Be a Character in My Next Novel

Copper Lake  Grand Prize Giveaway COPPER LAKE BOOK 3 - Stutter Creek Suspense series Can Detective Kendra Dean solve the crimes of this sadistic killer, or will she become another of his strange tattoos?

If you would like to WIN THE GRAND PRIZE (which means you could be a character in my next novel), simply sign up for my Every-now-and-then Newsletter right over there I'll let Random.org choose the winner on Valentine's Day. That's all there is to it. I'll send the winner an email asking what name he/she would like their character to go by (could even be a nickname), and then I'll let you know when it's released in the next few months. http://ow.ly/WBS5E The bones were wet and cold. The clay in the soil trapped the moisture as efficiently as a layer of mulch in a flower bed. When Edgar held the femur up to the moonlight, he was thrilled to observe how fully the dirt and mold had settled into the cuts. It created an inky labyrinthine abstract on the once-white surface. He caressed the soil around the bones, and then lifted the rest of them from their shallow bed.

Goodbye 2015

To all my friends, family, and loyal readers - may you have the happiest New Year ever!

https://youtu.be/wPnhaGWBnys

Did you know this song was from a Scottish poem written by Robert Burns in 1788?

Copper Lake - January 7, 2016

The press dubbed him the killer cartographer because he carves the map coordinates of each victim on the femur of the one before. Then he tattoos the information on his skin.

Can Detective Kendra Dean bring him to justice, or will she become his next tattoo?

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

TAKERS: Apocalypse in Eden - Excerpt

Not making any promises - but I hope it will be out soon. It's been through a couple of rewrites, but I think it will be here before Christmas. Until then, tell me what you think of this excerpt from my little allegory:

Chapter One

Not a care in the world 

        Dee Powell attached crinkly strands of blue and yellow crepe paper to the basketball goal in the Eden, Texas middle school gymnasium. She and three of her friends from the Art Department were decorating for the upcoming ninth grade graduation dance.

My buddy, Cade Johnson, had gone down to the basement and brought up the ladder on which Dee stood. We had brought up pretty much everything the girls were using.

“Well, don’t just stand there staring, Jack Lewis,” Dee called. “Go on down and find that last box of crepe paper.”

I ducked my head; mortified she’d caught me ogling her. I’d been downright mesmerized by the glimmer of the fluorescents bouncing off the rhinestone headband in her dark hair.

In less than three months we would all be in high school. My dad had already started grilling me about colleges and career choices. My stomach knotted up at the thought. The idea scared me almost as much as the idea of asking Dee to dance with me tomorrow night.

“Well?” Dee called down again. “Are you going to the basement or do I have to climb down off this ladder and do it myself?” She smiled to take the sting out of her words.

“Go ahead, buddy,” Cade said. “I’m pretty sure I saw that box just past the stairs.” He nudged me and whispered, “Besides, I left you something. Know what I mean?” He winked and made an up and down motion in front of his groin with his closed fist.

I rolled my eyes. Cade might be my best friend, but he could be a real ass. I shoved his arm down. His attitude really irked me. I didn’t want all of my dreams and desires to be nothing more than teenage horn-mones (Cade’s word). I wanted these feelings to be something more, something real.

Something like . . .

Derencia Powell.

Dee.

“Dude.” Cade’s voice bellowed even though he was standing right beside me. “I think Dee really needs that crepe paper.”

Dee smiled and looked at me and for a moment we shared something across that wide space that was almost as bright as the burnished floor. That gentle smile said she knew how he was, but she didn’t hold it against me.

I could’ve stood there, looking at her, for the rest of time, but one of the other girls called her name and she turned to catch a new roll of tape in midair. Directly past her head, tree branches clawed at the narrow gym windows. The West Texas wind had been howling all day.

I hurried out of the gym before my “best friend” could say or do anything else to embarrass me. Sometimes I wondered why I put up with him. I had a pretty good idea of what he had left me in the basement. Today he’d given his PowerPoint presentation in Biology. That meant he’d brought his laptop to school. Not only did he delight in looking at his dad’s porn, he also delighted in sharing it with me—whether I wanted him to or not.

I think he copied the dirtiest pictures just to shock me. As if to test me somehow. As if we both knew that if I ever gave in to the desire to demand more ugly pictures—which I really wanted to do sometimes—then I might end up tossing away all the tiny good things I haven’t even experienced yet. Like dancing in the gym beneath a twisted canopy of crepe paper, or a sharing that special glance that might lead to a first kiss.

Feeling like a fool, I yanked open the heavy basement doors. The stairwell and storage area were both lit by the usual flickery fluorescents. I boogied down the stairs and located the box of paper.

Cade’s laptop sat on top of a five-gallon pickle bucket.

Setting the box aside, I pulled over a second pickle bucket to sit on, and then opened the computer. Instead of the pictures Cade had bookmarked, I pulled up one of my own nerdy websites. It was a science site run by a university professor who did his best to use physics to explain the unexplainable. I just didn’t want to look at Dirty Sluts of the South and then go up and face Dee in the gym. On the other hand, if I went right back up, Cade would know I didn’t look at all, and I’d never hear the end of it.

My website sprang to life.

The lights went out.

For a moment, my skin tightened up like a dried leather glove, but then I remembered the wind. It sometimes messed with the power in our little Podunk town. I took a deep breath and tried to make myself relax. It was either that or lose it completely and run screaming for the stairs. Dee would really be impressed if I burst out into the hall screaming like a two year old. Thankfully I still had the laptop’s screen light. I figured the power would come back on in a few minutes like it always did.

I glanced back down at Dr. D’s Adventures in Dimensions. The credits claimed he was an astrophysicist. Today he didn’t sound very academic. In fact, his voice was downright shrill. “Listen,” he demanded. “Our universe is expanding too fast. The fabric between the dimensions is growing too thin.”

I thought the man’s voice was too thin. As he continued, it turned into a screech. He said today’s show was a warning. “Something is happening,” he yelled. “The world exists in a multiverse and each universe is a parallel dimension.” Now, he stared directly into the camera. “Try to understand! It’s important for you to understand! Our universe and the one paralleling it have been expanding at different rates.”            

He removed his glasses, his eyes growing wider and wilder as he spoke. “The fabric between our dimensions is shredding—” He glanced over his shoulder as if he’d heard someone approaching. Then he leaned closer to the camera and whispered. “The dimension paralleling ours is Purgatory. Its inhabitants are awaiting new souls.” His voice dropped into an even lower register and he hissed, “Get underground.”

It occurred to me it had to be a practical joke. The doc was trying to prank us into calling in and saying something stupid. Or doing something stupid like that War of the Worlds radio stunt my Granny told me about. The radio announcer had made it sound like a real alien invasion—until everyone started to panic. I decided that must be what Dr. D was trying to do. It’ll probably be trending before the webcast is even over.

But as I watched the doctor stalk about, tugging at his Einstein hair, the LOW BATTERY message appeared and the computer winked off.

I sat perfectly still, a rectangular after-image of the screen hanging in front of my face. Fear overtook me and I was suddenly five years old waking from a nightmare in the dark. I took another deep breath and carefully closed the laptop before getting to my feet. My toes immediately encountered the empty pickle bucket and scooted it across the concrete floor. It threw me off balance and I stuck my hands out in front of myself like a B-movie-zombie. The absence of light gave the darkness a texture like black felt. I shuffled forward, pushing the pickle bucket with my toes.

The professor said they need new souls. Who are they?

Don’t think about it. It’s just a show like that War of the Worlds thing or those reality shows on TV that are supposed to be real but are really so fake. Why can’t I find the stairs? Maybe the basement expanded right along with the universe.

I swept my arms from side to side, trying to locate the stair rail, but they met only air. The panic I’d been keeping at bay suddenly crawled into my gut and made itself at home. I shoved the pickle bucket aside and dashed for the place the stairs ought to be. A solitary bead of sweat itched its way down the back of my neck into my collar. I swatted it like a pesky mosquito just as my toes found the first step.

Relief washed over me and I stumbled up the stairs certain something would reach out before I could—

Scritch scritch scritch

My head rotated toward the sound as if pulled by a puppeteers string. The noise seemed distant, yet close. I lunged forward, scalp tingling, certain that at any moment a hand would latch onto my ankle, or the empty pickle bucket would come flying at me through the darkness.

The next thing I knew I was on my knees, hands clutching my ears. A deep, throbbing vibration threatened to stop my heart. It seemed as if a million tubas were blowing the same bass note in unison. The panic in my gut exploded and I jerked myself to my feet and scrambled up the rest of the stairs on my hands and knees.

Earthquake? Tornado? Bomb?

I didn’t even realize I’d reached the landing until I whammed into the unexpected push bar with my shoulder. I was surprised the doors weren’t blocked by debris from whatever disaster had befallen us.

But they weren’t blocked.

They flew open and I fell out into a dimness that was somewhat brighter than the basement, but not nearly as bright as it should be.

The power was off in the rest of the building, too.

New Release - Old Amarillo - Amish Journeys #1

Sara Barnard is a mother of four, a wife, a teacher, and a wonderful storyteller. She writes historical romances, children's fiction, and Amish romances. 

If you like sweet, Amish romance + a couple of historical cowboys, this is the book for you. 

Better yet, it's the start of the series, Amish Journeys. (Yes, we all know how you readers love your series!) 


Disillusioned and feeling there is more to life than can be found on her family's Indiana farm, atypical Amish girl Katie Knepp bucks tradition and leaves everything behind, bound for a supposed Mennonite settlement rumored to be somewhere around Old Amarillo, Texas. But the trail to Texas is a hard one, laced with disease, would-be-could-be bandits, and a drought so severe that turning back isn't an option. During her epic overland struggle, Katie discovers friendship, even in the ever-present outlaw element, a strength in herself she'd never dreamed she possessed, and those in her past who refuse to become unwilling memories. Katie's story isn't Amish, nor is it western . . . it is uniquely Texan.

5 Prince Books:http://www.5princebooks.com/sarabarnard.html

Amazon link:
http://www.amazon.com/Old-Amarillo-Journeys-Sara-Barnard-ebook/dp/B014PVK9HS/ref=sr_1_7?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1441340097&sr=1-7&keywords=sara+barnard

New Release ~ LILAC LANE ~ It's Finally Here!

I'm so excited! Today is the release day for LILAC LANE -- Romantic Suspense from 5 Prince Publishing.

Available on 

Amazon    http://amzn.to/1qChT8c

iTunes   http://bit.ly/1z7ArgW

Barnes and Noble   http://bit.ly/WJt2H1

Smashwords   http://bit.ly/WJt8yf

AllRomance Ebooks  http://bit.ly/1lzgV4S

Publisher's website http://www.5Princebooks.com

 Here's an excerpt:

“You’re humming that Brown Eyed Girl song aren’t you?” Nick (her ten year old son) asked.

“Hmm. So I was. It’s an old song from way back. I’ve always liked it.” She pulled into the carport and engaged the Jeep’s parking brake. The pine trees were fragrant. Several branches touched the metal roof of the carport. They made a shushing sound when the wind blew. It also sent their tangy green fragrance into the Jeep’s open windows. “We may regret not having a garage when it snows this winter,” she said.
“I think he likes you,” Nick replied.
Ella stopped with her finger on the automatic window button. The windows stopped halfway up. “Chet Boone?”
Nick rolled his eyes. “No. The Incredible Hulk.”

Early Reviews:

Alexa Verde's review 

Jul 13, 14

5 of 5 stars

Read from July 04 to 13, 2014

I love reading romantic suspense, so I had a feeling I was going to enjoy Lilac Lane by Ann Swann. And I liked reading the suspenseful parts of noises in the attic, lights going out at night, and the unusual and scary surprises. The romance between Ella and Chet was sweet and promising, and author's sense of humor made me smile. But what made this book an even a better read for me was the great relationship between Ella and her son. It was very endearing, and also showed the growth of both of them toward the end of the book. All in all, Lilac Lane is a very enjoyable read.

Joyce Shaughnessy rated it 5 of 5 stars

LILAC LANE s a captivating, great book by an even more amazing author! It’s a must-read for every reader who enjoys a good mystery book, and it has a romantic twist that makes it even better. I knew that Ann Swann was an amazing talent, but this book took my breath away. The author’s talent was really showcased in this novel. I started it one morning and literally couldn’t put it down until I finished it. Absolutely fantastic book!

Jun 29, 2014Kimball Lee rated it 5 of 5 stars

Very enjoyable read! Well written and entertaining,lovely relationship between the mother and her young son. Suspense and also romance. Would definitely recommend this book and the author. Can't wait to read more of Ms. Swann's work. I was sent an ARC for an honest review. KL

Jun 28, 2014Sue1958 rated it 4 of 5 stars

Oh I so wish I would have read the first book before this one, I had it too and didn't realize!! So when I offered to read and review this for Ann Swann and give my honest opinion, I wish I had remembered, but, I will be going back and reading the first book in this series.

Ella and her son move into their new home. Its a safe place for them and they are just beginning to relax a bit.

The trouble is, not long after moving in, Nick her son hears some disturbance in the attic, which alarming he wakens Ella.

Both go in search of the source but find nothing.

After a couple of times of this happening Ella calls for the Police to come out and investigate, but it looks like its the wild life that are getting in. Even that didn't stop the antics in the attic though.

This was a gripping read, what with the husband now out, it could be him? Or could it?

Throw in a bit of romance too and you have a winner! I really did enjoy this book, so much so I have to go read the first book as it will tie up some loose thoughts in my head.

I don't know why I didn't read this authors book before, she has an absolutely lovely way of writing.

Highly recommended.

AFTERTHOUGHT: You can still pick up STUTTER CREEK for only .99 until the end of July!

http://smarturl.it/stuttercreek

The Ice Goddess ~ New Release from 5 Prince Books

New Release ~ May 1, 2014

Available from 5 Prince Publishing www.5princebooks.com  books@5princebooks.com

Genre: Fiction/Romance/Historical

Release Date: May 1, 2014

Digital ISBN-10: 1631120328 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-032-9

Print ISBN-10: 1631120336 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-033-6

Purchase link : www.5princebooks.com/buy.html

In the bitter winter of 1752, Evangeline Grey is determined to return to London, claim her inheritance, and lead a solitary, uneventful existence. York holds too many sad memories for her now, and she's ready to leave it behind. 

When she finds out that her guardian has designs on her -- and her pending fortune -- Evangeline manages to escape, but her journey south is fraught with uncertainty and danger. Mourning the murder of her brother, still reeling from her aunt’s recent death, and close to penniless until she finds her way back to London, she's never been more alone. 

And then, on a desolate Northern English moor, she meets a benevolent stranger who changes everything.

Kendall Beaumont is a man running from a few demons of his own. On his way to his home in remote Almsborough, he stops to help the pretty, young runaway. The future seems fairly bleak for the both of them -- until he decides to make her an offer she can't refuse...

About Hannelore Moore:

In 2012, Hannelore published a short story in Timeless, a young adult anthology from Cool Well Press. Since then, her work has appeared in The Rusty Nail literary magazine and on the Flash Fiction World website, among other places. In June 2013, she won The Iron Writer Challenge #17. Hannelore is a rabid Anglophile, as you'll discover when you read her work, and recently published her first novel, Tower Bridge. You can find more information about her on Hannelore's Happenings (http://hanneloreshappenings.blogspot.com/)

How to reach Hannelore Moore:

Twitter:  @HanneloreMoore1

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/hannelore.moore.10

Blog: http://hanneloreshappenings.blogspot.com/

Excerpt of The Ice Goddess:

1752

Evangeline

I’m worried about my Aunt Caroline. Her laughter is infrequent these days, and she seems to be walking through the house in a sort of haze. Once, in the dining room, I even saw her clutch onto the back of a chair, as though she were steadying herself. When I rushed over to ask what was wrong, she gently held up her hand to prevent any help I might offer and said she was fine; she just hadn’t slept well the night before.

As I stand by the window and stare out into the dull, February afternoon, I have a marvelous hope: perhaps she is with child. That would make her unbelievably happy. She’s always wanted a baby but was never so fortunate with her first husband, Andrew.

I turn to see Gregory walk into the small study, and I smile at him slightly, wondering if he suspects the same thing about his wife. I think he’s surprised by my expression, for it’s rare that I interact with him at all.

After two years, I still can’t get over Gregory’s youth and good looks. He’s so handsome with his chiseled features and pale blue eyes that it’s almost distracting. He wears wool breeches and one of his heaviest dress coats, for the day is exceedingly cold, despite the bright, dancing fire in the grate. He was muttering about the price of perukes the other day – maybe that’s why he’s powdered his own dark-blond hair and pulled it back into a queue. From what I understand, he’s nothing like Andrew Bingham, who was portly and jolly and near sixty when he died. Indeed, in Andrew’s simple, scholarly house, filled with books and maps that I treasure, Gregory sometimes appears at a loss.

I’ve always suspected that he wasn’t too pleased when Em and I came from London to live here. Nevertheless, he’s treated us with kindness — or maybe a better word is indifference. For some reason, though, my brother has openly showed disdain towards him ever since we arrived in York. Em never told me exactly why Gregory bothered him so, but perhaps he saw or heard things that were kept from me. Then again, Em treats most people scornfully.

Gregory toys with the chess set on the elm tripod table. Lately, I’ve been running into him more often, it seems. That musky cologne he wears always precedes him. He wanders into various rooms when I’m already there or ends up at the stables planning to ride when I’m preparing my own horse for an outing. Right now, he picks up a knight made of veined white marble and studies it absently.

“Would you like to play?” I ask, wishing I were more comfortable with him so I could broach the subject of my aunt. But I can wait. Such news is out in good time.

“Play?” he echoes, looking up at me, and the light in those eyes makes me think he’s talking about something else. There’s a lilt in his voice as he says, “Not just now, Evangeline.”

I nod. It’s probably better, anyway. We had a game once, and I won, easily. Gregory was angry about that, although he tried to pretend otherwise. Em stood in the background, smiling broadly, not attempting in the least to hide his glee over Gregory’s loss.

We can hear the pounding at the front door from here. As surprising and desperate as the summons is, I’m glad of it, for Gregory’s eyes haven’t left me. They’re steady and contemplative. I get nervous when people pay too much attention to me, always thankful for anything that might distract them.

We both step out of the study as Caroline starts down the stairs. Our butler is leading David, the innkeeper’s son, through the entryway. I push Gregory to the back of my mind because too many things about this new scene disturb me. Why is David here, wearing that torn black greatcoat? He set off to Oxford with Em just a fortnight ago to serve as a valet. Em, you see, wouldn’t hear of living on his own without a manservant. The boy is dirty and ragged, quite a different creature from the proud, well-scrubbed assistant we sent south. At that time, he preened in his new clothes, looking as much the proper young man as Em. Even my brother, usually self-absorbed with his own concerns, complimented him on his aplomb.

And then there’s Aunt Caroline, approaching David now, her eyes worried and afraid. She looks terrible. I realize she wasn’t feeling well today, which explains why she decided to rest after dinner, but the malady afflicting her is more than a simple headache. There’s something dreadfully wrong with her. She should have stayed in bed. I know she is too curious, though, and evidently struggled downstairs again to see who was calling. Despite the fact that she wears a loose sack dress, it’s obvious she’s lost weight. Against the dull, snuff-brown linen of her garment, her skin is pale. Not fashionably so, but sallow and waxy and damp with perspiration. I try to convince myself that women appear this way in the first months of their pregnancy, but I give that up quickly enough. My aunt isn’t with child and probably never will be.

She leads David into the withdrawing room. Gregory and I follow, even though I want to run in the opposite direction. Out the front door, to the stables so I can saddle my horse and ride far away from here. I watch, becoming detached, as she tells David to sit before the fire. The boy doubles over in a worn upholstered chair and begins to cry. I don’t want to feel what he’s feeling; I don’t want to know what he’s going to say. After a while, he calms down, for, despite her illness, Caroline’s easy presence soothes him. She has a way of doing that, of making people comfortable.

“Can you tell me now?” she asks in her sweet voice.

David stares at the unadorned, wooden hearth, and then, with dull, heavy words, he relates a story about highwaymen and the Oxford coach. Somewhere south of Nottingham, they blocked its progress. The occupants were mercilessly shot, including Em. Only David managed to escape. It has taken him this long to return to York, and he misses his mother very much — more than he ever thought he would. But before he saw her, before he went home, he wanted to come here to let us know what happened.

I continue to look at David as he speaks, refusing to believe him. Em can’t be dead. Not Em, who has so much planned for himself. He intends to write a great novel, just like Mr. Fielding, his idol. And as long as I can remember, he’s looked forward to teaching at Oxford. He loves poetry and prose and hopes to help others appreciate the beauty of the written word. A mere pistol shot wouldn’t hurt someone like him. His sarcasm and that condescending manner of his make him invulnerable.

“No,” I say to David, almost apologetically. “Not true.”

Gregory steps over and takes my hand in his, but I continue to study David. The boy is wrong. He has to be.

“Do you think I’m making this up?” David says. “Why would I tell such a lie?”

“You’re mistaken.” I shake my head and feel very dizzy all of a sudden. Gregory has to steady me, apparently, by wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

“Have Abby take Evangeline up to her room.” I hear Aunt Caroline say, and the next thing I know, I’m climbing the faded wooden stairs, my lady’s maid at my side. We are at my threshold and then in my room, and it’s so incredibly cold. Abby leads me to my plain bed and I have the presence of mind to sit down on the edge. I stare past her, seeing nothing.

“You must rest.” I hear the catch in her voice and wonder why she would be upset, because it’s obvious that David is wrong.

I nod anyway, to appease her, and allow her to prepare me for bed. The day is gray and never seems to end.