STELLA: WINNING RWA AWARDS

Hi

YUP, that’s me. (btw? I tiled that fireplace, all by myself)

How do you get published by Soul Mate Publishing without ever sending them a query or attending a conference? Go out there and enter #RWA contests, and listen to the honest feedback, edit, and enter again and again until you win. Make sure you have several genres written and enter them all. Maybe one book is more appealing than another?

I’m going to boast for a moment, although my mother always taught me it wasn’t nice so I’ll be brief:

•      Won the coveted ‘The Molly’ Contest
•      Won the ‘Show me the Spark’, too!
•     Came in second for RWA’s Heart2Heart contest
•    Third place in the “Melody of Love Contest
•     Finalist in Joyce Henderson contest.
•     Finalist in 2013’s Golden Acorn contest

Thanks for stopping by. I don’t release until May 6th but you’re more than welcome to preorder. Then the book just magically shows up in your kindle, ready when you finish what you’re reading now.

Year of our Lord 1276

“By God, drag her down here! Naked if you must! Bread and water from now to eternity if you can’t!” Sir Marcus Blackwell slammed his fist on the well-worn table and the sound echoed back from every direction. Of all the bad luck. Forced into marriage with a foul-mouthed, murderous widow.

He clenched his teeth when the next bout of high-pitched screams and curses exploded from the floor above. Crashes, clanging, and banging followed. He cringed as the Lady Ann’s strident screaming rang throughout the stone manor and probably into the courtyard.

“He can’t steal my lands this easily. He’ll live just long enough to rue this day. I shall never, ever, turn my people over to a blood-thirsty, gold-grabbing beast. I’d rather be cursed to hell. Nay, verily, I’d rather marry the devil himself than see myself married to him.”

Beast? He’d strangle the minstrel who’d taken his sword’s moniker and baptized him with it instead. He was a holy crusader, deserving of respect, not an animal.

Crossing himself while counting to ten, he paced the dark hall lit by a single weak torch. Shadows danced across dark tapestries, beyond a hearth the size of two horses, and over enough tables to feed a small army. Thatch crunched under his boots, releasing a perfume of lavender and grasses. He stopped for a respite of blessed silence. What in God’s creation have I stepped into?

When the mayhem started up again, it was from his first-in-command, Thomas D’Agostine. “The devil take it, watch out. A knife!” A dagger fell upon stone with a metallic clatter.