A Taste of Mirklin Wood #7


Mirklin Wood is on preorder now and I’ve dropped the price of The Willow Branch. And here is some more yummy goodness from the book itself.

Front Cover RedOn a narrow, swampy spit of land thrust into the Stormor like a fist, a collection of buildings lay silent and dark as a black vortex roiled from the ground to the heavens. Amid the swirling maelstrom, lightning flashed and daemons played. Far above the ground, where the air grew thin, the vortex threw off darkling offspring that piled up like thunderheads, spilling across the kingdom of Celdrya, seeking whom they might devour.


A circle of 13 had met in the etheric and built a spell to find the True King. Black mages had attempted this spell twice before in the century since King Perryn had been killed. They had yet to find the True King, but they’d discovered lots of ways…

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A Taste of Mirklin Wood #6


Front Cover RedAnother taste treat for those who are interested in the Daermad Cycle. I’m in the middle of formatting for paperback. Mirklin Wood will go up for pre-order on Amazon soon with publishing date planned for mid-March.

Gosh, I’m tired!

The Willow Branch goes off Kindle Select on Friday, so if you haven’t read it yet and you’re a Kindle Unlimited member, take a look.

I plan some deals when the book launches, but for now, that burn you smell is my nose to the grindstone in my capacity as publisher.


Founding Year 931 – High Celdrya

I have to find Donyl as quickly as possible! As soon as I finish with this.

Councilor Dumyr set yet another parchment before Gerriant, detailing his excellent management of affairs in the moon and a half since King Perryn had been brutally killed by his bosom friend. Dumyr could run the kingdom, if…

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A Taste of Mirklin Wood #5


This is sort of interesting – finding snippets to share that don’t give away too much of the story.

This scene involves Padraig’s niece Shyla, who will become an important character further in the series. This is sort of her introduction. Enjoy!

Front Cover RedInside the town, folk rushed about to secure anything that might be ruined or killed by the storm. Glynn led their clattering way up the broad curving avenue as wind carried a storm of dust over the wall and straight into Shyla’s face. Her horse shied sideways, blowing, as she struggled to get her hair out of her mouth and the dirt out of her eyes. When the tears blinked free, she cast about in mild anxiety, for she didn’t see Glynn or Matryc. The dust formed a whirlwind at the end of an alley. Her gut tightened. This felt … deliberate. Every fiber of her being…

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Interview with Nicole Sorrell


Today I’m very lucky to be interviewing Nicole Sorrell, author of The Art of Going Home, book 1 of The Art of Living series.

Nicole, if you were in a box of crayons, which color would you be, and why?

Sorrell Nicole Author Pic.pngI’d have to say a blue-green, like the color of the ocean. That’s because you get green by mixing yellow, (a warm color) and blue (which is a cool color). Adding a little more blue gets teal. I’m introvert, which I associate with cool colors. But I do have my moments of gregariousness, which I think correlates to a warm color, like yellow sunshine. And I’m also drawn to water. It’s very peaceful and cleansing.

Tell us a little about yourself.

I currently live in a rural area of the mid-west in the United States. After living in various parts of the U.S. and traveling abroad, I recently moved…

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A Taste of “Mirklin Wood” #4

The kingdom of Celdrya stands poised upon the edge of disaster as human factions, Celtic goddesses and black mages fight over the empty throne. These are some small tibits of what you might find in the book Mirklin Wood, scheduled to publish in March.


Front Cover RedRain fell in sheets from a sullen sky, filling the streets of Galornyn with fetid streams of mud that oozed toward the harbor in thick brown ropes like excrement loosed from a cesspit. The unnatural downpour had kept the city enthralled for three days now. Folk spoke of Hanaloran witchcraft while the merchants of the Southern Isles stood off the jetty awaiting a favorable wind for home.

In the markets, there was news that three academics from the collegiate had died as if strangled by unseen hands the night before the storm broke. The streets and taverns hummed with fear as every man, woman and child saw plague and sorcery round every corner.

Gregyn stood in the shadows of the dim interior of the temple of Bel, watching Naryna’s parents mourn their daughter, the whole of his saved wages arranged about her in guilty lavishness. He’d been unable to persuade the priests to provide this time of mercy for Naryn’s parents, but the priests of Bel in Galornyn liked coin as much as other men, though they pretended not to.

The failure of persuasion gnawed at him. A symptom of Talidd’s murderous spell, no doubt. Gregyn had not eaten for three days and his hands shook when he didn’t will them not to. His head ached and every muscle of his body throbbed as if he’d labored for days in a mine.

His gift proved as exhausted as his body. It would be some time before he could work magic again, though he could still feel its power on the edge of his awareness. He’d been fortunate. Others had not been. Naryna had died in his stead as other familiars had died in the place of their journeymen. The magic they’d unleased had poisoned the heavens with its potency.