by Christine | Observations, Writing
October, November, December…and then 2018 is a memory.
This is the time of year where I try to wind up all my projects, and leave myself at least a portion of December to breathe, grow, rest. To refill my mental, emotional, spiritual wells, so that I can enter into the following year with a sense of grace, balance, and a plan.
That the plan always gets derailed, or goes sideways at some point, doesn’t matter as much as actually making the plan.
Right now, October is about both endings and beginnings. I’m wrapping up a novel – this one will be out in December, in the Rite to Reign box set (only $0.99!). Pre-order it here.
Then, from October 17 – 21, I’ll be in the Tampa, Florida area for Autumn Meet. I’ll be giving three talks – one on Meditation with Tarot, one on my brother, Scott Cunningham, and one on Writing the Paranormal Romance. It should be fun, and I’m so looking forward to unplugging for five days! If you’re in the Tampa area, check it out – I’d love to meet you.
After I get back from Tampa, I’ll dive into first round edits. November will bring second round edits, and also it’s National Novel Writing Month. I *think* I’m going to participate this year. We’ll see…I have lots of thoughts brewing about my direction for 2019 that didn’t look like this a week ago! Oh…and I’m hosting Thanksgiving for the family this year, which means massive housecleaning starts yesterday.
And December brings the holidays, and a vacation. This year, the hubby and I are planning a stay-cation, and we’re going to play tourist in Los Angeles. Quality time with my man…a lovely way to wrap up the year.
One of my goals for the rest of this year is to blog more. I’ve been putting my thoughts on FB, but I think it’s time to move back to the blog.
The year is winding down, the season is changing. Pumpkin spice fills the air (not my favorite, but that’s fine) and in Los Angeles, we’re hoping for a wet winter. The days are getting shorter and that’s just the cycle of this planet we’re on. In due time, the light will return; but for now? Take a rest. Wind down your projects. Find time to rest, recharge, relax.
Sending you love and hugs, always.
)O(
by Christine | Writing
My publisher has me polishing up the three Caine novels for a re-launch (new covers!), and adding or extending the books. Books 1 and 3 (Demon Soul and Demon Rage) have epilogs…book 2, Demon Hunt, has an extended ending, and I was so excited to revisit this world!
shhh….possible new cover design! Not sure yet!
As a teaser, here’s a bit of the new section of Demon Rage…hope you enjoy!
Excerpt:
Kellan wasn’t hers, despite what she may have thought around the time of the Solstice. Despite the longing that surged through her veins every time she saw him. She’d just have to put on her big girl panties and deal with it. Let him go.
She knew it, but every part of her rebelled against that course of action.
Sighing, Aubrey continued to the great room.
The lights were off. Kellan sprawled in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, his chin resting on his folded hands. He’d added wood to the coals and now the fire crackled and burned, sending out welcome warmth.
Aubrey kept walking to the mantel, ignoring the heat of Kellan’s gaze. She collected the first candle at the end farthest away from him, moved to the middle candle.
“For upstairs?”
Kellan’s voice was husky.
“Yeah.” She didn’t look at him, just moved to the last pillar candle that brought her within touching distance of him. Added it to the other two, now cradled against her chest. “Megan thought the scent would be soothing.” She finally chanced a quick look at him and the pain in his eyes caught at her heart. “Kellan.”
“Don’t.” The planes of his face looked carved of stone. “You’re going to take the job with my cousins, aren’t you.”
Everything inside her stilled. “Yeah, I am.”
“Good. They need the hand.”
“You could stay, you know. Help out. They need you, too.” Fuck. She hadn’t meant to say that. “Never mind. I know you’re already out the door. You need to get back to the desert. I’m sure the cacti miss you.” She headed to the door. Every step she took felt like a thousand.
He waited until she was at the doorway before he spoke.
“I can’t stay. You’re better off without me. Safer, without me.”
Internally she writhed. So he’d known of her crush. Damn it. She turned and drew herself up to her full height. “Thank you, so much, for clearing that up.”
“See, your words sound all right, but the tone? That’s the queen telling off her subordinate. Pissy, highborn queen, lacerating the lowly worker in front of her.” His voice had taken on an insolent tone.
She knew he was trying to make her angry, to burn out the feelings, and deep down, a part of her appreciated it. But the surface of her blazed hot with pain. She threw a candle at him, hitting him in the chest.
“Oof. Hey.”
“Bastard. You don’t get to just waltz out of here, wreaking havoc in my life as you leave.” She was proud of her controlled voice even as she threw another candle at him, this time catching him on his shin.
“Ow.”
“So while you sit over there, feeling sorry for yourself, and all righteous macho-ness as you sneer at me, just know one thing.” Aubrey hefted the last candle and eyed Kellan, who hadn’t taken his gaze off her.
“What’s that?”
Her voice deepened. “You are never. Getting. Rid. Of. Me. This I swear. I will be there when you need me, whether you want me there or not. This I swear. I will be a burr on your ass, a thorn in your side, a glass of water when you’re thirsty, a crown on your head. This I swear. You can run from me, but I will always find you. This I swear.” She lifted her chin and set the third candle on the mantel in a carefully controlled gesture.
“I’m leaving, as it’s past time for me to figure out my life. You can take the candles up to Rose, who undoubtedly has need of them by now. And when you are asked where I am, you will tell them the truth. That you drove me away while Rose is giving birth, but I will be back. When it comes to you, I will always come back.”
She blinked then, wavered a little on her feet. “Yeah, all of that.” Aubrey turned and this time didn’t stop when he called her name. Instead, she went to the bedroom that she’d been assigned, packed up her stuff, and let herself out of the house she had dangerously begun to think of as home.
***
So, shhh…Kellan and Aubrey’s story takes a new twist. They’re the kickoff in my new series, A Covenant of Witches – The Hidden One, which will release for a limited time in December. More news to come!
)O(
Haven’t read a Christine Ashworth book yet? Check out her Amazon Page…and may your day be filled with good things.
by Christine | Writing
So, there’s this book fair – lots of books, most of which are .99 to $2.99. Check it out!
And if you haven’t grabbed Guarded Star yet, it goes back up to full price on June 1st – so get it while you can!
More later, lovelies – I’m in the middle of a deadline. Sending love and hugs, always.
http://beccahamiltonbooks.com/may-book-fair/
by Christine | Observations, Writing
It’s true! Guarded Star, the first full-length book in the StarTide Agency series with Boroughs Publishing Group, is on sale for the ENTIRE month of May across ALL platforms!
Bestselling author Louisa Bacio said this: “Guard your heart because Christine Ashworth has done it again. Despite all their differences, Evie and Jake share combustible chemistry, and a past that won’t stay behind. You’ll enjoy the sweet music of this romance.”
BLURB:
Singer/songwriter Evie Marcherand is about to begin her first three-city tour when
someone threatens to stop her music—permanently. Private investigator Jake Wells is about to give up his vacation—and his heart—to see that doesn’t happen.
MAKE A WISH
Everyone leaves twenty-five-year-old Evie Marcherand, but with her naturally husky voice and musical talent she’s done okay, and her star is rising. Her songs and her guitar? Those she can count on. She’s just booked her first three-city tour. Too bad someone else wants to stop her music. Permanently.
Jake Wells. 39. Private investigator. Tall and lanky, with brown hair that’s going silver at his temples. What does he want? To go on vacation. But with four younger sisters, “protective” doesn’t begin to describe him, so a promise to a dead man means he’ll play bodyguard instead. Threats of violence against an up-and-coming singer/songwriter have been escalating, and there’s just no way that’s going to happen. But after he gets a taste of Evie’s music—and her lips—there’s no saying what will.
Find Guarded Star here: (sorry, I couldn’t figure out how to copy the link to iBooks! sigh.)
Amazon, Kobo, iBooks, Smashwords, Barnes & Noble,
Other News
There’s been a lot of personal turmoil in my life, and I haven’t been here very much at all. I aim to change that. As well, I have a newsletter that was sent out today for the very first time. If you read that newsletter and are here because of the super sekrit contest, then you know what to do. *vbg*
If you aren’t on my newsletter list but want to be (freebies, etc), leave a comment here with your email address and I will add you to the list. Right now, I have no idea how many I’ll be sending out, but I swear unless I have amazing news or giveaways, it won’t be more than once a month, and probably a lot less.
Thank You!
A huge thank you to Boroughs Publishing Group who have worked with me on this promotion. Another huge thank you to Rebecca Hamilton, and to all the friends and family who have been there for me during a really rough patch. Sending love to all.
)O(
Now…go on and grab Guarded Star! You know you want to…
by Christine | Life, Observations
Dad at the San Diego Book Awards, June 21, 2014 Photo by Greg Cunningham
Today is an important day. It is my father, Chet Cunningham’s birthday. He’s 86 today.
A couple of weeks ago at Thanksgiving dinner, held at my niece & nephew’s house, his face lit up when he saw me and we hugged. He said he can never get enough hugs, and I believe him. As the kids – well, adults and young adults now – gathered in one room, their elders (oh my goodness, I’m an elder…) gathered in another. Dad and I cozied down on a comfy couch and talked about writing. I was having the devil of a time with the book I was currently writing, and he felt he wasn’t writing enough, either.
I need to get to 347 on the wall, he says. When I give him a confused smile, he nods. I’ve got 346 books published, need to get to number 347. Taking a long time. Glad I’m with Wolfpack Publishing, he says.
He says he only gets maybe an hour in the morning, but after lunch he’ll get in a good three hours of writing. After dinner, he will watch football, then head to his office for another hour before watching the ten o’clock news.
Five hours, he says, shaking his head. Not what I used to be able to do.* But I enjoy my naps.
That’s more than I get done, I tell him. His hands are in mine, and they feel so very
The hands that wrote the books. Summer, 2013
precious. The skin is thin, his veins bulge across the back, and his fingers are oddly shaped by arthritis. He catches me looking at them.
This one hurts, he says, rubbing his ring finger on his right hand. These other two, they don’t hurt anymore, but this one does. Except when I’m writing, then I don’t feel them at all. And he shakes his head.
That’s because the story catches you, and you forget about your aches and pains, I say. Me, too, Daddy.
My own fingers have been aching, when I’ve had a long day at work and then go home to write. I kiss his gnarled fingers and wonder if mine will look that way when I’m 85. I can’t even fathom that much time passing from right now.
He puts his forehead against mine. I’m gonna be 86 in a couple of weeks, he says.
I know. I’m so sorry we can’t come down to see you on your birthday, I tell him.
He shakes his head a bit. Both my parents died at 86. Then he gets a twinkle in his eye. I’m gonna beat them, he says.
My heart clutches just a little bit. I know you are, Daddy, I say. You’ve got to make it to at least 350 novels published.
Yeah. That’s the ticket, he says, and we laugh.
Happy birthday, Daddy. Here’s to book number 347, and may they all continue to sell.
A selfie with Dad – May, 2014
)O(
*Chet’s schedule, when I was in school, went something like this: write from 9:30am to noon, have lunch. Write from 1:00pm to 4:30pm, then come out and be with the family until after dinner. Write from 6:30pm to 11:00pm, then watch the news and wrap up with Johnny Carson.
He’s my hero.
Find his books…Pony Soldiers
Other books with Wolfpack Publishing
