My Autumnal Delights

As sure as the nights get colder and the shadows lengthen, autumn is upon us. You can hear an urgency to the sound of the crickets and cries of the birds in the morning, just a little louder, faster as winter approaches. Living in Ohio, we enjoy every season, and I adore all of them for their own unique charm. As much as I love tending my vegetable garden, cultivating and harvesting, autumn marks an end to the busy late summer canning I do. If you are a follower of mine on Facebook, then you know how much canning I do to preserve food for my family all year. I still have produce growing, but with the shorter days and cooler nights it is looking a little paltry. We aren’t expecting frost for a couple of weeks and the sun is shining bright during the day so my tomatoes are still holding on strong. I find myself scouring the green bean bushes (the ones my cocker spaniels haven't eaten) hoping to find one more green bean and being excited when I find three. The corn the farmer planted behind my house has turned golden and papery, fluttering in the crisp breeze, it’s color matching the fur of my two little dogs as they run the fence line, smelling and searching for something. Who only knows what that might be?

Fall is a magical time of year. It provides a reason for me to get out one of my cute hats or cardigans, and pull out a pair of boots that hasn’t seen light of day in six months. Maybe get out some new lipstick, oranges or autumnal browns. And I get to use my favorite word “autumnal”—my customers in the salon know that they're not allowed to ask for a “fallish” nail polish LOL.

While many people fixate on the spookiness of the season, for me, autumn is more than the days centered on Halloween. It's a beautiful three months of the world getting ready for bed. And right now it's still twilight, and winter is a long way off. My vegetables are still growing, albeit slowly, and I can still get away with the flip-flops. Though now when I go out into the garden in the morning, the ground stays damp longer and the dew is icy and wet between my toes—I kinda love it. The coffee taste better too, don't you think? It's warmer, sweeter and so much more satisfying with a dash of pumpkin spice cream and a cool nip in the air. Autumn beckons you to cuddle up in the morning with a good book, to pick apples or just to go for one more long walk as the leaves fall around you.
What is your favorite thing about autumn? 

Maybe curling up with a good book?

How about a sexy version of THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW?   Right now you can get a copy of my retelling and two other erotic fairy tales of mine on Amazon for only .99. My Sleepy Hollow is sexy twist on the old classic tale. A perfect autumn story, complete with lots of autumnal pastimes, just a little spook, and of course hot sex—this is me we're talking about LOL ~Deanna THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW Blurb:

Ichabod Crane, town schoolmaster and self-proclaimed supernatural expert, wants to better his situation by marrying the wealthy Katrina Van Tassel. But, there is a rival for her attentions. Local hero, Brom Bones. Brom lives to torment and tease Ichabod, leaving the schoolmaster wondering if he is more interested in besting his rival than winning Katrina’s hand. Especially when each time Ichabod goes into the backroom of his favorite tavern – a place men can be men –his imagination conjures Brom's face on every lover. Late one night, Ichabod is chased by the legendary Headless Horseman. Terrified the ghost wants his head, he tries to outrun the specter. To his horror, he is taken captive by the evil spirit. Ichabod awakens, naked and tied to a bed, only to discover the Headless Horseman is none other than his rival Brom Bones! Brom confesses that Ichabod has been haunting his own fantasies and he vows to make Ichabod Crane his in every way. Ichabod wants to believe the pleasure Brom offers comes from his heart, but he is afraid it is another one of Brom’s tricks. Though surely an enemy's touch has never felt like this... ~Excerpt~ Squinting into the dark room, Ichabod’s vision began to cooperate and he soon could make out shapes in the dark. He was not alone. With him was a tall figure in a long black cape the proportions of which were surely made for a giant. A choked whimper escaped him. The Headless Horseman had taken him prisoner! “What is it that you want with me?” Ichabod demanded, unable to disguise the tremor in his voice. There was no answer. However the air crackled with the menace of what might come. Or perhaps the threat was insinuated by the fact Ichabod was tied naked to a bed. Such was not a customary welcome in these parts, nor did it bode well for the intent of his captor. The ghost stirred on the other side of the room and the hairs on Ichabod’s scalp and neck rose to sharp attention when he heard the scraping sound of a knife. His eyes, still accustomed to the dark, struggled to work in the sudden glittering orange light which now filled the room. Surely that glow must have come from the pits of Hell itself! Ichabod thrashed against his restraints, convinced beyond a shadow of doubt that the Hessian was sharpening a butcher knife over a flame to ease with the task of removing Ichabod’s head from his body. But, struggle as he might, he could not loosen the ropes. Collapsing in defeat, he fought to swallow his rising alarm. Dread coiled like a scaly constrictor around his insides and tears began to pour down his face. He could not stop them nor could he contain the trembling of his body. Seeing no means of escape, he began to plead, “Do not take my head, Hessian, please.” There was an answering chuckle that registered somewhere in the lucid recesses of Ichabod’s mind. “What use would I have for your head when I have my own?” Racing along with the sheer panic and dismay, a spark of familiarity ignited in Ichabod and he ceased to cry. He repeated the sound of that voice in his mind, wondering if his ears had deceived him, like his eyes. His altered perception was not unexpected, what with being naked and bound to a bed. Yet, now that he looked more closely he saw that the monstrous being before him was in full possession of its own head and, therefore, did not have a use for Ichabod’s own cranium. Nor was the masked specter honing a blade with Hellfire. His captor had simply lit a lone candle and that sharp sound had been the match striking the wall. When the specter turned and pulled off its mask, black corkscrew curls stretched, then sprang back into shape. Ichabod gasped in surprise. Why, the head atop the Horseman’s neck belonged to none other than Brom Bones! His fright and terror were replaced with new emotions at the speed of an advancing legion of demons. Anger and rage filled the mild mannered schoolteacher. He fought the bindings furiously. “What is the meaning of this, Brom Bones?” The man said nothing as he unclasped his long cloak and draped it across the chair. He tossed the mask aside, too. Ichabod now realized the black mask was how this dastardly man had camouflaged the existence of his head as he chased him through the black night. He must have known Ichabod's wild imagination would allow the shadows to render his cranium invisible and turn that blasted pumpkin on the pommel of the horse into the Hessian’s missing head! Thoughts raged in Ichabod’s mind like a swarm of molested bees and he tried to gather them up and make sense of them. For everything there was a likely explanation and he could think of only one reason Brom Bones had taken him captive. “You believe doing this to me will help you win Katrina Van Tassel?” Ichabod cried, his muscles bulging as he strained to break the ropes once more. “Is it not bad enough you have broken into my schoolhouse with your gang and left the place in complete disrepair? Is it not enough that you mock me for being tall and thin? Now you should tie me naked to this bed in order to humiliate me? Is there no honor in you at all?” Ichabod had worked himself into a hysterical state of agitation and Brom Bones did not seem surprised as he calmly took a seat on the chair. “It is for none of these reasons you speak of that I do this.” His pulse roared in his ears and he wrestled with the restraints, hating that his nudity was laid bare to his enemy and that he was so utterly helplessness. “Release me!” “No, not until I have my way.”

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A retelling of “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”

This time of year people ARE always fascinated with the classic story written by Nathaniel Hawthorne, THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. Disney did a fun cartoon version of it, Johnny Depp starred as Ichabod Crane and now there is a new TV show Sleepy Hollow, starring the sexy Tom Mison on Fox. It’s an autumnal favorite, and no Halloween is complete without it.

Over the years there have been many retellings of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and many are   not familiar with the original version. In the original story Ichabod Crane is a stuffy, arrogant and stern schoolmaster living in the Colonial American town of Tarrytown, New York. He has a rival named Brom Bones, a big, strapping prankster who rides around on a giant black horse named Daredevil. Both men are vying for the hand of the beautiful Katrina Van Tassel, the prettiest and richest girl in town. Though the two men are rivals for Katrina’s attention, it's very apparent that Ichabod is more interested in her orchards and properties than any other “fruits” that she has to offer. Brom Bones does his best to humiliate Ichabod and embarrassed him at every turn, which isn't that difficult considering Ichabod offers him a lot of material to work with. The poor sod has no chance of winning Katrina’s hand, but Brom is determined to make sure that never happens.

Now the Headless Horseman is a local legend about a Hession soldier whose head got chopped off during the American Revolutionary War and he haunts the area known as Sleepy Hollow. On the night of a quilting frolic at the Van Tassel Estate, Ichabod is not only bested with wits and storytelling by Brom Bones, but he is also rejected by Katrina. Dejected, Ichabod returns home only to lose control of his bedraggled horse, Gunpowder. The horse leads him into the ghostly Sleepy Hollow, a place Ichabod is terrified of. Here he is chased by the Headless Horseman in the exciting chase we all know and love.

The catch is that there was never a ghost chasing Ichabod Crane!

All the while, the specter was Brom Bones. He dressed up as the Headless Horseman to scare Ichabod Crane so much that the other man would disappear, and he could have Katrina Van Tassel all to himself—a plan which works out perfectly because Brom and Katrina do get married and no one hears from the poor schoolmaster again.

When the idea originally came to me to turn this classic American story into an erotic tale, my first thought was a ménage between Brom, Ichabod and Katrina where I would follow a version of the same ending and Ichabod would be run out of town and humiliated. But then I thought it would be very unfair to do that to poor Icky, and frankly the ménage idea seemed the most obvious.

So I decided that Brom Bones had a different reason for tormenting and teasing Ichabod Crane than vying for the hand of some girl. Maybe Brom masqueraded as the Headless Horseman because he had something naughtier up his sleeve involving the uptight schoolmaster. I don’t think Mr. Hawthorne intended anyone to be doing the nasty in his tale, but what I came up with doesn’t deviate too much from the original narrative.....well that is until somebody wakes up naked and tied to a bed!!!

Please enjoy this exclusive excerpt from my version of THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. I don't think you'll ever think of Ichabod Crane the same again :-)

EXCERPT:

Brom was mounted on his favorite steed, Daredevil, a creature like himself, full of spit and vinegar, and no one could ride but him. He was known to prefer vicious animals, which kept the rider in constant risk of breaking their neck. “Tell me, Ichabod, did you receive a personal invitation from the young Miss Van Tassel or the one the little houseboy delivered?”

Ichabod shifted in the saddle, for he had received a visit from the houseboy, and if one were to judge by the self-satisfied grin Brom wore, he had received the former of the two invitations. Ichabod fussed irritably with the reins and Gunpowder lurched as if given instruction to run. Ichabod may have done something to confuse the horse, but he was seeing far too much red to accept such a possibility. He was convinced the horse was friends with Brom Bones and the two conspirators only wished to make him a fool.

After containing the beast and reseating himself in a wholly ungraceful fashion, Ichabod replied, “And of what business is that of yours?”

“I shall take that to mean Katrina did not call on you?” the dark haired man deduced, and his wretched companions laughed again. The man seemed to find a perverse joy in tormenting Ichabod. His black gaze skimmed him from head to foot in a very unsettling manner and his cocksure grin slanted to the left when he smiled. “Surely, she would have paid you a call had you been wearing this, your best rusty black suit. You make quite the impression.”

Ichabod longed to make an impression of his fist on Brom’s unusually clean-shaven face. Ichabod hated himself for even noting such a detail or that his rival was dressed in his finest, his white shirt roguishly open at the collar and indecently exposing his throat and a hint of chest hairs. Brom was striking atop his devilish steed. Meanwhile, Ichabod imagined he must look like a tall, skinny clown atop a squat, haggard gelding with a rusted bridle.

Oh, should Death come swift to save me now, he thought wildly.

“I see you have even combed and styled your pretty hair, as well,” Brom went on as if with genuine approval of Ichabod’s appearance.

There was a resounding rumble of laughter and Ichabod wished he could disappear like the ghosts which haunted the hollow that vanished at the first sign of daybreak. However, now that his vicious mount had chosen to peacefully munch on the grass littering the side of the road, Ichabod felt dignified enough to rejoin with, “And I see you must have had your annual bath.”

Brom threw back his head and roared with laughter at Ichabod’s impertinent reply. “Aye,” he agreed with a wink, which discombobulated Ichabod as always. “Many thanks for noticing.”

Ichabod could not think of a reply. He usually prepared witty rejoinders and clever recitals to flaunt his vastly superior intellect over Brom. However, none of his practiced retorts were applicable at the moment, which might be for the best. For after those, albeit rare, moments when Ichabod bested his opponent, Brom Bones would retaliate the only way he could. With practical jokes.

This endless battle, which to the casual observer was carried out in pursuit of Katrina’s hand, had quickly become a fight to discover which man could come out on top. For the more Brom Bones made Ichabod the focus of his energies, the more, in turn, the schoolmaster became obsessed with besting him. The burly man consumed all his waking thoughts and also occupied a foremost place in Ichabod’s dreams. But he cared not to dwell upon that.

“Do you ever let your hair down, Schoolmaster?” Brom asked suddenly.

As always, Ichabod’s blond locks were tied at his nape by a leather thong. Such a bizarre question baffled him. “What are you asking, Brom Bones?”

He often called him that, as schoolteachers enjoyed calling students by two names.

“Do you know how to have fun,” he clarified. “You are always so dignified and reserved. I often wonder if you can drop such a façade and actually have fun. You know? Run about and howl into the night.”

At this, several of his companions proceeded to howl like wild wolves.

Ichabod made a huffing sound. “Really, Brom Bones,” he said, “only one such as yourself would find gentlemanly behavior offensive. Perhaps you should try not behaving like a wild hooligan.”

Brom laughed. The sound resonated inside Ichabod’s bones and somewhere else he wished it did not. “Spoken like the stern schoolmaster that you are.”

Ichabod firmly believed in the notion “spare the rod and spoil the child,” and his students were seldom spoiled. If only he were given a chance to use that same rod on Brom Bones. See if he liked that! But immediately upon that notion, Ichabod was assaulted with the reverse image, of being bent over Brom’s knee and paddled repeatedly. Blood and heat suffused his groin and he covered it up with much fussing with his jacket.

“Tell me, Schoolmaster,” Brom began, his dark brows low over eyes as black as his heart. “If I were one of your students, would you dare to take me over your knee until I behaved in a manner pleasing to you?”

“There is doubtless nothing in existence which could render one such as yourself pleasing to me,” Ichabod rejoined, hating how the other man seemed to be able to read him as if he were a book.

Once more, Brom threw back his head with a mighty laugh, his black curls bobbing and his eyes dancing mischievously. “Oh, we shall have to disagree on that for now, Schoolmaster.”

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SUNSET ON SUMMER FUN----Summer to Fall

There are certain things in summer that we love--beach, cook-outs, hot dogs on the grill, sunburn, gardens--but also all the wonderful things we love about autumn-- apples, changing leaves, cooler weather, cuter clothes, pumpkin flavored EVERYTHING!!

In our romance novels we love setting and mood. In December we LOVE holiday themes, but what about now???

During the SUNSET ON SUMMER FUN blog where you have a chance to win a Kin dle or a Nook everyont is talking about what we will miss when summer ends, but it is also a shadow of the beautiful things to come in the fall.

Please enjoy these two seasonal excerpts!

SUMMER:

Martin donned his sunglasses and headed outside to one of the resort’s more popular bars.
Glad he’d opted to dress casual today—Sperry deck shoes would fare sooo much better at the beachside cabana than his usual wingtip Oxfords—he followed the sand-dusted wooden path. The tropical sun warmed his skin, making him wish he’d worn short trousers. His blood had thinned so much down here, once he returned home he’d have to wear his heaviest pullovers.
A vaguely familiar steel-drum tune danced in the air around the Tiki structure. Strings of colorful lights hung from the thatched roof along with tin signs advertising different beers and that it was five o’clock somewhere.

--ACCIDENTALLY BEAUTIFUL






FALL:
Closing his eyes on the black specter, Ichabod whimpered, “Please, do not kill me.”
Before the words left his trembling lips, a giant fist snatched him by the scruff of the neck. Ichabod’s scream was heard throughout the Hollow, piercing the night and doubtless startling sleeping children on nearby farms from dreams of apple picking, hayrides, and other such autumnal delights. And as that shrill sound echoed back to Ichabod, it brought a new wash of terror over him as he was bodily thrown over the lap of the Horsemen.

--THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW




 This September we will be giving away a GRAND PRIZE of a Kindle or Nook (winner’s choice) for the “Sunset on Summer Fun” blog hop. Authors have helped sponsor this great hop with donations of funds for the grand prize along with the donation of your books if you are an author to go on the E-Reader or the international gift-packages.

Please post a comment for a chance to win a book from my backlist!!!

Ichabod and the Vampire's Girlfriend

Firstly, Ichabod Crane would like to thank Miss Wadsworth for allowing him the use of her blog to champion a subject he has been passionate about for some time:

There Are No Such Thing As Ghosts!

The following interviews are all his thoughts and Miss Wadsworth would like to post them all with the declaimer: These interviews have no bearing on her own personal beliefs. Please hold none of Ichabod's nonsense against her.

Yes, well that was most unnecessary, Miss Wadsworth. Nonetheless, I am the schoolmaster in Tarrytown, New York and recently it has been brought to my attention that more than just my students are in want of a proper education. In my century there are many superstitious folks who tell tales of ghosts and goblins.

Well, Miss Wadsworth has kindly arraigned for me to interview a sampling of these, shall we call them ‘special’ people. Over the next two weeks they will be stopping by so that they may be given a chance to try and convince me that they are telling the truth and not simply barking mad.
So let's get started!

Ichabod : Today we have with us Catherine Ela whose story is being featured in a book entitled DRACULA'S KISS by JoAnne Kenrick, released 20^th October. Catherine, aka Cathela, claims she just discovered vampires are a reality. Now, why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?

Cathela: Well, hello Ichabod. I would say I'm looking forward to this interview...but I've a feeling you'll scoff at everything that comes out my mouth. Perhaps, though, once you see I'm a very level headed person, you might find it within yourself to be a little more open-minded about the supernatural occurrences you seem so adamant to disbelieve.

Ichabod: You doo seem to be a level headed woman, I must say. And completely human as well

Cathela: I'm a born 'n bred Essex girl. No. I don't wear white shoes and dance around my handbag, before you ask. Okay, so that might be a reference only Brits will understand, but you seem worldly enough to 'get it'. I'm a bank-teller, have been for many years. Before my awakening, I lived with a fellow banker. We had plans, and life was all about saving so we could afford to buy our own house. But there was a part of me that longed for something more. Something...different. Like you, I thought the paranormal belonged in fiction. And I did enjoy a movie about vampires. Their passion and thirst for life, even without a beating heart, appealed to me, and made me dream of a time where I could find such love and experience that feeling of not being able to be without the other.

And then, one night during a Halloween ball, my desires for something more got me in trouble. My boyfriend left me, sick of my vamp fetish, and I met Alec Murray. Of course I didn't know it at the time, but I had come face to face with a vampire. And since that night, my life has been anything but predicable.

Ichabod: You don’t say? Now give me an example of how that works?

Cathela: Well...who's to say what loving a vampire is going to bring from one day to the next. And the not knowing is what thrills me after what seems like an eternity of boredom. His passion for me is insatiable, his ability to please me impeccable, and it's a joy to share his thirst to enjoy every day rather than planning for what will be.

Ichabod: More comments from Ichabod…Well since you continue to insist that this is true, do you have any proof? Any other people that might vouch for your sanity?

Cathela: ((removes a lace scarf and undoes a few buttons from her dress. She then caresses just above her bosom and sighs in a dream-like way, her eyes glazing over suggesting she's fantasizing about hot vampire-sex)) See, bite marks. Alec did this.

Ichabod: (((blusters))) My word! Are those bite marks?

Cathela: yup

Ichabod: Unfortunately you appear unable to be reasoned with. Why don’t we discuss something more neutral? Can you tell me about this charlatan that has written your story?

Cathela: JoAnne? A charlatan? I don't think so. She writes the truth! JoAnne, like you, has studied the paranormal. Only her mind is a little...well a lot...more open than yours. Perhaps that's because she's seen a few things. The stuff she has come across would certainly cause you to break out in goosebumps and jump over the skeptic line. She's an ex ghost tour guide turned author, and has had many articles published about the paranormal published. JoAnne now writes stories about folks she's met while moving around the globe..ranging from Irish bar men to Liverpudlian gypsies and of course vampires. Did you know she's lived in five different countries? JoAnne's mind sure is broad. Not saying yours isn't, Ichabod, but--

Ichabod: Is there a way I can contact JoAnna so that I may speak with her personally about the nonsense she is perpetuating?

Cathela: She is so-o not going to be impressed with your attitude, Mister. You best tread carefully , and keep your skepticism to a polite level when you speak to her. She may just write a book about you. I'm guessing it won't be pretty. But since you are so insistent—I never could resist a man in command. If it weren't for finding my true love already, I might have to flirt with you a little—you can find her almost everywhere. She is addicted to social networks. Unfortunately. She would do better to write more stories about myself and Alec...we have many bedroom adventures JoAnne could tantalize her readers with. Here's all the places you find can find her, when she should be writing. YouTube Facebook. Twitter

Ichabod: And where can my followers purchase this book if they wish for a good laugh? I’m, assuming it is in the fiction category (((snort, snort )))

Cathela: erm, hello! Didn't you see the bite marks? ((Cathela shoves her bosom in Ichabods face)) Fiction indeed? I'm taking it that you never saw Anthony Stuart Head's True Horror documentary that proves vampires are real? It's in the vampire romance section..because that's what it is. Silly! By the way, where can we find your story? In the lunatic skeptic section? ((Cathela lets out a belly laugh)) And since you seem so insistent on, you can find here: Decadent Publishing Kindle US Kindle UK ARe BookStrand SmashWords. Perhaps once you've read it, your mind will be changed...and you will cross over to the dark side of believing in something non two dimensional.

Ichabod: Perhaps, but perhaps not.

Now if our readers would like to read it, all they have to do is leave a comment below and one lucky person will win DRACULA'S KISS and copy of THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW

BOOK BLURB:

Cathela's Office Halloween Ball is a complete bust. She spills out her Dracula's Bride costume, and her vamp fetish chases away her boyfriend. Only redeeming feature to the night? Necking multiple shots of Dracula's Kiss—a lush Black Cherry Vodka cocktail—and an interlude with a gorgeous man dressed Gary Oldman style.

No one comes close to satisfying Alec Murray's needs until he meets Cathela during some lame-ass party for bankers. One taste of her blood, sweet yet darkly dangerous, he knows she's perfect for him.

A night of goth bondage is planned for one. For the other, a night of sexual control is a must. A perfect fit. Alec is compelled to reveal his true nature, but can their relationship survive his dark secret?

BOOK VIDEO: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABDhDtQR9RA

Ichabod and The Ghost

Firstly, Ichabod Crane would like to thank Miss Wadsworth for allowing him the use of her blog to champion a subject he has been passionate about for some time:
There Are No Such Thing As Ghosts!
The following interviews are all his thoughts and Miss Wadsworth would like to post them all with the declaimer: These interviews have no bearing on her own personal beliefs. Please hold none of Ichabod's nonsense against her.

Ichabod: Yes, well that was most unnecessary, Miss Wadsworth. Nonetheless, I am the schoolmaster in Tarrytown, New York and recently it has been brought to my attention that more than just my students are in want of a proper education. In my century there are many superstitious folks who tell tales of ghosts and goblins.

Today we have with us Remy Charles from Las Vegas whose story is being featured in a book entitled GHOST OF A CHANCE by Deena Remiel.
He'll be sitting in the recording studio for some reason...doubtless to substantiate his claims of being turned into a ghost of a man no doubt. Now, why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?

Remy: Well, first Mr. Crane, thank you for the opportunity to lessen your skepticism as to the matter of ghosts. It may help a lot if we were actually in the same room for the interview. I understand, however, that for recording purposes, we have to sit in separate rooms. As for who I am, what I’m all about, it’s complicated. I was born and raised in Las Vegas. Parents didn’t have a pot to piss in, and it was a dreadful environment for me to grow up in. I dreamed of being so filthy rich that I’d never have to worry about when my next meal would be. I lived for school and education. It ultimately freed me from poverty.

Ichabod: I can relate to that, sir, being but a poor school teacher. Bet where does this ghost business come into your story?

Remy: I'm getting to that. I started my green company right out of college and married my college sweetheart. Here’s where it gets complicated, or messy at the very least. I was never home, always working, making a fortune, and becoming a building magnate in the process. The wife asked for a divorce, and besides taking a hefty chunk of my money, she laid a curse on me, the vengeful witch. I’ve been living my life ever since as a ghost.

Ichabod: So your ex-wife cursed you? And now you are a ghost? How so?

Remy: I can walk through walls, closed doors, any solid matter. That means I can’t touch anything or anyone. For a pretty good length of time, I can use my energy to create an outline of my form so I’m not completely invisible. But I do have to go invisible at regular intervals.

Ichabod: Naturally (((he scribbles in his notepad)))

Remy: It’s definitely changed my life, I can tell you that. Not for the better, either. I am so sick and tired of these jeans and t-shirt I’ve worn for the past 10 years! I miss the taste of food and a good beer. It’s put a real damper on all of my relationships, friends and lovers alike.

Ichabod: I suppose it would be difficult to take a lover if you have to be invisible. Do you have any proof of all this? Any other people that might vouch for your sanity?

Remy: Proof. You want proof. What more proof can I give other than being here? Why don’t you come into my recording room right now and see for yourself? Or are you afraid of letting go of your well-fortified false beliefs?


Ichabod: (((squirms in his seat))) I think I'll stay here where I am, thank you.

Remy: (((steals Ichabod's line)))Naturally. If you’re unwilling to believe your own eyes, I guess you could talk to Tracy, my ex-wife or Secoya, her voodoo-loving friend who put the Whammy on me.

Ichabod: I think I shall pass. I have spoken with people claiming to be witches, very confrontational creatures. Women and witches, actually. Now, an you tell me about this charlatan that has written your story?

Remy: Denial is a wonderful river isn’t it? All right, so you want to know a bit about Deena Remiel? I’ve got the biggest crush on her! Well, because for one, she believes I’m a ghost! Two, she’s written me a fabulously sexy woman, Susannah, and hot scenes that will surely have her smitten with me by the end of the book. This isn’t Deena’s first book, by the way. She’s been writing for a while now, ever since she became possessed by an invisible force and moved with her husband and two daughters from New Jersey to Arizona. In between blinking and teaching middle school kids how to write, she finds time to neglect the laundry, cleaning, and cooking in order to write more swoon-worthy books. If you want to talk with her yourself, make sure you have peanut M&M’s or Dove chocolate on hand. You’ll get a lot of info out of her that way. She’ll probably ask to take pictures and then scrapbook the whole event.

Ichabod: Well, she does sound like a lovely woman. Has she written anything else?

Remy: Another book she’s published with Decadent Publishing is a paranormal romance called TRINITY A BRETHREN NOVEL. RELIC, the second book in the series is coming soon. BRETHREN BEGINNINGS VOLUME 1, and PICTURE PERFECT are books she’s self-published. All are available wherever eBooks are sold.

Ichabod: Is there a way I can contact Deena so that I may speak with her personally about the nonsense they are perpetuating?

Remy: Let’s see if I can remember. Naturally, I can’t hold any paper nor write anything down. Oh yes, her website is www.deenaremiel.com. Her Brethren have a site of their own called, http://riseofthebrethren.wordpress.com. You can find her on FACEBOOK and Twitter. She also writes for a couple of blogs besides her own. She’s called Hot Lava Mama at PlotMamas. She writes Wednesday Witticisms every Wednesday at http://plotmamas.wordpress.com. Every 4th Thursday she writes about all things paranormal for the Para-Posse.

Ichabod: And where can my followers purchase this book if they wish for a good laugh? I’m, assuming it is in the fiction category (((snort, snort )))

Remy: Oh, oh, you’re hilarious, Crane, a regular riot. You can buy GHOST OF A CHANCE in a few places. First of all, you can buy right from Decadent Publishing
Or you can buy it from Amazon
It’s also available at AllRomanceEbooks and Smashwords

Ichabod: Thank you for stopping in, sir. You have been most helpful with my research.

As for the readers, if you would like to make a comment below, you can be entered to win this book GHOST OF A CHANCE and my own story THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW.

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