Monday, August 6, 2018

Katie Holland "Nykara" A thrilling fantasy series

Pre-order Nykara for only $0.99!

Alix had lived in the small town of Sunset Creek her entire life. A town where nothing exciting ever happens. That is until the day before her senior year started. A new family moved into the abandoned place at the end of the road. Ben and his family seem nice enough but since the day they arrived strange things started happening. It seems like only Alix and her best friend Shay could see it though. And stranger yet it all seemed to be centered around Alix. Her life changes forever when on her seventeenth birthday she learns who and what she really is. But can she become the person the world needs? Can she really save them all?
Join Alix, Shay, and Ben as they start their magical journey in the world of the Nykara.

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Gumshoe Girl by Andi Ramos

How do I get in the mood??

I know where your mind went… and rightfully so, but I am referencing writing here. Explicitly writing those scenes I want to impact readers whether it be a funny scene, a suspense scene, an emotional scene or a love scene. I want the readers to feel what my characters feel, to laugh, to cry, to feel wanting. So, how do I make all those emotions come out on the computer screen? My secret is music. I have playlists for whatever mood I want to portray. Now I usually listen to music as I write, but it’s serene spa sounds, babbling brooks, ocean waves, with some instrumental in the background. For my mood setting scenes, I listen to intense music with impactful lyrics. I close my eyes and type away. I try to let the music take me to the place I need my characters to be, more often than not precisely I get what I need on the screen. I want to thank Zrinka for hosting me today to help introduce my debut novel, Gumshoe Girl.

Book Blurb:
Sheagan O’Hare got more than she bargained for when her newly inherited detective agency lands its first case; a missing person, embezzlement, and murder. Sheagan’s out to prove she can hang with the pros, despite the constant reminder of her amateur status from an annoyingly attractive FBI agent, Colin 'Mac' MacEvine, who’s forced himself into her life.

How does she feel when an old high school friend hopes to ignite a new romance?

Will she be able to discover if detective work and love can mingle before someone gets hurt?

Book Excerpt:
Sheagan blinked back the sting in her eyes as sweat drizzled from her forehead. Her shoulders and forearms cried out as determination inched her body forward through the tin walls that framed her slender figure. The narrow shaft rendered her legs useless as they dragged behind her like dead weight. She made a vow to start working out as she approached her destination, the metal grate that looked down into the sweetheart suite of the Eliot Hotel.
She shimmied her binoculars out of her bag and clutched them in her sweaty palms as she readied herself to delve into the world of private investigating. The friction of her movements caused her mahogany mane to cling to all the surfaces of her temporary confinement. Perched behind the filigree frame, peering like a caged animal, she was a mere 20 feet from her target. Her target? The Rat Bastard, who up until this very moment she’d called boyfriend.

She wasn’t there to kill him, even though the thought had crossed her mind; no, she was there to catch him in the act. She suspected he had been cheating on her for some time, so proof would end her suspicion or the relationship. Spying on her significant other through an air-vent of a swanky hotel room was hardly a promising start to her so-called glamorous career as a private detective. But it snapped her back into the reality that her new chosen profession would often be messy and difficult.

She peered through the grate and envied the spacious room below, but her viewing angle was no good for the task at hand. She could feel the heat in her cheeks rise along with her anger as she scanned the room and soaked in the extravagance–the hardw
ood tables, the Italian marble fireplace, the opulent sheen of the fabric on the overstuffed furniture that glimmered in the soft candlelight. The Rat Bastard was not known to overindulge on frivolous expenses, unless it was on her dime. Thoughts of killing him resurfaced.

What is wrong with me? Why did I wait so long?

She immediately regretted the fleeting question. She knew why. The answer brought back the pain and significance of her father’s sudden death. He had been the only family she had left, and he was gone. All that was left behind was his detective agency. She had thought about giv
ing it up, but she couldn’t; it was her only connection to him, to her family.

She closed her eyes briefly, realizing that now she was facing more loss–even if he was a lying, cheating Rat Bastard.

No! It’s better this way, stay focused.

She choked in a breath and turned her attention back to the room. His secret love nest was finished with soothing tones on the walls and thick, plush carpeting.

What is that on the end table?

Her gaze was drawn to the bottle label as it bobbed upside down in the melting ice. She sharpened the focus of her binoculars, and her eyes widened in recognitio

Her cheeks flushed. Cristal, she scoffed. Who is this Bimbo, anyway?

As if she had room to criticize this girl’s intelligence, when Sheagan was the one sweating her makeup off in a four-by-four-foot air-duct.

Yeah, who’s the stupid one?

She heard passionate sounds coming from the right of the room and recognized his tone. Leaning sideways, Sheagan pressed her face to the grate, but her limited view revealed only a portion of the bed and unable to make out major details, like faces.

Crap, I can’t see anything. Damn! She needed to get a better look

As she shifted her weight, the metal walls started to reverberate and Sheagan stifled a gasp, willing the rumbling to cease. Her breathing became labo
red as the musty air stole the aroma of the sweet perfume wafting up waft from the suite below. She stilled her movements and did the only thing she could think of… nothing. Nothing but stare at the heap of blankets and wait.

Come on, bimbo, come up for air. I know he do
esn’t last that long.

Her discomfort increased as the noise from their passion became more intense.

Ugh, that’s it, I’ve had it!

She mashed her cheek and upper body against the grate.

I just need a peek to confirm.

She pressed harder, ogling the bed. Finally, she caught a tiny glimpse.

Just a little further.

She pushed and heard a chirring sound, then a scraping. She froze in place, but the grate gave way with a creaking groan and crashed to th
e ground. Time stood still as Sheagan realized there was nothing between her and the floor except air.

Amazon US:
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Author Bio: 

Andi Ramos grew up in central Massachusetts where she still lives today with her family, goat, and Boston Terriers. Her love for reading grew into a passion for writing. She dabbled with pen and paper for a long time and eventually stopped pushing her amusements aside and started developing those stories into novels. One of her favorite things to do is to hop into her motorhome with her family and write while traveling down the road as they journey to various destinations.

Sunday, January 28, 2018

Ghosts of the Sea Moon by Anita Stewart

Book Info:

Title: Ghosts of the Sea Moon (Saga of the Outer Islands Book 1)
Author: A. F. Stewart
Genre: Epic Fantasy
Publication Date: January 13th, 2018
Paperback Price: $12.99
Digital Price: Pre-order and Release Price $0.99. Will go up to $2.99 on February 14th

Come set sail with ghosts, gods and sea monsters.
Ghosts, Gods, and Sea Monsters.

Free companion prequel story, Sea Bound:

Ghosts of the Sea Moon Blurb

In the Outer Islands, gods and magic rule the ocean.
Under the command of Captain Rafe Morrow, the crew of the Celestial Jewel ferry souls to the After World and defend the seas from monsters. Rafe has dedicated his life to protecting the lost, but the tides have shifted and times have changed.
His sister, the Goddess of the Moon, is on a rampage and her creatures are terrorizing the islands. The survival of the living and dead hinge on the courage and cunning of a beleaguered captain and his motley crew of men and ghosts.
What he doesn’t know is that her threat is part of a larger game. That an ancient, black-winged malevolence is using them all as pawns…

Come set sail with ghosts, gods and sea monsters.

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Author Bio:
A steadfast and proud sci-fi and fantasy geek, A. F. Stewart was born and raised in Nova Scotia, Canada and still calls it home. The youngest in a family of seven children, she always had an overly creative mind and an active imagination. She favours the dark and deadly when writing—her genres of choice being fantasy and horror—but she has been known to venture into the light on occasion. As an indie author she’s published novels, novellas and story collections, with a few side trips into poetry.


The Captain

Captain Rafe Morrow paced the quarterdeck of his ship, Celestial Jewel, the signs of an oncoming squall setting him on edge. Blustering wind rattled the sails and the crew’s nerves, their usual jaunty hubbub reduced to grumbling and snipes. Trouble travelled on that wind. Rafe could smell it woven in the air, and his blood prickled with a sense of worry. The ship trembled as if with warning. He glared at the sky and its darkening clouds painted amber and crimson from the setting sun. A storm sky coming ahead of a full moon meant dark magic and sea monsters would prowl the waves this night.
The Moon Goddess will hold sway tonight.
A trickle of blue energy raced across the back of his hand at the thought.
Damn her…and her beasts.
On the breath of a sigh, he whirled to face his crew. “Storm’s coming, boys. Doesn’t bode well, not with the moonrise tonight.”
“How long, Captain? Will we be in the thick of the weather or just what comes after?” A rough-edged sailor, Pinky Jasper, spoke up, but all ears of the deck crew listened for an answer.
“It’s coming within an hour or two, out from Raven Rock, by my reckoning. After nightfall by certain. We’re heading in, boys, but we’ll likely hit the edge of it.” He heaved a breath, exhaling. “It’ll be a bad one even for this crew so expect trouble.”
A shiver of tension settled over the deck. Some of the crew cast worried glances at the sea and each other. Others shivered, and a few more whispered prayers. Storms brought bad memories and nervous anticipation to the sailors of this ship.
“Which port then, Captain?” The mariner at the ship’s wheel chimed in. “Might make Abersythe if we head north.”
“We might, Anders. But we head east. We’ll race the edge of the tempest, but it’s closer and the ship will find better shelter anchored at Crickwell Island.”
“Aye, sir. Laying in course to Crickwell Island.” One-Eyed Anders turned the wheel and the ship’s bones groaned. Others of the crew adjusted the sails, and the Celestial Jewel leaned into her new bearing headed east.

Instafreebie preview (download the first four chapters free):

Monday, November 13, 2017

Meet Garth Pettersen and his novel The Swan's Road

In the eleventh century, Cnute, the Viking king of Engla-lond and Scandinavia, sails with his son, Harald, and his shield brothers to Rome. Thrown off course by a storm, they follow the route up the Rhine. When Harald hangs back to assist Selia, a beautiful Frisian woman, his path turns perilous. Newfound enemies, retainers of Robert the Devil, Duke of Normandy, pursue them. Harald, Selia, and their companions fail to rendezvous with King Cnute, and are forced to travel cross-country on horseback. If Duke Robert's plan to assassinate Cnute succeeds, an invasion of Engla-lond will follow. Can Harald and Selia reach Rome in time to warn the King?

A Rose by Any Other Name…

          Words interest me. I love learning new words and researching word origins (etymology). Words have two aspects: how they sound and what they mean. When it comes to names, what they mean no longer matters to us, but there is a third aspect, what associations they have for the reader.
          As a writer, I have a number of resource books at hand such as Chambers Slang Dictionary, Medieval Terms and Phrases, and Dictionary of Surnames. One useful resource is The Baby Name Survey Book, by Bruce Lansky and Barry Sinrod. The subtitle reads, "What people think about your baby's name". So you're writing a romance novel and you have a male character who is a sloppy ne'er-do-well and you want to call him Freeman. This reference book tells you "people picture Freeman as a handsome, neat, well-dressed, proud, and wealthy black man." Several examples are listed: football's Freeman McNeil, actor Morgan Freeman. I won't dwell on this; the point is to consider associations the reader may have with a name.
          Historical fiction is a genre I write in and the time I spend choosing character names is enjoyable. One story I am writing has the protagonist wash up on the Falkland Islands in the early nineteenth century. I don't wish to have him struggle with Spanish speakers, so I make the patriarch of the family who find him Irish––having first researched and discovered many Irish soldiers settled in Argentina after a failed invasion by Britain. My naming process is to google Irish surnames, read through the lists, and pull out several possible choices. I narrow the list down to four or five. In this case, they were:
·        MacGuigan
·        MacGrealish
·        MacKigo
·        O'Hehir
·        O'Hagan
          Then I do the same with Irish male Christian names. I found so many good ones.
·        Darragh
·        Ciaran
·        Cleary
·        Clooney
·        Murtagh
·        Ruari (Rory)
·        Tierney
          What becomes important to me now is the sound and rhythm of when first and last name come together. I came up with one of the most rhythmic names: Clooney MacKigo. Say it aloud a few times. Feel the rhythm? You could probably tap it out on a drum. And I'm getting a sense of the character. Clooney will have a sense of humor, but MacKigo is strong-willed and a force to be reckoned with.
          I have used this process with The Swan's Road, my novel set in eleventh-century Europe. I have had to find names for medieval Saxons, Danes, Frisians, Normans, Welshmen, European Jews, and Italians. Usually, I have an idea for the character and I search for a suitable name. I named my female protagonist, a determined and confident beauty, Selia Fehr––forgive me the play on Selia the Fair, I just loved the name. One good thing about a period and ethnic names is they do not carry the baggage discussed earlier.
          Here is an excerpt from The Dane Law, a sequel to The Swan's Road, and a work in progress. My protagonist, Harald, and his friends are kidding another Danish friend, Yngvarr about how the king will reward him.

            "…so he may give you gold…"
            Yngvarr's eyes opened wide.
            "…or land.."
            Yngvarr took on the look of a puffed up grouse in full courtship. He took another swig of ale.
            "…or he may do you the ultimate of honor of marrying you to my ugly cousin, Gullborga."
            We three doves aside as Yngvarr sprayed his mouthful of ale across the table.
            "I beg of your pardon," Yngvarr said to Selia as he wiped the table with his sleeve.
            "It is all right," she told him. "Harald must have his jesting." She gave a look to me and shook her head slightly.
            "You don't have an ugly cousin Gullborga, do you, Harald?"
            "No, Yngvarr. In truth, I do not."
            "Well then, that's good."
            "No, her name's Bothilda and she's twice your size!"
            "Ah, you won't be catching me twice on that one," said Yngvarr, "besides, the bigger the woman, the warmer the bed. I've always admired a woman with plenty to hold on to."

         This is a playful scene that only works because of the choice of particularly unflattering names for the imagined cousin. I hope it ended on a positive note for bountiful women.
          One other important thing a writer should do is keep track of names and avoid using ones that look similar or are the same. I have read novels where they have two Michaels or a Michael and a Michelle. I keep an alphabetical list and try not to double up on monikers starting with the same letter. A fast reader may mix up the names. You would not have a Terry and a Jerry, even if they were twins.
         I'll end with a few of the fictional character names I used in The Swan's Road and let you determine what kind of character qualities each conjures up.
·        Alric
·        Bertran deZouche
·        Floriano Roncalli
·        Ravya ben Naaman
·        Urbano Pupo
         To see if you are right, you'll have to read The Swan's Road. I hope this article gives you a greater appreciation of well-named characters. And if you were to change your name…


             Garth Pettersen is a Canadian writer who lives in the Fraser Valley near Vancouver, British Columbia. When he's not writing, he's riding horses and working with young, disabled riders.Garth's short stories have appeared in a number of anthologies, and in journals such as Blank SpacesThe Spadina Literary Reviewand The Opening Line Literary 'Zine. His story River's Rising was awarded an Honourable Mention for the Short Story America 2017 Prize, and his fantasy novella, River Born, was one of two runners-up in the Wundor Editions (UK) Short Fiction Prize. His debut novel, The Swan's Road will be released November 15th, by Tirgearr Publishing.


Friday, October 13, 2017

#OctoberFrights - Day 4 - Lucky Friday the 13th


Ever wondered why we regard number 13 unlucky? And especially Friday the 13th?
Friday the 13th occurs at least once every year, and up to three times a year. In 2017, it occurs twice, on January 13 and October 13.There will be two Friday the 13th per year until 2020, where 2021 and 2022 will have just one occurrence. I bet you didn't know that.
The fear of the number 13 has been given a scientific name: "triskaidekaphobia" (how's that for a tongue twister?); and on analogy to this the fear of Friday the 13th is called paraskevidekatriaphobia (and if the first word haven't got your tongue in a knot, this one will for sure), from the Greek words Paraskeví (Παρασκευή, meaning "Friday"), and dekatreís (δεκατρείς, meaning "thirteen").

The superstition surrounding this day may have arisen in the Middle Ages, "originating from the story of Jesus' last supper and crucifixion" in which there were 13 individuals present in the Upper Room on the 13th of Nisan Maundy Thursday, the night before his death on Good Friday. While there is evidence of both Friday and the number 13 being considered unlucky, there is no record of the two items being referred to as especially unlucky in conjunction before the 19th century.
An early documented reference in English occurs in Henry Sutherland Edwards' 1869 biography of Gioachino Rossini, who died on a Friday 13th:
He [Rossini] was surrounded to the last by admiring friends; and if it be true that, like so many Italians, he regarded Fridays as an unlucky day and thirteen as an unlucky number, it is remarkable that on Friday 13th of November he passed away.
A suggested origin of the superstition—Friday, 13 October 1307, the date Philip IV of France arrested hundreds of the Knights Templar—may not have been formulated until the 20th century. It is mentioned in the 1955 Maurice Druon historical novel The Iron King (Le Roi de fer), John J. Robinson's 1989 work Born in Blood: The Lost Secrets of Freemasonry, Dan Brown's 2003 novel The Da Vinci Code and Steve Berry's The Templar Legacy (2006).

Social impact

According to the Stress Management Center and Phobia Institute in Asheville, North Carolina, an estimated 17 to 21 million people in the United States are affected by a fear of this day, making it the most feared day and date in history. Some people are so paralyzed by fear that they avoid their normal routines in doing business, taking flights or even getting out of bed. "It's been estimated that [US]$800 or $900 million is lost in business on this day". Despite this, representatives for both Delta Air Lines and now-defunct Continental Airlines have stated that their airlines do not suffer from any noticeable drop in travel on those Fridays.
In Finland, a consortium of governmental and nongovernmental organizations led by the Ministry of Social Affairs and Health promotes the National Accident Day (kansallinen tapaturmapäivä) to raise awareness about automotive safety, which always falls on a Friday the 13th.The event is coordinated by the Finnish Red Cross and has been held since 1995.

Rate of accidents

A study in the British Medical Journal, published in 1993, concluded that there "is a significant level of traffic-related incidences on Friday the 13th as opposed to a random day, such as Friday the 6th, in the UK." However, the Dutch Centre for Insurance Statistics on 12 June 2008 stated that "fewer accidents and reports of fire and theft occur when the 13th of the month falls on a Friday than on other Fridays, because people are preventatively more careful or just stay home. Statistically speaking, driving is slightly safer on Friday the 13th, at least in the Netherlands; in the last two years, Dutch insurers received reports of an average 7,800 traffic accidents each Friday; but the average figure when the 13th fell on a Friday was just 7,500.

Source Wikipedia

Happy Friday the 13th

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Wednesday, October 11, 2017


It's the time of year when you'll find everything horror-themed from toilet paper to the every store isle just bursting with all things Halloween.  
In this blog hop, I’m giving away a signed paperback copy of my time travel/divine intervention romance novel, Love Remains. It’s the first book in this particular sub-genre I've written. And to boot, there’s an entire blog hop of MORE great giveaways. You really can’t lose here.
To enter this giveaway, use the Rafflecopter below. To enter the other giveaways, scroll down to the blog hop.
Front CoverOlivia Owen, a busy, single, high-functioning, corporate executive officer, is not afraid to die a spinster for the sake of her career. But in an alternate reality world, bridged by the angel of her sister with Down syndrome, she meets Tom Medar, a dedicated, Croatian defense attorney who dreams of the right woman, but never has time to find her. Together, they foil an adulterous murder plot while discovering there’s room for love and family in their busy lives - but not before they are separated again.
When they awaken from their alternate world, will they be able to cross countries to find each other again?

“This is quite perplexing,” he said, glancing at her then back at the computer screen where he pointed at the middle of the scan. “There are no signs of brain damage or any unusual growth. There is a slight elevation of the brain-stem activity in your sleep promoting area. That is where REM sleep originates.”
She leaned closer when Dr. Mason pointed to gray and black picture on the computer screen. “Are you saying I’m dreaming all of this?”
The doctor slid his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “No, you’re awake and aware. I’m not certain why your brain is firing these neurons. Perhaps more observation is needed.”
On the verge of disclosing her theory, she clamped her teeth and forced her thoughts to Tom. His wife would return someday soon, and she’d find herself once again in her empty house with not a soul for a friend. “So, what do I do now?”
“You’re feeling fine, so I’ll discharge you. I hope Tom is satisfied with my decision.” Dr. Mason arched one eyebrow at Tom.

Tom’s long, loud sigh confirmed her suspicion: Dr. Mason’s diagnosis, or lack of it, was not satisfactory. “At least promise me you’ll re-examine her scans and make certain you didn’t overlook something."
“I promise. And if her condition doesn’t improve or worsens with time, I’ll conduct another scan.” Dr. Mason extended his hand to Tom.
Tom shook the doctor’s hand. “Thanks, Gregory. I appreciate this.”
“Don’t mention it.” Dr. Mason extended his hand to Olivia. “Don’t beat yourself over this. Take it easy. Even the smallest thing can trigger your memory to return and I hope it does.”
If he only knew that her memory never left her. She took his hand and shook it. “I do hope so too, Dr. Mason. Thank you for all your help.”
Olivia met Tom in the hallway. Frigid air wrapped around her as soon as she stepped onto the sidewalk. She welcomed the coldness, hoping it would help clear her head.
“I’m parked just over there.” Tom pointed to a row of cars in the emergency parking lot.
The sight of her Nissan Quest brought her a sense of home. “Where’s your car?”
“I cabbed to Dr. Law’s office and drove your van.” He took her hand. “You must be hungry. Have you eaten at all today?”
She pressed her hand on her growling stomach. “Now that you mention it, I’m starving.”
“I’ve a nice stew simmering in the slow cooker.” He opened the door for her then shut it after she took her seat.
When he slid behind the wheel, his nu-buck coat creaked. “Let’s go home. The babysitter has an early class tomorrow.”
Wow! He’d thought of everything. In all this craziness, she’d forgotten about the kids. She studied his aquiline profile in the fading light of the short wintry day. She was getting used to him looking after her. When his real wife returned and she got pulled back to her ordinary world, it would be so hard to go on day after day without him.
Perhaps it would be better if she never disclosed her theory to him, or helped him solve the attempted murder case. She could stay in his world forever.
No, it wouldn’t be fair. This sweet man deserved to have his wife back and his children needed their mother. That was something she could never be.
With a hard swallow, she clamped down a sudden desire to play his wife. “Tom, I think I know the source of this confusion.”

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Tuesday, October 10, 2017

#OctoberFrights Celebrating all things that go bump in the night

That horrific Halloween I want to put behind me.

Is there a Halloween you wish you could wipe out from your memory?
There is one I'm not fond of. It happened a few years back when the Blue Jays won their first World Series in years. My boyfriend at the time and I were invited to a house Halloween party of his colleague who lives in a rural area with lots of land around his house backing into the woods.
Throughout the evening the hosts organized several, fun and not so scary games and left the best for last. Close to midnight, they asked us to follow them to the edge of the woods and told us we're to take a stroll through there. Just keep to the right, everytime you come to the spot where the path branches, keep to the right and it will lead you back here, they said. You can't miss it, and it shouldn't take you more than ten minutes, tops. Okay, fifteen if we're slow walkers.

And so, off we went two by two, following the narrow path leading through the trees with bare branches. For a while, we could hear voices and laughter and even a few screams, I guess the hosts had a few of their buddies waiting in the bush to jump at the unsuspecting midnight strollers.  Thankfully, I saw a dark figure rising slowly from behind a bush and yelled "I see you there."
He straightened and removed his werewolf mask and said "Oh, crap. I'm having the worst luck tonight."
We continued on, bumped into a few more people on the path and followed them for a bit. They would go one way and we went the other. Always staying to the right. But there were just too many paths out there, who knew?
Eventually, the voices grew distant until we didn't hear anything. It was a calm night, not a breath of wind. Full moon washed everything in silver. I said to my (now ex) boyfriend, "It had to be more than ten minutes that we've been out here. Do you hear anyone? I don't."
His response was, "We're not that far gone. I bet by the next turn it will take us back to the house."
Well, the next thing I hear is water lapping on the shore. We're pretty much on the banks of the Lake Eire. It'll be quite a hike back to the house, but at least we found the paved road. By now I'm fuming. There are no houses on this road, and I really need the bathroom. So my only option is bushes. No cars were passing by and if they did, we must've made quite a sight. Me in a slinky little black dress and ruined heels and him in a dirty coveralls with a bad wig on which each strand stuck in its own direction. (Note to self, wash those cheap Halloween wigs and use hair conditioning so that they look okay).
We made it to the first house on the road, and only the house dog greeted us with loud barking. I was not amused but didn't want to scream at the poor dog and possibly wake up the household.
By the time we returned to our host's house, a few people made it back. They were quiet and sipped on the warm rum drink. The host himself had to get into his pickup and drive around to get the lost souls. Everyone and I mean every single one of us, got lost on those trails. Good thing this was way before the movie "The Blair Witch Project" or I think our experience would be much scarier.

Image result for dark woods in moonlight

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