Monday, May 14, 2012

Monday Blues Promotion- May 14

We're back for another Monday!  Glad to have you with us.

Before we get to today's Monday Blues Promotion theme and rules, I had one thing I wanted to share.

Since Storm Goddess Book Reviews is getting bigger, and since this is the world of social networking, I wanted to share the link for the Facebook fan page of the site. The page isn't new, but it had very little likes and I haven't done much with it since I've set it up. I find it may be another way I can promote authors and help their reach out to readers alongside this site. But it needs to grow too.

So, may I ask you to go like the page? And share it with friends? The bigger it gets, the better it will be, and the more than can be done with it.

I appreciate any and all likes!

Okay, so that was my self plug promo. Now it's onto yours, authors!

Now, in light that yesterday was Mother's Day, it got me thinking about reflecting on my childhood. So for today's excerpt theme, let's make it a reflection, or flashback from a childhood. Or one of the characters could be telling someone else an event from their past. No, it doesn't have a lot to do specifically with Mother's Day, but it has to do with growing up. Sound good? Let's have 'em!

Please have the book title, your author name (It doesn't always show up in the comments that way, and if a reader wants to search your name, they'd need it :) )  and a buy link if possible.

Excerpts around 750 words, not too much over that please.

The comments section is wide open!  Oh, and what I may do with the Facebook page, if you put in a buy link with your excerpt on the site, I will post those links on the fan page, and say it's the Monday Blues Promotion participating books this week. See? They go hand in hand!

Anyhow, I await your excerpts!

Until next time,

Storm Goddess

1 comment:

  1. This scene is taken from my debut novel, Love's Prophecy.

    Breeana stared at Mel, appalled by his words. The gardens—the beauty of the evening—forgotten.

    Mel's deep voice broke the silence. “The first memory I had as a child was of my father dragging me from the slave dungeon and locking me in the killing cage.”

    She jerked back. His arm slid from around her shoulders. “The what?”

    His eyelids lowered as he looked at the grass. “It was an iron box suspended outside from the top of the castle by a chain. The front had narrow slits, just wide enough to allow the morning sun to shine in. He used the cage to punish his slaves or his soldiers, hell, sometimes just for sport.”

    “Oh my God!”

    Mel's gaze drifted out over the yard. The look on his face told her he no longer saw the gardens or smelled the perfume scented air. His mind must have drifted back hundreds of years, reliving what sounded like a horrific nightmare.
    “When I realized what he was about to do, I panicked. I fought back but I was young, maybe four or five. My arm snapped as he shoved me inside but I didn't feel the pain, it paled in comparison to the terror I felt when I heard the lock click.”

    His eyes filled with terror and bounced around like the eyes of a trapped, frightened animal. “I knew what was coming. I'd heard the screams of others who had burned alive.” He swallowed. A trickle of sweat coursed down his temple. “I clawed at the bars, pleaded with my father, but he just laughed. The look in his eyes was pure hatred.”

    His words chilled her to the bone. Nausea churned her stomach.

    “I tried to sift—disappear—but vampires can't sift through metal or rock, and the spaces between the bars were too narrow. I was trapped. I…I continued begging my father to release me. Then as the first rays touch my skin, just when the pain began, he ordered his soldiers to pull the cage back in.”

    Numbness spread through her. She opened her mouth, but shut it. What did you say to someone who had lived through such a traumatic experience?

    “That was the first, but not the last time he locked me in,” he said in a flat tone. “Each time he pulled me back in. I don't know why he didn't end it there.”

    “Where—” she cleared her throat. “Where was your mother? Was she…gone?”

    A soft breeze lifted long strands of his black hair and blew them off his face. “No. She was alive.”

    Breeana sucked in a sharp gulp of air. Her hands clenched until her nails dug into her palms. “If she was alive, then how could she have allowed your father to treat you like that?”

    Mel glanced at her; his eyes mirrored the look of someone in the throes of agony. “She didn't know I was alive.”