Lenni Reviews Dreams of the Boardwalk!

Dreams of the Boardwalk got a review!  Head on over to Haunting Hypatia and check it out!

And if the review should inspire you to get yourself a copy, head on over to Amazon and get one!

(It’s not available on Kindle Unlimited for about a month, but don’t worry, it’ll be back soon.)

Excerpt from The Truth of Rock and Roll: Fighting in the Locker Room

So I’ve been sharing a lot of excerpts from Hometown, so I thought it was time to share a few scenes from my other stories.  This one is from The Truth of Rock and Roll.  It gives us a look at Jenny and Johnny, Our Heroine and Our…Protagonist (he isn’t Our Hero yet), the ferocity of their love, and the power of rock and roll magic. Continue reading “Excerpt from The Truth of Rock and Roll: Fighting in the Locker Room”

Announcements

Hey all!

Three pieces of news!

1) I have broken 200 pages on my new novel, City of Dreams!  Look for sample first draft excerpts to be coming soon!

1a) Of course, excerpts from my older works will continue to be posted.  Watch this space.

2) My author interview is up at Booksgosocial!  Go and have a look!

3) And finally, the book trailer for Dreams of the Boardwalk is complete!  Have a look!

The Dreams of the Boardwalk Giveaway Is Coming to a Close

Just one more day to go in the Dreams of the Boardwalk giveaway!  To give you a taste of what you might be missing, here’s an excerpt:

I knew the exact moment that they realized I was on to them, because their faces…split.  Huge grins stretched much farther than a human mouth could open, almost literally ear to ear, and they were grinning mouthfuls of fangs.

I don’t think they expected me to react as quickly as I did.  Greaser grabbed for me as I spun away, but gave a cheated shriek as his fingers just skated across the back of my shirt, and then I was off and running.

Usually in nightmares like this, it’s like the world goes into slow motion.  No matter how hard I try to run, I don’t get anywhere.  Or maybe the boardwalk would stretch into forever in front of me, so no matter how far I ran, there was no escape.  Or no matter where I ran, the monsters would always be there in front of me.  But none of that was happening.  I was booking it, and it was a good thing, too, because Greaser’s shriek brought more shadowy figures pouring out of the darkness.  They appeared out of the pools of shadow near broken streetlights, they climbed up through the gaps in the boardwalk, they came up from the darkness beneath and crawled and skittered over the railings, a horde of street thugs from all ages of New York City.

(And I do mean all.  There was someone who looked like he’d stepped straight out of Gangs of New York running beside Scary Punk.)

I vaulted the railing and dropped down to the sand.  I don’t know why I did that; it was crazy.  In the waking world, the sand was level with the boardwalk, but here, it was a fifteen-foot drop, and if I’d broken my leg, I would have been helpless.  Trapped prey.

But I didn’t.  And I didn’t let myself think about it.  I hit the ground, let myself fall, let myself roll, let the sand take the shock, rolled all the way back to my feet and I took off.

Or tried to.  Coney Island beach sand is deep, and running in it is hard.  I think I surprised them, going over the rail (but how do you surprise the monster in your nightmare?), but I wasn’t gaining enough ground.  Worse, I was tiring out again.  That first run had taken a lot out of me, and a second burst of adrenaline wasn’t going to carry me far.  Not far enough.

I looked over my shoulder, and oh god, they were swarming.  Swarming down off the boardwalk, leaping like insects, swarming up from underneath like cockroaches.

I floundered and struggled across the sand, my legs and my chest burning, trying to squeeze out that one last ounce of speed.  Why had I even done this?  Where was I going?

Then the West End jetty came into sight, and I understood.  Sometimes in dreams you know you desperately have to get somewhere, you don’t know why, you just do.  And that unconscious knowing was leading me right to my tide pool.  I had no idea why, how it was supposed to save me from a horde of monsters in street gear, but –

Oh god, what if it wasn’t there?  It was a tide pool!  I might be making a desperate break for a stretch of damp sand!  And with the heat and the endless run sucking the life out of me, where would I go from there?  How much further could I push on before I just collapsed in the sand?

But no, the tide was high, washing syringes and garbage high up on the beach.

I buttonhooked around a fence and there it was, free of garbage and shining like the Moon.

Now what?

Stand in knee-deep water and hope that helps?  It wouldn’t even be enough to save me from the heat!  Why did I come here?

I turned around and looked back.  They were coming – howling and shrieking and laughing that high, insane laugh, halfway across the beach now.

I had to wake up.  I had to wake up!

I spun around, shut my eyes tight, and dug my fingernails into my arm, hard enough to draw blood.

Nothing.  It wasn’t working.  I couldn’t wake up.  I couldn’t wake up!

That was the breaking point.  I was too tired to run any further, and there was no place to run anyway.  This terrible dream just wouldn’t end, and I couldn’t even wake up.  Exhausted and beaten, I dropped to my knees in the sand.

“Damn you, Dream Boy,” I whispered as the first of my tears dripped into the pool “Where are you?  What good is it to have a dream boyfriend if he’s only there to dance and eat cotton candy and screw?  Where are you when I need someone to fight for me?  Fight like Justin never – “

“You need to give him a name.”

“Who said that?” I looked around wildly, but there was no one.

“Over here.”

I looked at the tide pool, and it was like looking through Alice’s Looking Glass.  On the other side of the tide pool’s surface, it was a bright, sunny day.  Standing there on the other side of the pool was a young man – maybe thirty – with a black goatee.  He was wearing sunglasses, a top hat, and a black bathing suit, the old-fashioned kind with the shoulder straps.  In his hands, he held a big Key to the City that read “Coney Island”.

Help!” I screamed into the water. “Please, you’ve got to help me!”

“I’m trying,” he answered. “But you’ve got to listen.  Your dream boy – you need to give him a name.  You can’t call him without a name.”

I looked over my shoulder.  They were so close, they were coming around the fence now, and this guy was talking about names.

“What?”

Listen!  Your dream boy can help you, but you have to call him, and in order to call him, he needs a name.  You already know it – you dreamed him, he’s your perfect teenage boyfriend, all you have to do is let yourself realize it.  What is his name?

And that was when I realized he was right.  I’d known Dream Boy’s real name all along.  It was a name that none of the actual boys I’d known when I was a teenager had worn, but it had always seemed to me to be the name of restless teenage ride-on-the-edge funtimes, of hot summer nights, leather jackets and cheap wine.

“Jimmy,” I whispered.  Ripples began spreading across the tide pool, and the image of the man on the other side disappeared.  Somewhere, I knew, Jimmy’s hair had just turned a lighter shade of blond, and a spray of freckles had appeared across his nose and cheeks, as was appropriate for a Jimmy.  And those things would stay; he was more real now, more solid and defined.

And he was coming.  He was on his way.  He just needed –

JIMMY!” I screamed.

And then he was there.

Want to know the rest?  Head on over to Amazon and pick up your free copy of Dreams of the Boardwalk.  Promotion ends today!

Dreams of the Boardwalk Now Available for Free Download!

Lost in the Dream of the City.

Sarah Brannigan’s life has fallen to pieces at the age of forty-five. Her fairy tale marriage has ended, her job history has been a downward spiral since 2008, and she’s paying way too much rent to live in a tiny room in an apartment that she shares with five roommates.

To escape it all, she walks the streets of New York City, seeking out the hidden wonders of the City. And like many before her, she falls in love with Coney Island. Then one day, she falls asleep on a boardwalk bench after a long walk in the hot sun, and she falls into a dream. A dream that seems to reach into Coney Island’s past. A dream of everything she wished for when she was young. A dream whose effects linger even after she’s woken up.

Soon the dream begins to take over as Sarah uses it again and again to seek escape from her failed life. She’s getting everything she ever wanted: youth, love, and adventure. But as she goes deeper into the dream, she gets ever closer to nightmare.

Sound good?  Head on over to Amazon and download a copy!  Absolutely free, today through Tuesday October 16! 

And for the love of God, would somebody please review this thing?

 

 

Dreams of the Boardwalk Promotional Art

So with the promotional giveaway of Dreams of the Boardwalk coming up, I decided it was time to share a few pieces of artwork I commissioned for the story.
Continue readingDreams of the Boardwalk Promotional Art”

An Excerpt From Changeling

Changeling is still available for free download through Thursday! If you haven’t downloaded a copy yet, here’s a taste of what you’re missing:

“ Oh, human…” the banshee sighed. “What are you trying to do?”

“You say you sing death,” Bridget pressed. “Does it have to be anybody’s death in particular?”

The banshee raised its hands and shook its hooded head.

“Human…Bridget…no. Just stop. I’ve heard this so many times before. What you want is forbidden.”

“Ah, there now, that’s an interesting thing,” Bridget said triumphantly, pointing as she always did when she had someone good and pinned down. “You tell me it’s forbidden, but nobody bothers to forbid something that can’t be done. There’s no laws against counterfeiting by shitting gold coins, after all.”

“Bridget,” The banshee said, taking hold of the pointing hand and – not ungently – moving it away. “If I could do what you wish, not a child would die in this world as long as there was a parent left to say ‘take me instead’.”

Bridget just shook her head. “Oh, come now, what kind of fool do you take me for? Fool enough to think Old Man Death would find taking me sooner rather than later to be a deal worth making?”

“What deal are you making, then?”

Bridget grinned to herself. She had the spirit’s attention now. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been to these parts, you know. Do you remember?”

“I’ve been to all of Ireland,” The banshee answered “I remember it all, but I don’t know which part you want me to remember right now.”

“When last you were here, you sang for my husband.”

There was a long moment of silence. If the banshee had been human, Bridget would have guessed that it was stunned at being confronted by someone who’d been hurt by its work, at being forced to think of that person as someone who hurt instead of a simple singing engagement.

But it wasn’t human, now was it? Surely a creature who “sang death” couldn’t feel such things.

But sure, and didn’t that sound like a sigh that came out from under its hood before it spoke again. “Bridget, I’m sorry. I really am. But I’m afraid that doesn’t change anything.”

“I didna think it would. And there’s no need to be sorry.”

Pause.

“…what’s that again?”

“Jimmy Flanagan was a good man, God rest his soul, and I loved him.” Bridget said. “But his death was no harder than most I’ve seen – a heart attack is head and shoulders above what our Meaghan is facing right now – and my heart didn’t break when he died.”

“No?”

Bridget shook her head. “No. I loved him, but I never could love him the way other wives loved their husbands. When he took me to bed, it was doin’ me duty, not kickin’ up me heels like it is for most women at least once in a while.” She interrupted herself to shake a finger at her spectral companion. “And not because his idea of getting me ready was ‘brace yourself, Bridey’. Jimmy did the best he could, poor man.” She paused a moment then, and her eyes went very far away, and when she spoke it was much softer. “And I never knew why. Why I couldn’t love him like that, I mean…until I heard you sing, and it was like a mermaid instead of a banshee.”

The eerie blue lights within the cowl blinked, and the hooded head cocked. “What in the name of Oberon’s knickers do you mean by that?”

Bridget rolled her eyes. “Ye bewitched me, that’s what I mean. I couldn’t tear meself away. If I’d known ye would be this easy to find, I would’ve come to you on the moment.”

“Well most people don’t want to find – “ The banshee began. Then she realized what she was saying. “Are ye daft, woman?”

“Most likely,” Bridget admitted. “I certainly thought the other girls mad when they acted like I’m acting. Thought my way with my Jimmy was more sensible. Now they’re thirty years past it and I’m acting like a girl with her tits just starting to bud making calf eyes at a boy at her first dance.”

“And I’m…the boy?” The banshee asked, still struggling to understand just what this mad human was saying to her.

“You are.”

Hurry on over and pick up a free copy before it’s too late! And as always, while you’re there, check out the rest of the library.

Bridget and the Banshee

In honor of Changeling being made available for free download from Amazon this week, MJ Barros’s marvelous work “Bridget and the Banshee” has been given its own page, which can henceforth be found through a link in the picture’s description on the Promotional Art page.

Check it out!