Rebecca E. Neely, Author ~ Romance. Paranormal. Suspense.



I Choose Wonder

So far, 2018 has proven a tough year. Several of my family and friends have been sick and ended up in the hospital–myself included. My uncle passed not long ago, after his battle with cancer. There have also been a lot of changes at my day job, and that’s whittled away at my time to write.

On Saturday, my boyfriend and I were out for a drive, to go nowhere in particular. My favorite kind! It was cold, but sunny, another bonus. We stopped at the Spillway on the Pymatuning Reservoir in Linesville, aka ‘Where the Ducks Walk on the Fish’. Never been? Read all about it here. No fish in March, but hundreds upon hundreds of seagulls and geese crowded the sidewalks and the edge of the pier. A stranger offered us a loaf of bread to feed them. Seeing the birds flock and fight for the bread, flapping their wings, soaring in majestic patterns over the water, I laughed out loud in wonder and sheer delight.

Ah, wonder! It’s my opinion we need to seek wonder, hold on to it, cherish it, whenever we can, however fleeting. And sometimes, magically, wonder finds us, unexpectedly. Those moments of pure joy are what life is about, and indeed, the Spillway was teeming with life that day.

Me? I choose wonder.

What ‘wonder’ moments have you experienced lately? Please share!

Rebecca E. Neely is a blogger, storyteller, writer & author. Visit her at 

Romance. Paranormal. Suspense.

All books available on Amazon


Not Your Run-of-the-Mill Werewolf

Today, it’s my pleasure to welcome paranormal romance authors C.D. Hersh. Today, this husband and wife team is sharing more about their Turning Stone Chronicles stories. Specifically, ‘Five Things You’ve Always Wanted to Know About the Shifter World of The Turning Stone Chronicles’. As for the shifters? They’re not your typical werewolves…

The Turning Stone Chronicles – Three ancient Celtic families. A magical Bloodstone that enables the wearers to shape shift. A charge to use the stone’s power to benefit mankind, and a battle, that is going on even today, to control the world. Can the Secret Society of shape shifters called the Turning Stone Society heal itself and bring peace to our world? Find out in The Series The Turning Stone Chronicles.

The Turning Stone Chronicles is a paranormal romance series that is different than any other paranormal series you have probably read. We have shifters in our books, but they are not the run-of-mill werewolves you might be used to reading about. Our were creatures are based on the psychology of human Id, ego and ???

Here are five interesting tidbits about our unique world. We hope they will pique your curiosity enough that you’ll want to know more about the Secret Society of the Turning Stones.

1.Shifting abilities in The Turning Stone Chronicles series are not based on being bitten or drained of blood, or turned like the run of the mill vamps or werewolves, but on the concept that mankind has three distinct aspects to their beings: male, female, and animal. Accomplished, powerful shifters in our world can reach their tri-status. Less powerful  shifters—not so much.

2. To be part of our shifter world, one must have a magic Turning Stone ring in his, or her, possession and read the inscription inside the ring. But watch out! The initial Celtic recitation is a heart-stopper.

3. Have you ever wondered what happens to a shifter’s clothes? In the earliest introductions of shifters those cursed with lycanthropy would shed and hide his, or her, clothes before shifting. When they were ready to convert back to humans, they went back to the hiding place, changed, and put on their clothing. The bad thing was if someone moved their clothing, they were stuck being an animal. Our shifters are not like the tales of werewolves or selkies (seals who become people) who have to shed their clothes or coats to change and cannot get back without them. The ring’s magic absorbs the wearer’s clothing when he shifts to his animal ego.

4. So, you ask, where did this magic ring come from? Many eons ago, when magic existed side by side with man, an ancient magic Celtic bloodstone was given to three young Scottish men, along with the task of using the magic for the good of mankind. The three families cut rings cut from the heart of the stone, the power of each piece varying as it moved away from the heart of the stone.

5. The most powerful piece of the stone was kept by the Keeper of the Stone. But power corrupts, and over time power corrupted some of the factions of the Turning Stone Society. Now the members of this secret society, many living among us in positions of power, are locked in a battle to collect the rings, control the world, and thereby bring peace once again. But whose peace will reign? The peace of the good side or of the rogue, evil side?

To find the answer to that question you’ll have to read the books.

The Promised One (Book One of The Turning Stone Chronicles)
Blood Brothers (Book Two of The Turning Stone Chronicles)
Son of the Moonless Night (Book Three of The Turning Stone Chronicles)
The Mercenary and the Shifters (Book Four of The Turning Stone Chronicles)

Here’s an excerpt from The Promised One (The Turning Stone Chronicles) available from Amazon in e-book and print.

By C.D. Hersh

Shaw’s heart stopped racing as she relaxed in his grip, then amped back up, pounding against his ribs. Shit. Assault, battery, and now . . . murder. Quick and easy money to pay for the wedding. That’s all he’d been after. They’ll put me away for life if I get caught. Lulu’s gonna be pissed if I screw up her wedding plans.

Pushing into a squat, he stared at the dark stain spreading across the dress front. He removed the ring from the woman’s finger. She should have just given it to him.

The woman stared at him, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. “Return the ring, or you’ll be sorry.”

With a short laugh he stood. “Big words for someone bleeding to death.” After dropping the ring into his pocket, he gathered the scattered contents of her purse, and started to leave.

“Wait.” The words sounded thick and slurred . . . two octaves deeper . . . with a Scottish lilt.

Shaw frowned and spun back toward her. The pounding in his chest increased. On the ground, where the woman had fallen, lay a man.

He wore the same slinky blue dress she had—the seams ripped, the dress top collapsed over hard chest muscles, instead of smoothed over soft, rounded curves. The hem skimmed across a pair of hairy, thick thighs. Muscled male thighs. Spiked heels hung at an odd angle, toes jutting through the shoe straps. The same shoes she’d been wearing.

The alley tipped. Shaw leaned against the dumpster to steady himself. He shook his head to clear the vision, then slowly moved his gaze over the body.

A pair of steel-blue eyes stared out of a chiseled face edged with a trim salt-and-pepper beard.

Shaw whirled around scanning the alley.

Where was the woman? And who the hell was this guy?

Terrified, Shaw fled.

The dying man called out, “You’re cursed. Forever.”

We hope you’ve enjoyed the excerpt and peek into the magical world of The Turning Stone Chronicles.


C.D. Hersh–Two hearts creating everlasting love stories.

C. D. Hersh is a husband and wife writing team (Catherine and Donald) who are high school sweethearts who know the meaning of true love.

Putting words and stories on paper is second nature to the couple. They’ve done it separately since they were teenagers, although neither one will probably let you read those ancient manuscripts for fear you’d die laughing. They’ve come a long way since those days. But, hey, we all start somewhere.

When they aren’t collaborating on a book, they enjoy reading; singing; theatre and drama; traveling; remodeling houses (Donald has remodeled something in every home they’ve owned); and antiquing. Catherine, who loves gardening, has recently drawn Donald into her world as a day laborer. Catherine is an award-winning gardener — you can see some of her garden on their website.

They are looking forward to many years of co-authoring and book sales, and a lifetime of happily-ever-after endings on the page and in real life.

Connect with C.D. HERSH:

Soul Mate Publishing:
Amazon Author Page:

Dreams and Vibes: Her Story Inspiration

Please make welcome Claire Gem, author of paranormal romance. Today, she’s sharing her inspiration for an upcoming story, CIVIL HEARTS, and you may be surprised to find out how the idea came to her…

Thank you, Rebecca, for hosting me today!

I’m taking advantage of the inspiration of November, National Novel Writing Month, to work on my upcoming supernatural suspense, CIVIL HEARTS. This one takes place in a haunted plantation home in a fictitious town in rural western Alabama. I’m proud today to share with all of Rebecca’s readers a little about the story-in-progress . . .

The inspiration for this book came from an actual experience in my past. Years ago, we were considering a move to Alabama. We toured an old Antebellum home on a lovely piece of land in a tiny town that was, literally, in the middle of nowhere. It had been empty a long time, and was for sale for a ridiculously low price. Our plans to move fell through, but I never forgot the regal old mini-mansion, or the strange vibes I experienced walking through it.

I had completely forgotten about that house until I had a dream about it just last month. Many of my story ideas come to me in dreams, and this one was delivered just about fully formed! I quickly rose and typed out a synopsis. Being November was right around the corner, I figured it was perfect timing. I’m hoping the book will be ready for an early January 2018 release!

But oh, the research! My ghost in CIVIL HEARTS was a Confederate soldier in the Civil War. I will admit, my knowledge of that period in history is sketchy at best. I am fortunate that both my brother and his wife are fascinated with that time period, and have been very helpful in helping me get the details right.

So, here’s a sneak peek at the blurb for CIVIL HEARTS:

After her husband’s sudden death, Liv Larson finds herself out of place in her previous circle of all-couple-friends in Manhattan. With no family, no real roots to hold her fast, she questions whether she truly belongs in the big city–the only place she’s ever known. A dart thrown at the map lands on a tiny town in western, rural Alabama. Liv falls in love with the Belle Bride, an abandoned, antebellum home, the first time she sees it.

Heath Barrow lives a quiet, conservative life managing his antiques business in sleepy Camellia. Alone since his childhood-sweetheart-turned-wife left him for the big-city life, he has no intentions of removing the armor from his heart anytime soon. Especially for the new girl in town–a city girl, no less. Yet he can’t deny the synergy between them.

Then, Liv discovers she’s not entirely alone in her new home. And the previous occupant isn’t too pleased about a Yankee living in his house, since he fought on the Confederate side of the Civil War–almost two hundred years ago.

Thank you, Rebecca, for having me on your blog today.

To anyone who signs up for my Author Reader Group HERE, I’m offering my award winning, supernatural short story SECOND CHANCES. I’ll also be selecting a random new subscriber to win a free e-book of ANY of my novels. You can find the complete list at my AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE.


Claire Gem is the award-winning author of contemporary romance, romantic women’s fiction, and supernatural suspense. You can find out more about her at her WEBSITE or her AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE.

The ‘Dream World’ of Author Rayanne Haines

Please welcome paranormal romance author Rayanne Haines. Today, she’s sharing more about her latest book, FIRE BORN, Book 1 in the Guardian Series, and the ‘dream world’ that inspired it….

I started writing Fire Born – Book 1 of the Guardian Series about four years ago. I think it has been simmering below the surface for two decades at least. I have always felt in tune with the earths energy and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t believe in magic and other worlds. I often catch glimpses of things in the shadow. Or hear whispers below the surface of everyday conversation.

Often, playing make believe has felt more real to me than real life. Maybe that’s what makes a good author; the ability to step into other worlds, to hear the voices of others and bring them through.

In 2007 I went through a messy divorce and found myself losing all sense of who I was. A friend and I went to see a psychic. Perhaps it was more about searching for “the other” again than trying to find myself, but I asked my questions and the physic gave me her answers. All quite standard stuff. Until the end. She looked at me and informed me that I had two caregivers that stood in the shadows behind me. The truth of the statement hit me so hard I began to cry immediately. She reminded me that if I ever had any questions about my life, all I had to do was ask my question before sleep took me and my answers would come to me in my dreams.

What is strange about that is that I am imminently aware that I have voracious dreams but I’ve never been able to clearly remember them for more than a minute after waking. DreamWalking became a focal point in this story because it is something that I consistently question.

So why do I write Paranormal and why these characters and this story? Because I believe in the earth elements, in the dream world, in that which we cannot see. And I believe these characters have been asking me to tell their story for quite some time. I hope I got it right.

FIRE BORN – Book One of the Guardian Series

Independent, tough as nails, and fierce to her core, Alex Taleisin can’t quite believe it when she has to fight for her life against something not-quite-human in the YMCA parking lot.

That’s when her aunt lets her in on the family secret. They’re immortal—Elementals to be precise, and Alex is the long-lost daughter of the strongest female warrior of their time.

Her guardian (a freaking Dragon!) and the sexiest man Alex has ever seen gives her a choice. Go with him, learn how to control her fire, and find her father’s people, or try to survive on her own. It’s an easy choice considering she’s only twenty-six. And the Elders may already be on her trail thanks to the fight with the nut job in the parking lot kick-starting her dormant DNA.

Enter an insane grandfather, a shifter with a hidden agenda, and a witch with a shoe addiction, and suddenly loner Alex is wishing for a quiet house in the hills with the dragon she’s falling for.

But a fight is coming and Alex knows the only way to find her answers is to trust her powers and become the warrior she was destined to be.

Connect with Rayanne

Twitter @inkrayanne

Instagram – @rayanne_haines

Book Blitz for Sweet Sacrifice by L.D. Rose!

Title: Sweet Sacrifice
Author: L.D. Rose
Genre: Paranormal Romance

Release Date: September 13, 2017
Cover Designer: Wren Taylor

Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC.

Former Navy SEAL Sebastian “Bash” Lockard died in Afghanistan after leaping on a grenade to save his comrades. Little did he know his act of heroism would grant him a ticket into Heaven’s elite army as one of the few and powerful Archangels. Struggling with his new existence, Bash still retains his human memories, leaving behind a wife he loves with all of his heart. Although he is forbidden to see her, he cannot resist her lure, or the mortal desires he harbors for her.

As a young widow and nurse, Irene Lockard still mourns her husband two years after his untimely death. His absence is everywhere, and when her best friend weds, she hits an emotional rock bottom. As if summoned from the skies above, Sebastian appears before her, and they share an unforgettable night. But when he once again vanishes, she wonders if she’s truly gone mad with grief.

The only way Sebastian can remain with Irene is if he makes the ultimate sacrifice. But will she overcome her fear of losing him again to another war?

Bash’s gaze caught on a couple on the dance floor, the sight of her sinking into him like hooks and bringing him to a standstill.

With her dark curls springing over her shoulders, she spun across the hardwood, her pale gray dress flowing around her. Much like in his recent vision of her, she tipped her head back and laughed, beautiful, stunning, her smile as bright as the yellow calla lilies tucked in her hair. She swayed with a man in dress whites, a Marine, another fucking soldier she didn’t belong with. And as the rain of realization became a downpour of comprehension, he remembered the engagement, where Claude proposed to Lucille—at their wedding—right before Bash left for another tour of Afghanistan.

“Bash?” Gabriel stepped in front of him, blocking his view, pale eyes narrowed.

Bash’s hand slammed into Gabriel’s chest, pushing him away as he lurched forward. Gabriel reacted faster, though, snatching his arm and wrenching him back at least four feet. Bash lunged again and the Arc’s hand fisted in his white button-down shirt.

“Don’t,” Gabriel growled, all humor draining from his angular face and setting his expression in stone. “Do not.”

Bash’s heart punched at the angel’s fist, every fiber of his being burning with the urge to run to her, to wrap his arms around her and feel her body against his one more time. Envy, rage, longing, and sadness blasted through him in a toxic tornado of emotion ready to whip this place into oblivion.

He nearly ground his molars into pulp. “Let. Me. Go.”

“You are dead, Sebastian. You’re no longer part of this world. All you’ll do is bring her pain, bring yourself pain. Don’t do this.” Twin streams of air whistled from the Arc’s nostrils as he shook his head. “I should’ve never brought you here.”

Bring him pain? More pain than he’d already endured? No.


L.D. Rose is a neurotic physician by day, crazed writer by night, and all around wannabe superhero. She writes dark paranormal romance and urban fantasy, but she’s been known to delve into horror, sci-fi, and medical suspense on occasion. L.D. Rose is a PAN member of the RWA, FF&P, NEC-RWA and CoLoNY. She currently lives in Rhode Island with her studly hubby, her hyperactive Boxer, and her two devious cats.

Sign up for her newsletter for the latest on the Senary, sneak peeks, giveaways, and other fun stuff: You’ll receive a free horror short story with sign-up!

You can also join her reader group on FB for more shenanigans. DEVOUR THE NIGHT:

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Spring Time, Sewer Lines and Storytelling

It started on Mother’s Day.

Or I should say, it stopped.

My sewer line, that is.

I bought a house a few months ago, and as a proud new home owner, I was on still on the honeymoon, filled with ideas about improvements and projects I wanted to tackle.

Enter TAG. I now know him, and I bet, if you own a home, you do too. He’s an unwanted guest that will not be denied. Many years ago, my father, a wise man, as well as a home and business owner, told me about his visits from TAG. (a.k.a. Turd Above Ground)

That night, his words came back to me with haunting clarity.

After having a relaxing day at home, reading the book my daughter had given me as a gift, and eating dinner with her and my boyfriend, I told him about some water I’d found earlier that day on the floor of my basement, near one of the floor drains. Or, rather, the evidence of it – a sopping wet throw rug I keep in front of the washing machine. At the time, I’d gotten my flashlight, checked the ceiling. It was dry. Had it come from the washer? I had no idea, and I was in the middle of making dinner, so I forged ahead, figuring I’d ask my boyfriend about it later.

My boyfriend is a general contractor who possesses an uncanny ability to fix things. When I told him about it, he raised an eyebrow in his calm, knowing way, almost as if he knew something I did not. He instructed me to flush the toilet, and run water in the bath tub.

Minutes later, he yelled to me from the basement. Stop! I ran to join him, while my brain tried to process what I was seeing erupting from another floor drain. Denial is a funny thing, isn’t it? Was that rusty water, I asked, almost as if I said it aloud, I could make it so.

No. It was TAG.

Unmitigated horror filled me as the seriousness of what was happening hit me. This was bad. Running upstairs to escape the smell, I located the home warranty information I’d been given at the closing, and called the 800 number, pushed the appropriate numbers to get me to the correct menus (you didn’t think I talked to a person, did you?), and placed my service call.

At this point, I feel it necessary to clarify that I’m not squeamish; I’ve raised a child, I’ve had numerous pets, and I worked in my family’s restaurant business growing up. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty, and I have, many times. But this situation was proving beyond my capabilities.

Over the next few days, I learned more about pipes, sewer lines and plumbing than I’d ever wanted to know. I listened to my boyfriend’s advice; however, this particular problem was beyond his fixing scope, unfortunately. He was, however, at my side every step of the way, and for that I’m eternally grateful. I Googled and You Tubed my way through the internet, reading and watching more information than I’d ever known existed on the topic. Opinions and prices varied wildly on issues such as root killers, pipes and camera videos. My mind raced. I couldn’t sleep. What if I had to replace it? I knew it could be thousands of dollars and take days to repair.

Captain’s Log, Day 1

I had to leave work to meet the plumbers the home warranty company sent. They snapped on their black nitrile gloves and went to work, their big metal snake shimmying and rattling to some unknown tune. Again, the smell was so repulsive I fled. Thirty minutes later, I was told I had tree roots growing in the line, and guess what? The home warranty doesn’t cover it. Big surprise. I was told the line was open, to get it camera scoped, and that the roots would come back, a common occurrence in the spring time. I paid the fee and they departed, leaving me to clean up a mess I’m not sure I can properly describe in mixed company. That was the low point. The substances I cleaned from the floor and the walls, along with the creatures–yes, you read that right–made my skin crawl.

Worms. Did I mention some of them were alive?


And the smell. An unholy, godforsaken, dehumanizing smell emanating literally, from the bowels of my home, seemed to permeate my nose, my mouth, my very skin. If I’d showered for three days, I don’t think I’d have felt clean. Suffice to say, it was Andy Dufresne escaping from Shawshank prison through the tunnel all over again.

Still can’t sleep.

Captain’s Log, Day 2

Since I was price shopping, I called a local company. The woman on the phone told me proudly that they didn’t charge by the hour, but by the job. That sounded promising. I needed a camera scope, I said. They did that? Great. See you tonight.

I came home from work, and evidence that the line still wasn’t clear greeted me from the basement floor.

Plumber No. 2 snaked the line yet again, scoped it with a camera, and announced the alleged ‘good’ news. Since the line was in pretty good condition, I would able to put in a liner – to the tune of $9,500. Did I say the low point was cleaning up the floor? I burst into tears.

Still can’t sleep.

Captain’s Log, Day 3

The drain is open. I’m taking short showers, and checking the drains constantly, creeping up on them, afraid of what I’m going to find. All is well. For now.

Enter plumber No. 3, an old hand who both my boyfriend and I had used at different points in our lives. I’d wanted to go to him in the first place, but the home warranty dictates that their contractors must be used. My boyfriend had spoken with him over the course of this ordeal, and filled him in about what was going on. Did I mention I hadn’t slept well in three days?

I called him. He chided me, telling me I should’ve called him in the first place. Plumbers apparently have egos. Who knew? Bewildered, sleep deprived, and sick with dread about what fixing this might cost, I tried to explain the events of the last few days and found myself groping for words. Phrases like, ‘raw sewage’, ‘home warranty’, and ‘digging it up’ punctuated the conversation. We agreed on a time for him to come that evening.

It occurred to me was living in some sort of alternate reality; office admin by day, plumber whore by night.

Plumber No. 3 came. He observed with an experienced eye, asking few questions, except for me to run water, flush the toilet, and the like. He eyeballed the drains, which mercifully, were clear at this point. And pronounced, in not so many words, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’

I hugged him and praised all higher powers. Truly. He gave me a few suggestions about maintenance, and we emerged from the basement, friends and comrades, our bond forged indelibly as we each of us soldiered on in the war against TAG that every home owner wages.

I’ll bear the scars from this battle proudly. I earned them. And because, at the end of the day—wait for it; you knew it was coming—shit happens.

So, what have I learned, and why am I blogging about this? Common sense, in the form of an older, experienced plumber, will win the day. I still love being a homeowner. And about TAG? My father passed about ten years ago, and in the moment of crisis, his words came back to me. He used to make us all laugh so hard, and I almost felt like he was there with me, commiserating. So, thanks Dad!

Also, this blog is for anyone who’s ever felt overwhelmed, uninformed and intimidated by repair men, not to mention short on cash for serious home repairs. You are not alone. Also, this is for anyone who wonders what writers do in their spare time. <grin> Collect experiences!

And, I am a storyteller at heart. I sincerely hope I’ve been able to entertain you with my folly. And who knows? As upsetting as the whole experience was, it’s replete with emotion and strife, perfect for me, as a writer, to tap into when I want a character to suffer, say, by finding themselves in a deep, dank hole in the Earth, clawing through dirt, and coming up with . . . worms.

“May your lines be clear, your position always upwind, and TAG never darken your door.”
–A Brand New Proverb

Rebecca E. Neely is a writer, blogger, author and storyteller. Visit her at

The Crossing Realms series ~ The Keeper, Book 1 and The Watcher, Book 2 available on Amazon

This is Why She Writes Paranormal

It’s my pleasure to welcome fellow paranormal romance author Tracey Wood today. Her inspiration for writing paranormal stories may surprise you. Read on…if you dare.

tarot-1775322__340My mother brought me up as a single parent. She split from my father when I was a small child. My Nana passed away when I was three or four, and my mother took it very hard. She suffered with very bad depression for a number of years and never really got over it. When I was around eight or nine, my mother started to dabble with a ouija board and tarot cards.

I don’t know if it was connected, but I began to see things in my bedroom. It might have been a child’s imagination, but I really did see toys lift and move, on their own. I had a heavy fairy-tale book that sat on the top of a box of toys at the side of my wardrobe. I saw the book lift, move forward, away from the box, then it dropped to the floor.

My mother came rushing into the room because the noise was so loud. I told her what had happened, but she did the normal, parent thing. She didn’t believe me! This happened a few more times, and on the last occasion my mother was just coming to check on me and was about to open my door when the bang, of the book falling, happened. She opened the door and looked at me. I was looking at the book which was over the far side of the room. She looked from me to the book and back again. I wouldn’t have had time to get back into bed, and she knew it. She asked me if I was all right, to which I nodded. She asked if I was sure and I nodded again. I wasn’t scared; I was puzzled. Unlike other occurrences, this didn’t scare me.

tunnel-1820225__340On a number of occasions, I saw a dark shape of a man standing watching me at the end of my bed, and I was literally frozen with fear. Looking back, I can still see the dark shape, and it is something that will stay with me forever. He was wearing a tall hat; I could see the shape of it, but I never saw any facial features or clothes. By standing how he did, he seemed menacing and I think this is what scared me the most. I ended up sleeping with the light on and again I don’t think my mother believed me.

Other things happened which I can probably put down to my imagination. But I would probably say that the reason I write paranormal stories is because of my own experiences and my mother’s interest in the paranormal. I have always been interested in things that do literally go bump in the night!!

midnight-angel-coverMIDNIGHT ANGEL by Tracey A. Wood

After almost losing her life in a vicious, bloody attack, Kat Shaw, a thirty-something divorcee, discovers that there are such things as monsters. And the predator who attacked her is not human. She starts to develop unusual skills that have murderous consequences. And she becomes an unwilling witness to multiple, brutal murders, seen through the eyes a killer. Thrown into a battle of Good vs. Evil, she falls in love with two men who are not what they seem. While her attacker stalks her and continues to murder the innocent, she has to find the inner strength to take on and fight the demons from hell—to protect her family and friends while also trying to save her life.


tracey-a-woodTracey A Wood lives in Staffordshire, in the United Kingdom. She has been married for over thirty years and has two children. One of her boys lives at home due to being disabled; the other has flown the coop. She has three cats that are her babies, and she talks to them all of the time. Funny thing is they don’t answer back.

She loves snowboarding, skiing, jumping out of aeroplanes and bungee jumping. Well, that is when other people are doing it. She prefers to have her nose in a book or to be writing one. She also loves to people watch, which her husband is always telling her to stop doing. She has a job that she enjoys and works full time. Although if she won the lottery, that might change! She also has a very good imagination.

In 2014, she decided to take the bull by the horns and send her manuscript to Soul Mate Publishing. She feels so privileged to have her book published, as this is the first one that she has written. It has made her dream of being a published author a reality. Her philosophy is, life really is too short to wait, you’ve got to go for it. She is still working full time and is also working on another book in her limited spare time. Her favourite saying is ‘Everything happens for a reason’.

Her books are fast paced and centered on a female lead who finds an inner strength after being thrown into situations that are beyond her control.










The park was empty at this time of night. All the children had gone home hours ago. The nights were getting colder and the evening air bit through my clothes, making me shiver. A light dew clung to my hair and skin as the darkness closed in around me, shrouding me from the main road.

After a long day at work, I made my way along the manmade path. It was a good shortcut taking fifteen minutes off my journey. I would soon be home, safe and warm.

What to have for dinner? Hmm. Pizza! Yeah, I’ll dial a pizza. Treat myself. Why not?

Happy with my decision, I carried on my way.

Pulling my jacket collar up around my neck, I tried to beat the cold and the shiver running up my spine.

A sharp pain shot through my head, stunning me, and suddenly I was flying across the path. My forehead hit the ground with an audible thump. Another powerful flash of pain. Black blotches blurred my vision as I tried to focus on my surroundings.

I attempted to get up, but something struck my back, flattening me to the ground. The wind rushed from my lungs. I couldn’t move! A heavy weight sat on my back, holding me down. I struggled to draw enough air into my lungs. Something sharp penetrated my back, then my arms and the top of my leg. It was pure agony!

What’s happening? Have I been stabbed?

Tucking my flailing hands under my body, I attempted to get up, a silent scream trapped inside me, but the weight held me in place.

Snaking my body, I wriggled across the compact soil of the path, attempting to pull myself forward. It was no use. I couldn’t even get to my hands and knees.

My clothes were ripped from my back as the onslaught continued.

The pain slowly dulled, even though I was still at the mercy of my attacker. My heart pounded with fear as this predator snatched at my body. I was shaken violently from side to side. My gut told me my attacker was male. He was dominant, strong, and overpowering.

Oh God, this can’t be happening. No, please. I don’t want to die!

Glancing around frantically for a weapon, I realized I still had my keys in my hand. Without thinking, I slashed them behind my back with as much force as I could. They bit into something soft. Warm fluid flowed over me.

I had hurt him and possibly made him angrier. This unseen person was going to do the unthinkable. He was going to violate me, rob me of my life, or both. I desperately needed to get away from this monster. But how? I couldn’t fight back. Damn it; I couldn’t even move.

Nausea washed over me as my body weakened, my life draining away. A dark mist clouded my mind, consuming me, consuming my thoughts. I was going to die here in a lonely, dark park in the middle of London. I would never see my family and friends again.

Why? Why? I want to live. Help me; please help me, someone!

As if this monster had heard my silent plea, the shaking suddenly stopped. The weight lifted slightly, and I could breathe. Relief washed over me.

Had the attack finished? Did he think I was dead?

I lay still, faking death, struggling not to take deep, gulping breaths. I fought the panic pumping through my body.

I became aware of a stroking sensation on my back, a light caress. Small strokes, followed by a sound I could not identify. The strokes became harder and the noise louder. A wet, squelching sound.

What is that?

My head spun with confusion and panic as I strained to locate my attacker. I saw a movement from the corner of my eye. I turned but couldn’t focus. It was too dark, and I was in shock.

Warm liquid ran down my back, arms, and legs. Blood. My blood, but there was no pain, still no pain.

In a moment of clarity, I knew I had to move. To get away before my attacker struck again.


The Strange History of Abandoned Talcott Hall

It’s my pleasure to welcome fellow paranormal romance author Claire Gem today. She’s sharing a fascinating ‘story behind the story’ about abandoned Talcott Hall – which, if you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you know I have a thing for abandoned buildings! Read on to learn more about the history, mystery and horror of this creepy psychiatric center, which inspired Claire in her upcoming book, SPIRITS OF THE HEART.

talcottfire“Please tell me the smoke isn’t coming from Talcott Hall.”

I spoke these words in a frantic phone call to my sister, Terri DelNegro after seeing a post from a mutual friend on Facebook that said, “There’s smoke billowing over the grounds of the old Psych Center.” Terri is also my cover designer and dear friend who lives in the town where I grew up—Middletown, N.Y.

In that town are the state grounds of an abandoned mental asylum, one I was intimately familiar with as a child. You see, my father, who suffered from alcoholism, was an inpatient more than one time in that facility. In the 1960s, alcoholism was considered a mental illness, not a compulsive behavioral disorder. Back then, illnesses such as epilepsy and diabetes also labeled the patient “insane.”

My earliest memories of the Psych Center are of visiting my father on Sunday afternoons, where he and my mother sat at a picnic table under the shade of giant maple trees while my younger brother and I fed peanuts to the squirrels. Only about six or eight years old at the time, I never understood why my mother cried every time we visited him. Or why Daddy couldn’t come home with us.

talcotthallHaving haunting memories about this place even after half a century had passed, I felt compelled to write a novel set on the grounds of the Middletown Psychiatric Center. Many of the buildings have since either been razed or repurposed, but there are still a few hulking buildings remaining. One of these is—or was—Talcott Hall.

A monstrous, intricately designed brick masterpiece, the building was a thing of beauty encasing what must have been, for those trapped within, a house of horrors. During Talcott Hall’s heyday, mental health treatment still consisted of procedures now looked upon as torture, including hydrotherapy (soaking in ice cold or scalding hot baths) and electro-shock therapy. Lobotomies were still common practice, though none of record were performed at this particular facility.

Talcott Hall was the building reserved for the least tractable, most violent patients. There were bars on the windows, and steel cages encased the external fire escapes. The patients who were admitted to Talcott Hall, in all likelihood, were never going home.

Two weeks before that frantic phone call, I had spent an entire day with Terri, who is a professional photographer as well as a brilliant graphic artist. We drove around the grounds, discussing the plot of the book I’d begun writing. She snapped over a hundred photos that day—most of them of Talcott Hall. The tall chain link perimeter kept us from getting too close. But we could feel them, both of us: the ghostly vibes emanating from that lonely place, even from a dozen yards away. In this video by Antiquity Echoes, glimpses of the interior of the asylum clearly speak to its haunting qualities.

And then, mysteriously, Talcott Hall caught fire and burned to the ground.

Well, not exactly to the ground—the sturdy exterior was constructed of brick and iron. But the morning after, Terri sent me videos of bulldozers scooping what was left of the stately old building into a heap that billowed gray smoke for days.

I was heartbroken.

I’d been in the exhilarating, early stages of crafting SPIRITS OF THE HEART, which centered around Talcott Hall and the ghosts trapped within. Suddenly, it was gone. My muse had gone up in smoke. The fire was labeled arson, but no one was ever charged. I put the manuscript aside, unsure of whether or not the story would ever come to fruition.

Until the day I knew it had to. Talcott Hall must be resurrected, I decided, in my book. And its fiery fate would become one of the most terrifying moments in the novel.

Was it coincidence that Talcott Hall burned down two weeks—to the day—from the day Terri immortalized it in photographs? I don’t believe so. I also don’t entirely believe it was random arson, especially since the building had sat empty, its windows all broken out, with vines winding their way up its edifice and hawks building nests atop its turrets, for over twenty years.

I believe the fire was a sign. I believe it was my ghostly muse tapping me on the shoulder and whispering in my ear: “When Talcott Hall goes down, it must go down in flames of fury.”

In Spirits of the Heart, it does.

Many thanks to Nick Elia of the Middletown Fire Department, who took some amazing photographs of the fire, and granted me permission to use them in promoting my book.

You can read a sneak peek at upcoming release, Spirits of the Heart, HERE.

Available for pre-order NOW!

SPIRITS OF THE HEART – A Haunted Voices Novel

spirits_of_the_heart7_very_lt-grey-1An addiction counselor and a security guard struggle to reunite a little girl and her father—two spirits trapped within the walls of an abandoned mental asylum.

Laura Horton returns to her hometown to start her career with the Alcohol Crisis Center. But her homecoming is jarring. Her old friend moved out unexpectedly, so Laura’s new roommate is the friend’s intimidating ex-boyfriend—in a house that snugs up to an ancient graveyard.

Miller Stanford works nighttime security for the State grounds. He’s a man with a shattered past. His Dad destroyed their family with alcohol, a weakness Miller is terrified will consume him too. The last thing he needs is an addiction counselor—a sexy blonde one, to move in and start watching his every move. When he begins to see specters in the dark, he starts questioning his own stability.

But Laura sees them too—Greta, a pathetic child-spirit searching for her father. When Laura starts digging into old asylum records, she reveals a horrific cover-up. Can Laura and Miller unravel the mysteries of Talcott Hall without jeopardizing their love—and lives—in the process?

MEET CLAIRE GEM ~ Strong Women, Starting Over ~ Redefining Romance

claire_2516Claire is a multi-published, award winning author of emotional romance—contemporary, paranormal, romantic suspense, and women’s fiction. She writes about strong, resilient women who won’t give up their quest for a happy-ever-after—and the men lucky enough to earn their love. No helpless, hapless heroines here. These spunky ladies redefine romance, on their terms.

Her paranormal/romantic suspense, Hearts Unloched, won the 2016 New York Book Festival. Her latest release, The Phoenix Syndrome, won the women’s fiction division in FCRWA’s The Beacon Contest.

A New York native, Claire has lived in five of the United States and held a variety of jobs, from waitress to bridal designer to research technician—but loves being an author best. She and her happily-ever-after hero, her husband of 38 years, now live in central Massachusetts.






Amazon Author Page


My Top Ten Powerful Posts This Year

img_1875Today, I’m celebrating what I consider the TOP TEN powerful posts on my MYSTICAL MUSINGS blog in 2016. I met and interviewed some fascinating people this year, who graciously allowed me to ask all kinds of questions about their passions and expertise, and I came away from the experiences a more educated, enlightened and learned person. Plus, I had a blast! In other posts, I connected and explored memories and passions of my own. As an author, a writer, a storyteller and a blogger, It’s always an adventure sharing what I’ve learned and discovered with readers, and hearing your comments and feedback. It’s a journey that I want to be on, and I look forward to another great year. Thanks so much for joining me!

What powerful posts have you written, or read this year?

Here’s looking at you! Happy holidays, and Happy New Year!

If you’ve read my posts before, you know I cover a wide range of topics, from tattoo artists to paranormal activity.  Here’s a few of my favorites from this year:

Storytellers and Tattoos: For the Love of Art

This is the Reason We Connect with Tribal Tattoos

Goodwill Hunting – The White-Tailed Deer, That Is

This is Why They’re Fascinated by Fossils (and more)

Ghost or No Ghost? Spotlight on Steel Town Paranormal

Soulful Silver & Why I Love It

Mystical Movies: Why The Magic Isn’t Only in the Making

If You Believe It, You’ll See It: Celebrating Abundance

Empowered and Encouraged: Visitation Dreams with my Father

 50 Shades of Green – Healing Crystals, That Is

Rebecca E. Neely is an author of romance, the paranormal and suspenseful kind. 🙂 Visit

Join Rebecca’s mailing list & monthly, be entered to win a FREE e-book ! You’ll also receive deleted scenes & other cool stuff 🙂

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