. "Only three of us have been able to go in since the coroner took Grandmother‘s body out. Myself and two of her closest friends. The house wouldn’t let anybody else in. Dad even tried breaking a window. The rock bounced off, nearly hitting him in the head."
"Maybe it doesn’t like bullies."
"Seems to like you well enough."
"I’m not a--" She stopped in mid sentence, realizing her words didn’t match her actions. "Sorry. I’m not usually so aggressive."
"Really?" His eyebrow arched. "You seem so well practiced."
Nervously, Rachael sucked the front of her teeth. She took the class for a reason and his behavior was it. She was sorry for hurting him, but didn’t regret protecting herself. You simply don’t invade a person’s body space without an invitation. She offered her hand to him. "Let me make amends."
"He wiped his lip with the sleeve of his shirt. "Will you help or hurt?"
"Who grabbed who first?"
"Point."
"I’m not keeping score." She again extended her hand. "Are you?"
Taking her hand, he pulled her to the ground. "I’d call us even."
Rachael lay on her side next to him, admiring his profile. With it tied back, you couldn’t tell how long his hair really was from the front. She guessed it fell past his shoulders. His features were angular. She thought he was attractive in a direct sort of way. She liked his ability to maintain eye contact without being intrusive or threatening.
Kevin looked down at her. At first, he cocked his head to the side. An expression of wonder crossed his face, adding a new dimension of light to his eyes. He blinked and smiled as his shield rose.
She didn’t know if he was protecting himself or hiding behind them. But what did he have to hide? For a moment, the battle of wills threatened a rematch, but only for that instant.
He gently clasped her hand and brought it to his lips, carefully wiping away the blood first. "I’m Kevin Mitchellson."
"I’m Rachael Davis Franklin. I’d like to buy your house."
"I’d love to sell it to you. But it’s not up to me."
"What was all that before?"
Laughing, he released her and fell back into the dust. "Oh, legally it’s mine. I pay the taxes. I still come twice a week to water the plants. Occasionally I even dust. But it’s not really mine."
"Unique perspective. Very Native American."
"With this hair color?" Kevin lifted himself onto his elbow. "What brought you to Coyote Springs?"
"A dart."
"A dart?"
Sitting up, Rachael pushed the stray strands back over her forehead, once again tucking them behind her left ear. "I was born sixty miles from here. I wasn’t happy. Family stuff. I worked my way though college at a small shop making incense and essential oils. It was owned by Beverly Franklin. She was like a mother to me. I earned my MA in business."
"She was your teacher?"
"Beverly taught me more than the arts. She taught me unconditional love. Because of her, I was able to release my anger and guilt, but mostly my fear."
"Fear?" He leaned closer, resting his folded arms on his bent knees. "You don’t seem to be afraid of anything."
"Even as a child, I saw things others didn’t. Now I know how to deal with them."
"Grandmother taught me how to use my gifts. She was an herbalist and a healer. She cared about everyone."
"Beverly never turns anyone away." Rachael smiled. "I’ll be carrying her line of products. She’ll also be teaching a class this fall. Anyway to shorten a long story. I won a lottery, which provided the prosperity for the store." She hesitated. "I asked the Goddess where she wanted me to go, then threw the dart. This is where it landed. Two out of three. Three out of five."
"Didn’t want to come back. Got the picture."
"Too close to the family."
Slightly nodding, he stood and offered her his hand. "I understand. Completely. If it wasn’t for Grandmother and my promise to care for the mill’s workers, I’d boogied on out of here long ago."
"It’s amazing what we’ll promise in the name of love." She nodded, but stood on her own and started brushing the dust from her jeans. "We all have free will."
"In any case. On to the next step."
"Which is?"
"You opening the front door and going in by yourself."
"Any particular reason?"
"Humor me."
Rachael held out her open palm. "Keys please. Unless I’m suppose to use open-says-me."
"Good trick if you can do it." He reached into his shirt pocket, taking out the keys the agent threw to the ground. He held them out. "If that doesn’t work, use these."
She took them. For a moment, their fingers touched. A shock went through her. It wasn’t sexual exactly, but the strong electrical impulse of his life force. It wasn’t light; it wasn’t dark. The color was gray. At sometime, he had been tempted, leaving footprints on the dark path. But what or when, she couldn’t read. She curled her short fingers around the keys and walked around him toward the house.
Climbing the front steps, she wondered why here, why him? She opened the screen door and inserted the key. It turned easily. The door swung open. Suddenly she felt nervous; more than she knew was at stake
She stepped in, closing the door behind her. It still smelled musty. No not musty, but the dusty settleness of a lonely house. The sun cast patterned shadows of the lace curtains across the floor and up the opposite wall. Plants were everywhere. Most needed transplanting. On the table in the corner, an asparagus fern had begun to wilt as the roots cried for more room. Rachael remembered seeing larger pots and soil in the kitchen. She picked up the fern and carried it down the hall to the back of the house.
The kitchen was cooler and darker than the more sun exposed front of the house. It was also the definitely heart of the house. Even in the shadows of the day and the tree, the room had a light of its own. She placed the fern on the counter next to the sink. Taking the largest pot from the shelf next to the back door, she filled it half-full with soil. Returning to the sink, she taped the clay sides of the fern's pot, pulling it free. With her available hand, she dug a hole in the soil of the new pot adjusting the depth and width to fit the root base. The soil was dry, leaving a find dust on her fingers and under her nails. Turning on the water, she rinsed her hands and adjusted the temperature. She watered the fern allowing the water to fill and flow through the pot, continuing down the drain.
She felt gratitude from the plant. A random act of kindness. She leaned forward and looked out the window. There was so much that needed to be done. Trimming. Pruning. Transplanting. Suddenly she felt as if she was no longer alone. Looking around the room, she saw no one, yet the feeling persisted. "Who’s here?"
The sensation lessoned, but remained.
Rachael knew she was being watched. Sensing the ones, who had crossed, was one of her families talents, but she was the only one of the last two generations who chose to develop it. Running her hand along the counter top, she sensed the love that had once filled the room. Not only in the food that had been prepared here, but also the intimate chats between loved ones around the small oval table in the center of the room. The woman who designed and had the cottage built was a strong, loving soul who knew how to find the good in the darkest shadow. Rachael wondered if that is what killed her. She smiled to herself looking at the hard on the eyes wallpaper.
"What are you doing?"
Startled, Rachael spun around, her fingers catching with the spindly shoots, partially uprooting it. "It needed transplanting." She felt defensive and angry with herself for being so caught off guard. She patted the plant back into place. "It was going to die."
His voice softened. "I'm sorry. When you didn't come out, I got worried."
"Why?" She shook her head, the long strands dancing around her waist. "There's nothing wrong with the cottage."
"That's not it." Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned against the flowered-papered wall. "It's the house. Some places have energy of their own. Most can't handle the level here. It's too intense. For me I can last a couple of hours. After fifteen minutes, my skin begins to itch. After about a half-hour, my head begins to ache and it only gets worse. Most people can't handle it that long."
"I don't know what you mean."
"An energy vortex--"
"I know what that is." She snapped, not meaning to. "Sorry. But you're implying there is something wrong here. Miss Abigail," she motioned quotation marks around the name, "implied the same thing. I haven't found problem one. The water works. It tastes good. No bare wires that I can see. I haven't tried the furnace."
"You are comfortable here." The surprise was evident in his voice. He relaxed his arms, allowing one to drop to his side; the other he tucked in to his front pocket. "You've been here almost a half-hour. It hasn't affected you."
"Earlier it was longer than that."
"The energy hasn't changed.
"Without a good airing, it never will."
"I open the windows twice a week and keep it clean.
"Short term it works." She softened her tone, sensing he was doing his best. "The house would eventually accept you."
"It’s been over ten years. It doesn’t want a master; the cottage wants a mistress. But not just any woman. A specific woman who knows how to channel the energy of the ley lines that interconnect in the back yard." He looked away. His gaze slowly drifted along the floor to the back door. "I also have other reasons."
"Which are your own."
His eyes focused on her, the blue seemingly brighter, more alive. "I won't sell the house. I'm not ready to let it go yet." He hesitated. "But you can live here. No rent. No strings. Just take care of it. Maybe with someone living here, they'll think twice about burning it down."
"I see." Her internal alarm went off, as her own past distrust of men surfaced. She shifted her weight away from him. Taking a deep breath and centering herself, she asked the Goddess for advice for the present situation, qualifying that the sign not be too ambiguous to be useful. She closed her eyes and exhaled. She reached for her center, the place of knowing without reason; it was her place of faith. An image came into focus. It was the house. The gardens were once again cared for and lush. The roses had reached to top of the trellis. She could almost smell the full blooms. A breeze blew through the trees, changing the shadow patterns on the well-maintained lawn. A blue jay swooped through the back yard and landed on the tree stump. A deer walked out of the brush. She walked to Rachael, nuzzling her palm. Gently she scratched between her ears. It was peaceful.
Blinking she opened her eyes. Kevin still stood in the same position. Rachael never knew how long her attention would be focused inward. This time it seemed to be only moments. She looked upward to meet his gaze. "There will be rules."
"Rules?"
"No unexpected visits. Midnight or otherwise."
"Excuse me?" Confused he tilted his head, but did not shift his eyes. "Oh, if I had wanted you as a sexual partner--" He stopped himself. Glancing downward, he scraped the heel of his left boot on the toe of the right. "It'd be your idea as well. Any others?"
"I consider the house my own. I make any changes I want."
"If the house lets you. It's cool by me. You pay the cost."
"Agreed. Lastly. When you are ready to sell, I want first option. And I want it in writing."
"Agreed." He extended his hand. "Will a handshake hold until we can make it legal?"
She took his hand. Electricity shot through his palm. He would bear watching. He did have talents and the will to use them. "Works for me."
"When would you like to move in?" He released her hand. Reaching past her to open the window, his shoulder brushed against her. The light scent of cinnamon surrounded him.
He knows his stuff, she thought. "Consider it mine now. But it'll take me almost a week to move in. There are a few things that need changing."
"Like the locks."
She didn't like it; he read her too well. She'd have to set up her defense systems as soon as possible; she wasn't going to let him see one vulnerable area in her life. Gently she pushed him away from her.
Smiling he backed off. "I'll go get my car and drive you back to town. I'll have the contract drawn up. You'll have that long to change your mind or have the utilities changed over into your name."
"I won't change my mind."
He nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out his key ring and taking two keys off. "Here are my keys."
"Thanks. She took them from his out stretched hand, carefully avoiding contact with him. "I'll wait for you here. There are other plants that need my attention. I also need to make a list."
"A list?"
"Of what paint to buy. That wallpaper has to go."
He laughed from deep within. Stepping backward, he half turned and patted the flowered pattern. "Good luck. It's been here a while."
"Obviously since the sixties."
He wiggled his finger in front of his face. "Wrong. Grandmother loved it so she had it specially made in the eighties. She said she always wanted to have full blooms even in the dead of winter."
"According to Feng Shui, this is my relationship space. It'll be some shaded of pink, red or white."
"You have all that now."
She forced a smile. "They're lovely, I'm sure."
He laughed and shook his head. "Good luck. You'll need it."
Adding an Irish lit to her voice, she cocked head and leaned against the sink. "It's nota me who needs the luck blessing but anyone who comes without being invited to do so. This be a peaceful private place. I being a mind to keep it that way."
The color drained from his face. "I see."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He staggered back, as if she had struck him. Quickly he turned on his heels and was gone.
Rachael stared at the empty doorway not knowing how to respond or what to think of his behavior. She slowly shook her head. He was too confusing to understand. She didn't want to try. Instead, she counted the empty pots and the amount of potting soil remaining. She calculated there was enough soil to transplant three

Comment on the Virtual Book Tours and be entered to win free books

Virtual book tours with Pump Up Your Book Promotion continues! All authors on tour in December will be giving away FREE copies of their books to a few lucky people who comment on their blog stops. Winners will be announced at www.virtualbooktour sforauthors. blogspot. com on December 31!

The following authors on tour and their tour stops today are:

Angela Benson, author of the christian fiction novel, THE AMEN SISTERS (Walk Worthy Press/Grand Central Publishing, Nov. ‘07), will be stopping off at Girls Write Out!

Theresa Chaze, author of the magical fantasy novel, AWAKENING THE DRAGON (Valkyrie Publishing), will be stopping off at Dude, Where’s My Muse?

Holly Fretwell, author of the nonfiction children’s book, THE SKY’S NOT FALLING (Kids Ahead Publishing), will be stopping off at Fictionscribe!


Jean Hackensmith and Kathe Birch, authors of the time travel romance, THE ULTIMATE PASSAGE (Port Town Publishing, Sept. ‘07) will be stopping off at TWL Author Talks!

Roberta Isleib, author of the psychological mystery murder novel, PREACHING TO THE CORPSE (Berkley Prime, Dec. ‘07) will be stopping off at Beyond the Books!


Jim Melvin, author of book one of the DEATH WIZARD CHRONICLES epic fantasy series, THE PIT (Rain Publishing, Sept. ‘07) will be stopping off at Leicester Review of Books!

Sydney Molare, author of the christian fiction novel, DEVIL’S ORCHESTRA (Fishbowl International) will be stopping off at Author Talks!


Marilyn Celeste Morris, author of the non-fiction self-help book, DIAGNOSIS: LUPUS (Publish America) will be stopping off at The Book Connection!


Cat Muldoon, author of the fantasy novel, RUE THE DAY (Wings Press, May ‘07) will be stopping off at The Story Behind the Books!



Nelson Pahl, author of the romanticfiction, BEE BALMS & BURGUNDY (Cafe Reverie Press, Sept. ‘07) will be stopping off at Buzz the Book!



All authors will be giving away free copies of their books to a few lucky readers who comment on their blog stops. Don’t miss out on this opportunity to win free books!

These virtual book tours are brought to you by Pump Up Your Book Promotion at www.pumpupyourbookp romotion. com.



PUMP UP YOUR BOOK PROMOTION VIRTUAL BOOK TOURS
"Leave your tour in our hands!"
www.pumpupyourbookp romotion. com

Vitual Book Tour: Jean Hackensmith-The Ultimate Passage

THE ULTIMATE PASSAGE VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR '07
Join time travel romance author Jean Hackensmith, author of THE ULTIMATE PASSAGE (Port Town Publishing, Sept. '07), as she virtually tours the blogosphere in December on her first virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion Virtual Book Tours!

Jean Hackensmith has been writing since the age of 20. (That’s 30 years – and, yes, she’s giving away her age.) She is married to her biggest supporter, Ron, and has three grown children and ten grandchildren. Jean’s relationship with her co-author, Kathe Birch, began in 1987. Though Jean does all the actual writing, Kathe is invaluable when it comes to research and plotting. (The duo does their best writing after midnight , when Kathe gets a little “squirrelly”, but that’s another story…)
Jean and Kathe wrote “Charmed Passage” in just over a year and had about half of “Destined Passage” done when they had a falling out and did not see each other for over two years. Luckily they mended fences, though, and, after giving “Charmed Passage” a facelift, it was published in 2000. “Destined Passage” followed in 2001 and “Doomed Passage” in 2002. With the time travel romance trilogy complete, Jean and Kathe moved on to “The Gitche Gumee Saga”, an historical romance saga – that’s when the letters and emails started. Readers wanted another “Passage” book. Jean and Kathe put their heads together to try and figure out how in the heck they were going to write another book when the trilogy had been designed to make that impossible. Well, nothing is impossible if you’re determined, they found out, and after coming up with what they think was an “ultimate” idea, they got to work. “The Ultimate Passage” was released earlier this year. A labor of love, “The Ultimate Passage” revisits all of the characters seen in the trilogy – which has now become a saga.

You can visit their website at www.porttownpublish ing.com.

THE ULTIMATE PASSAGE SYNOPSIS:

Darius Calhoun is President of the U.S.—in the year 2320. Citizens of earth now live in domed cities, because pollution has reached the point where the air is no longer fit to breathe. They no longer feel hatred, jealousy, envy or love. They don’t have sex either, and haven’t for nearly two hundred years. Why? Because it’s messy, unsanitary and can transmit disease. Imagine Darius’ horror then, when he suddenly finds himself displaced in time at the whim of the goddess Aveena—the goddess of love.

His trek to 14th century Scotland is every man’s nightmare. He is forced to live in a cold, drafty castle, wear a kilt, and use the ghastly “privy” when it comes time to take care of nature’s call. Worst of all, he is expected to be an “advisor” to Robert the Bruce, the self-proclaimed King of Scotland. How is he to counsel the king on tactics of war when, where he came from, that barbaric institution, too, had been extinct for over two hundred years?

Only one thing in this godforsaken time period enables Darius to keep his sanity. Her name is Lara Macgregor. Her father is lord of the castle and its surrounding lands. Lara is beautiful, spunky—and looking for a mate. Of course, in this day and age, that means having sex and Darius wants no part of it. He feels nothing for Lara but friendship…at least he didn’t at first. Now though, strange things are happening to his mind and body and, with the war for independence in Scotland gaining momentum, so does Darius’ resolve that at some point in time, government leaders in his own world did something terribly wrong.


THE ULTIMATE PASSAGE EXCERPT:



Lara descended to the lower room a few minutes later. She paused at the foot of the steps and stood quietly observing her “visitor” where he waited before the long, narrow window, his back to her. He was tall—a good six inches taller than her—but extremely thin. In fact, his body had yet to fill out, which was strange in itself since he appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties. Did he not tell Tony during the vision that he was in his fifty-seventh year?

She pushed the discrepancy aside for now and continued her perusal. His brown hair, cropped close to his head, framed an expressionless face and square jaw. He was good-looking in a boyish sort of way, but nowhere near as handsome as his nemesis.

Damn yeh, Aveena! Why did yeh have to send this poor excuse fer a man instead of me Adonis? This ingrate will do the king no good, and he is certainly not a proper mate for me.

As though sensing her presence, or worse, her thoughts, Darius turned. His clothing was even odder than his appearance. Loose-fitting leggings hung from his limbs, instead of clinging to them as did the garments worn by the men of the village and her father’s knights. Also, instead of a tunic that covered him from neck to mid-thigh, the upper garment extended only to his waist and was held together by a row of strange little discs. Another heavier garment, which matched the leggings in color and texture, covered the first, but was open in the front.

“This is quite a fortress you have here. No one on my staff reported such a structure when they performed fly-overs of the area outside the dome.”

Totally confused by his words, Lara did not even try to come up with a response. Instead, she swept her hair aside and sat in one of the massive oak chairs before the roaring fireplace. She indicated the padded leather seat beside her. “Come sit down. I told yeh I would try ta explain how yeh came ta be here, and I shall.”

Darius did as asked, then looked at her expectantly. His eyes were momentarily drawn to her knee-length copper hair, however, which hung over one shoulder now and shined in the dim light provided by the glowing fireplace. She was a beautiful woman and, despite the fact that his body was incapable of reacting to her physically, he still recognized her comeliness.

“Aveena brought yeh here, though I do not understand exactly how she did it.”

“Aveena,” he stated rather than asked.

“She be…a goddess. A very powerful goddess. In truth, she was me stepmother…”

“A goddess,” he interrupted, ignoring her last words. The flatness of his tone indicated his skepticism.

“Aye, and I know it be hard ta believe, but it is the truth. Yeh see, King Robert needs an advisor—”

“King Robert?”

“Robert the Bruce.”

“And what is he king of?”

“Scotland.”

Darius shook his dark head. “Scotland has not been a monarchy for over two hundred years, Lara. There is no king. You need to get your story straight.”

She stiffened at his inference that she was lying. “Alexander III died only a few years ago, sir, not two hundred years ago, and it was upon his death that the throne became vacant. Granted, there are a great number of people who do not recognize Robert the Bruce as king…like King Edward, for instance—”

“King Edward?”

“The King of England.”

“England no longer has a king, either. The monarchy was abolished there, too, in the year 2112.”

Lara’s eyes widened. Suddenly she understood—or at least she thought she did. “Did yeh say 2112?”’

He nodded. “Yes—more than two hundred years ago.”

Something akin to panic registered in Lara’s eyes now and she bounded from the chair. Her green gaze wildly swept the room. “Aveena! What have yeh done!” When no response was immediately forthcoming, she stomped her foot in frustration. “Aveena, answer me!”

Darius stood also, and took a hesitant step toward her. “Are you all right?”

Lara ignored him and continued her tirade. “Aveena, yeh must appear right this instant and fix what yeh’ve done! Aveena!”

“Please, madam, you have to calm down,” Darius tried again. “There is no need for hysterics.”

“No need fer hysterics!” she screeched. “Did yeh or did yeh not just tell me that it was the year 2312 yeh came from?”

“Actually, it’s the year 2320…where I come from, though that is rather a strange way to put it. It is the year 2320 everywhere—even here in your rather primitive…city. I’m assuming, based on your antiquated clothing—” his gaze scanned her long-sleeved, floor-length woolen dress, pausing on the chain-link belt of sorts that loosely circled her waist and trailed downward almost to her knees “—that you are one of the rebels.”

“Only ta King Edward,” she returned absently, her mind reeling with the ramifications of what Aveena had done.

“No, I mean…this place, this fortress, is outside of the dome, correct?”

“Aye, it is definitely outside of the dome—whatever that is. And it be called a castle, not a fortress…though I suppose it is a fortress, of sorts. With King Edward determined ta take Scotland, there is bound ta be a siege eventually—”

“Look, madam…Lara…” Darius interrupted her ramblings, “I met with your leader just a short time ago. In fact, he left my office within the last fifteen minutes. I don’t know how you came up with the technology to transport me to this location, nor can I fathom your reasons for doing so, but I demand that you return me to the White House at once.”

“The White House?” she repeated dumbly.

“The Presidential mansion in Washington D.C," Darius returned patiently. "Surely you’ve heard of it. You may be from outside of the dome, but you are certainly not ignorant.”

Lara’s chin came up a notch. “I have no idea what yer talking about, sir, but yer right on one count. I am not ignorant and, from where I’m standing, yer the one who’s confused. Aveena didn’t just transport yeh to a location outside yer…dome. She transported yeh to Scotland—in the year 1307.”

Darius looked at her as though she had gone mad. “1307?”

“Aye,” she replied weakly.

Any further reply was interrupted when the door to the chamber opened and Samantha, Lara’s lady in waiting, entered the room. The young woman’s mouth dropped open in horror upon seeing a strange man in her lady’s chambers. The small cry that jumped from her lips was squelched though, when Lara hastily grabbed the servant’s arm and hauled her further into the room, then slammed the portal.

“Not a word!” the mistress ordered. “Do yeh hear me? Yeh say not a word about him bein’ here!”

“Who is he?” the maid hissed close to Lara’s ear.

“He be …a friend.” The redhead glanced at the totally confused Darius. “I think.”

“But what be he doin’ in yer chamber, milady!” Samantha persisted, her appalled mind attempting to deal with the scandalous circumstance.

“I’ll explain later, Samantha. Right now, we need ta figure a way to get him out of here without anyone else seeing—”

A knock sounded on the door and, without waiting for admission, Colleen charged into the room.

“Da sent me to tell yeh that our supper will soon grow mold—”
The words froze on the young girl’s lips when her black eyes, too, settled on Darius. Strangely though, she did not seem in the least bit surprised to see the oddly clothed man in her sister’s chambers. Instead, the trace of a smile curved her lips. “Well, look who’s here. We’ve been expecting yeh…Mr. President.”
WATCH THE TRAILER!





THE ULTIMATE PASSAGE VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR '07 will officially begin on Dec. 3, 2007. If you would like to follow Jean and Kathe's tour and become eligible to win a free copy of her book, visit www.virtualbooktour s.wordpress. com and comment on their tour stops. One lucky reader will win a free copy of THE ULTIMATE PASSAGE at the end of the tour. All winners will be announced on December 31!


Jean's and Kathe's virtual book tour is brought to you by Pump Up Your Book Promotion Virtual Book Tours at http://www.pumpupyo urbookpromotion. com/.


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Vitual Book Tour: Cat Muldoon--Rue The Day

RUE THE DAY VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR '07
Join fantasy suspense author Cat Muldoon, author of RUE THE DAY: THE UNDERCOVER HEIR, BOOK 1, as she virtually tours the blogosphere in December on her first virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion Virtual Book Tours!


Cat Muldoon sharpens her claws and her wit daily. Her varied interests include singing, teaching, cooking, archery, and mythology. Naturally, she loves reading and writing as well.

Most of her stories are romance, paranormal, futuristic, science fiction, fantasy, and suspense. But with Cat, you never know what she'll dream up next. She does, literally, dream up stories at times. She has a couple of humorous horror stories looking for a home, but is finding that people who want the stuffing scared out of them don’t want quirky people or funny bits in their tales.

She also converses with her characters, which is one reason they are so lively. You won’t find any cardboard cut-outs in her stories. This makes for interesting times if one of them is out of sorts and she, being of optimistic nature, thinks they need to get an attitude adjustment and move on with life.

The cast of her first novel Rue the Day: The Undercover Heir, Book 1 are quite anxious for her to get on and write the second in the series, all except for Aislinn, who isn’t looking forward to some of the things that will happen to her, and the two or three men who…OOPS! Talking out of turn -- That’s for another day.
Cat’s favorite stories are those that captivate you and keep you in suspense. She enjoys romance stories IF they are interesting tales with strong, well-developed characters and twisty plots.

She’s not taken to gushy romance scenes but will acquiesce under the duress of her characters if necessary. She also realizes that people know what parts go where, so she isn’t inclined to graphic scenes either. It is more fun to tantalize and involve all the senses.

And yes, Cat adores felines. She has two of them. Feel free to Email her at Cat@CatMuldoon. com or visit her on MySpace at www.MySpace. com/CatMuldoon.

RUE THE DAY SYNOPSIS:

Magic is dying. The only person who can restore it is the Queen, but she is in a coma. Everyone believes that grief over the presumed death of her only child, causes her mysterious condition. But the child - now a woman - lives, and she is their last hope.

When Aislinn is retrieved from her unintended exile the mortal world, she discovers that treachery, not grief, is the cause of the Queen’s condition. Someone has been poisoning and spellbinding people in power, but whom? The keen observer soon finds her own life in peril as she tries to discover and stop the culprit before anybody dies – and before Faerie falls into evil hands.

RUE THE DAY EXCERPT:

Lynne felt as if she were in a waking dream. Night had brought an unexpected chill that the hidden October sun could not warm. Her incessant headache throbbed worse than usual. At times, the pain was so bad she thought it might kill her. She gazed out of the only window in the tiny hut, breathing deeply and attempting to drain the pain out of her head. Fog shrouded the hills and trees in a milky white blanket. She had learned not to fear the frequent misty mornings in the Ozarks, but there was something unusual about this one. She felt restless.

The cat rubbing insistently against her legs ended her reverie. It occurred to her that he still seemed to be a young cat even though he had been with her ever since she and Mother were separated forever on a misty morning much like this one. After more than seventeen years, he was still, unaccountably, as spry as a one-year-old. He had been with her through placements in over a dozen foster homes and was her only true friend. Smiling and scratching him between the ears, she said, “I’m sorry, Bree. I know you think you’re starving to death.”

She fed him and focused again on the veiled world beyond her door. No breeze rustled in the trees. No birds sang. Nothing moved at all. Why was it so still?
A yearning rose within her that she did not comprehend. A compulsion to go into the mist overtook her. Although Lynne did not understand what drove her actions, she felt she should make ready for travel. Trusting her instincts had saved her life more than once. Following the urge, she pulled her well-used backpack from under the bed, checked its contents, and found she had enough supplies to sustain her for a while if her journey was an extended one. An experienced journeyer, she filled the canteen and set the pack by the door. Lynne was sure-footed even in rough terrain and enjoyed being in the woods and sleeping in the trees.

A stubborn thought screamed for attention. She felt as if someone was trying to pressure her out of the house, so she fought against the desire to leave. Instinct had saved her life on many occasions, but it never felt like a compulsion, and she hated to be forced to do anything. Maybe this is not my instinct trying to save me …There is nobody else here. Why do I feel someone trying to chase me out of here?
Bree had finished his meal and was licking the bowl, pushing it around the floor with the vigor of his tongue. The sound stopped abruptly. Lynne turned to see the cat standing, tail fluffed, back arched, staring transfixed at--what? Whatever Bree saw in the middle of the room, Lynne did not. He let out a low “mmmm” that was neither growl nor purr.

“What’s the matter, Bree?” she asked shakily.

Not acknowledging the sound of his name, the cat stared fixedly at whatever only he could see and made that strange, guttural sound again.

The back of Lynne’s neck prickled. She tucked her golden-red hair behind her ears. Her mouth went dry. “Bree?” Lynne realized that she was clenching her fists only when the pain of nails digging in her palms alerted her. She let out an exasperated sigh. “Get a grip,” she admonished herself. “I'm being ridiculous.” The unsettling feeling remained.

Determined to bring normalcy to the morning, she sipped some water. Willing herself to calm, she practiced the Tai Chi centering breath that helped keep her in the present moment as she turned back to watch the cat. Bree’s murmur soon ceased. His tail shrunk to its usual size, and his back lowered. He stood more relaxed, but still stared at that specific empty point in the middle of the room. Lynne’s uneasiness mounted.

The throbbing pain in her head was almost more than she could bear. She splashed cold water on her face, hoping to shake off the mental fogginess that so perfectly mirrored the weather. Fighting for calm, she took several deep breaths in an effort to calm herself and diminish the pain. Maybe this time the deep breathing would help.
Lynne’s breath caught. She felt the presence of someone standing behind her. Her heart pounded. She whirled around and sunk into a battle stance, ready to attack the intruder. Nobody was there. “I must be losing my mind.” She grabbed the counter to steady herself.

Bree purred--a real purr this time. Lynne released her grip on the counter. The gray cat slowly raised a snowy paw and stepped forward. Though Lynne’s anxiety remained, his behavior aroused her curiosity. She knelt beside her beloved friend. Bree’s long grey whiskers twitched as he took another step, this time with less hesitation. His purr grew louder as he tilted his head upward with an expression of bliss on his face, as if being scratched under the chin by an unseen hand.


Lynne had the strangest feeling someone was trying to comfort her. This only heightened her sense of alarm. Who could be trying to soothe me and my cat, and why? She feared for her cat’s safety and wanted him away from the mysterious presence. “Bree, no!” she yelled, but he stayed where he was and purred contentedly. Not knowing what else to do, she scooped Bree into her arms, grabbed her pack, and dashed through the door into the misty woods.

The feline tensed and squirmed in Lynne’s arms as she raced away from the hut. Bree squalled in protest and dug his back claws into Lynne’s stomach, but she held him close. Her footing faltered as she slipped in a mud puddle. Reflexively, her arms spread to catch her balance, and Bree dashed away. “Bree, BREE!” she yelled, pursuing him.

Lynne rebuked herself for fleeing into the fog like a frightened deer. Bree had lived his whole life indoors, and she had terrified him. Certainly, he would not come to her call. She let out a cry of anguish as she started searching for her companion. She rarely cried, but now hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She tried to make her voice calm as she called to Bree.

Maybe if I act like a normal person, he might come to me.

The only sound was her breathing. Her incessantly throbbing head made it difficult to focus and quiet her mind. She forced her breath to quiet as she walked more calmly, listening for him. Without noticing, she held her arms out to help guide her, since her eyes gave her no useful information in the milky mist. At one point, she felt a branch break beneath her foot. A few minutes later, it occurred to her that she had not heard the branch crack. Walking with purposeful disregard for the terrain, she did not even hear her shoes contacting the earth. Though an expert at moving quietly through the woods, the headlong dash through fog surely must have taken her through countless crunchy autumn leaves and fallen sticks. She could not see her feet, and could not imagine moving soundlessly in these conditions.
Experimentally, Lynne stomped her foot hard. She felt the impact through her leg, but heard no sound. She clapped twice and heard two dull thuds. She raised a hand before her face. All she saw was a vague shape. She shuddered. The temperature had surely risen; the fog should be lifting. The back of her neck prickled and her sense of danger increased.

“Bree, I’m not going home without you,” Lynne called. Her voice did not travel through the woods as it should have. Finally, weary and hoarse from hours of anxious searching and calling, Lynne slumped against an old tree and sank onto the ground. Bree might be lost forever, and it was all her fault. If only she had kept her wits and stayed to face whatever was happening at the hut, none of this would have happened.

Lynne shivered. Had the day grown so cold? She was no closer to locating her beloved companion. You’ll never find him sitting on your pity pot. She cautioned herself to stay centered and keep her wits. Be in the present moment.
Just then, a sense of imminent, mortal danger shocked her into action.

WATCH THE TRAILER!










RUE THE DAY VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR '07 will officially begin on Dec. 3, 2007. If you would like to follow Cat's tour and become eligible to win a free copy of her book, visit http://www.virtualb ooktours. wordpress. com/ and comment on her tour stops. One lucky commenter will win a free copy of RUE THE DAY at the end of the tour. All announcements of winners will be announced on December 31!

Cat's virtual book tour is brought to you by Pump Up Your Book Promotion Virtual Book Tours at http://www.pumpupyourbookpromotion.com/.