Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Living as A Vampire... A Character Interview for The Vampire's Hope by Danica Winters

Today on Paranormal Romance Fans for Life we have the distiguished honor of having the leading lady from The Vampire's Hope, Ms. Ellie Smith.  She has agreed to do an (Character) interview.  I hope you enjoy! 

Ellie, please tell us about your family.
Ellie Smith: There’s not a whole lot to tell.  Usual sob story.  Mom threw me on a porch the day I was born.  And well, never knew my dad. 
Some people used to laugh at me when I was in the system—but you know what?  It never really bothered me.  It’s a strange thing, but nothing really seems to bother me…at least not until I was turned Vamp.  Then…well then, Ian opened up a whole new door to the world for me. 
What one word best describes you?
Ellie:  Savvy.
What was the scariest moment of your life?
Ellie: Most would think it was the day I was killed.  But that didn't really bother me, hell I looked forward to death.  The scariest moment of my mortal or immortal life had to be the moment  I thought I would lose my Ian.
As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
Ellie: I sure as hell never thought I would grow up and be a dancer.  (She laughs and takes a sip of her steadily warming beer.)
I never really hoped for anything.  I guess I just wanted to grow up.
What songs are most played on your Ipod?
Ellie:  I'm a HUGE Godsmack fan.  Here are my favorite three songs:
1.     Godsmack—Voodoo (My all-time favorite song.)

2.     Godsmack—Now Go Away

3.     Godsmack--Vampire

Who should play you in a film?
Ellie: Have you seen that movie, Girl With the Dragon Tattoo?  It would definitely be that chic.
Morning Person? Or Night Person? How do you know?
Ellie: I’m a frigging Vampire. Really?  I guess my other name should be Mary-freaking-sunshine.
What would we find under your bed?
Ellie: You don’t want to look under my bed.
What is the next big thing?
Ellie: Ian and I have only just begun our story.  Keep an eye out for us.  We’ve had some bad-ass adventures that only need to be written down.  You wouldn’t believe what we’ve been up to.
Ellie, thank you for the great interview!
Danica Winters:  I want to take a moment and thank you for visiting the blog.  It is greatly appreciated.  And I had fun doing this interview. 
If you’d like to join me on Facebook, you can find me at:  www.Facebook.com/DanicaWinters
Or on my Website:  www.DanicaWinters.net
Thank you for coming to meet Ellie!







Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Diving into the World of ESP by Guest Blogger Donna Del Oro

Twenty-plus years ago, I became obsessed with exploring the facts and fictions of ESP phenomena. My cousin, a practicing clairvoyant, had inspired me to delve into the whole realm of parapsychology, or study of psychic phenomena. Highly skeptical about the whole business, I nonetheless signed up for a weekend ESP workshop, given by a Czech physicist who once worked for the Moscow Institute for Psychic Research. The workshop took place in a classroom at a local community college (Foothill College) in my Silicon Valley town of Los Altos Hills.

There were eleven of us, all total strangers—nine women and two men. The first day, Saturday, the Czech physicist lectured on the history of ESP and the various forms and types of ESP: Clairvoyance, clairaudience, clairsentience, precognition, telepathy, psychometry, psychokinesis, remote viewing and channeling. The study of psychic phenomena is called “parapsychology”. Psi (pronounced “sigh”) is the study of psychic phenomena from a psychological perspective. The Journal of Parapsychology defines psi as “a general term to identify a person’s extrasensory-motor communication with the environment.” Psi is a letter of the Greek alphabet and the first letter of the Greek word, “psyche”, which literally means “breath” in Greek and refers to the human soul. Basically, having ESP means that you are able to perceive someone’s thoughts, situation, or issues in life without using one of your five ordinary senses.
The Czech physicist leading our ESP Workshop claimed to be a former skeptic, himself, and a dedicated non-believer who, after working in the experimental testing labs of the Moscow Institute, became a convert. He had seen incontrovertible proof, in his opinion, that ESP existed in gifted intuitives. These intuitives were able to consciously apply knowledge they had accessed and processed in an unconscious, unexplainable manner, and that science could not explain.
He ended that first day of the workshop with instructions to return on Sunday with a notebook and an inanimate object that had emotional significance to each one of us. The next day, the same eleven of us brought our own individual objects, which we all carried concealed in plain brown paper bags. Each of us put our paper bag into a cardboard box behind the physicist’s podium. Later, each of us approached the box and withdrew a paper bag that was not our own. After everyone had at his/her desk his chosen bag, he then told us to open the bag, take out the stranger’s object and hold it in our hands. Then he timed us. For the next fifteen minutes, we were to meditate on the object and write down any visions, words or impressions that came to our minds. We were not to censor anything, no matter how strange, puzzling or nonsensical the vision, word or impression seemed.
At the end of the timed period, he went from person to person and asked us to identify the owner of the object and to read aloud our visions, words or impressions. We did. What followed was truly astonishing and something I will never forget as long as I live. Nine out of the eleven of us correctly identified the owners of the objects. Eight out of eleven of us had made several—at least three to four--correct associations and revelations about the object, its owner and facts about the owner.
For example, I correctly identified the owner of the object I held—a macramé type of belt. I’d had visions of a shelf full of potted succulents and cactus plants. A red-brick apartment building, the kind you find in the Eastern U.S. Those two associations fit. The woman said she had a collection of cacti in pots and that she’d recently moved from Philadelphia, where she’d lived in a red-brick apartment building. There was also a scene of a little boy on a bike, which the woman could not place or relate to in any way. Who knows? Maybe it did later.
Well, the fact that I’d gotten three out of four correct got my attention. After that experiment, I became a believer. Other experiences followed, too, including two precognitive dreams. Many years later, the idea for THE DELPHI BLOODLINE manifested itself and I ran with it. Researching and writing that novel was one of the most enjoyable and most satisfying experiences of my life.

Present day descendants of the ancient, psychically powerful Delphi bloodline face the threat of extinction when an evil tycoon hunts them for his own nefarious intent, a global spy network.
When artist Athena Butler, the modern-day descendant of a powerful, ancient bloodline of psychic women, realizes she’s the target of mysterious and dangerous kidnappers, she gets help from strange sources—the spirit of an ancient ancestor and a handsome man who claims to be one of her bloodline’s Guardians. Her mental powers and his brawny skills keep them one step ahead of the mastermind behind these kidnappers. Until the time when an FBI task force decides to use Athena as bait.
Find it on Amazon!

Excerpt from The Delphi Bloodline:
Chapter One
Pyramid Valley, Nevada
Thursday AM
Athena Butler’s eyes blinked open and she sat up.
Coming back from The Flow was always jolting. Emerging from the stream of spirits was like a water skier lurching out of the water, pulled by a strong, invisible force. The mind caught up later to the body as if it required a rough snap to break free.
Likewise, to go there was like jumping out of a plane and feeling the air rush to your face, your limbs weightless and wobbly. Most of the time, it was a joy to enter this world of unseen spirits. Athena welcomed her visits, especially at night when she found herself invariably alone.
When she was a child, she’d often emerge from The Flow with a fearful whimper and a cry. She’d wept and wanted to stay in The Flow. Now, at twenty-six, Athena had grown accustomed to her mental flights. They were no longer fear-inducing for she understood their purpose. But her exits were still mind-wrenching and she often lay in bed afterwards, disoriented.
This morning, fear clutched her heart and she could barely breathe. With a trembling hand, she reached for her phone.
Breathless, she raked her other hand through her hair and kicked her legs over the side of the bed.  Six AM, Nevada time. She punched her mother’s mobile numbers. It was nine o’clock in D.C.
“Thank God, Mama! Where are you?”
“I’m in Baltimore, near the—.”
“Mama, I had a dream about you. A Flow Dream. The spirits—they want me to warn you! Whatever you’re doing right now, get off the streets.  Go home and lock the door. Call the police!”
Her heart felt like a ticking bomb in her chest.  Athena could barely speak. But her mother knew her and understood her Flow dreams. They were seldom wrong though sometimes a little off in timing. Today, a threat was imminent. She knew it.
“Slow down, Thena. Take a deep breath and tell me slowly about your dream. I don’t doubt you but we must be able to interpret it correctly. You know how these Flow Dreams are. Sometimes the symbolism is strange and difficult to interpret.”
“Okay—just go home and lock the door. Now, Mama!"
Athena had to swallow hard and take big gulps of air in order to speak. Losing her mother was unthinkable. She’d already lost her father, and in a way, her brother.
“Where are you, Mama?”
She inhaled and counted to five. Her mother wasn’t in Georgetown, where she lived with her second husband. Athena sensed water nearby, a large body of water. Her mind jumped ahead. The body of water in her terrifying dream was vast, a bay leading to the ocean. The Baltimore harbor—of course!
“Near downtown Baltimore. I’m heading toward a section of the city where I believe a little girl’s body was hidden. The police need the evidence from that location.  They think she was hidden somewhere, killed and then a day or two later dumped into the bay. I think I’ve found the monster’s hideout.”
“I had a session with the homicide detective last night. I handled a few articles of the poor child’s clothing, what she was wearing when they found her. I got some visions so I drove up here to pinpoint the location. It’s not in a very nice part of town but I thought I’d drive around, and then call Detective Bonner when I got something.”
Athena groaned. Her mother was at it again.  Getting involved with homicide cases and trying to use her powers to bring killers to justice.
“Mama, get out of there, please! Go home—”
“I’ve had no sense of this danger, Athena, not to me personally,” her mother said. “Listen, we must talk soon. There are other dangers that I’ve seen…but don’t fret, my car doors are locked, I’m driving my big SUV. I’m in traffic, so relax.”
“Maybe you’re too focused on that homicide case,” Athena stressed. Her mother had no idea the danger she was putting herself in. First-hand experience had taught Athena that working with the cops was a dangerous business. Let them do their work and solve their own cases.
I’m done with all that.
Her mind darted back to the vision in her dream. She took a deep breath and steadied her voice.
“I saw you in your car, Mama. You stopped to get out. A black car pulled in front of you and another one—a long white one—blocked you in back. There was a woman driving the car in front and she was with men who had guns.  Someone grabbed you and carried you to the white car. I could smell salt water and then they took you away. Some place far away. And then I was in the mountains, the Sierras, searching for you.”
Athena bent over, clutching the cell phone, her lifeline to the one person she loved most in the world.  Her stomach cramped into a hard ball.
There was silence. “Mama, go home,” she repeated.
“Okay, Thena, I’m turning back toward the freeway. The harbor shops are on my left. Remember that eight-sided tower, the one with a great view of the harbor and breakwater. The octogon tower. You remember going there on your last visit here, don’t you?”[Soft Break]More silence followed then as an image sprang to Athena’s mind. Yes, they’d had lunch there…
Her mother gasped loudly.  A screech of brakes, metal crunching, glass breaking. Her mother cursing a blue streak in her native Italian.
“What happened, Mama? Are you all right?”
“Yes, dear. Just a stupid fender bender. Merda! Daniel’s going to throw a fit. My second one this year! I’m getting so distracted with these cases—not paying attention to what I’m doing. I swear this car pulled right in front of me, cut me off. It’s not my fault this time.”
More angry muttering followed.
“Dio, I really smashed up that rear end! Thena, I’ll call you right back as soon as I exchange insurance information with the driver. Be right back, Thena.”
“Mama, don’t get out of the—”
The line went dead.  With a cry, Athena sank to her knees on the cold, tile floor. Shivers of dread rippled through her. Her mind went numb with panic.
For God’s sake…Think! Get help!
About the Author:
My pen name is Donna Del Oro and I live in Northern California near the Sierra Nevada foothills and Folsom Lake. After retiring from high school teaching, I decided life was too short to waste. Thus, began a journey doing what I'd been wanting to do for many years--write fiction. I sold my first novel, OPERATION FAMILIA, right away and this book went on to win an award for the Best 2010 Latino Books into Movies Award. Following that first sale, I published three more women's fiction books, then branched out into writing my first love, romantic thrillers. This year, 2012, saw the launch of A BODYGUARD OF LIES and THE DELPHI BLOODLINE, both ebooks and available on Kindle, Nook, Apple, and elsewhere. If you have read any of my books, I welcome your input. Leave me a review on Amazon and your name goes into a pile for a $50 gift card at B&N, my favorite bookstore. You can email me: donna@donnadeloro.com. Thanks for dropping by!"

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Do You Know Your Zombies?? By Guest Blogger Dina Rae

With the so-called zombie apocalypse approaching, one must be educated about the different kinds of zombies before prepping for defense.  First, there is the
most common and believable-the human that turns into a zombie because of mental collapse, disease, infection, and/or radiation.  They stagger around dazed and confused and cause panic to others.  Then there is the man-made monster kind or the kind Hollywood and horror authors like me tend to capitalize on.
Zombie interest continues to fascinate the world.  Jeffrey Dahmer drilled holes
then poured acid down his victim’s heads in hopes of creating his own zombie.
His madness didn’t work.  Are these supernatural monsters even real?
According to Wade Davis, author of The Serpent of the Rainbow, zombies are
real.  They are a product of the Voodoo religion.  He was originally hired by a
pharmaceutical company to find out about the drugs Voduists used in their death
rituals.  He believed that datura also known as zombie’s cucumber was a plant
that could medically make one who ingested it appear to be dead for a certain
length of time.  Sounds like the stuff Juliet used to fake her death.  Could
Shakespeare known about the magical zombie-making plant?
Datura or sometimes Cimora, a close relative of Datura’s, eventually wears off
but leaves the victim in a state of confusion, highly susceptible to the art of
persuasion.  Presto!  A zombie slave is at the captor’s disposal.  Mr. Davis
didn’t just find his datura flower; he witnessed zombie phenomena as he immersed himself within the Haitian culture.
Bad Juju is a unique blend of horror, romance, and fantasy.  Besides The Serpent and the Rainbow, I read volumes of other Voodoo material and watched hours of TV specials.  Some of the terms I learned can be found below:
Bokor: A wizard who practices black magic, a zombie maker.
Loa: deity/spirit
Ghede Family: A family of loas known as the spirits of the dead.  Three barons
rule the family.  Baron Samedi is the loa of resurrection.  Baron Kriminel is
the most feared loa associated with cannibalism and souls.  He’s honored on The
Day of the Dead.  Baron LaCroix is the loa of the dead and sexuality.
Poppet: Voodoo doll
Ti-bon-ange: “little good angel”  The part of the soul that represents a
person’s individuality.
Gros-bon-ange: “great good angel”  Part of the soul that is collected into a
reservoir of the Cosmos or spirit world.
Baka: Voodoo spirits in animal form.
Loup Garou: werewolf
Djab: a devil
Dessounin: Death ritual that separates the gros-bon-ange from the body.
Bizango Society: Secret society of Vodouists.  They have Freemason-like
qualities such as aprons, secret handshakes, oaths, hierarchy, and symbols.
Legend states they change into animals at will.  They are known for stealing
black cats and boiling them to death for Voodoo services.  They drink each
other’s blood from a human skull chalice.
Title: Bad Juju
Author: Dina Rae
Genre: Dark, Fantasy, Horror, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense, Thriller, Young-Adult, (R-Rated although teens would love it)
Publisher: Amazon
Words: 93,000
Purchase: Amazon |
Book Description:
Lucien Nazaire flees his Haitian homeland and meanders around the United States for decades. He settles in a Wisconsin trailer park filled with elderly tenants. He meets Jake, his teenage neighbor, and hires him for odd household jobs. As their relationship progresses, Lucien invites the boy into the world of Voodoo.
Jake LaRue lives in foster care with his abusive uncle. The Voodoo lessons give him a sense of power within an otherwise helpless situation. Although the boy is a loner, he feels an instant connection with his classmate, Henry, and introduces him to Lucien.
Henry Novak has Asperger’s Syndrome. He fixates on historical events, most recently the 2010 Haitian earthquake. Like Jake, he becomes passionate about the dark side of Voodoo. They learn how to cast spells on those they hate and lust, leading up to dire consequences.
Several months after the Haitian earthquake, Henry convinces his family to volunteer with their church in the island's reconstruction. Their mission turns into a nightmare when he mysteriously walks off of the campsite.
Bad Juju is a balance of horror, romance, and literary fiction intended for ages fifteen and up. Research about the Voodoo religion, shapeshifting, zombies, and possession and themes of redemption and loneliness emerge throughout the plot.
About the Author:
Dina Rae is a new author here to stay. As a former teacher, she brings an academic element to her work. Her three novels, Halo of the Damned, The Last Degree, and Bad Juju weave research and suspense throughout the plots. Her short story, Be Paranoid Be Prepared, is a prequel of sorts to The Last Degree, focusing on the James Martin character. Dina also freelances for various entertainment blogs.
Dina lives with her husband, two daughters, and two dogs outside of Chicago. She is a Christian, an avid tennis player, movie buff, and self-proclaimed expert on several conspiracy theories. She has been interviewed numerous times in e-zines, websites, blogs, newspapers, and radio programs. When she is not writing she is reading novels from her favorite authors Dan Brown, Anne Rice, Stephen King, Brad Thor, George R.R. Martin, and Preston & Childs.
Website | Blog | Twitter: @haloofthedamned | The Last Degree | Halo of the Damned |


Friday, October 5, 2012

Giveaway for Above the Universe Below, by Elias Barton

Title: Above the Universe Below
Author: Elias Barton
Genre: Fantasy, Dark,
Publisher: Iron Glass Press
Pages: 332
Book Description:
For two years running (2011 & 2012) Above the Universe Below was was a semi-finalist in Amazon.com's Breakthrough Novel Award and Publishers Weekly:
"Brilliant writing carries this pleasantly odd tale of an agoraphobic artist, Carder Quevedo... Carder's road is not an easy one, but readers will be rooting for him in this unusual and beautifully written book."
An agoraphobic artist in our world but a grim reaper in another, Carder Quevedo hides at home, immersing himself in the paintings which commemorate the strange deaths he's witnessed. He ventures into public only when necessary, scrambling to his hospital job to extract corneas from deceased donors or darting to the diner to share a meal with Darren, his only friend. That's Carder's existence - and he's content.
Haika changes that. As the bored, beautiful owner of an art gallery - who also happens to be married - she stumbles into Carder in a chance encounter and soon becomes obsessed with his art. As they forge a quirky, electric relationship, Carder is reluctantly pulled into Haika's social world of wealth, status and the peculiar characters that come with it. Carder is pushed further to the edge when his teenage niece visits, rebelling against her ultra-conservative upbringing. All the while, Carder's hidden history threatens to ruin his developing chance at normalcy, and on the opening night of his art gallery show, his past finally catches up to his present and wreaks havoc upon them all.
Haika’s mouth is obscured behind an empty Styrofoam cup riddled with repeating arches of gentle teeth-marks she’s bitten into it like colorless rainbows perforating white sky. She meets Carder’s gaze with a mischievous smile, enjoying the role of spectator and anthropologist. She’s relaxed, as if sitting in a bubble bath with a goblet of wine in hand, reading this all in a novel someone lent her.
That’s what Haika is: love. Not just love for Mike or art or New York. Haika is love in every moment. She’s loving to Carder, to his relatives, to the Carlisle boys. But she’s more. She’s love in the cloudless sky above, in the honey she brought for tea, in the music she tries to soundtrack Carder’s life with, in the thrift-store clothes she’s wearing, in the ascot knotted at her chin, in her bare feet sliding through what would once have been war-torn grass, in the sadness sometimes hiding in the corners of her lips. She brings love to every moment… something Carder has never seen in another person. Ever. He obsesses over every detail, and gulps down the harrowing thought that he’ll one day lose her. He tries to be love like Haika is, to laze on the hammock of friendship hanging from her eyes right now. He fills with gratitude. This has actually happened. She had actually been in his life, and no one can take that away. Carder could live off it for decades and fully plans to.
About the Author:
Elias Barton has lived on the edge of an active volcano, worked in a Bible factory and is the author of the novel "Above the Universe Below." He was a semifinalist in both 2011 and 2012 for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award. He currently resides in Washington DC where he befriends gargoyles, feeds unicorns and combats two cats who try to smother him in his sleep.
Find the Author: Website
Please take part in a Rafflecopter giveaway !

Thursday, October 4, 2012

The Devouring, Kavachi's Rise, by Mike Kearby

 Available at:
Book Description:
A Dark Secret. Thomas Morehart and his sister, Kara are vampyre, not the undead, but creatures evolved over hundreds of thousands of years to mimic their prey, man. Then - rescued from a Nazi Prison Camp, Thomas and Kara are brought to the U.S. and forced to work inside government-owned mortuaries. Now -betrayed by the government sixty-seven years later, Thomas and Kara are in a race against time to transform back to their feral states or risk Exsanguination by government sanctioned hit squads.

Title: Kavachi's Rise
Series: The Devouring #1
Author: Mike Kearby
Genre: Damnation Books
Publisher: Horror, Thriller
Words: 56,000

The soldiers knew this lieutenant. Knew of him, anyway. Nikolai Borisoff was his Russian name, but if all the rumors were true, nobody knew his real name. Others of his kind referred to him as, “Rom baro,” the big man. But in the stories he was known simply as the necromancer hunter.
“Shall we put him in with the others, sir?” one soldier asked.
Nikolai ignored the question and squared himself off to stand face-to-face with the prisoner. He stared into the darkness of the creature’s eyes. “How do you write yourself?” he asked in Amria.
The creature stopped rocking. He looked up and opened a dark pit of a mouth. A word tumbled out: “Death.”
Nikolai frowned, “But where are the others?”
Death tilted his head right and left, like a confused animal trying to make sense of an unfamiliar sound. After several seconds of the head movement, he parted leathery lips and emitted a rattling laugh.
“Yes, the others, like yourself.”
“Killed, dead. All meat.”
“In the showers?”
“A death they would have welcomed.”
Nikolai leaned back. He stared across his left shoulder, down the rows of barracks where the camp’s prisoners were being assembled. The 48thhad found only a handful of them, yet intelligence had said there would be thousands. Reports had indicated as many as twenty thousand. He turned back to Death.
“Where?”he asked.
Death lifted his chin toward the camp entrance. “There,” he whispered. “Only a short way from the death gate. Toward the sea.”
Nikolai looked past the gathered prisoners and through the opened gates of the camp. Pine and aspen lined the road for as far as he could see. He turned back, questioning, “In the woods?”
“In the ground.”
Nikolai frowned. “Can you show me?”
Death shook his head. “I prefer here. It’s very bad luck to go to that place.”
Death began to rock again. “It’s a madhouse filled with all kinds of madness.”
Nikolai studied Death’s face. “Then you’ve been there?”
Death wagged a finger in Nikolai’s direction. “Oh, I went there once. It might even have been twice or maybe three times. I can’t be sure, for the madness takes away one’s sensibility.”
“And your job there?”
“I helped push the carts back to this camp.”
“Back? What had been on the carts before?”
“And when you returned?”
“Shoes…and pyjamas…and hair.”
“And what of those who once wore the shoes and pyjamas and hair?”
Death rested his chin against his knees once more and resumed his monotonous cantillate. Then, just as quickly, stopped. It looked up at Nikolai. Its pupils contracted. “Porrajmos!”
Nikolai narrowed his eyes and pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. His gaze darted back to the front gate and to the forests outside. “Are you saying violate?”
Death’s face twisted. He screamed again, “Porrajmos!”
Nikolai shook his head and released his lip. “To open? To open one’s mouth?”
Death stopped rocking and stared ahead, rigid. His pupils dilated back to their dead state. He exhaled a short breath, then pushed his right index finger into a spot just below his right ear and directly above his jawbone. He held his finger in the spot for several breaths, as if to make sure Nikolai understood, then slowly dragged the finger down his neck to his collarbone.
Nikolai watched, fascinated at the visual. “Rip open?” he uttered.
Death shook his head, exasperated, exhaled a rattling breath, and motioned with an outstretched finger for Nikolai to lean close.
Nikolai stooped forward and turned an ear toward Death’s mouth.
A gush of stagnant air rushed from the man’s lips and flowed across Nikolai’s cheek and nose.
Nikolai jerked away from the dead gas -- and from the two words that had drifted on the offensive fumes. He sucked in a quick breath and jerked thepilotkafrom his head.
Death nodded blindly, as if pleased, and then started rocking again.
Nikolai could only stare at the living corpse swaying in front of him.
Such a simple word.
And when translated into Russian, two words: The devouring.
About the Author:

Mike Kearby (born 1952) is an American novelist and inventor. Since 2005, Kearby has published ten novels, one graphic novel, and written two screenplays: (2011) Boston Nightly, with fellow writer Paul Bright and (2012) The Devouring. Boston Nightly is scheduled for filming in the spring of 2013.
 Kearby was born in Mineral Wells, Texas, and received a B.S. from North Texas State University (now the University of North Texas) in 1972. He taught high school English and reading for 10 years and created ""The Collaborative Novella Project"" The project allows future authors to go through the novel writing process from idea to published work.
""Ambush at Mustang Canyon"" was a finalist for the 2008 Spur Awards.
""A Hundred Miles to Water"" was awarded the 2011 Will Rogers Medallion Award for Best Adult Fiction.
“Texas Tales Illustrated” was awarded the 2012 Will Rogers Medallion Award for Best YA Non-Fiction.
Paranormal Romance Fans for Life Review:
We have given The Devouring--Kavachi's Rise,  four bites!  Kearby is a gifted wordsmith.  He has a strength for creating scenes in which the reader connects and can easily find themselves engrossed. The story itself was well crafted with rich, vivid imagery and an unexpected plot--definitely well thought out and well researched.  What the story lacks in scene motivation it makes up for in character voice.  It was a little challenging to follow the story as some characters have at least two name if not three.  And in certain ways Kearby's gift for language may actually be a disadvantage--as sentences get a little long and over worded, slowing down the pace. 
We loved the opening scene, which caught our attention and pulled us into the book.  Kearby loves the dark side!  Which means we will certainly look for more from this author. 
**We received an advance review copy of this book for review.  All opinions are unbiased and that of the reviewer.