Sunday, September 21, 2014

Conceiving Evil by Jenna Fox - Cover Reveal

Conceiving Evil
Release date: October 16th by Dark Hollows Press
Author: Jenna Fox


In a World Full of Hopelessness, He Was Her Savior 

Like everyone else after the economic crash, Abby Torrance was struggling financially. But then Dorian Lincoln, a political and business icon, sweeps her off her feet and into a life of promise. He’s a man who has enough power to change the world for the better, a man who can give hope to the masses, a man who can give Abby a baby.

But the road to Hell is paved with good intentions and Abby is having strange dreams that seem both a warning and a prophesy. How can she give the evil undertones of her dreams any notice when she’s busy focusing on conceiving?

Contains light BDSM and horror themes.  Includes flogging.


Well, my dears, Jenna Fox has struck again. 

With her talent!

Jenna is a dear friend who has been incredibly awesome and supportive over the past year and a half, even as I transitioned from erotic romance to southern gothic fiction.

I've also read every one of her books, and there is no doubt about it--the woman can write.

This one has piqued my interest, particularly because of its dark nature, and I'm sure that it will not disappoint. Jenna never fails to bring us rich characters with heroes that are sure to leave us... begging for more, shall I say? I can't wait to get my grubby little hands on this one. I have a feeling that Dorian is NOT who Abby thinks he is. But Jenna is notorious for surprising her readers with twists and turns, so we shall have to wait and see what Conceiving Evil brings. 

Make sure to Pre order it on Amazon now! 

To learn more about Jenna's dark erotic books, please visit her on GoodReads or her Amazon Author Page where you can also peruse her other books. My favorite so far is Sealed in Blood, a sizzling yet dark mystery with a touch of domination and submission. 

In the meantime, Jenna has sent me an excerpt from Conceiving Evil to share with you all. So please, enjoy and feel free to leave comments below! 


Dammit to hell. I can’t even enjoy a movie.
The nighttime air bit at my skin as thoughts of him chomped at my brain. He’d polluted me like a poison that spread throughout my mind and body, seizing every thought, leaving no rest. I loved horror movies and yet I couldn’t recall a single scene. Jimmie kept glancing at me, concern etching his face all the way through the ninety-minute show.
Soon Jimmie and I walked out of the theater, my hand resting in the crook of his elbow. Bitterness raged inside, heating my face against the breeze when I saw the limo roll toward us. He found me like he always said he would, but three fucking hours late.
I knew I wasn’t Dorian’s top priority, and I’d made some progress at keeping my jealousy under control, but no woman wanted to be shoved to the side every time it was convenient for a man. I tightened my grip on Jimmie’s sleeve and pulled him along just as the driver stepped into our path. I gave the chauffeur a shotgun-glare as he motioned me to the car. “Miss Torrance, Mr. Lincoln is waiting.”
My heart skipped ten beats, I couldn’t tear my eyes away when the dark window lowered and Dorian tousled his ebony hair with his fingers. He wasn’t in his usual attire, a business suit. Tonight he presented himself in casual wear. His sharp, handsome features were expressionless.
I closed my eyes, digging deep for the strength to tell him to get lost for standing me up, but I knew the words would never make it past my lips. I was a fool to entertain the thought. One look from those black eyes sifted me like wheat. Dorian practically owned me. That man was my tempter and my savior wrapped into one.
I met him at the lowest point of my life, after my mother died of cancer. The three jobs I was working to keep my head above water and pay off her medical bills were about to do me in physically. While I was waiting tables at the country club, Dorian swooped in from out of nowhere and rescued me like an injured bird. His amazing sixth sense alerted him that life was too much for me, and he offered me a strong shoulder to cry on. The floodgates opened and I unloaded my personal problems. Dorian Lincoln promised those problems would disappear with a simple acceptance of his proposition: give him power over my body, something Bianca wouldn’t allow.
Lifting my palm to Jimmie’s cheek, I smiled. “Thanks for the movie. I’ll call you next week.”
“He’s a prick. You deserve better, Abby!” Jimmie yelled, as I eased myself inside the limo.
Dorian opened a small refrigerator under the seat, his hands cupping the base of a champagne glass. “You’ve wasted no time finding another way of entertaining yourself this evening.”
“You wasted no time in standing me up,” I scoffed.
When I left his office that afternoon, Dorian said he wanted me for some ‘quality time.’ Eight-thirty rolled around before I realized he was a no-show. The food got cold and eventually the long stemmed candles I lit for dinner burned out, along with my patience.
“Meetings...clients,” he said.
Top secret meetings and clients were always the excuse. The coldness in his voice was a sword to my heart, a reminder of my temporary ranking in his life. I held on tight to his promise of our relationship becoming more when the time was right.
His stony expression broke into a devious grin. “You look beautiful in that dress and your enthusiasm is charming. But watching you masturbate will reimburse me, Miss Torrance.”
My stomach dropped and quivered as I pressed my thighs together. He was going to punish me.
I tugged at the straps of the red shoes he’d bought me, eyeing him as he sipped from the flute and moved his gaze toward the window. Overtaken by the need to be the object of his fascination, I almost begged him to turn those onyx eyes back on me. His attention was the only thing that kept me from going under.
“Dorian, please I-”
My words were cut off with the sharp turn of his head. Relief came in a warm caress, but suspicion moved in with a lift of his brow. The small amount of light coming through the tinted windows deepened the masculine angles of his face, lending them a sternness that echoed in his voice.
“No other men. I thought I was quite clear about that when we discussed the terms of our agreement, three months ago.”
“Jimmie is just a friend.”
“Jimmie is a man. A distraction.”
“A distraction from being pissed. I don’t like being stood up.”



                                                              

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Then Death Spoke Live on Amazon

Then Death Spoke is officially live on Amazon and ready for your kindle! 



A haunting collection of horror and southern gothic fiction short stories with strong, female characters—often victimized, always leading the way.

These are not your feel good, happy ending stories. They are dark, painful, and sometimes sick. This ebook comes with a side of dark humor but should come with a bottle of Prozac. Titles include:

Twisted
The Thing
Vapor! Baby
Death Came a-Swinging
Piggy Brains on the Walls
Then Death Spoke and I Listened
I Never Met a Soldier I Didn’t Like
Pregnancy is the Best Form of Birth Control
Funny Thing Happened on the Way to My Suicide

Some of these stories contain strong language and adult themes. Not recommended for readers under 17 years of age. Approximately 21,000 words in length.

Click on the image to get your copy for only $1.99 and let me know what you think!

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Southern Gothic Fiction - Cover Reveal and Excerpt

To be released Thursday, 9/4



I’m excited to announce my first collection of horror and southern gothic fiction short stories, Then Death Spoke, will be released on Amazon Thursday, 9/4.

These are NOT dark stories with “feel good,” happy endings, folks. These are your sick and twisted, double-up-on-the-Prozac stories. True escapism for the gothic *heart.*

To "lure" you in, I've included here an excerpt from one of my southern gothic pieces. The voice is a young teenage girl, battling feelings for a much older man from a very dark past.


Excerpt from, “I Never Met a Soldier I Didn’t Like” by LB Shaw

It was six months later when the unbelievable happened. I was at church and I had to go to the bathroom, but the upstairs bathrooms were full. I ran downstairs to the ones that hardly anyone ever used.

When I came out, low and behold if Eddie himself wasn’t standing there in the hallway, all alone, decked out in his Army uniform and everything. I almost fainted on the spot. Lord knows I had changed a lot since he last saw me, blooming in all the right ways as my best friend’s cousin had once said. When Eddie saw me, he looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time.

“Jolene, I… look at you. My, you’ve grown.” His eyes wandered right down to where they shouldn’t have but where I wanted them to, and I thought if he stared at me forever I’d never get tired of looking at his perfect face.

“Hi, Mr. Winthrop,” I sort of whispered and sort of blurted, still holding on to the formality of respecting my elders, even though in my head, I’d always called him Eddie. “How are you?” My palms were sweating up a storm and I thought my heart would bust right through the lace on my dress and splat all over the church floor.

“Going through a rough time, but I’m hanging on as best I can. How’s life treating you, darlin’?”

Eddie rubbed his hands together as he talked.

“Pretty good, I guess.” I searched his face for some clue that… well, I don’t know what sort of clue I was looking for. He just smiled softly, and I asked him what rough thing he was going through.

“You didn’t hear?” he asked. I shook my head.

“Oh, well don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. It’s all grown up stuff anyways.” He jerked his head around to peer down the dark hallway. “Say, I can’t stick around, but you wouldn’t want to do an old man a favor, would you?”

“Me?” I would have done just about anything for Eddie.

He laughed and asked me to meet him at his car after church, that he had something he wanted to give me.

“It’s something I brought back from Tennessee. It’s nothing bad, but I know your mama doesn’t approve of me giving you gifts.”

I told him I would be there or be square, and all through the sermon I could hardly wait to get out the doors. I looked around for Eddie, but I didn’t see him anywhere. He wasn’t kidding when he said he couldn’t stick around. I wondered what he was doing there to begin with, and why he didn’t just bring the gift inside to give me before he had to leave.

Since Mom and Dad usually went to the fellowship hall after Sunday sermon, I didn’t tell them a thing, just ran straight out to the overflow parking lot across the street where Eddie said he’d be waiting. When I saw his black Dodge, I got so nervous I almost turned back around. I think my heart couldn’t take how bad I wanted him.

I saw him sitting there in the driver’s seat as I came up to the car. His head was hanging down, and for a minute I thought he was asleep. When he saw me, he leaned over and opened the passenger door. I sat down next to him, and he started the car up to run the heat. It was so dad-burned cold. We sat there without saying a word for a good while. It felt so nice, just being near him again, that I didn’t mind the silence.

“I want to be a good man, you know,” he said.

“You are, Mr. Winthrop.”

“I wish you’d call me Eddie.”

“Okay. Eddie.”

He took a deep breath and looked over at the church, like what he needed to say was written on the steeple.

“When I was a little boy, my papa would beat my ass if I breathed wrong. I always said when I grew up, I’d make sure I never hurt no one. Especially someone I love. I really don’t understand how some men’s minds work.”

I looked at Eddie, trying to figure out what he was talking about, but really just having a hard time believing that he was back. I thought about everyone inside the church, and me, just having gotten done worshipping the Lord, sitting out here in the car, in the real world, discussing real adult stuff, my hormones trying to rage me right through the teenage years and into womanhood.

I watched his profile while his stare loomed ahead in the distance, maybe somewhere he wanted to be. I wanted to be there too. Eddie closed his eyes and put his hands on the steering wheel, gripping it so tight it squeaked. 

Friday, August 1, 2014

I Ain't Disappeared Y'all - Southern Gothic Fiction TBR

I'm ashamed I've been MIA for so long. I have been writing a lot, but I've had to work on my freelance jobs in order to play catch up.

Hey, I've been watching y'all, though. I swear I have!


I'm currently working on pulling my head out of my ass and publishing a collection of southern gothic fiction short stories on Amazon Kindle. Right now, as we speak, I'm going through all the stories that I've been writing for the last 7 months and picking out the best ones to include. I should have at least a dozen pieces in the book, maybe more.

EDIT: not quite a dozen stories, but I'm currently at just over 21K words.

I'm also working on a short story called "A Ribbon Around Never." It's a paranormal dark fiction "anti-love" story about a young woman who gets rid of her "never."

What is her "never," you ask? You'll have to read it to find out.

So if you enjoy the dark and depressing, stay tuned. I will let everyone know when the southern gothic flash fiction collection is live.

Leave me a comment, ask me a question. Anything! Please! I'm so lonely...

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Southern Gothic, Post-Apocalyptic, Sick Little Excerpt For You Sickos

After steadily working on my southern gothic, post-apocalyptic story, I've chosen another excerpt to post. The MC is sick, so this entry is special, because... duh duh duh... I actually wrote it while I was sick last week! It's amazing how creative I can be when I'm running a fever and blowing snot rockets out my nose, but y'all don't want to hear about that, I'm sure. *snort*

Anyway, enjoy the following uber depressing journal entry from the main character who shall remain nameless for now and maybe forever. 


* * * * * * * *

I have no strength. I have no will. I’m sitting in front of the fire, cold to my bones and scared out of my mind. The last time I remember being this sick was a few years before the impact. I was about seventeen, and I knew I didn’t feel good when I woke up, but mom told me I had to at least try and go to school. I threw up all over the hallway between classes and everyone backed away from me like I had the plague. The laughter was the worst part of it. I was so humiliated. Thank God Kelly was there. She wrapped her arms around me and walked me to the bathroom, then went to the office to let them know what happened so they could call my parents.

I ended up having the flu and missed six days of school. Every night my mom made me drink this nasty crap, some concoction that grandmother had come up with that supposedly was an instant cure, probably got it from one of the Sunday School ladies. They were always swapping secret recipes, and I swear one of those women had this twitch in her eye that used to drive me crazy. I was convinced that she was possessed by the devil and that the demons were trying to escape through her eyeballs the moment she entered the church.

Anyway, that disgusting drink didn’t instantly cure me, but it did make me feel a hell of a lot better. I think mom spiked it with some cheap whiskey, but she swore it was mostly tea, ginger, lemon, and honey. It pretty much knocked me out cold, so she either put liquor in it or crushed up some of her Xanax and loaded me up. That’s probably a more likely scenario. Mom was always trying to get me to take her pills when I wasn’t “feeling good.” She never had a shortage of pills to pop, and to this day, I wonder if she wasn’t running some sort of drug ring out of the house. She had more pill bottles than the Sweet Serenity Retirement Home in Lexington. What I wouldn’t give for one of those nasty drinks right now.

Being really, really sick does suck a ten-foot pole, big time. I had this girl I went to church with. Her name was Roberta, and she had Hodgkin’s disease. She had to go through chemo, and all the meds they put her on made her look bloated all the time. Even her face looked like a puffer fish. She wasn’t very pretty to begin with, so you can imagine the after effects. Nobody wanted anything to do with her, like she was contagious or something. I think it’s shitty how some people won’t have anything to do with someone who has cancer. If this world gets rebuilt, I will hug all the cancer patients and make sure they know I’m not afraid of catching their disease.

Anyway, Roberta stayed off and on sick for as long as I can remember. She had said she wanted three things before she died: to graduate from high school, to go to the prom with a boy, and I can’t remember what the third thing was. So my friend’s brother (who was half Mexican AND his name happened to be Robert, imagine that!) took her to her senior prom.

Everyone just thought that Robert was some sort of hero. And to be honest, everyone looked at Roberta a little differently, too, like maybe she wasn’t contagious after all. Rumors started floating that Robert and Roberta might be a couple, and even made jokes about what they would name their kids if they got married. I think it was Robertini for a boy and Robertina if it was a girl or something stupid like that. Anyway, they didn’t become a couple.

I remember my mom going to her house one afternoon to talk to her mom about some Meals on Wheels stuff, and I asked Roberta if she had a boyfriend or anything. She told me that she didn’t and then this really sad look came over her puffy face. Then all of a sudden she looked at me, smiled, and said, “I’m glad I’m single, though.”

I asked her why, and she said that it would be easier to leave this earth if she didn’t have someone special she was leaving behind. I didn’t respond. What could you say to that? There’s really nothing you could say.

She died a few weeks later. One of her last requests was to have the youth choir sing at her funeral, and I couldn’t do it. I stood up there with the rest of the choir and I moved my lips, but I couldn’t make any sounds come out. I think I was on the verge of hyperventilating. I kept thinking, “I wonder if it was easy for her to die?” Isn’t that weird? I don’t know why I was so obsessed with that.

I know what she meant, though. I love Jake, with everything in me. I don’t want to leave him behind. I wonder if it would be easier to die if he wasn’t with me.

* * * * * * * *



Friday, April 25, 2014

Post-Apocalyptic Southern Gothic Fiction-Does This Work?

A couple months ago, I wrote a flash fiction piece titled, "Then Death Spoke and I Listened." This particular post received more traffic than any other post to date. I have since pulled it off of my blog for a couple of reasons, one of which is I plan to continue the story. 

If you didn't read it, I'll catch you up. It's a post-apocalyptic story about a young girl who finds her boyfriend, Jake, dead in a field, some time after an asteroid has hit the earth. She is forced to come to terms with her own mortality, which one would presume she has already done since "the impact" that she refers to. However, there is some psychology at play here, at least in the MC's mind. Since she survived the impact, she thinks that she is untouchable, and we see her struggle with this continually.

I made the decision to further "Then Death Spoke and I Listened" in a journalistic style, and will weave elements of southern gothic into the work. So basically, it will be a post-apocalyptic southern gothic collection of flash fiction. Has this ever been done before? I have no idea. Am I going to do it anyway? You betcha! The following is an excerpt from the MC's journal:


They say time heals all wounds, but time isn’t the healer. It’s circumstance. Many suns can rise and fall, but if your circumstances remain the same, you will never heal.

For us, time has lost all meaning. Time was for when you had something to measure it against, for the days of setting alarm clocks to get up for work and for knowing when to cook dinners of fried chicken and potato salad and when the best time to leave the gym is so you can beat rush hour traffic and for sending out birthday party invitations early enough so people have time to RSVP.

Time is shit.

Years ago, Jake had taken me to this place way up in Stokes county. It was part of the Yadkin Valley trail, and there was this seemingly endless gravel drive you had to navigate just to get to the parking lot that was big enough for about two compact cars. He took me by the hand, leading me through the woods, and we walked along the river, following the train tracks for about forever. Every once in a while, the trail would take us deep into the brush where the water was completely out of sight and the tree canopies hid the sunlight so much that it looked like night in the middle of the day. Complete mind trickery. You almost felt like you were lost.

As I stepped over a tree stump, Jake had grabbed me from behind and pushed me to the ground. Laughter exploded from both of us before he fell on top of me and swallowed me whole with one of his kisses. Out of the hundreds of times Jake kissed me, that one is sealed in my memory. I remember how his tongue searched for mine, like he was kissing me for the first time, discovering me like a first date, and falling in love with me like a stranger. I didn’t care that there could be spiders in my pants or that snakes could be dangling from the branches above waiting to fall on us. I didn’t care that it looked like night in the middle of the day. I didn’t care about anything, really.

His hand slipped down my pants and grabbed my crotch that was sticky with sweat--squeezing it like he had a point to prove--and the look he gave me at that moment stopped my world. He was claiming me. He knew it and I knew it. Within seconds, my pants were down around my ankles and Jake was inside of me, moving in and out, making me his. His ownership swept over me like a warm blanket over a child coming in from a storm.

Every time we made love after that was different. Letting him take me in the woods on top of the sticks and over fallen trees changed things for me, for us. I looked up to him in a way I never had. Before that, he was my equal. After that… well, I sent him the message he could have me anywhere and anytime he wanted.

We made our way back to the car, covered in dirt and sweat and lost in love for each other. I felt safer with him then. I felt like nothing could ever hurt me. And for a while, it couldn’t. But not for long enough.

I wish I could go back to that day and relive just one minute of his penetration. I wish I could freeze that frame, hold it steady, and just watch it until my eyes bleed. I wish I could go back and tell him I love him over and over and over…

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you….

Yeah, there is no such thing as time anymore. And my circumstances today are the same fucked up circumstances as yesterday’s. The Yadkin Valley trail day is gone, and so is today for that matter, and I don’t know if tomorrow will even come.

Fuck you, time.