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Thursday, September 29, 2016

Throwback Thursday! #IndieThursday

The internet takes a step back in time every Thursday as people around the world share old baby pictures, vintage prom and wedding photos, and other assorted oldies. Authors can share too! This Thursday meme highlights those books in your backlist. 

In comments, share a tempting snippet from your older works, 300 words or less. Don't forget your buy link and website/blog link. Have fun!

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Elizabeth St. Michel said...

A woman’s desperate attempt to escape an arranged marriage leads to adventure she never could have imagined in Elizabeth St. Michel’s riveting novel, The Winds of Fate. Enjoy this toes curled in the sand, swashbuckling tale of love lost and redemption. A classic that has seized the prestigious Holt Medallion Merit Award for Literary Excellence.

Hywela Lyn said...

This is an excerpt from the first book in the Destiny Trilogy. (Each book can be read as a 'Stand alone' and they don't have to be read in order, although it's probably preferable to do do so for the sake of continuity.)


“Oh, yes.” He smiled, that rare, flashing smile, which made her senses reel. “I too have had dreams. Jon and I have been friends since we were boys and long ago we decided we would build a ship as great as any seen on Earth. This ship...a ship to take us away from the stagnation and oppression of the Union.”

“It must’ve cost—”

“The Earth?” he looked amused. “Not quite, although Jon came from one of the wealthiest families in the Union. The Destiny was built with his money, plus that of a few other interested parties.”

“And your design?”

He nodded. “The initial design, anyway. I know every inch of her, every circuit, every detail down to the smallest component.” He held her closer. “I saw her grow from an image in my mind to a ship faster and more advanced than anything in the Allied Planets. I thought it was all I needed...until now.”

He looked deep into her eyes. “Jess, the Destiny means a great deal to me, but I would give her up without a moment’s hesitation, rather than lose you.”

“That’s a choice you’ll never have to make.”

Amazon Author Page

Nightingale said...

Excerpt from Cardinal Desires, winner of GA Romance Writers' Magnolia Award for Excellence:

He trembled at the beauty and the horror of what he saw. In a place where only darkness should have been, light glared, stinging his eyes. A surreal gabble of voices and dissonant music hurt his ears. The squawk of a horn startled him, but he remained motionless, drowning in strange sensations and images. When his vision cleared, he was too weak and shaken to leave the sanctuary of the archway.

It was night. That was somehow important. Yet it wasn’t really dark. Pink wisps of cloud colored the indigo sky. He knew where he was. Yet this wilderness couldn't be the home he remembered.

Disorder and decay surrounded him. Wild roses choked the coral archway above his head. The flagstone path was a crumpled ribbon flung in the chaos of flowers and vines that had once been the formal garden. He felt like a sleepwalker, awakening in the wrong time and place. His heart wept for the lost years. His eyes burned, unable to cry.
It seemed like yesterday that the cream of society had poured through those wrought iron gates, rusted now, hanging on sagging hinges. The rich and famous had come to lavish parties, swam in bathtub gin and sipped contraband rum. Tuxedoed valets had parked cars made by Bugatti and Studebaker.

Prohibition. Brave men could make a fortune.

He stumbled one step, then two, and the loop of the driveway drew him faster past rustling palms, the meticulous lawns a riot of tall grass, but now he was only vaguely aware, his mind reeling again. He rounded a curve and came up short near the rusted main gates. A concrete sidewalk slashed a premature end to the tree-lined drive. Strangers strode across his property. Didn’t they know they were trespassing? A spark of anger flickered to life.
On the sidewalk, a child froze, his eyes wide, pointing at him. He folded his arms over his chest, glanced down, expecting to see bloody fingertips. He’d clawed his way out of the mausoleum, but there was no blood. The pale skin was whole. His long, translucent fingernails were dirty, but not one chipped or broken.

“Look, Momma, a ghost.” The lilting cadence of the boy's voice teased memory. “Told you that old house is haunted.”

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