Out Now - Taken by the Lady of the Lake by @meganslayer #romance #pnr @changelingpress #hotread

 

Taken by the Lady of the Lake (Taken 12) 

A Paranormal Women’s Fiction Novel by Megan Slayer Sale Price: $4.24

She's an urban legend. He's adrift. With a little magic, they'll discover their fates are entwined.

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She’s an urban legend. He’s adrift. With a little magic, they’ll discover their fates are entwined.

Amanda Fortune never expected to be left in the lake, but after her murder and subsequent dumping, that’s exactly where she is. She’s become an urban legend, her ghost seen only by a very few. She longs to have a second chance at life, but that’s not possible when you’re dead. Is it?

With the right circumstances, anything is possible.

Sawyer Gibson doesn’t know what he’s meant to do in life. He has abilities to read the Fates, but his talents aren’t needed in the town of Eerie. Everyone here has magic. He’s nothing special. But Aunt Chloe is dying, and she knows more than Sawyer ever thought possible. Amanda is -- was -- her best friend. So Aunt Chloe sends Sawyer on a chase to find Amanda’s killer.

But Amanda’s a myth. A ghost. And ghosts can’t be seen, right?

The moment Sawyer lays eyes on Amanda, he’s smitten. There’s the tiny problem of her being a ghost… but that detail won’t stop Sawyer, even if someone else thinks it will.

EXCERPT!!

All rights reserved. 
Copyright ©2026 Megan Slayer

 “Who?” She snapped her mouth shut. She’d wanted to stay hidden, but her curiosity would get her into trouble again.

He sank onto one of the rocks at the edge of the water. “I hear you. Where are you?”

“I can’t show you.”

“Please?”

“No.” If she could have this conversation with him, then something was different about him.

“Why?”

“I don’t know you. Can’t trust you.” It was the truth. Others claimed to be looking for her, but they hadn’t found her. Not the detectives, the amateur sleuths, or anyone else.

“You can,” he said. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, then sighed. “When I was a little boy, my aunt told me about her friend, Amanda. She said her friend was a lovely person and so sweet, but she disappeared. For the rest of her life, my Aunt Chloe wanted to know what happened to her friend.”

“Chloe?” She didn’t venture closer, but the mere mention of the name pricked her curiosity again.

“My mother’s sister. Do you know Chloe? Or Marie, my mother?” he asked. “My mother died five years ago, but Chloe held on. Her magic is fading.”

“No,” she whispered. Chloe had the strongest magic. She should be just fine.

“She told me you liked being here. She said this was your favorite place and you’d spend hours among the trees and around the water, existing in nature. She said you might have even been part woodland nymph because you were here so much. She loved the nights you’d go dancing together, and the days spent talking and mixing spells,” he said. “She said she was never the same after you disappeared.”

“No?” She couldn’t be excited. Not yet. She needed some detail only the true Chloe would know. Something only she could tell this man. “I can’t trust you.”

“I know you can’t.” He sighed again. “Why would you?”

The last man she’d thought she could trust had murdered her.

“She knew about the abuse and that you wanted to get away. She was trying to figure out a plan to get you out of that house without him knowing. To this day, she deals with the guilt of not working fast enough. You deserved better.”

She emerged from behind the tree. “What did he steal from me?” If he knew this, then he’d spoken to Chloe. Only her best friend would remember she never let go of her locket.

“Besides your magic? He stole your necklace,” the man said. “It was your favorite piece of jewelry.”

“Why?” She held onto the tree for stability, even if her legs weren’t holding her up.

“Because it came from your mother and was one of the few things you had to remember her by.”

If she’d been standing on her feet, she would’ve collapsed. “Who are you?”

“Sawyer Gibson.” He stood and held out his hand. “I don’t know where you are, but I hear you and I want to see you. I want to help you.”

Question the Revision Premise

Becca Symes has a great podcast where she discusses assumptions authors make about the process and if they are valid. Every month she debates a new notion, or premise, that many authors act as if it is fact without even considering why or if it was right, such as books can’t market without being on social media or writers have to write every day. She asks why this belief exists, if it’s true, can it be changed, and if this premise is serving writers.

I’ve listened to Becca Symes question these premises for years, and I’ve learned a lot. As someone who has a less traditional writing style, I’ve always thought I was good at questioning the ideas that I have. The notions that have been unintentionally spread by the masses. But this month, I realized I had a huge belief of my own that I’ve never questioned, and that definitely wasn’t serving me.

Revising has always been my least favorite part of the process. I love writing. The exploration, the fun, the lack of limitations in the first draft. But having to turn all that enjoyment and free creation into something that makes sense to everyone else has always been a struggle for me. While writing flows out of me fast and exciting, revisions take forever and can be painful. Especially that first revision.

One of the reasons I think writing goes more smoothly for me is because I allow myself to work on whatever part of the story I want to work at that time. I usually start in the middle, with a sexy scene, and work my way out (though not in any kind of organized manner). I allow myself to explore whatever scene I want to write that day. But when it comes to revising I’ve always thought I had to start on page one and work my way forward. It makes sense. Or does it?

As I’m staring down the barrel of a lot of revisions (not just the books I’ve written over the last few years, but also all of my older works that I am trying to republish), I’m desperate for a way to not only speed up the revising process, but to make it less painful as well.

That’s when I thought back to Becca Symes, and her QTP podcast,  and wondered do I have to revise this way? Do I have to revise starting on page one, or can I move around, working on whatever scene I’m inspired by?

It’s an interesting idea. I’m not sure yet if it will work. I certainly think that I’ll have to do a round of revisions the whole way through at least once. But maybe starting out with revising certain scenes, especially the fun ones in the middle, might help speed up the process, or at least make it more enjoyable.

As I get started on revising these next few books, I’m going to give this a try, and revise in the order my brain and heart want to go and see how it goes. It might blow up in my face, or just simply not make enough sense to keep going, but it’s worth a try. And even if it doesn’t work, at least I’ll know I questioned the premise and the premise is correct. At least for me.

What beliefs do you have in your head that you’ve always assumed have to be true? What can you question about your processes that might open up a whole new world?

Summer of Science Fiction #ScienceFiction #AmWriting #SummerReading

Approximately every ten years, I have an existential crisis. I will turn half a century old soon, and the current catastrophic philosophical questions on my mind are about whether humanity in general is hopeless or if, perhaps, there enough decent people to turn the sad state of things around to build a better system. What would that system look like? Would we build something that we thought was the perfect solution, only for it to be a true dystopian nightmare where choice is taken away and callousness is ingrained into every single aspect of the society, like in Lois Lowry’s The Giver?

As I get older, I don’t have as much faith in progress or in humanity in general, but I can never seem to give up hope for, not only progress, but hope that people can continue to find ways to find joy. A few years ago, I started writing horror and science fiction short flash fiction stories. I turned some of my major questions into “what if” scenarios. Like, how would greedy people try to seize power after a disaster hit? How would people fight back? What would the aftermath look like and how would life and the possibility of love, begin to flourish again?

This summer, while I write, and procrastinate, and take on the daunting task of moving house, I am also going to read as many science fiction stories as possible.

Here’s a few summer reading suggestions:

For a speculative look at how the environment and social structure can be affected by scarcity and disaster, check out-

Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler

The Word for World is Forest by Ursula K. Le Guin

For a look at people finding love in the midst of the fight to just survive another day after zombie-style viruses wreak havoc on the world, check out-

Say You’ll Stay (Flowers from Ashes series) by Anna Calloway

Caitlyn Can’t Die (Serial Survivors series Collection) by Liz Hambleton

For a gentle, magical YA story with lovely imagery, read-

The Faraway Inn by Sarah Beth Durst features a teenager who discovers her inner strength and career passion while working for the summer at her great aunt’s supernatural Inn

 

If you’d like to follow me on social media for my latest book updates and recommendations, poems, contest info, and other fun stuff, you can find me at:

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Christina-Lynn-Lambert/e/B01MCYK0K7

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A Matter of Taste

 

I keep running across interesting quotes that make me think. I suppose that’s the idea behind them, to get your brain working and provoke meaningful discussions. Our local newspaper publishes these under the heading Thought for Today. Here’s a recent one, credited to Dame Edith Sitwell, English poet (1887-1964).

“Good taste is the worst vice ever invented.”

I read this in the morning and was distracted for the rest of the day, because I wasn’t sure what she meant by it. I always thought good taste was a preferred quality in a person. It’s certainly better than bad taste, which we seem to be experiencing in abundance these days. If you doubt this, check out social media and cable news networks.

A weekly column I follow touched on a subject I’ve blogged about before. The columnist had seen some recent films, and penned an open letter to Hollywood screenwriters, suggesting that they could effectively tell a story (especially a romantic story) without dropping so many “F” bombs. I could relate to what he said, because I’ve made the same observation about literary works, and I’m not a fan of some stand-up comics for that reason. Using coarse language sparingly to make a point is one thing, but a lot of entertainers and writers overdo it.      

Is peppering your daily discourse with four-letter words an example of bad taste? I was raised to think it is. So is telling off-color jokes in mixed company, unless you’re with friends who won’t be offended. I once had a job as a newspaper editor, working for a publisher who felt it was his daily duty to berate the office staff, using every variation of the “F” word imaginable. He even came up with some new uses for it. When my birthday rolled around, it was the first time I had ever gotten “Happy f-ing birthday!” as a greeting. I shudder to think what he said during the holidays.   

To be clear, I’m no prude. I know the bad words, but I exercise caution when I use them. The same with adult jokes. As the late Milton Berle once said, “I’ve got a million of ‘em.” I’m not sure if I know that many, but when I tell them, I check the crowd first. I’ve also found it wise to read the room before joining a conversation about anything topical, thanks to the current political climate. I wish more people would follow that guideline.     

I’ve known people who were obsessed with showing what good taste they thought they had, whether they actually possessed it or not. This includes friends and some family members who couldn’t resist bragging. In every instance, it boiled down to how many material things they possessed, and how they could let everyone know about it. Cars, clothes, jewelry, homes, luxury vacations—it was all for show, something to make up for a basic insecurity. It was a spotlight they shone on themselves, a sort of “Hey, look at me! Like the flashy bracelet I’m wearing? Want to know how much it cost? I’ll tell you anyway.” 

You know, I think I’ve figured out what Dame Sitwell meant by that quote. Perhaps if you’re fabricating good taste to cover up your inherent bad taste, it really is the worst vice ever invented. 

Your thoughts?

 

Tim Smith is a bestselling award-winning author of romantic mystery/thrillers and contemporary rom-coms. He is also a freelance writer, editor, and blogger. His author site is AllAuthor/Tim Smith

 

 

Perfectionism vs. Progress

 

Free use image from Pixabay

I wrote this piece during an Eating Disorders Anonymous writing meeting. I felt it was appropriate to share it here because perfectionism and imposter syndrome are something many writers struggle with. I am including the writing prompt used.

https://eatingdisordersanonymous.com 

Prompt #2
page 2
On Emotional Eating Pamphlet

More on Recovery
Changing our thinking makes it possible to change our feelings and behavior, but developing
willingness and learning new skills is a process, not an event.

I have never been a patient person. My impatience combined with my perfectionism tend to prevent me from making progress. If I am not able to do something perfectly, I tend to give up on it. 

I always wanted to be a prodigy of some kind. When I was younger, I wanted to be a musical prodigy. Alas, no such luck. I plonked away on several instruments, never really taking the time to learn any of them. Eventually, I gave up on playing music entirely. It has been around 35 years since I last touched a musical instrument.

I've always had some skill with words, but again, I am no prodigy. There are times when this has disappointed me to the point where I have considered quitting writing entirely. However, when I have tried this, I become emotionally dysregulated.

Writing allows me to make sense of the constant ADHD chatter in my dumb dome. I suppose music also did that, but not in quite the same way that writing does. 

I can write nonfiction all day long. It helps, but there is a part of my psyche that only fiction can soothe. Since my mother died, I have been struggling to complete fiction projects. I seem to be emerging from the fog a little. However, the voice that tells me I'm not a good writer is always there.

https://bit.ly.com/OrneryOwlsRoost

 

Race the Sun: Book One, World Gone Dark series by January Bain coming soon!

Good Morning to you! Today is a big day for this writer. I'm finally able, after a full year of writing seven days a week, to share my latest big project: Book One of a nine book series: Race the Sun

What is it about you ask? So happy you asked!😃

It's about survival when the world goes dark. It's about what to do when suddenly you are forced into an unforgiving landscape. But mostly, it's about the struggle for a family to reunite with loved ones.

Race the Sun, coming June 30th.

*If anyone would like an ARC of this book, please feel free to contact me on Facebook by private message. I check in once a day. Until we meet again, Happy Day to you!

Hugs, January Bain/storyteller. 

Sharing our blessings – #CharitySunday #FreeBook

By Lisabet Sarai

My date here at Sweet N’ Sexy Divas is the 31^st, which means I don’t post every month. As it happens, today, the 31^st of May, happens to be the last Sunday of the month, which is the day when I usually host my Charity Sunday event at my own blog Beyond Romance.

Charity Sunday is my modest attempt to share my blessings and bring a bit more light into the world. For these events, I choose a worthwhile organization to support, then pledge to make a donation for each comment I receive on the post. My goals are to educate my readers a bit, to get them involved and to give them a chance to do something positive, however small.

I also include an excerpt from one of my books, hoping to entertain as well as edify!

Today I’m supporting Doctors Without Borders, otherwise known as Médecins Sans Frontières, one of my favorite charitable organizations. They need special help right now, because they are on the front lines dealing with the Ebola epidemic in Central Africa. You can read more over at Beyond Romance (https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2026/05/charity-sunday-where-help-is-needed-msf.html). For each comment you leave there, I’ll donate two dollars to MSF. 

The same deal applies here. Leave a comment and I’ll make another donation. You can double your impact for a very small additional effort.

In addition, I am giving away an ebook copy of The Master’s Mark to one person comments, across this blog and Beyond Romance. Here’s an excerpt, to entice you!

Excerpt (Adult)

Silk whispered across her skin as she rose to turn down the gas sconces, then paused before the looking glass on the dressing table. She’d lost some weight during her illness. The woman who returned her gaze appeared willowy and fragile, almost ethereal. The lingerie draped gracefully over her curves, aside from where her swollen nipples made prominent peaks in the fine material. Her colour was high, almost as if her fever had returned. Breath flowed fast and shallow through her slightly parted lips.

There was a soft knock. She started, then giggled. Was she, Gillian Smith of the Toymakers Guild, really so nervous at the prospect of sex?

Barefoot, she padded across the floor to open the door. Jeremiah and Rafe stood side by side in the corridor. Rafe clutched one hand with the other in front of his trousers, white knuckles testifying to his anxiety. The Jamaican had his hands in his pockets, but his apprehensive expression didn’t match his casual pose.

As she recognised their tension, her own nervousness abated. The last thing she wanted was to cause them distress. She summoned the warmest smile she could manage.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Please, come in.”

There was an awkward moment in which each of the young men held back to allow the other to enter. Finally, Gillian took hold of their hands and drew them into her chamber. Rafe’s grip was icy; Jeremiah’s palm was damp with sweat. The brief contacts jacked up her heartbeat and sent blood rushing to her clit and nipples.

She shut the door, then faced them. Rafe’s eyes grew wide as he took in her state of dishabille. Jeremiah’s nostrils flared while his lips pulled back from his teeth like a cat scenting its prey.

The pale journeyman’s fists were clenched by his thighs, as if he were afraid of what he might do. “Jill, you look – absolutely beautiful!”

“Beyond beautiful,” Jeremiah agreed, licking his full lips. “Exquisite. Stunning.”

She felt a blush warming her cheeks, though of course she’d hoped to impress them. Obviously she’d succeeded. “Thank you. For your compliments, and for joining me tonight.”

“Nothing on earth could have kept me away,” said Rafe. “Have you any idea how much I’ve missed you?”

“I’ve some idea. I’ve missed you, too. Both of you.”

She swept her eyes from one to the other and back. How was she going to manage this? How could she share herself with these two men she cared for so much, without one or the other feeling short-changed?

Far less relaxed than she probably appeared, she stepped between them and strolled across the room toward the bed. She felt heat of their gaze on her bare shoulders and silk-clad backside. A few feet from the bedstead, she turned. “As you have undoubtedly noticed, I’m not wearing much. I suggest you also remove your clothes.”

The two men looked at one another in consternation.

Remembering the test of the artificial vagina, when both had bared their cocks, she found their hesitance surprising. The context apparently made a difference. In the lab, they’d been surrounded by a group of randy Toymakers. Now they were being asked to expose their endowments to her alone. Despite their apparent truce, the two men were likely worried about her comparative evaluation. Neither one wanted to fall short in her eyes.

She tried to reassure them. “Come now! There’s no reason to be shy.” Her sigh was deliberately exaggerated. “Unless, of course, you’re so uncomfortable that you want to leave. Which I would find most regrettable...”

“No, no,” Jeremiah blurted out. “Don’t dismiss us, please!” He shrugged off his waistcoat, tossed it onto a chair, then began unbuttoning his shirt.

Catalysed by his companion’s activity, Rafe followed suit. In minutes both stood bare-chested before her. She drank in the glorious sight of their semi-nakedness.

 

If you’re interested in reading more, go to https://www.lisabetsarai.com/mastersmarkbook.html

The novel is available in audio form (the whole trilogy is) as well as in ebook.

Leave a comment to be entered in the giveaway and to trigger a donation. Be sure to include enough information that I can locate you if you’re my winner!

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