A new release

Hi,

I'm Jennifer Childers and I write for the Wild Rose Press.
My new release "Kindertransport" will be out the seventh of August.
It is historical romance set in prewar nazi Germany. it's interesting to note Adolph Hitler was on a search for paranormal and occult artifacts when...
"AAA!"A figure approaches and gives Jennifer a shove. She screams and topples down hill. Alayna smirks and waves bye bye.

"Later loser," Alayna cracks her riding crop. "Listen up. This is a paranormal site and I'm, technically, paranormal. Werewolf or werekin if you prefer. I'm just a bit tired of the goody two shoes heroines and their pathetic tales of woe. Does he love me? Will he love me forever? Gads, suck it up or die you pathetic pup. If you want a man, grab him, take him and make him beg to be your slave. If he gives you a problem, beat him into submission. I'd say allow him to pleasure you but return him to the pack after about a week, that way you don't have all the soppy emotional crap keeping you from what's important. Watching a woman coo over a man just makes me want to put her out of her misery, permanently.
Historically speaking in 1433 Emperor Sigismund declared a disbelief in werewolves to be illegal. There is a reason for that, we're here. I remember tales of werewolves in post war Nazi Germany. I got enthused for nothing, they were just a bunch of guerilla fighters who couldn't accept defeat. They chose to die fighting rather than surrender. Now that I think about it, I respect that. I was bummed they weren't real werewolves however.
Our leader created us. Bigger, faster and stronger than any human. He is a scientific mastermind and strategist. When he is done waging war, and setting factions against one another, those left standing will be ripe for the plucking. Surrender now and I might be merciful, annoy me and hope your end comes swiftly. Know this one way or other, you will be on your knees trembling before my armies. I am Alayna and I am your overlord."

Love, death, and superstition

In times of superstition, legends of demons were rampant, and love was considered to be more powerful than any force of darkness.

One legend tells of Marcus and Brunhilda.

In a chapel they made vows, promising to God and company, that their love would always shine as a reflection of God's love for them. Each placed a silver ring on their beloveds finger to symbolize the eternal bond.

A ruckus was heard outside the chapel. The village was under attack. The doors burst open and warriors overtook the unarmed men. The women begged for mercy, but there was none to be had. Marcus fought bare handed, but fell on the stone floor, Brunhilda rushed to his side. She was hoisted from the floor and the raiders took her away.



The Huns were seen as demons. They had mis- shaped heads from being bound at birth, and they fought with a frenzy that couldn't be quelled until the ground ran red with streams of blood.

When every man in the village fell, the raiders claimed what they killed. The wives, homes and children became the property of the warrior who killed the head of their household. The Hun simply moved in as replacement for the one slain.

Brunhilda buried her husband's body in her garden, whispering a promise they would never again be parted. By day she stared into the garden, longing for the one she lost, by night she was a tool in the victor's hand.


Early one morning she woke. The overlord snored at her side. Brunhilda moved from the bed to slip across the room. She took the dagger from his belt, and as he lay sleeping, she plunged the blade deep into his gut, over and over until he moved no more.

Realizing what she had done, Brunhilda tried to flee into the woods, she was captured and hanged for her crime. Her body was left in the woods for the wolves.

The Huns moved onto other conquests. Those remaining looted the graves looking for tools and weapons. The grave of her beloved Marcus was opened. Instead of one body, there lie two. Brunhilda rest by his side, silver rings adorning the entwined hands.

Myths and legends of Wales

People who know me, understand that although I live in England, my heart is still in Wales where I was born, raised and lived most of my life. I love it dearly and miss the sea – and the mountains, where I competed in many long distance ‘endurance’ rides on my horse, Sal. I don’t think there is anywhere quite like Wales for inspiration. The land is full of legends and myths and ancient customs. The patron Saint of Wales is St David. Tomorrow is St David's Day and I will be wearing the traditonal daffodil to show my alliegance to my native land. I'll talk a little more about him on my own blog tomorrow, but today I thought I'd mention some of the myths and legends I came across when researching the background for my story in the 'Song Of The Muses' series from The Wild Rose Press. (I sent my Greek Muse to Wales - well she wanted a change of scenery!) :)

In one scene she runs into the 'Ellylldan' (Pronounced elch-chlith-dan.) These were evil sprites with glowing eyes and fire at their fingertips, reputed to lure unwary travellers to their doom by leading them into the bogs where they were lost for ever. Yes, Wales has her fair share of imps and demons - also lost civilisations. Not far from Aberystwyth, where I used to live, at low tide one can see the remains of a submerged forest. This is all that remains of Cantre'r Gwaelod, or Maes Gwyddno as it would have been known at the time 'Dancing With Fate' takes place. The legend is simlar to the 'Atlantis' story and tells how the little town was drowned when the appointed watchman attended a banquet given by the king, became intoxicated and left the water gates open. The town sank beneath the sea and it is said that if one stands on the beach on a quiet evening one can hear the church bells chiming beneath the waves.

Of course Wales has long been associated with the druids and Merlin (or Myrddin) who was ruputedly born in Caerfyrddin, a small mid Wales town which is named after him. (The English version is Carmarthen.) The symbol of Wales, on the Welsh flag, is the red dragon, and there is an interesting legend telling how this came about. King Vortigen was a British Monarch of post-roman Britain. After an incestuous affair with his daughter, he was obliged to flee to the county of Gwynedd where he was advised by his wizards to build a fortress, or 'dinas', now known as Dinas Emrys. He decided to strengthen his defences by building a tower, but each time the timber and quarried stones were carried to the site they disappeared over night.

His wizards recommended a human sacrifice of a 'fatherless child' and the child Merlin was brought. Before he could be put to death he announced that a lake lay the middle of the foundations. and beneath the lake two dragons fought, a red and a white one, representing the Britons and Saxons. He told the king it was pointless to try to build his tower on top of dragons, and he should leave and go somewhere safer. Vortigen realised there was something supernatural about the child and fled to the Lleyn Peninsular, after giving Dinas Emrys to Merlin. (Emrys is a form of Ambrose, derived from the Latin 'Ambrosius' pertaining to the gods, and is another name by which Melin was known). The red dragon later became the Welsh National emblem.

Then there is the legend of Devils's Bridge, also not very far from Aberstwyth, where I lived. It is actually three bridges one above the other, spanning a deep gorge with a spectacular waterfall and a deep pool known as 'The Devil's Punchbowl'. It is said the orginal bridge was built when an old lady lost her milk cow one day. The animal somehow managed to cross the river and she knew she could not wade across herself fearing she would be swept into the whirlpool. Suddenly Old Nick himself appeared and told her he would buld a bridge across the chasm if she gave him the soul of the first thing to cross it, knowing she would have to walk across to fetch her cow. She agreed, but was not as simple as she looked. Once the bridge appeared, she put her hand in her apron pocket and threw a crust of bread across the bridge. Immediately her little dog ran across to retrieve it. The devil, realising he was beaten, disappeared in an evil smelling cloud of smoke and was not seen in those parts again, leaving the old lady to fetch back her cow.

There are so many myths and legends of Wales, I could go on much longer. No wonder I love fantasy so much, growing up and living in wild and spectacular countryside, with such a wealth of stories to draw on, how could one fail to be inspired?

http://www.hywelalyn.co.uk
http://www.hywelalyn.blogspot.com
http://myspace.com/hywelalyn
My Freeread and purchase links

Caribbean Dreams of Love by Bess McBride Video Trailer!

Yes, it's true....I'm just nipping in at the last minute with the video trailer for my upcoming release (Friday, December 12 at www.thewildrosepress.com), CARIBBEAN DREAMS OF LOVE, a light paranormal featuring a lonely woman on a Caribbean cruise with her precocious teenage daughter, a mysterious musician, a ghost, a pirate, and nightly dinner tales of legends and curses. I had great fun with this video, especially taking the pictures!

Video Trailer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oEfgJ8Ng7lo

Blurb: Daisy and her sixteen-year-old daughter, Lily, are embarking on a Caribbean cruise. She isn’t looking for anything special on the cruise other than a pleasant break from her humdrum existence as long-time divorced single mother to a busy teenage girl. She certainly isn’t prepared for an enigmatic man named Peter whose idiosyncrasies in dress and speech mark him as an eccentric person to avoid. But Daisy can’t avoid him. In fact, she begins to obsess about him from the first moment she catches him staring at her in the cruise ship terminal. Peter remains elusive and mysterious throughout the cruise. She catches sight of him occasionally, never often enough to please her, and they connect one wonderful night as he sweeps her into his arms for a waltz. A waltz? On a Caribbean cruise ship? While Daisy’s dinner companions share nightly tales of the legends of cursed pirates, Daisy dreams of the mysterious man who has captured her heart.

Excerpt:
Bjorn glanced at his enrapt audience and took a deep breath. Daisy cringed. Something was coming.

“And with his last ounce of strength, Captain Smith grabbed his sword and plunged it in Gentleman Jones’ heart.”

A stab of pain seemed to knife through Daisy’s own heart, and she involuntarily put a hand to the painful spot just below her left collarbone.

Even Becky was speechless, her jaw hung open. Lily took a breath and asked the question uppermost in Daisy’s mind.

“Did he...does he...?”

“They say he still wanders the Caribbean, alone and lonely, a ghost with no hope of dying or returning to the living.”

Bjorn’s voice drifted away. He scanned the faces of his audience solemnly.

He shrugged. “But it’s just a silly story, one of many. Who knows if any of them are true?”

And in a surprise move, he picked up his fork and resumed eating. Johana smiled demurely and took a sip of water before she too resumed eating.

Bjorn’s stunned dinner companions stared at him. Lily, Daisy and Becky exchanged glances.

Jim broke the silence when he started laughing and clapped Bjorn on the back. Bjorn choked slightly and put his napkin to his lips.

“Well, you sure had us going. I’ll give you that. So...no truth to the story?”

Bjorn leaned slightly away from Jim and shrugged once again. “I find the Caribbean folklore fascinating, but many of the stories are just that. Stories. I heard this tale from a man in a museum in Nassau once. I liked it.” He gave the group a sheepish smile.

“So, it’s just a fairy tale?” Becky asked.

“Not a fairy tale,” Bjorn smiled slightly. “Just an old legend. If the story were true, we would have to believe in ghosts...and I for one do not care to think about such things.” He picked up his knife and fork again and began to cut his food, seemingly no longer interested.

“Just a legend,” murmured Johana. She shook her head in amusement. “A story. Bjorn has many.”

“Mom, what are you doing? Are you okay?”

Daisy turned to meet her daughter’s eyes. Lily nodded toward Daisy’s hand still dramatically clutched to her chest.

She colored and dropped her hand. The pain had eased.

Such a sad story!

Bess McBride
www.bessmcbride.com