Thursday, February 7, 2019

Stevie-girl and the Phantom of Forever - On sale March 4th


If you are interested in a review copy, message me here or on FB - link below.

In anticipation of the upcoming Preorder and March 4th release, here is the blurb and introduction to Book 4 in my Phantoms Series,  Stevie-girl and the Phantom of Forever (an epistolary novel) 

It will be available for preorder soon, and goes on sale March 4, 2019 (did I say that already? LOL) 



Blurb:

             In Book 4 Stevie once again encounters a phantom in need of assistance. This time it happened in a prison graveyard in Amarillo, Texas. That’s also where she found her dad, Big Steve, but it didn’t end there. This phantom not only coaxed Stevie and Jase across state lines, she coaxed them across all kinds of other boundaries, too. 
            Of course she did, after all, this one was the Phantom of Forever.



            Intro to Stevie-girl and the Phantom of Forever

            Over the years I’ve discovered it’s easy to lose touch with people—even those you love—because day-to-day life has a way of forcing us to move forward and keep going whether we’re ready or not. Before you know it, years have crept by. It happens over and over again, even after we’re gone. Yes, you read that right. I said even after we’re gone. You don’t believe me? Just read these letters. They’re my proof. You see, Jase and I have this thing, this magnetism—that’s the only way I know how to describe it—that causes us to attract spirits. We seem to attract them wherever we go. 
            It started when a small plane crashed in Jase’s back pasture a couple of years ago and it hasn’t ended yet. We help them, the spirits. Help them solve whatever problem is keeping them tethered to this realm. It isn’t something we seek to do; it’s something we have to do.
            When I travelled to the prison to meet my father, it happened again. Only this time, I was 

alone. I didn’t have Jase there to help me. All I had were these letters we wrote back and forth. 

Letters that kept me tethered to the world of my little family the same way the spirits are sometimes 

kept tethered to the world they once inhabited.

Author bio:

A former emergency services dispatcher, rock-n-roll radio station secretary, hospital information operator, and grade school teacher, Ann Swann has been many things. Through it all were the words. She's been a writer since her teenage years and began winning fiction awards in college. As a child she grew up much like Stevie-girl in small town Texas. One difference? Ann never got up the nerve to enter the haunted house alone - she waited until she married her husband, Dude, then they went in together. Ann would love to hear your thoughts on her stories. Feel free to message her at any of the following social media sites:



Other Books by Ann Swann

2011 Stevie-girl and The Phantom Pilot– 5 Prince Publishing (2018)

2012 Stevie-girl and The Phantom Student– Cool Well Press (Now with 5 Prince)

2013 Stevie-girl and the Phantom of Crybaby Bridge– (5 Prince)

2012 All For Love– 5 Prince Publishing

2013 Stutter Creek(Book One) – 5 Prince Publishing

2015 Lilac Lane(Book Two) – 5 Prince Publishing

2016 Copper Lake(Book Three) – 5 Prince Publishing

2016 Takers: Apocalypse in Eden– Createspace 

2017 The Remains in the Pond- 5 Prince Publishing

Coming March 4th, Book 4 in the Phantoms series: Stevie-girl and the Phantom of Forever

Short Fiction

“Bamboozled” Alfred Hitchcock Magazine

“Aftermath”Binnacle Magazine

“The Gap” and“In Search of Water”The Rusty Nail (previously published inThe Sandstorm

“Soul Gardener” Timeless: Cool Well Press, Anthology

“The Fee” A World of Terror:Grey Mouse Publishing, (formerly titled The Warning)

“SleepAway Pounds”Seasonal, Sweet, and Suspenseful, Anthology

“Lips”– fictionterrifica.com

“Chems” Createspace

“Where It Will Land”– EasyStreetMagazine (2017)

“Baby Doll Rig”West Texas Lore & Legends, Anthology (2017)

“The Sweet Scent of Home” Cool Weather, Warm Hearts, Anthology (2018)



Book Links and Public Contact Information:

Barnes & Noble: http://tinyurl.com/cfakkue
  

Tuesday, January 1, 2019

Sitting Bull #3

Sitting Bull #3 

A new year. Not much has changed.


He misses working. It’s so heartbreaking. The electric pole at his rural home developed a terrible lean and had to be replaced at the end of summer. The electric company turned off the juice at 10:45 a.m. because the company that was hired to set the new pole was scheduled to arrive at 11:00.


When two hours went by and they still hadn’t arrived, I asked Bull if he wanted to go to my house and watch our big screen TV. He’d been sitting in his recliner—doing absolutely nothing—since breakfast.


“C’mon,” I said. “There’s no telling how long this will take. We could be without electricity all day.”

“No,” he replied. And that was that.

Thankfully it was a cool, cloudy day. The house was pleasant even without air-conditioning, which was slightly amazing for West Texas. Bull read the paper and took a little nap and sat and watched out the front window.

The electrician finally arrived about 1:15.

When Bull saw the truck coming down the drive with the new pole, he immediately began pushing the button to raise his electric lift chair to get up and get back into his wheel chair. Ooops. No electricity. Thank goodness Dude was there to help.

Now Bull is sitting on the back porch with his snuff and his jacket (which I had to force him to let me drape around his shoulders), watching the two electricians set the new metal pole. This is the first time in weeks he has wanted to go outside.

He misses working.


Afterthought: Comments Welcome 
(link at end of post)

Sunday, December 16, 2018

Christmas Time Again

It's Christmas time again. I've decided I'm going to repost this little piece every year in honor of those I've lost. So here it is again, in honor of Mom and my sister, Jay. I love you and miss you, forever.

Wish we still had stores with storefronts like this. I loved Christmas shopping around the square in my hometown. Didn't look just like this, but the feeling was the same. 

One Christmas Eve when I was around eight years old, my stepdad, Bull, got a wild hair and drove my sister and me to the square to shop. 

"Silver Bells" emanated from outdoor speakers, shiny tinsel was strung across the street, and an evergreen wreath decorated each and every lamp post. All these years later, I can't remember for certain, but if it wasn't snowing, it should have been. 

We'd made it halfway around the square, stopping to admire the flocked window decor in The Model Shop, and a chugging choo choo train in the variety store, when Bull ran into a couple of his old buddies and stopped to swap some lies.

After a few moments and a couple of sips from a silver flask, he seemed to remember we were there. Without missing a beat, he pulled out his wallet and gave the two of us a hundred dollar bill (or maybe it was a twenty and it only seemed like a hundred at the time) and instructed us to go into the nearest business to find a gift for Mom. 

The funny thing was, the nearest store just happened to be a furniture showroom, the only one on the square. But that didn't deter us in the least. After scouring the entire establishment, we happened upon the perfect gift, a three-foot tall, mustard-colored vase decorated with a fierce-looking red and green Chinese dragon. We thought it the most beautiful thing we'd ever seen -- so exotic

When the clerk trundled it to the sidewalk for us, Bull just grinned and went back for the car. Together the three of us wrestled it into the trunk so we could surprise Mom on Christmas morning. 

And surprise her we did. Her grin was almost as wide as Bull's had been. She hugged us and caressed the dragon and swore it was the best gift she'd ever received. Then she displayed it proudly in the darkest corner of the living room for many years to come. 

Friday, December 7, 2018

Shopping for Christmas? Check out Ann Swann Books


Just a bold self-promo in case you are shopping for Christmas (or any other reason).
The STUTTER CREEK series is suspense mixed with a little romance.
THE REMAINS IN THE POND is a stand alone suspense.
ALL FOR LOVE is a family drama a/k/a a tear-jerker.
TAKERS is a coming-of-age horror novel. 
THE PHANTOM TRILOGY is a series of ghost story mysteries. They are also on Audible as are almost all of my books! 

SEASONAL, SWEET, AND SUSPENSEFUL is a multi-author anthology 
COOL WEATHER, WARM HEARTS is a clean romance multi-author anthology

ALL FOR LOVE is on sale for 99¢ (digital)
COOL WEATHER, WARM HEARTS 99¢ (digital)
TAKERS is also on sale for 99¢ (digital)

Buy links: 


                                     Publisher:  http://www.5Princebooks.com/annswann.html

















Tuesday, November 27, 2018

Romance Reviews Year End Splash Party in November!











Sitting Bull #2

Blog post #2 about Sitting with Bull a/k/a Helping a Parent No Longer Able to Care for Himself or in my case, a step-parent, no difference to me, just wanted you to know why I call him Bull, or Pop. I never called him Dad. Just didn't seem the thing to do.

Anyhow . . . getting him out of bed today, I almost hurt myself laughing. As I was tugging his non-slip socks on over his poor ate-up-with-fungus toes (yeah, we're working on treatments) he made a sound I'd never heard before. I would've sworn Chewbacca was in that bed. It was a perfect Wookie exclamation. Of course the joke was only mine because Pop wouldn't know a Wookie from a hole in the ground.

It's late this morning. He wanted to finish watching Two Mules for Sister Sarah again. Again. Every week that thing comes on. Sometimes even more than once a day. I can't figure out the attraction on this one. Rooster Cogburn, yes. I can watch Rooster over and over again. Sister Sarah, not so much. Oh, well. Gave me a couple hours writing time this morning since he was up so late last night. Silver lining. Thanks, Clint Eastwood. Thanks, Shirley McClain. Seriously, at this point, I'm not sure which one he likes the best.

Follow up to last blog ...

The new electric wheelchair. He likes it! We went all the way down the long driveway to the gate. I took the trash bag to the dumpster and he drove all the way out in the street and made a U turn to go back. I'm encouraged. When we get the longer ramp for inside the house, I think he might be able to drive himself from room to room.

I think.

I hope.

Rats! When we came back in the house after our trip to the dumpster, he drove right in, crashed into the couch, shoved it a few inches, kept going, ran over his walker, tangled it in the wheels of his new chair, and wound up with the whole shebang smashed up against the physical therapy bike pedal that lives in the corner.

I laughed so hard I could hardly untangle the paraphernalia. Once I did, he put it in reverse and headed for the big screen TV. I lunged toward him and pressed my finger on the stop button. He insisted he could park it beside the desk in the opposite corner, but I was laughing too hard to discuss the matter.

I wound up backing the chair up manually (risking a butt-chewing in the process). Ahhh, the fun never ends at Casa Bull.


Saturday, November 24, 2018

FREE this Weekend Only - Multi-Author Romance Anthology



FREE this weekend only! mybook.to/cwwh myBook.to/cwwhb Short and sweet romantic fiction by a variety of authors both near and far . . .  my story is THE SWEET SCENT OF HOME. Try this anthology. Your new favorite author may be within these pages. (psst . . . if you like ghosts, read my story) 



Tuesday, November 6, 2018

Kicker - The Forgotten Front

KICKER
The Forgotten Front 

Free - along with two other books about war 
 https://rgreyh.wordpress.com/2018/11/09/2019-tribute-to-veterans/

World War II is raging. A young father must choose between his family and duty to his country- a decision that could cost him everything.
Based on actual experiences of United States veterans and official military aviation history records from World War II, this is the thrilling story of a family’s journey into war. While his loved ones struggle with shortages and rationing at home, Sam endures relentless Japanese attacks against his unarmed aircraft over the treacherous mountains and torrid jungles of Asia. His job is to drop supplies to Merrill’s Marauders and over 750,000 allied soldiers fighting in the perilous jungles of Burma. If the enemy is not stopped, the American way of life will end.
If you like non-stop action with a touch of humor and romance and the chance to learn about the “forgotten front” of WWII, then this is the book for you.


EXCERPT:

April 4, 1944 - Dinjan Airbase, India


       Sam and Bobby Joe were totally exhausted when they crawled into their charpoys. The harrowing events of the day had taken its toll on them physically and mentally. In spite of the heat and noise of the jungle, Sam felt the blessed relief of sleep approaching soon after his head hit the pillow. However, as he drifted off, a feeling of unease came over him. It was a feeling that something was wrong, not here in India, but at home. He didn’t know if he felt uneasy because he still hadn’t received mail from home or because of some unknown reason, but the feeling stayed with him until he finally succumbed to his exhaustion and slipped into a deep sleep.

Thankfully, his slumber was not disturbed by his recurring nightmare, and he slept soundly until the wee hours of the morning when he suddenly awoke not knowing what had disturbed him. A light rain was falling outside, and except for an occasional flash of distant lightning, the basha was in total darkness. He lay very still, listening to the sounds around him. He strained his hearing, but no sound came except for the steady breathing of the sleeping men around him. After several minutes, he relaxed, thinking his imagination was playing tricks on him. He was almost asleep again when he thought he detected a faint unfamiliar sound coming from somewhere in the basha. Once again, he listened intently, not sure he had heard anything; but then he heard the sound again—only this time it seemed closer, and he was sure it came from within the basha. He couldn’t quite place the sound, but it seemed like something soft brushing against an object. He listened closely, but all was silent. None of the other men in the basha stirred, and after an extended period of silence, he relaxed once again in anticipation of sleep.

       He was in that dreamy state just before slumber when he felt the presence of something or someone nearby. Once again, his senses came to full alert, and he made a conscious effort not to move. He listened carefully, bringing all his senses to bear. He could see or hear nothing, and yet he was sure something was there. He was startled when someone at the other end of the room moved, but then all was silent once again. He was lying on his back, so he slowly moved his head to the right and scanned the darkness.

       At first he saw nothing, but then attention was drawn to a slight movement at the foot of his bed. He couldn’t make out what it was. It appeared to be an undistinguishable shadow against the darker background of the room. As he watched, the shadow moved, and he held his breath as it silently glided along the side of his bed. There was no sound as it moved, and it slowly drew nearer and stopped near the head of his bed. He could tell that it was something large, but due to the extreme darkness, he was unable to see what it was. His instincts told him this was something dangerous and evil, and the hairs on the nape of his neck stood erect. At that moment, a distant flash of lightning faintly illuminated the scene, and in that instant of light, Sam could see the large form of a tiger standing beside him.

The animal’s head was enormous. Its eyes, momentarily reflecting light from the faraway lightning, gave the beast an evil, devil-like appearance. This was death incarnate staring directly at him.

       Sam was frozen with fear, and his heart seemed to stop. His .45-caliber pistol hung on the wall not three feet away, and he cursed himself for not keeping it inside the mosquito netting with him. He knew the tiger could see that he was awake, and he feared any movement would cause it to attack. The animal stepped closer, and Sam could see its dim outline and smell its damp fur and the fetid odor of its breath. The tiger appeared to know its victim was helpless. The great beast took its time as it sniffed the mosquito netting as if testing its strength. Slowly it raised a huge paw and placed it against the puny impediment. The tiger’s claws caught in the netting, and with a mighty swipe, it ripped the flimsy material away from the bed.


Bio
R Grey Hoover is an Air Force veteran with a family tradition of military service that dates back to the American revolution. He wrote his book “Kicker the forgotten front” to honor his father and the other veterans of World War II who fought in the China-Burma-India (CBI) theatre.  During the war, the European and Pacific theatres got most of the supplies and media attention leaving the CBI theatre with the leftovers. Even in today’s media coverage of World War II the CBI theatre is never mentioned. The author’s book is an attempt to correct this gross oversight.

R Grey Hoover’s social media links:



Thursday, October 25, 2018

Cool Weather, Warm Hearts RELEASE DAY!

Cool Weather, Warm Hearts

Now Available!

All proceeds to Wounded Warriors and The Magical Moon Foundation

Scroll down for an excerpt from my story, The Sweet Scent of Home. It's romance. Yes, really! Nary a serial killer in sight. A ghost? Well ... maybe.     mybook.to/cwwh




The Sweet Scent of Home

            The autumn leaves crunched underfoot as my Irish setter, Bordeaux, dashed down the crooked path ahead of me. The cool, sweet-scented air caressed my face and the back of my neck. I flipped my blonde ponytail up with one hand and reveled in the feel of my favorite season.
            I’d arrived home from Ithaca—where I’d been working and attending college with my now-ex fiancé—just in time to help my parents decorate their bookshop, Through the Pages, for Halloween. I’d been gone four years and had only a few classes under my belt to show for it. This was not how I’d imagined my return, single and without even a degree for my efforts.
            Bordie and I continued slowly down the path.
            At the bookshop last night, my parents and I had decorated the large bay window with colorful fall leaves, rubber bats, and tissue ghosts. I also floated bits of cotton webbing in the corners for the plastic spiders. Dad contributed a large jack o’ lantern lit by a small battery operated light.
            We’d completed the scene with some of our favorite scary books like The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe, Stephen King’s The Shining, and Ray Bradbury’s Something Wicked this Way Comes. When it was done, I’d pulled the dark curtains closed behind the display. That really made the spooky elements pop.
              To their credit, my parents hadn’t quizzed me too closely on what had gone wrong at school, or with Mitch. When I’d told them the wedding was off, Mom had simply hugged me and Dad had patted my back. 
END OF EXCERPT - FOR MORE, PREORDER!     mybook.to/kWh

 

Friday, October 12, 2018

Sitting Bull #1


May 2018

I don't want to mislead anyone with the title of this blogpost series. This is not a blog about the famous Lakota Sioux chief (although both he and my stepfather were named after bulls).

No. This blog series is going to be a little from-time-to-time observation about one of my part time jobs . . . taking care of--sitting with--my partially disabled stepfather, Bull.

In Sitting Bull's case, he was named Tatanka-Iyotanka, a Lakota name that describes a buffalo bull sitting on its haunches. At least that's what I read on History.com

In my stepdad's case, he was called Bull by the doctor who delivered him at home way back in the early 1930s. After many hours, and much whiskey on the part of the doc and the patient, my stepdad was finally delivered. When the doctor pulled him out, he said, "Well, no wonder we've had such a time, Miz P. That ain't no baby, it's a hookin' bull!"

So Bull he became. It fit perfectly. He weighed over 13 pounds and like most of the boys in his family, who also had Native American blood in their veins, he had a head full of curly black hair. Sort of like a buffalo bull.

Being baby number twelve out of thirteen, no one thought to get a birth certificate signed much less filed. When Bull started first grade, the teacher asked him his name. When he told her his name was Bull, she said, "I don't want your nickname. I want your Christian name."

He said, "Just Bull."

She got mad. "Tell me your Christian name right now, young man!" I picture her standing over him, slapping a ruler into her palm, eyes about to pop out of her head.

Even at six years of age my step daddy was nobody's fool. "JB," he blurted. "My name's JB."

Apparently that satisfied her. He said she wrote it in her book and from then on, that was his Christian name. JB.

"What do the letters stand for?" I asked him once.

"Nothing," he said. "Just the letters."

I didn't press him. You don't press him on things. Ever. But later on I realized what he'd done. Just Bull. JB. This would all come out in the wash, so to speak, forty years later when he was hired to go overseas and train men in Pakistan to move oil rigs. You see, he couldn't get a passport. No birth certificate, no passport. Eventually, his older sisters were able to convince the government that he really was born at home on that fateful date way back in the early part of the 1930s and he was finally granted the precious documents--birth certificate and passport all in one fell swoop.

So that's my stepdad. Bull Price. If you live in or near the oilfields of West Texas, you may know him or know of him. He's been a rig mover in this area for over fifty years. It's only been about four years ago that he was laid low by stroke. He's still Bull, though. He just needs a little help now and then. That's where I come in. My husband, Dude, our family friend, Janice, and me. We're the cavalry. It's challenging and rewarding and I wouldn't have it any other way. I just hope no one takes offense at some of the things I find funny. Bull and I have always had a contentious relationship. But wow, the shoe is really on the other foot now. Mom is gone. My sister is gone, my stepbrother is not in the picture. What else can I do but laugh and go on? He doesn't have much choice, either.

Sign up on the newsletter form if you'd like to know when another entry in the saga is posted. I'll try to get on a regular posting schedule, but with my three part time jobs, things can get a little crazy. 

The little video is Bull in his new electric wheelchair. I think I have a whole blogpost about this contraption. Later.

Afterthought: Sorry the video doesn't play. Someone more techie than I could probably say why . . .