Wednesday, 17 September 2014

Josette Reuel...Finding the Dragon!

It's my pleasure to welcome author Josette Reuel today with her exciting release, Finding the Dragon! Congrats on this release, Josette.

Book: Finding the Dragon (Dásreach Novel 1)
Author: Josette Reuel
Genre: Paranormal Romance



Order Print:

Author Links

My Facebook Fan Page Link:  
Twitter: or @JosetteReuel

Author retailer pages


The Back of the Book:

Kai Darrow is a dragon shifter and the next leader of the Dásreach Council – that is if he and the other twelve members of the Thirteen can find their mates. Years of frustration push Kai to take action and with a little luck and finesse maybe he can find the woman of his destiny.
Alvena Anderson prefers books over people, yet she still craves love and adventure. In a rut, a trip with her Book Worm friends is just what she needs – until unexplained accidents, a Psychic reading, and a tattooed hottie from the plane make her want to run home.
Unbeknownst to the Thirteen a darkness is working against them, preventing possible mates from coming into contact with them. Working in the shadows and using human pawns, the darkness has set its sights on Alvena and her friends.
Can she accept her real life hero before it’s too late?

Finding the Dragon Excerpt:
Finding the Dragon, from Chapter 15 © Josette Reuel
The following excerpt is part of Chapter 15 and occurs right after Kai, Charlie, and Malkum tell Alvena and her friends about the Dásreach.

Kai turned to Alvena and pulled her to him, he held her face between his large hands.
“I look at you and I see my world, Alvena.”
“You don’t even know me Kai.” Alvena breathed.
“All I want is to get to know you, to protect you, to hold you, to kiss you.” He stroked his fingers along her jaw. His gaze was glued to her mouth as she nibbled her lip. “Can I kiss you Alvena?” His voice was full of need.
“Yes.” She whispered.
Kai moved his hand to the nape of Alvena’s neck, stroking his thumb back and forth where her hair ended. He felt like an uncontrollable storm was rushing through him. He did not want to overwhelm her, but he wasn’t sure how long he could fight his need to take her. Possess her.
Kai used all of his restraint and lightly brushed his lips against hers. Her lips were just as he remembered them from the night before. He moved his hand to hold her head in place.
“Open for me Alvena.” He growled as he swiped his tongue across her lips. On her gasp he plunged deep inside her mouth. Her taste drove him on. When he felt Alvena’s tongue against his own, tentatively sliding along his, Kai’s control snapped. The fire raged. Kai needed this woman more than air, which was probably for the best, since he didn’t plan to come up for any for a very long time. He felt Alvena’s arms come up around his shoulders. Her fingers twisted into his hair. He finally pulled back from her, gasping for breath, he looked down into her eyes as he cradled her head in his palm. He glanced around and saw the shed. He slowly walked her backwards until her back hit the wall on the side facing away from the house.
As he came back in for another kiss, one hand holding her head in place, he slowly began to stroke his free hand up and down her side. Feeling her curves. So full. So luscious. He would eat her alive if she would only let him.
Need. Her. Right. Now. He reluctantly pulled his lips from hers. Alvena made a noise of disappointment. But, he had to ask, he had to know.
“Alvena, can you accept me, lass? Can you accept that you’re my mate and live your life with me?” Kai asked.
Al looked into his eyes, she wanted to say yes, but this had to be crazy. Spirit guides, shapeshifters, and destined mates. As quick as it was, as little time as they’d had, she already felt something for Kai. But it’s got to be lust, right? The only time she’d really gotten to talk to him, to get to know him, was on the plane. If what he was saying was true, then he had hidden so much of himself. Who is the real Kai? What is the reality? My god, this is so much like one of my books. Al broke her gaze away from his eyes, then reached over and pinched herself.
“What are you doing lass?” Kai chuckled.
“This can’t be real Kai. I’m 35 years old. I’m average. And I’m so single that becoming a nun is a possibility. There is no way that a gorgeous man could be a paranormal creature from a romance novel and want me.”
“Oh, love, you are way more than average and I’m way more than a romance hero.”
His lips crashed down on hers for a quick kiss, before continuing, “Just give us a chance Alvena. Let my friends and I figure out who is after our mates and I will give you as much time as I can to get to know that this is real. I want you with a strength that I’ve never felt. Even growing up Dásreach, I never knew it could be like this… promise that you’ll give me time to show you.” Kai pleaded before kissing her again.
Al tugged at Kai’s hair to get him to pull back. Her lungs were desperate for air. Even as her body demanded that she let him continue. As she struggled to take in deep breaths of air, she looked into his eyes. It wasn’t rational, but she wanted to promise him anything. Her body was fighting her brain. Lust versus logic. Because, Al couldn’t believe that it was her heart struggling to be heard. It couldn’t be love.
“Kai, I…”
Before she could answer, a loud boom shook the earth. Shouts and gunshots sounded from the front of the house. Kai immediately looked around and grabbed Al’s hand. He drug her towards the back door. Kai was going so fast that Al couldn’t quite keep her balance, she tripped over the growth of grass and weeds on the ground. Without his tight grip pulling her along behind him, she surely would have face planted several times.
When they finally reached the back porch a man dressed all in black came around the corner. He aimed the biggest gun Al had ever seen at her and Kai.
What happened next, occurred so fast that Al wasn’t sure that she was seeing what she was seeing. It felt like it all happened in a split second. One minute Kai was holding her hand, the next he pushed her against the side of the house, stepped away from her and shifted. Al watched as the man she was just wrapped in a passionate embrace with became the dragon he said he could become. But, dragons were fictional characters. How could he be a dragon? How could he…
A gorgeous dragon stood in front of her. His green and blue scales glinting in the sunlight of the early morning. The sight was mesmerizing and Al watched the large head move to look at the man with the gun, who was stopped cold, disbelief on his face. A wing came down around her, pulling her in close to the dragon’s body, shielding her. Oh. My. God! It’s true. She was either in a coma living a dream or she had a dragon shifter who wanted to be her mate.

Tuesday, 16 September 2014

My journey with epilepsy

Hello all. I've chosen to deviate from my normal chat about romance today to discuss an issue dear to my heart. As some of you may know, as I've shared it before, I suffer from epilepsy. Since I was 10, I've had seizures and have taken various medications for it.

We've all made seizure jokes, right? I might even have done so myself, it's become so acceptable. However, whenever I hear one, I do feel a slight sting. Epilepsy has been my cross to bear for over thirty years now, the majority of my life. I do acknowledge in this life there are those with more ponderous crosses. I can honestly say my life is a good one, and my condition is under control.

That doesn't mean I haven't had a few interesting moments here and there. A couple were life-threatening.

My first seizure hit when I was 10. I was standing in a crowded movie theater with my mom and younger brother. The lineups were long, we all carried big winter coats and popcorn. Suddenly, I dropped all the things I was carrying and then promptly dropped as well. I soon began having seizures at school, which generally gave my friends and teachers a start.

I don't suffer from grand mal seizures, the kinds they show you in movies. My condition is known as temporal lobe epilepsy and my seizures look different. My eyes glaze over. I lose focus. I may stand or sit or wave my arms around. I may speak gibberish or out-of-context. They last about 30 seconds and then I snap out of it. I know I've seized because a chunk of time is missing. To me, it's as if I've had a brief nap, and have no recollection of what I've done during that period. I can assure you it's a scary sensation to "wake up" and not know what you've done.

I've had seizures while giving presentations, while watching movies, while riding a bike and in numerous other situations. I once almost wandered out of a bowling alley on my own, my friends in pursuit. During my teen years, the worst period, it wasn't unusual for me to seize 4 times/day. Those were the days I stayed home from school.

The most frightening moment occurred when I was about 20. I had gone shopping at a local mall and went home on the subway. I seized while standing on the subway platform, waiting for the train. Just as the train approached, I seized and began to walk toward the oncoming train. If it hadn't been for a Good Samaritan, I am sure I would have died that day.

Because of epilepsy, I couldn't drive when all my friends did. Only after many years (in my 30's) did I finally get my license. I waited until I'd found the best medication possible and until I was seizure-free. For many years, no doctor would actually diagnose my condition. And once they did, I began taking every medication under the sun: barbiturates that made me drowsy, herbal medicines that did nothing and I even tried acupuncture. I now take a drug called Tegretol and it has allowed me to remain seizure-free. I am often tempted to stop taking it, to see if the seizures have gone away, but I can't ever take that chance. I know I will be on drugs for the rest of my life.

In my new book Vice, which you'll hear more about soon, the heroine has epilepsy. It's the first book in which I've explored the topic and it means a great deal to me. Why have I shared all this today? To shine a light on this mysterious condition. So many suffer from it, many of whom can't rid themselves of the seizures as I have with medication. And yet a lot of people still find it humorous to joke about it. I would never censor anyone, but I would like to share my experience. Hopefully in doing so, it'll become a little less mysterious and a lot less funny.

Thank you.


Monday, 15 September 2014

Liz Meldon...The Maenad of Manhattan!

A while back, I made the acquaintance of an author by the name of Liz Meldon. It turns out we had a few things in common, namely our love of the mythological world.

When I heard about Liz's book The Maenad of Manhattan, I knew I had to have her here in my Room. I've since read the novella and loved it. My review is here:

Please welcome Liz Meldon.

I’ve been a ghostwriter for a little over a year now. I started off by penning short, smutty stories for a pittance, and have since moved on to working with a wonderful client who basically funds my self-publishing account. I get to write romance novellas based on the amazing outlines my client sends me—and I’ve since learned that I do not like selling my original ideas for $40, so this works perfectly. I’ve written a variety of scenarios, from women escaping abusive situations and finding comfort in the arms of a new man, to small-town heroines swept up in the drama of a big-shot hero’s crazy life.

The plots stick to standard romance tropes. Happily-Ever-After required. Graphic sex—not so much, but occasionally appreciated. Mushy conversation about feelings? Definitely.

And you know what? That’s just stellar. I love writing a moment of instant attraction between two characters, and I love seeing them happy in the end. Love, love, love. I’m always ridiculously excited when it’s time to work on another assignment.

But only when I ghostwrite. When I work on my own stuff, it’s angsty and dark and usually pretty sexual—and it’s still romance. I like gritty, sarcastic heroes who aren’t the traditional alpha male, and confident heroines who succeed through their own means. I revel in heartache. I thrive under the guise of writing a “realistic” relationship, with all the ups and downs that most of us experience in real life. I get a secret thrill about writing a character that makes readers sit back and say, “Well, he’s a bit of a jerk sometimes.”

I mean, I don’t like writing characters specifically designed for people to hate. No one wants their leads to read like that—unless they’re a villain, I supposed. But when it comes to my own stuff, I thoroughly enjoy breaking romance tropes and writing a little outside the genre’s requirements. I like the weird. I like the unexpected. I like the grumbling, bitter characters—I especially like embarrassing them. 

And I think that’s why I enjoy ghostwriting traditional romance so much. When a plot predetermined for me, it’s like I can let myself go and dive in deep to all the romantic necessities that my own work sometimes feels awkward around. I like any opportunity to write, especially when I get paid to do it. But I think I especially like ghostwriting romance because it gives me the opportunity to slip out of my usual writer’s shoes and into a new pair—a fun, fluffy pair that lets me do love at first sight and sudden engagements and talks of forever.

And it’s not to say the romance I write personally won’t ever be happy. Romance is, at its deepest self, about love, and that’s what I enjoy writing about. For the readers who know me, they expect the love to take longer, to grow organically between two individuals. They anticipate some conflict, some rollercoaster rides. But the people I ghostwrite for don’t, and that’s okay too. Getting to explore the whole spectrum of romance has been so incredibly fulfilling thus far, and I feel like I’m just getting started.

At the moment, I’m wrapping up the sequel to The Maenad of Manhattan. Loki and Aphrodite continue to occupy my headspace, and will do so for quite some time. However, they get to take a break while the second book is in the editing and revision process, and I get to ghostwrite a few novellas. The stakes won’t be quite as high. The feelings will spring up faster. There’s probably going to be a slightly cheesy proposal somewhere—and I think I’m going to love every second of it. 

The glory days of Ancient Greece are long gone, and the gods of the Old World are scattered across the globe. As their popularity dwindles, as their worshipers forget, their power fades. Luckily for Aphrodite, she’s a household name. After all, how could anyone ever forget the Greek goddess of Love?

Unfortunately, no one seems to know or care about her divinity. In a world of skeptics and technology-crazed mortals, loneliness and boredom have taken hold. Her life consists of romance advice columns, martini bars, and flings with empty-headed men—until she meets Loki.

She’s intrigued: it’s been decades—centuries even—since she laid eyes on another god, particularly one outside her pantheon. In their short time together, she realizes just how much she needs the companionship of one of her own. Loki, however, seems more interested in catching a murderous maenad than swapping stories about the old days.

Can she convince Loki to stay and make her life a little less lonely, or will he persuade her to join him on his quest for more worshipers? His questionable tactics make her uneasy, but how can she turn down the opportunity to live as she once did: freely, powerfully, and lustfully as Aphrodite of Olympus.


She ordered a gin with a splash of tonic water, sweet-talking her way into getting it in a wine glass. Like her driver, her bartender received a sizable tip; persons working in service positions were the people to flatter if one wished to get anything extra in this world. She brought the glass to her lips, eyes darting between the scattered groups around her. The first sip burned, but the rest went down smoothly.
“What are you drinking, sugar?”
“No.” Her gaze ran up and down the man who accosted her, and she smirked, sidestepping him. Cheap shoes, expensive designer label on the shirt, and a fake watch tied in nicely with his short temper and pungent alcoholism. She could practically feel his anger at her immediate rejection—humans were so easy to read. He wasn’t worth her time, and while she could flirt her way into a ride home and a drink in a respectable glass, she was in no mood to play to a weak man’s ego.
“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath as he slunk back to the bar.
The word rolled off her back.
A vacant table and stool at the edge of the second-floor balcony called her name, and she settled atop the perch with grace, crossing her legs and resting her elbow on the railing. It was the perfect place to watch the growing crowd, and she did so with her purse resting on her lap, her drink in hand, and a serene expression on her face.
Until something in the air changed. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but she felt like she needed to take a few deep breaths, like there was a heavy presence around her—it was suffocating, pressing in on her from all sides. Setting her drink down on the table, she placed a delicate hand on her forehead and glanced around. No one else seemed to notice the shift in the air; the lovers at the table next to her were all but sitting on top of one another, the bartender was arguing with a rowdy fellow wearing a pricey suit, and the girls on the dance floor were shrieking in unison to the newest pop hit.
The weight lifted moments later, making it easier to draw a full breath. Still, she felt more than a little alarmed at the turn the night had taken. Just as she slid off her stool and gathered her purse, she found the source of the sensation, the heaviness—another god stood amongst the mortals, and they were just as oblivious to him as they were to her.
She hadn’t the slightest idea who he was, but she knew he was like her—immortal and forgotten. Tall and broad, he had a smattering of facial scruff that matched his dark red, almost brown hair. His green eyes scanned the room, a hand resting on the thin metal railing of the staircase, until his sharp gaze finally found her—and there it stopped. He was attractive in a rough sort of way; his skin seemed a little worn out, lacking healthy vigour, and as he strolled toward her, she noted flecks of grey in his hair.
He was an old god like Aphrodite, yet as she looked him over, she had trouble placing his face amongst her vast memories. His suit was stylish enough, but she spied a few fraying threads around the elbows and cuffs.
The man invaded her personal space, stepping right up to her; the aura around him was such that she actually sat back down on the stool, her mouth hanging open. When had she last seen a true god of the Old World? A century, at the very least, but perhaps she just hadn’t been looking properly.
With a hand resting on the back of her chair, he leaned down and ran his nose along her shoulder, up her neck, stopping when he reached her ear.
“Aphrodite,” he hissed, his breath making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.


Author Bio:
Liz is a Canadian author who grew up in the Middle East. She has a degree in Bioarchaeology from Western University, and when she isn't writing about snarky characters of her own, she is either ghostwriting romance novellas, working on her fanfiction, loitering on social media, or selling tickets at a theatre.

In the past year, she has written six romance novellas as a ghostwriter. Three have been published and are doing well. She loves writing realistic characters in fantastical settings.