Updates from an Author’s Life

Jackie was an early reader and supporter of my Darkly Series. It was so wonderful to see her at the signing.

Saturday turned out to be an impactful day for this indie author. I’m happy to report that sales at my book signing at In High Cotton were brisk. I love the opportunity to introduce new readers to my series and connect with past readers who already know and love the characters from previous books.

And if that weren’t enough to warm this author’s heart, I also had a review notice from Literary Titan hit my email box. I was pleased to discover that the reviewer had given The Fate of Wolves five stars. But it was what the reviewer wrote that stunned me. It also brought me to tears right there in the middle of my big day.

Here’s the passage that got the waterworks going:

The Fate of Wolves, by Tarrant Smith, is the second in The Legends of the Pale series. From cover to cover, Smith delivers insanely well-drawn characters and enough moments of levity to keep this paranormal romance moving along at a brisk pace. Never does Smith’s work lack. As the author bounces from one subplot to the next and back, she keeps readers on their toes and deeply involved with each of the main characters and their tragic lives.”

But that’s not all:

“I would be remiss if I didn’t address Smith’s opening lines. It’s not often that I rave about the beginning of a book, but in this case it’s a must. From the first sentence, Smith had me hooked.”

Wow. Just Wow. I know I’m not supposed to take any single review to heart. I actually try not to pay too much attention to my reviews because even a small flaw pointed out by a reader has the power to mess with my confidence as a writer. And honestly, reviews are for readers, not authors. They are subjective comments about a book that potential readers use while deciding whether to buy or invest there time.

But, this particular review might get a special place near my writing area just to remind myself that the hard work and effort to produce my best possible work is worth all the hours of writing, the self-doubt that no one will read it, and soul searching that goes into crafting what I hope will be the perfect story.


In other news, I have one more book signing coming up. December 14th at the Madison Artist Guild will be my last signing of the year. So please, mark your calendars. Details can be found on my Events page.

Also, I hope to announce very soon that the Legends of the Pale books will be carried by the Southern Pen Bookshop in Monroe, Ga. I’m meeting with the owner this week to work out the details.

Lastly, I’d like to report that I am hard at work on book four in my Legends of the Pale series. I’ve nearly completed the first draft of The Souls of Witches. So as we all march toward the holidays, I can say with all certainty that I will have two completed unpublished books in my stocking this Christmas. That means The Dreams of Demons and The Souls of Witches will be released in 2020. You can view their covers on my book pages.

Read with confidence, my friends. There is so much more coming in this series.

A Quick Review; No Chaser


Kulti by Mariana Zapata wouldn’t have been a book I’d automatically pick up. Though it’s a contemporary romance, it’s also set in the world of women’s soccer which is something I don’t follow or have ever played as a kid. It’s a doorstop of a book. My copy was 560 pages long. I like long books, but in the romance genre it’s at least a hundred pages too long. The main character’s love interest is a retired legend of the sport, and he’s German. I’m sure there are plenty of friendly Germans in the world but I rode dressage for years. I’ve had several German coaches. They’re typically difficult as hell and demanding beyond words.

Mariana Zapata is a New York Times and USA Today bestseller. This book has 1, 193 reviews on Amazon. The majority of readers like this book. So despite my very personal issues, I dug in and tackled my book club’s choice.

It wasn’t awful. As a matter of fact, mostly…it was quite nice. The writing was good; the internal dialogue funny.

The pacing of the romance was slow to the point of painful, which is a problem that I can’t ignore since this is supposed to be a romance first and a sports novel second. Two hundred pages in I couldn’t help but think, what the hell? Why didn’t her editor bother to rein in this author? I sighed, rolled my eyes, and then reminded myself that this is a bestselling author. That should mean something. Yes? There must be a big payoff coming. Hopefully. And then, I’d start reading again.

Sal, the main soccer-playing character, is in her late twenties. Despite being a leader, focused and driven to excel in her sport, and arguably the best player on her team, her reaction to Reiner Kulti is extraordinarily adolescent. I’m sure this might be endearing to some readers but not to me. I’ve been a tomboy all my life; horses, basketball, golf, cycling. I understand being competitive, giving your all, and hating to lose. Teenage crush or no crush, being a female athlete doesn’t automatically make you socially awkward.

What was far more endearing was her panic attacks around cameras. That sort of character flaw was palatable because it doesn’t play to stereotypes. Who doesn’t get nervous when a microphone is shoved in their face?

The very German Kulti, a David Beckham styled character, is not likable at the beginning of the book. As a matter of fact, he’s not all that likable for most of the book. That’s mainly because Zapata only sticks to Sal’s immature point of view. At the very end of this book, there’s a payoff of sorts. It’s not a huge payoff, but I can now understand why the single point of view was done.

Here are my final thoughts… If you like feel-good books or movies about sports, then Kulti is for you. If you are looking for your next steamy read-in-a-day romance, this book is a hard pass.


I plan to leave this review on Goodreads.com. For other book reviews scroll down the Chalkboard.

The Unfinished Pile

Photo by @plqml | @feliperizo.co on Unsplash

Dear Reader,
Welcome to the unfinished pile. The following is one of many essays I wrote for a working manuscript titled, My Mother the Mediocre Witch. The collection was originally aimed at my son, a random assortment of stories and lessons – something he might refer back to when speaking with his future therapist. Most of the essays are very short, just a brief glance at an unusual life. I’ve plugged away at this project for years with no clear idea of what to do with it. Periodically, I’ll share a bit of it here on my blog. –Tarrant

“Tain! Tain!” and the Simplicity of Joy

I’ve noticed that I have lapsed into giving you profound truths with each journal entry. This gives my musings a preachy, feel-good, warm and fuzzy feeling, the kind of self-absorbed drivel that I detest. This was not my initial intention when I set myself the task of penning my memories, so I should take a moment to apologize to both you and the reader. To elevate the sweetness for all of us, I decided today to rummage in the photo bin for inspiration.

Yes, you heard me correctly. I keep all my precious photos in a plastic storage bin. The baby pictures are mingled with school pictures, which rub up against the horse and automotive pictures, as well as pictures of family gatherings, client portraits, and artsy product photography such as chocolate and rope. You must remember that we were in the photo business for many years. The prints weren’t very important to us because we could reprint copies at will. The truly important stuff was the digital data. Those CD’s are, of course, crammed into another storage bin.

So, there I was sitting on the floor of the hallway with a plethora of images swimming about me when your father happened upon me. I flashed the photo I had chosen at your father and we share a smile.

You are approximately six months old and in your father’s lap behind the office desk at Fotoworks. Around each of your heads is a band of 35mm film. I assume it was something he had shot and developed for a client and no longer needed. We have a storage bin full of rolls of miscellaneous negatives, so your wearing a filmstrip headband or bracelet was not that uncommon. But on this day, your headband has one lone feather sticking out of the back. A nice touch from your father, I think. You are drooling profusely, bubbles cascading down your chin, and both of you are grinning from ear to ear while you try to smash your chubby fingers on the computer keyboard as your father half-heartedly tries to restrain you.

You loved computers from the very beginning. The first trick you learned was that pressing the reboot button on the computer’s tower could send your parents into a panic, and you into a fit of giggles. After we realized you weren’t going to tire of this game anytime soon, we raised the towers onto the desktops to keep them out of your limited reach.

While I’ve been musing, I realize that we thought nothing was wrong with taking you to the lab; a place full of sharp objects, corrosive chemicals, and fumes. Given my confessed shortcomings as a parent thus far, you can see why this is just now dawning on me. But I would not have remained sane for long without my half-days spent at the office. Not to mention, you were good for business. Your fan club rivaled that of your father’s parrot, Kooka, who also inhabited the front of the store.

Kooka came to live at the photo lab because she had begun to mimic the sounds that I made during sex. At first, your father and I thought it was funny, but she gave a repeat performance in the clear light of day and in front of company. Sounds like that are private and I did not want to encourage her panting and moanings, so she was relocated to the lab before the noises became apart of her usual routine. I will say no more on the matter. Just that I was lucky that she soon found the office phone more interesting than me.

The photo lab’s first home was an old gas station located near a train trestle. Every day the train came through town, blowing its horn. This sudden blast of noise scared you at first, but once you understood that it heralded the great metal beast’s daily arrival you were hooked. Shortly after you mastered the words “Mama” and “Dada”, you learned to utter the word “tain”; your best attempt at the word train. Like clockwork, the horn would blow and you would cry at the top of your lungs, “Tain, Tain!” To your delight, one of us would then snatch you up and dash out to the parking lot to watch the train roll slowly past.

Soon our customers caught on to your fascination. They didn’t seem to mind when on more than one occasion they were left to stand, waiting to pay or drop off their film. Don’t get me wrong. We didn’t have to whisk you out to see the trains. Your personality didn’t lend itself to angry tantrums. We were simply motivated by the sight of your joy, as it bloomed fresh each time on your face with the sounding of the train’s air horn. The disruption at work was infinitesimal compared to the reward to us; the gratification of feeling your entire body quiver in excitement while you marveled with a kind of thrilled fascination at the mundane boxcars as they lumbered and clanked down the tracks. As a parent, these are the memories that stay with you.

So, while I sat in the hall this morning, surrounded by old photos, it only took two words to bring a tender smile to my face and tears to my eyes. Similar to a well-rehearsed dance, or a punch line to a favorite joke, your father and I said them at the same time.

There is no point to this entry; at least none that I will endeavor to make. I will simply leave you with two words to ponder.

“Tain, Tain.”

*** ***

To explore more sides of my writing, check out Beyond the Books where I share some of my older Medium posts.

Lessons from an Indie Author

An impromptu holiday book photoshoot.

I’m not new to writing. I’m not new to marketing. I’m not an extrovert. I’m not a natural salesperson. My books aren’t listed in Amazon’s top 100. Not yet, anyway. But I’ve learned a few simple lessons that I see so many writers ignoring.

You don’t have to be a genius to know that one of the first rules of selling is to tell people that you have a product to sell in the first place. (And by sell, I mean sell. Don’t give your work away without compensation of some sort. If you don’t value you, they won’t value you.) If you’re an author that means you’ve probably got lots of books stored at your house. If you are a blogger, a poet, or content writer then talk about it!

Americans love to ask each other what we do for a living. Your first response should be that you are a writer and not that you are a teacher, accountant, waitress, or whatever you do to pay the bills. You are a writer first! That other thing you do is just a forty-hour a week side hustle to keep food in the fridge and the lights on.

I’ve discovered that despite the fact that I hate talking about myself, most people are fascinated that I write full-length, honest to God books. They immediately want to know what genre and if they sell. My answer is, of course, romance and yes they do. I then try to mention as casually as I can that they have won a few awards and that they are paranormal which is a very popular subgenre of romance.

Look what Santa left under the Christmas tee!

Then comes the next lesson, and that is, to make a sale you have to put the product in the hands of the customer. Authors, bloggers, writers…carry a copy of your book, business card, or promotional something with you at all times. If you are an author, at the very least you need an eyecatching bookmark. The bookmark or postcard-sized whatever should have your book cover and all your contact information on it. You want the person you’re chatting with to take it home with them.

As a woman who is never without her oversized purse, I’ve made it a habit of carrying my latest book with me everywhere I go. I have one of those large makeup bags that has never been used for makeup. Two of my books fit perfectly inside it. I also keep bookmarks and my business card in that bag.

This magical technique works for any writer. If you are still plugging away at your book, carry a business card with your social media contacts listed on it. If you’re a poet, a blogger, a content writer the same thing applies. Every time you meet someone, it is another opportunity for you to gain a follower or a fan. But they won’t remember your web address, the title of your book, or your name in some cases if they don’t have something physical to reference later.

Ho Ho Ho Santa says, “Give romance for the holidays.”

Yesterday a fellow author and I visited our local downtown shops. At first we were just killing time. Neither one of us had been very productive that morning at the coffee shop. But as we ducked in and out of the holiday-decorated stores, I began taking pictures of my books among the Christmas decorations. We chatted with the manager of one shop about the possibility of them creating a section in their store dedicated to books by local authors. We told strangers about our upcoming book signings. And, I walked away with a slew of early holiday promotional pictures I can use across my social media. All that potential possibility in such a short time because I carry my books with me!

A little over a month ago, I helped a friend with her yard sale. I talked about my books as I chatted with shoppers and made sales while sending others home with bookmarks.

I ran into a friend while I was leaving Goodwill last week. She’d been following my progress on Facebook and we spent ten minutes talking about my writing. We exchanged business cards and I know that eventually that encounter will pay-off in some way.

I went to support another author’s book signing last month and after mentioning that I too am an author to those who lingered to order drinks, I sold two of my own books because I carry them with me.

My latest book, just in time for Christmas and looking picture-perfect.

It’s not about being pushy or obnoxious when it comes to the topic of who you are and what you do. The lesson I’ve learned is a fundamental one and I hope you too will embrace it. And that is, dare to put your writing at the forefront of who you are. It’s a change in mindset that I’m talking about. Yes, you’re probably going to have to drag yourself out of bed to punch that damn time clock again today, but that’s not who you are. You’re a writer first. An author first. A blogger and a marketing guru first. Tell the world and yourself that narrative. Be brave. Own it!

Embrace that mindset and then the sales, followers, and readers will naturally come afterward.

A Quick Review; No Chaser

Broken Promises

Broken Promises by Quell T. Fox is a paranormal romance and the first in a trilogy. It is written in first person, which is something that I don’t usually enjoy but after reading the book I realized that this story couldn’t have been told any other way. There are flashback/memory vignettes that are more impactful with the first-person point of view. The writing flows easily and once I’d started the book, I didn’t want to put it down until I’d finished it. It took me a day to read. With that said, I did stumble across several mistakes that could have been caught with another pass by a proofreader or by having Microsoft Word read the book aloud, but the mistakes weren’t jarring or frequent enough to set the book aside.

Broken Promises deals with love and time, favorite themes of mine. Asha’s character is introduced as a serial leaver. She leaves relationships and people as easily as she abandons places. She has always felt like she’s searching for something—but she doesn’t know what, where, or who that may be. This is a classic the heroine doesn’t know who or what she is book. Andrew is Asha’s drool-worthy boyfriend at the beginning of the book. She knows she’ll eventually leave despite moving to Rhode Island with him, the hot sex, and his sweet nature. She just isn’t normal and she knows it.

After arriving at Andrew’s family home, unusual things immediately start to occur. Eventually, the reader is clued in that much of the phenomenon is Jacob trying to find her. This book would have fallen into the love triangle troupe except that both Asha and the reader are already aware that she’s going to leave Andrew regardless of the unusual future Jacob is offering.

Be prepared to dwell over Quell’s explanation of what immortalites are and how they come to be. It can get a bit confusing but if you absorb that bit of information then you’ll probably want to read the rest of the series once book two and three are released. Also keep in mind that this a trilogy. Being a romance, the reader is going to get a happy-ish ending, choices will be made but Asha’s story-arc will not be wrapped-up in a tight bow and that might leave some readers unsatisfied.

To learn more about Quell T. Fox and her other books, check out her Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/groups/632201927243401/

She Persisted…

She persisted has become my mantra when it comes to this crazy writing thing I do.

When I check my lagging book sales and social media feels like I’m yelling into a void; I take a deep breath, turn on my laptop, and write another chapter. When the book reviews don’t magically appear, I tell myself that there are people reading the books even if they don’t leave a review behind. When I hear someone say that they don’t really have time to read or they don’t like reading at all, I shrug it off. I’ve visited the worlds and befriended the characters they’ll never know. When my own family congratulates me on publishing yet another book but never takes the time to read or share it, I sigh and give the people I love a pass. I write romance and the sex scenes probably make them uncomfortable.

Some days I persist out of sheer stubbornness, just a big f*ck you to the world at large. Some days I persist because I’m too afraid to admit that I’ve failed at the one thing I am really good at doing. Some days I have to remind myself that there are so many creative souls who come and go and who’s work is never appreciated — and yet, they managed to keep true to their creative voice. How could I do less?

When I had no money and wrote after a full day’s work, I persisted. Despite not knowing if my first book would be published or if it was all just an exercise in self-indulgence, I persisted.

When I’m depressed, I persist. When I’m frustrated, I persist. When it’s a struggle to string the sentences together, I persist.

Persisting makes me annoying for some people, but persisting has become a habit with me. It means that I’ll continue to put words on paper. It means the stories that take root in my mind will find their way into the world. And as long as I do that, then I’ll eventually reach the heart of the reader I’ve been writing for all this time.

A Quick Review; No Chaser

Reluctant Guardian

Elisha Bugg’s Reluctant Guardian (The Otherworld Guardians) is the first book in what will be an interesting paranormal romance series. For those readers who love to find themselves immersed in a world of shifters, demons, witches, and vampires this book’s cover and blurb promises everything you would ever want. Thane Marrok, a wolf shifter, is deliciously dark and brooding. The heroine, Anya Shaw, doesn’t understand her past or why she’s drawn to Thane. And the universe the author builds for the reader is a world in which Guardians like Thane must protect themselves and others like them from a society of human hunters.

I eagerly jumped into this book and was hooked by the end of the first chapter. The dialogue between characters is well written and the description of each character was intriguing enough to keep me reading. However, as an indie author myself, I began to notice issues that had nothing to do with the quality of the story—the formatting of the ebook was one issue. Perhaps this isn’t a problem with the paperback, so I kept reading. (And it’s an easy fix if the author uses the kindle formatter provided by Amazon’s publishing company.)

Because this is a no-spoiler review, I can tell you that the author kept the pacing of the book brisk, giving the reader just enough world-building information to set each scene. She also treated the introduction of new characters in the same manner. As a reader, I appreciated that. But because Elisha Bugg is clearly not an American author, she thinks nothing of using British slang in her writing. And I’m usually okay with that! The only time the slang jarred me from the story was when she used the word floor for ground—when the characters were clearly outside.  

So, with the formatting issues and slang aside, Reluctant Guardian was a fair introductory book. It can be easily read in a weekend. The slowly developing romance between Anya and Thane was maddening enough to make me want to finish the book. And the plot and character’s histories were tight, so by the end of the book, everyone got a happy ending, reader included.

This review was posted on Amazon and Goodreads.com. If you would like to learn more about Elisha Bugg, check out her website.


The Unfinished Pile

Dear Reader,
Welcome to the unfinished pile. The following is one of many essays I wrote for a working manuscript titled, My Mother the Mediocre Witch. The collection was originally aimed at my son, a random assortment of stories and lessons – something he might refer back to when speaking with his future therapist. Most of the essays are very short, just a brief glance at an unusual life. I’ve plugged away at this project for years with no clear idea of what to do with it. Periodically, I’ll share a bit of it here on my blog. –Tarrant

The Butt Smelling Incident; Imperfection

Son, you may have noticed by now that these memories aren’t in chronological order but instead an embarrassing compilation that I have stored away and am retrieving in my usual chaotic manner. Unlike you and your father, who were blessed with linear computer-like brains, my strength and curse have forever been the unconventional workings of my mind. At times my thoughts can be mapped along a circular or spiral path, but more often than not I’m simply awarded with a collision of completely erroneous thoughts coming together or passing close to one other like celestial bodies in the night sky. I find myself abandoning one thought and leaping unannounced onto a bright new topic much to the surprise of my bemused audience.

Though I never thought it a bad way to go through life, I can only hope you have gained some small benefit from having such an unconventional mother. But then, maybe have did not.

Let me stop myself here before I spin too far from my original purpose and find my way back to the memory I had intended to discuss. I must say I’m sorry for relaying such an embarrassing story repeatedly to friends and family but you need to understand that it was more a statement of our lack of parenting skills than any breach of manners on your part. Truly, you were not more than four, on the cusp of kindergarten, and not acquainted with the ways of humans.

For the first formidable years of your life, your closest companions were dogs. You spoke a language all your own that they understood, and in turn, they felt obliged to teach you theirs. A child’s brain is extraordinarily quick. By age three you had mastered ‘dog’ and were as well behaved as both Greta and Fox. We didn’t see the problem in this dynamic until that day at the Presbyterian Church.

It was the beginning of summer, a last summer before you’d begin kindergarten. Wanting to be good parents on the first day of school, we thought it prudent to enroll you in the week-long bible camps offered by the local churches. This would ease you into interacts with other children, a testing of the waters to socially prepare you for your official schooling in the fall.

Yes, I know, it was bible camp. No need to side-track me with facts. At four, how much could you remember — really? You were enamored with baby Jesus for that single summer. Thankfully, it wore off and we have since made a concerted effort to exposes you to many different world religions. However, I must confess that your Catholic great Aunt Gigi clapped with enthusiasm and not a small amount of relief when you sang Jesus Loves Me while your baffled pagan parents looked on.

It now occurs to me that if we, your parents, hadn’t retold this story and made it a permanent part of your history, it would have faded naturally along with the infant god that marked the beginnings of that summer.

Anyway, on that first day of our great socialization experiment, namely you, we arrived hopeful but full of nervous concern for it was the first time you were to be left with strangers. And, as we mingled with other stressed-out parents you did what all children are apt to do; you tried to make a friend.

I don’t remember the mother I was conversing with. Her name escapes me. I was half-watching you approach her son and half-trying to carry on small talk which you know is not easy for me. I find most people to be false in their interactions and strangely unwilling to delve into meaningful conversation. I do remember that this mother seemed determined to compare potty-training stories instead of engaging in an honest discourse on the when and how social conformity might take root in various potty-training methods. Not unexpectedly, I found myself bored and smiling too broadly at her earnest face.

You didn’t feel the pressures of that day. Instead, you had set a goal of forging a friendship that would see you through the coming hours. And because ‘dog’ was as much a native tongue for you as English, you immediately presented a non-threatening posture and proceeded to sniff her son’s bottom in greeting.

Sadly, I was not the first to notice your intentions. Instead, it was my talkative companion who alerted me to your social misstep. Her pretty face shifted from proud to merely pleasantly distant, then to shocked, until finally I witness a look of horror bloom as understanding dawned. Following her gaze downward, I witnessed you slowly orbiting around her child as he continued to maneuverer his bottom out of your line of inhalation.

I admit that I nervously laughed, which earned me a look of scorn from the humorousness mother. Placing a hand on your shoulder to end your pursuit of the other child’s derriere, I simply said, “His best friends are dogs.” This explanation didn’t help her opinion of us for she promptly removed her son and herself from our immediate vicinity.

Her abandonment of us, more than anything else told me that your father and I had made a serious miscalculation. Gretta and Fox had been allowed too large a role thus far in your upbringing. Acknowledging this, I hastily rectified the error. I knelt and hugged you tightly. Then I told you not to sniff people bottoms when in public. I have always been of the opinion that what people do in private is their own business.

You looked a little confused but cheerily answered, “Okay, Mommy.” You then dashed off to try to find a different potential friend. I stood uncomfortably alone in the crowded room, my mothering skills now in question. Finally, the appointed authority figures in the room assured the lingering parents that they could leave. I was the first parent through the door.

The sniffing incident didn’t follow us to the Baptist Church, nor did it resurface at the Methodist Church. And to your credit, you quickly assimilated into the mysterious workings of the pre-K toddler social calendar without any further awkwardness.

If there is a point to all this memory, it is that you are not solely the sum of your past — nor is life necessarily a serious endeavor. Lighten up. Lose the baggage and live imperfectly.

*** ***

To explore more sides of my writing, check out Beyond the Books where I share some of my older Medium posts.

The Wait is Over!

The Fate of Wolves is now out on Kindle. After anticipating its release for nearly a month, I can finally breathe a sigh of relief. So many of my readers prefer ebooks because of the convenience of having their entire library on one device. Now the madness can stop! No more just hearing about book 2… you can now download Deegan and Eva’s story for yourself.

If you’re an Amazon Prime member, you’ll be glad to know that The Fate of Wolves is enrolled in the Kindle Unlimited program. That means you can read it for free! I get paid according to how many pages are read, so it’s a win-win for authors and readers!

Book 1 and 2

First Amazon Review:

A Page-Turning Romance with a Twist October 29, 2019

As an avid reader of many genres, I have high expectations when it comes to romance. I want my heroines strong, their partners strong enough to match them, and a love story that avoids predictability. The Fate of Wolves has all this and more. Fans of fantasy and paranormal romance will love the legend and lore bound tightly in this moving romance. It was a page-turning read, and just when I thought the author was taking me toward the usual cliched ending, the plot twisted for a surprising and satisfying conclusion. Expect elements of action, romance, and fantasy to converge all the way up until the very last page.”

As always, customer reviews are the best thank you an author can receive. They can be brief or long, but please consider leaving one behind for another reader to find. Amazon makes it so easy for kindle users, prompting them at the end of every book. If you’ve purchased a paperback of The Fate of Wolves from me at a signing then Goodreads.com is another fabulous site to leave your thoughts. (Just follow the Goodreads link above.)

The reason I keep asking, nay begging, for reviews from readers is that it takes a minimum of 20 reviews on a book for Amazon’s algorithm to suggest it to readers. I am still climbing that mountain with all my books and I need your help. If you have enjoyed any of my Darkly Series or The Love of Gods, Click Here for my Amazon Author’s page to find all the links to my catalog of books on Amazon.

As always, thank you for your support.